Kissed Blind (Hot Pursuit #2)(34)

Her head snapped in his direction. “Of course! I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“The video didn’t look good.”

Her voice dropped low. “I know. I just forgot to tell you about the hide-a-key.”

“Okay,” Oliver said, but his tone held a thread of doubt.

“I swear! Last time we were on location in Hawaii you kept losing your car keys, remember? You lost them on the set that one day and we all ended up rooting through the garbage cans but never found them. Although, I still think it was Clooney playing one of his jokes. I didn’t want you to get stuck again. I just forgot to tell you before you left that night to go for a drive. That’s all.”

Oliver grunted his understanding and laughed lightly. “It was Clooney in Hawaii. He had someone bake them into a cake with a note that said ‘The KEY to a healthy diet.’ I was working out twenty-four seven for that role and was on that horrible meal plan. He knows I love cake. I still have to get even with him for that.” He patted her leg. “All right then. That makes perfect sense. Let’s put the whole experience behind us. And they didn’t see anything else on the videos, so it looks like it was rats that chewed the lines. Case closed.”

“You should sue them for carelessness. It’s ridiculous that something like that could even happen. Rats? Really?” She shivered. “It’s disgusting.”

“I’m letting it go. I have bigger things to worry about.” Oliver leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.

We drove the rest of the way in silence, listening to the rubber of the tires meeting the road. Up in the apartment, Camille greeted Oliver as soon as we walked through the door, showing no signs of the previous evening’s events. She was recovered and full of energy.

“You’re home. I was starting to worry. I’ve sent you several messages and called the set. They said you left more than an hour ago. Where have you been?” Camille asked, kissing Oliver’s cheek.

“We had to make a stop on the way back, no big deal.” He rubbed her arms. “You’re looking better. How do you feel?”

“Loads better. I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“No one knows you like I do, darling.” Something was hidden in Oliver’s tone, almost like bait, but Camille didn’t bite.

Cici had gone into the kitchen and was busying herself with something when Oliver stopped Vance and me from entering the apartment farther.

“It’s late. You both have had a full day. Please, go home. I’m ready to pass out. I won’t need you for the rest of the night.”

“Okay, and everything is still on schedule for tomorrow?” Vance asked.

“They need me on set early. I need to leave here around eight.” Oliver shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair.

Vance nodded. “No problem. We’ll see you then.”

As we were leaving, Camille accused Cici of sneaking out while she was resting. She asked again where Oliver and Cici had been so late. The shouting began as the door shut.



. . .



Before Vance drove me back to my apartment, he called his mother. I set my phone in one of the cup holders and listened to Teresina DeLuca’s voice through the line. Sal had fallen asleep after a long day and was resting. The medical bills and the rehab facility, however, were the next biggest source of concern. She went through the cost of his medication, his aftercare, his wheelchair, his food, it was all mounting up, but Vance reassured her he would figure something out. She said she’d tell his dad he’d called and to go home and eat; he was a growing boy after all. After some more loving bickering, the call ended. He plugged in his phone, and I reached to change the radio station.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, princess, hands off.”

“Come on.” I groaned.

He slapped my hands away from the dial. “Nope, you won last time. I get my music.”

I thought about protesting but could almost feel his stress over finances and his dad’s illness, so I gave him this one. He hopped through a few different channels before settling on one and sighed.

“Ah man, I haven’t heard this song in years.”

I read the display. It wasn’t a song I recognized, but he knew it well. He turned the volume up and started to sing.

His voice, smoky and smooth, was pure honey. It melded with the lead singer’s gritty sound, and my chest filled with a soothing weightlessness. I smiled to myself in the shadow of the night and looked out the window, listening.

He knew the song word for word, and when he got to the chorus, I closed my eyes to feel the lyrics. It wasn’t exactly a ballad, but it wasn’t a rock song either. It sat in a sweet spot somewhere in between, and the voice next to me breathed more life and meaning into it than the band ever could.

Words rolled off his tongue, and I wanted to peek at him, but was afraid if he caught me, he’d stop. He did catch me though, but instead of stopping he sang at the top of his lungs with his head held high. It was beautiful—he was beautiful. A broad smile spread across my face, especially when he used my hand as a microphone.

A week’s worth of stress vanished in just over four minutes, well worth letting him win the radio war. When the song ended, I floated down and wished there had been a repeat button. Vance returned the volume to a reasonable level.