Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(45)

The desire to touch him was overwhelming. I could smell him. A combination of beer and partying and something I couldn’t pin down. Something him.

In seconds, Nicole was breathing evenly. I didn’t dare speak. I didn’t want to wake her. But I wanted Brad to know that once she was asleep, he could leave.

Right?

That would make sense. But he didn’t leave. Even after his daughter was deep in dreamland and I could tell he was awake, he stayed. So did I. I didn’t have any sleep in me. I felt his thumb graze the skin of my arm and I shuddered.

“Should I go?” I whispered.

“She expects us to stay. Both of us.”

“She won’t even remember in the morning.”

“She’s half southern. She won’t forget.”

“You’re all southern and you forgot.”

His thumb still touched my arm. I didn’t move away, but I knew it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be touching me, but if I moved, he’d stop.

“Did I forget something I should remember? Tell me.”

I told myself a sudden movement would wake Nicole, but that wasn’t the real reason I kept my arm where it was.

“Your pants were on. But you said things you didn’t mean.”

“About?”

The tip of his thumb stroked my arm. He wanted me. I’d dodged a hundred tabloid-shaped bullets. I’d never wanted one of my kids’ fathers, and when they made a move on me, I politely declined and resigned before they could fire me.

But Brad Sinclair was different. Between getting chased to the pool house, his admissions on the steps, running to Nicole and lying here together, something had changed. We had changed. We’d been softened and molded. We might wake up in the morning and go back to who we’d been, but there was no morning in the dark room. Just the places where we fit and the soft voices of confession.

“I need to change the subject,” I whispered. “Please.”

“How are you so good with kids? It’s like you know what to say to them.”

“They’re just people. Little, new people.”

He didn’t answer right away. Nicole shifted, facing him, and he stared at her sleeping face.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I thought . . . last night I thought I should put her up for adoption. It seemed totally sane and reasonable. I had my publicist’s number right there, at my fingertips. I was ready to tell him to find her a good home. Figure it out, you know. Just get out of this because I know what I have to do. I had eleven cousins. I’ve seen people raise kids. People without a pot to piss in. But I can’t do it. I just can’t. What the hell? Right? But it’s not all money. I can’t buy myself into being a good father. And I can’t change my life. Not that much. Not unless I want to go work at the lumberyard in Redfield for ten bucks an hour, and what then? My parents and my sister would end up raising her anyway.”

“You’re not going to work in a lumberyard in Redfield.”

“You don’t know.”

“You have two Oscar nominations.”

He didn’t seem convinced. I could have gone on about his prospects, but the lumberyard in Redfield wasn’t about manual labor, or minimum wage, or long hours breathing wood dust. It was about some greater fear that had followed him to Los Angeles.

“I don’t feel anything, Cara. The thing you need to be a father, I don’t have it. I’m just going through the motions. She’s cute and cuddly. Yeah, I like playing with her and hugging her, but on a day-to-day? She’s like someone else’s puppy. I mean, look at her. Who couldn’t love her? Me.”

I’d seen him try. Seen him show real affection and act like a father with stakes in the game. I didn’t agree with every one of his choices, but it looked to me like they were made because he was trying to be the best parent he could.

“I worked for Rachel Fitzsimmons,” I said. “I took care of one of her kids while she was in delivery and right after. She had postpartum real bad, and she wouldn’t take any medication for it. She wanted to breast-feed. It was hard for her, because emotionally she wanted nothing to do with the baby. But every day for three months she went through nursing until she felt like she could take the medicine. And so I know this isn’t the same. But sometimes you just go through the motions until you wake up and realize you loved the kid all along.”

He’d moved his hand to rub his lip, as if the friction helped him think. It sure didn’t help me think.





CHAPTER 32


BRAD


Until we were in bed together, I hadn’t thought seriously about making Cara mine.

That was a lie. I had. I just hadn’t thought about the consequences.

That was a lie. I just hadn’t decided to ignore them.

Until I was in that bed with my daughter between us, I chalked desire up to being around a hot woman. But I was around hot women all the time. They were like sand crabs on the waterline. You didn’t have to dig too far or too long before one crawled into your hand.

I was tired. Half hungover. It was dark and the edge of the bed was an inch away. If I moved I’d fall, and if I didn’t move I’d fall. All my defenses against myself were down. I told her things I’d made up my mind to keep to myself. That I didn’t know how to love my daughter. That I was uncomfortable and unhappy. I was relieved to have it off my chest. I didn’t realize I’d been suffocating under the weight of it.