I don't think I can answer his question. Rafe leans closer, and I tilt my head back so I can keep looking him in the eyes."Did you want me to kiss you?" he asks again, his voice even lower than before. "Do you?"My hand seems to rise on its own, my fingers grazing the thin fabric of his shirt. They finally come to rest on the side of his throat. His skin is so warm, pulsing with life.It's been so long since I had real human contact. And he's so beautiful..."Yes," I hear myself say. Yes, I want this. I want him to make me forget my loneliness and grief for a moment. And I want to help him forget his.He takes his time tilting his face down to mine - so long that I start to wonder if he's simply teasing me. But then his lips brush against mine, and they're warm and soft and they chase every other thought away.His mouth moves gently against mine, but he's not tentative - it's more like he's testing the waters, deliberately drawing it out to see how I respond.And boy, do I resp
- SEVEN WEEKS LATER -Remember everything I said about there being worse things than making a mistake?I may have been wrong about that."Somethin' wrong?" Cynthia asks me, wiping her hands on her apron.I look up from the menus I've been wiping down. "No, no, I'm fine." There's only one table of customers at the moment, which means we've spent most of the last hour cleaning up and readying the diner for the morning shift."Mm-hmm," Cynthia says, pursing her lips at me in that way she does when she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. "Something's going on with you. I can tell.""It's nothing, really," I insist, taking my soapy rag to a patch of crusty ketchup on one of the menus. Nothing I can talk about, anyway."Mm-hmm."I frown down at the stubborn dried ketchup, trying to think about anything else. It doesn't work.Cynthia comes over to stand beside me, nudging me with her hip. "I know you, Edie. As much as anyone in this town knows you. You've been distracted all shift." W
Cynthia's fingers tighten on my arm. She's read the answer on my face. I toss the test down on the table and grab my mug again. The coffee has finally cooled enough to drink, and I need something bracing.Cynthia waits for me to speak first. It's funny - when I asked to come over and do this here, I never expected her to be so restrained. In fact, I'd hoped she'd be her usual, talkative self - it would help get me out of my head. But her supportive silence is doing its job, either way."I'm keeping it," I say. It's funny - up until this moment, up until the words spilled out of my mouth, I wasn't sure what the heck I was going to do. But now I can't imagine doing anything else."Of course," Cynthia says, nodding. She releases my arm and raises her mug to her lips. Her fuchsia lipstick still looks perfect, even after an eight-hour shift.I need to ask her where she buys that, I think. It's odd, the things that run through your head at a time like this.Cynthia shifts in her seat as
It's him. My mystery guy from the woods, the father of the baby I just found out I'm having, is on the cover of Celebrity Spark magazine. How is this even possible?My eyes dart around the headlines posted all over the cover. Finally, my gaze lands on the one I'm searching for - the one with his name:Not-so-model behavior: Raphael Fontaine kicked out of Hollywood hotspot after fight. And the photo certainly makes him look like a criminal - he's being escorted out of a club by two security guards, his shirt is torn open, and he's got the start of a wicked black eye.Can this really be the same guy who was so tender and understanding with me? Who gave me such a beautiful moment out in the woods? I don't know if I can believe it. Maybe the baby hormones are making me hallucinate."Edie?" Cynthia squeezes my arm again. "You're starting to worry me."I blink, drawing my eyes away from his familiar face."That's him." My voice is a croak."Who's him?""That," I say, pointing at the
- ONE WEEK LATER -L.A. is even bigger and more overwhelming than I imagined.Unlike a lot of the people back home, I have some experience in large, metropolitan areas. I grew up in Kansas City, after all. But L.A. is different. It doesn't have the massive downtown full of skyscrapers like I've seen in pictures of New York or Chicago, but it's sprawling and crowded. The traffic is awful, the buildings are square and generic, and the plants and trees are all short and scrubby. I get lost two blocks from the bus station.I end up buying a map from a man on a street corner. He says it shows where a bunch of celebrities live, including several of the Fontaines. After that, it's just a matter of hailing a cab and paying the driver to take me there. I almost bolt when he tells me how expensive the fare is, but I've come this far - there's no backing out now.I lean my forehead against the window as we go, staring at the scenery that passes by. Tall palm trees sway in the breeze against a
If I had any lingering doubts about why I made such a stupid mistake in the first place, they're gone in an instant. At the first touch of his lips to mine, my body goes limp against his, the rush of heat taking over. I'm aware of every place we touch, of every slightest movement of his skin against mine. His lips are demanding and teasing, toying with me. This is a man who knows how to kiss.Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I remember why I'm here. I push gently against his chest until he breaks the kiss."Ready to stop already?" he asks, with an expression that makes my heart skip a beat."Can we go inside?" I ask again. "Into the house?"He chuckles, and the sound makes me tingle all the way down to my toes. "If you insist. After last time, I didn't think you minded being outside."He's making me blush on purpose, I know it. I was shameless the last time we met. Caught up in the moment. I don't behave like that normally, and he must know that.I follow him up the palm-lined
I take a deep breath. If I don't say this now, I'll never get it out."I'm - "My words are cut off by the sudden buzzing of Rafe's cell phone in his pocket.He mumbles something under his breath and shoves his hand into his shorts, fumbling around until the ringing stops. Then he leans forward again. "Where were we?"My breath catches in the moment before his lips touch mine. I know I should say something, should push him away, but I'm paralyzed. I'm pulled to him, and I don't have the strength to fight it.Unbidden, some old words of my mom's pop into my head: Learn to tell the difference between lust and love, honey, and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble. She never was good at following her own advice, but maybe that's why it's stuck with me all these years.There's obviously no question that this is lust, in its purest and rawest form, but for the life of me, I can't resist it. I can see the trouble coming at me full speed, but I'm caught like a deer in the headlights.A
Any thought I had of paying for my own clothes goes out the window as soon as I glance at a tag in La Bella Boutique. I was expecting the prices to be double or triple those of what nice clothes might cost back home. Instead, it's more like five or six times as much. I'm not sure I even have enough in my debit account to buy a single dress.Especially when you won't be able to fit in that dress in a few months, I remind myself.I refuse help from the salesgirl when she approaches me. Instead, I wander through the racks, eyeing the dresses around me. Some are simple and elegant, others shimmery and bright. Some have classic designs, others are what I can only assume are the hot new fashions. I have a couple of "nicer" dresses back home - things to wear to the occasional wedding or funeral I find myself attending - but nothing that looks like anything in this store.And even if I knew what I liked, I have no idea what I'm expected to wear to a Hollywood party. How formal is this thing