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He slid away at the very last second, his hot breath caressing her neck. “If we were having sex, I would skim away your tap pants so we could celebrate in the best way. Don’t you agree?”
She swayed toward him, entranced. Aching. He kept his mouth poised just below her ear, so near her eyes drifted closed as her body already anticipated a nip along her earlobe, warm kisses down the sensitive curve of her neck down to her shoulder. Her head fell back limply at merely the possibility.
Damn it.
She straightened upright again. What was she doing? Only a few hours ago she’d sat in the theater determined to follow an all-or-nothing approach to any future relationships. Yet here she already stood wanting more than anything to say to hell with it all and spend the night naked with Sam, celebrating the premiere the old-fashioned way.
He tapped her lips. “No need to answer. Because according to you we’re not sleeping together, something that won’t change unless you tell me otherwise.”
She wanted to say yes, her body positively on fire for his touch, but the hope from the end of Honor still prodded her to want more, reminding her that trust and forever were rare gifts in a world full of lies and broken relationships.
She couldn’t miss the competitive gleam in his eyes, an emotion that would muddy the waters of any possible relationship because she wouldn’t be sure of his motives.
Did he want her?
Or merely want to win?
Her indecision must have shown because he eased away, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “All right then.” Sam backed down the steps. “Merry Christmas, Bella.”
He pivoted back toward the line of limos along the driveway. She gripped the railing to keep from bolting after him. Her purse thudded to the porch, jingling a reminder that she had forgotten to give him the Christmas bell.
As she watched Sam climb into the limousine, she wasn’t sure if she’d just made a stand—or thrown away a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Nine
Four weeks later, Bella flopped backward on her wrought-iron bed, the train on her burgundy Vera Wang gown swooshing around her. She should be turning cartwheels tonight after winning the Screen Actors Guild’s Best Actress Award. Honor also picked up Best Picture and Best Director, a real coup for a breakout surprise hit.
Accepting that trophy had been amazing, and the after party advantageous as she schmoozed with Hollywood bigwigs until the wee hours with Sam standing by her. During the party—in fact over the past month—he had been the perfect escort and a total gentleman, honoring her request for no sex.
Damn.
That man was driving her absolutely batty.
Bella rolled to her side, staring out the window as the first morning rays shot golden streaks across the sky. Besides escorting her to both the Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild Awards, he’d taken her out to elaborate dinners and society functions to feed publicity as Honor continued to dominate the theaters and the news.
He’d also surprised her with a lighthearted day of fun at Disneyland, followed by a stop at a local animal shelter to drop off a monster-big donation check. Most touching, he’d patiently joined her for quiet dinners with Lillian in her grandmother’s chambers as the end stages of her cancer confined her.
Afterward, Sam would walk her across the lawn and drop her off at her door with a peck on top of her head like she was a flipping kid. Just as he’d done again tonight.
She dropped a pillow over her face to muffle her shout of frustration.
Yet how could she complain? He’d followed her request for helping dispel any rumors she might be carrying a torch for Ridley.
After Sam had escorted her to the Golden Globe Awards earlier in the month, magazines and television media had reported everything from supposed matching love tattoos to a secret wedding in Las Vegas. Gossip rags even digitally altered an image of her with a small baby bump that circulated the news prominently enough for Dana to rush across the lawn and demand Bella hike up her shirt to prove she wasn’t expecting.
She pitched aside the pillow and scooped up Muffin from the foot of the bed. “What should I do about this guy?”
Muffin cocked her head to the side, her snaggle-tooth look bringing reminders of Sam’s teasing label of a Billy Idol snarl. Bella ruffled a hand along her dog’s bristly fur. “I guess you’re not able to help out too much on this one, huh?”
If ever she’d needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust not to spill her secrets…She straightened. That very person was just across the lawn. Her grandmother. Lillian had always been an early riser and was now even more so since she slept in short spurts throughout the day and night.
Bella rolled from her bed to her feet, rushed to her closet and yanked out the first thing her hands fell on. She slid the side zipper down on the form-hugging gown, kicking the train out of the way and peeling the dress down. She shimmied into jeans, tugged a V-necked tight T-shirt over her strapless bra and left the rubies on. Hopping into her heels on the way out the door, she snagged the trophy she’d won and called for Muffin to follow her.
Breathlessly, she raced across the lawn, her loose French twist shaking free with each reckless wobbly step as she sprinted past the angel fountain. Muffin trotted closely at her heels, up the steps and into the foyer. The little dog dashed toward the kitchen where the cook always kept special puppy treats.
Bella’s heels clicked over the marble floor on her way to Grandmere’s first-floor quarters. A live-in nurse had moved into the bedroom next door to be close after Lillian had been released from the hospital.
Gathering her tattered composure, Bella tapped lightly on the door.
The door creaked open an inch, the housekeeper Hannah on the other side. “Oh, Ms. Bella, come on in. Mrs. Hudson is awake and she always perks up when she sees you.”
“Thank you, Hannah.” Bella squeezed her arm and stepped inside. “Good morning, Grandmere. I brought you something.”
She placed her Screen Actors Guild Best Actress Award on the bedside table. Already, she breathed easier now that the familiar air of the soothing room surrounded her. Tall vases of flowers—live and silk—filled the airy room along with Lillian’s personal photo collection. She’d met dignitaries from around the world in her career, starting with her work in the French cabarets to the years she spent as the toast of Tinseltown.
There were also pictures of her with other stars, but there were many, many more of her surrounded by her family. Bella appeared in a handful of the images framed in matching ivory mats with gilt frames, the spill of Hudsons around her. And on Lillian’s beside table rested her most treasured photo of all, one taken the day she and her husband eloped. So much love emanated from Lillian’s family gallery.
Not until recently had Bella started to look for hints of unhappiness in the scenes from her childhood.
Her grandmother moved her arm from over her eyes, the pinch of pain at the corners of her mouth easing into a smile. “Thank you, sweet Bella. You’ve all made me so happy with the movie. First Golden Globe Awards and now this. Come tell me about tonight’s ceremony.”
Wearing a deeply pleated linen nightgown with a matching wrapper, Lillian still clothed herself with the simple grace that had marked her unpretentious style all her life. A blue ribbon held a cameo locket about her neck, the keepsake memento Bella had played with as a child. She knew if she pressed the tiny latch on one side, she would find a black-and-white picture of her grandfather in uniform beside the image of a tiny cottage along a winding French river.
“That’s why I’m here.” She winged a prayer for forgiveness for that little lie.
The housekeeper gathered up a breakfast tray with most of the food untouched.
The nurse checked the IV drip, before backing toward the door. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes and let you two have some privacy. Just ring if you need anything,” she said before following Hannah out the door.
Her grandmother weakly adjusted the pillows piled behind her, her head swathed in a rose satin scarf rather than her wig. She’d resisted having a hospital bed brought into her room, insisting she would spend her final days in the bed she’d shared with her beloved husband.
“Sit here, Bella dear.” Lillian patted the spot beside her.
The hint of a French lilt in her voice washed over Bella with warm familiarity. She had spent so many hours as a child, curled in her grandmother’s lap listening to stories and singing together.
“I’m not so little anymore.” She settled carefully onto the edge, her heart squeezing with pain over how fast time flew, how soon her grandmother would be gone. She fought back tears Lillian had long ago told her she didn’t want to see.
“Come closer and quit worrying you will break me. I have wonderful painkillers.” She waggled her arm with an IV taped in place. “Remember when you used to run in here early in the morning so we could talk before the rest of the house came to life?”
Beautiful memories flooded her with a joy and peace she desperately needed right now. “Grandpere always went to work early and I knew I could have you to myself.” Bella swung her legs up, crossing them to sit by her grandmother, the underlying antiseptic air of a sick room mingling with Lillian’s scent, an old Chanel formula she had worn her entire life. “I wish you could have gone with us to the awards ceremony last night.”
