Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(46)

I touched Cara over my daughter’s sleeping body. Just her arm. The kiss on the path was so fast I hadn’t had a chance to taste it, but that arm? I felt it. I drew my fingers down the soft length of it. She didn’t pull away for a long time. When she did, she tucked her pillow and kept away.

“She’s sleeping,” she said. “You can probably get out now.”

I hadn’t been rejected by a woman since middle school. And Doreen McCody’s rebuff didn’t last more than a week before I had my hand up her skirt.

“You’re so sure?”

“Yes. Just keep it quiet and go slow.”

I had to see if she was right. So I moved my arm off my daughter and got one leg on the floor, slipping off until the bed didn’t slope on my side.

And that did it.

Nicole picked her head up.

“Where are you going?”

I made eye contact with Cara over Nicole’s mat of hair. She was smiling as if she was trying not to laugh.

“Just going back to bed,” I said. “Miss Cara’s gonna stay.”

“No. You stay.”

She threw her arms around my neck and put all her weight on them. I was trapped.

“You should go,” Cara said. “If she gets used to you being here, it’s going to become a habit.”

“I’ll be scared again,” Nicole said, voice still thick with sleep.

Cara tried to pull her off me, but the little stitch was tenacious as hell.

“She’s a Sinclair,” I said, lying down. “She’s gonna protect her habits. Right, Nicole?”

“Shh,” she said, tucking her hands under her cheek. “I’m sleeping. Close your eyes. Go to sleep too.”

“Okay.” I put my head down. Nicole put her arm over me to make sure I didn’t leave, and Cara stayed still on the other side of the twin bed. Maybe she slept. I sure didn’t. I couldn’t get the knowledge that Cara was a foot away out of my head.

It was a long night. I suspected Cara was awake, but I didn’t want to talk.

I could have gotten up, but the bed smelled like her, canned peaches and flowers. Her breath came at a shallow, long pace. She was sleeping. Fuck it. I didn’t want to leave. The house was a mess. And I didn’t want to get into my own bed. For what? I was fine half on, half off the twin mattress.

I relaxed. I just wanted to think in her presence. Ask her what the f*ck was happening without saying anything. I had a list of things she didn’t do. She didn’t judge me. She didn’t presume even when she did. She didn’t make eyes at me.

The things she did do were uncomfortable.

She made me comfortable, which was uncomfortable. She had a soft, seductive voice that never tried to seduce me. Around her, I wanted to make a go of the daddy thing. A real go. Not a sideshow. She made it seem possible. I didn’t know how she did that, or why, or if it was intentional. But when I thought of trying harder, she was the second thing on my mind, after my daughter.





CHAPTER 33


CARA


The dream that night was the same, but different. We were kneeling on the pool table fully clothed, kissing. Just kissing. I tasted him. Heard him. Smelled the pool chlorine and rum. I woke slowly, still feeling his pressure on my lips.

Last night.

Things had happened. Nothing in the grand scheme, but in my little universe I woke to new boundaries. I’d gone from having a nocturnal secret crush to letting him kiss and touch me.

I felt bad about it. I felt confused and ambivalent. I felt Nicole’s breath on my shoulder and kicked myself for putting myself in a position where I’d have to leave her.

I opened my eyes. Brad was gone and Nicole was poking my cheek in time to a pony song, each finger down the line.

“Good morning,” I grumbled. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay. Daddy left.”

“Do you want breakfast before Miss Blakely comes?”

“Little bun and cream cheese, please.”

“Let’s get dressed.”

I fed Nicole and got her in a dress. She came to the pool house, where we played a noncompetitive, oversimplified version of chess. Right outside, two ladies in smocks were picking up beer bottles in the back, and a pool guy was skimming the water.

—Ray Heywood wants to meet you?—

It was Laura, my agent from West Side. I didn’t answer personal calls when I was with kids, but could usually text.

—We didn’t make exact arrangements, but yes— —How’s tomorrow?— Ray had called Laura to make an appointment with me. That meant he was paying me, and it meant he wasn’t just asking for personal advice. He wasn’t just going to thank me or yell at me.

—What does he want?—

—I think he wants you to keep quiet about Willow— There were a few words for exactly how insulting that was.

—When have I ever disclosed anything that goes on with a family?— —Never. I know. Just meet him. Hire you back at the best. Free lunch at the worst— Nicole was making the black king kiss the white queen.

“I love you, Mr. King,” she mimicked with the piece. “I love you too, Mrs. Queen.” She made smacking sounds.

—All right. He’s buying—



We got back into the main house at about eleven. Nicole wanted another cream cheese sandwich.