Текст книги "Red Carpet Kiss"

Автор книги: Melissa Brown

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Wanna talk about it?”

Luke’s question interrupted the hurricane inside Elle’s head as they drove along the highway, headed back to Elle’s home. Thoughts of Troy, both good and bad, flew with wild abandon around her brain. Despite the calm, tranquil breeze of the evening, she couldn’t focus on anything, not even Luke’s request. She shook her head. She knew it wasn’t fair to shut down in such a manner but had no idea what to even say.

Luke reached to take her hand in his. Elle squeezed his fingertips while staring at the road ahead, attempting to process the events of that evening. Troy lived in California, not back in Chicago as she’d assumed. He owned a restaurant only half an hour from her place. And if his eyes were any indication, he still resented her just as much as the day he left her behind in their hotel room at the Bellagio. That final thought made a chill run down her spine.

Even though she was filled with resentment and lingering questions toward her ex, the thought of him hating her was just . . . too much.

Luke released her hand and turned off the radio. “Listen, I’m not gonna pretend to know what happened back there, but whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Elle turned to face Luke. His wavy locks blew in the evening breeze. He was so handsome, with such a good heart, she knew he deserved to know the truth about Troy, the truth about her past. But their relationship was new and she was apprehensive.

“He’s an ex.”

Luke chuckled and patted her bare knee. “I figured that.”

“A complicated one.”

“Were you together long?”

Elle shook her head before resting it on her hand. Her elbow perched against the interior of Luke’s SUV. “On and off. We couldn’t seem to figure it out.”

“What did he call you . . . back at the restaurant?”

Elle pressed her eyes shut before repeating her nickname. “Rigby.”

Luke paused. “What does that mean?”

“It’s from the Beatles song.” Elle waited for Luke to make the connection to the song, but his brow remained knitted as his eyes remained on the road. “My real name is Eleanor. Elle is just a nickname.”

“Sorry, I don’t know the song. I’m not really a fan.” He clenched his teeth, baring his pearly whites in a please forgive me manner.

Of course listening to the Beatles wasn’t a prerequisite to date her, but she always found herself surprised when people weren’t as wrapped up in the pop culture icons as she was. “Oh, I had no idea. Sorry, I just assumed—”

“I don’t dislike them or anything. I just prefer the Stones.”

Elle liked the Rolling Stones, but in her mind there was no comparison. She’d once read an editorial in which the writer claimed the 1960s were all about the Stones, not the Beatles. She’d vehemently disagreed.

Luke cleared his throat and continued. “So when did you go out?”

“Ten years ago.”

“Wow. Long time.” He paused, shifting in his seat. He looked uncomfortable and Elle could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “And you still . . . never mind.” He shook his head.

Elle shifted in her seat, turning her body toward Luke. “No, what is it?”

“Nah.” He patted her leg again, this time allowing it to linger on her knee. “It’s way too soon for discussions like that. It’s not like we’re exclusive . . .”

Elle’s brow formed a deep crease above her nose and uncertainty built within her. Luke’s tone was confusing. He was either fishing for a declaration of exclusivity or relieving himself of any sort of commitment hovering in the SUV. Normally, she’d confront him and insist on knowing exactly what he meant by that. But Troy’s reemergence was more than enough chaos for her to handle at the moment. She felt like she was walking through the surfing part of a fun house where you have to walk through the turning disk. Around and around it goes, as your feet attempt to walk across its constantly spinning axis. She was disoriented, confused, and felt as if she’d left her bearings back at Anthony’s Pub.

The remainder of the car ride was silent. Elle stared out the window, breathing in the ocean air as they entered Santa Monica. She craved the comforts of home and wanted nothing more than to hide under the plush covers of her bed, allowing only Linus to puncture her solitude.

Luke walked Elle to her front door, his hands in his pockets and his lips pressed in a straight line. Elle fumbled with her keys, her hands trembled, and her concentration faltered. When she inserted the proper key, the door pushed open. She sighed with relief, turning back to Luke.

“I think we should call it a night.”

Luke nodded. “I figured that.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She faked a smile. “Bright and early.”

“You got it.” Luke removed his hands from his pockets, placing them on Elle’s waist, pulling her close. “Good night, Elle. I hope you have pleasant dreams.”

Elle pressed her eyes tight, willing the tears that were forming to go the hell away. She had no time to cry over Troy or the burden he placed on her mind and she had no time to ponder what this meant for her budding relationship with Luke.

Elle pressed her lips to Luke’s, softly at first, but when his fingers gripped into the skin of her back, she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. She cupped his cheeks with her hands, pressing them tightly to his warm skin, hoping he could make everything better. Somehow.

With one outstretched arm, Luke opened the door, walking Elle backward into her house. His mouth drifted to her neck and the tickling sensation of his lips served as respite for her conflicted body and mind. Luke’s touch was intoxicating and she wanted nothing more than to get lost in the beautiful man who was worshiping her body, awakening every cell with his expert touch.

In a swift motion, he’d taken her hands and lifted them above her head, pressing her back into the cold wood of the door. A small gasp left Elle’s mouth and her eyes locked with his. Luke’s voice was husky and deep. “I’ll make you forget about him.”

One simple tear, filled with the pain of the past and conflict of the present, fell from Elle’s eye. Luke watched it as it drifted down her cheek. When the warm tear reached her jaw, he lunged slightly and kissed it from her skin. Elle was tormented by guilt. She wanted to succumb to Luke, to indulge in the way he made her feel, but how could she do that when her thoughts kept drifting back to someone else?

Elle freed herself from his grasp. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, turning back toward the door. “We should really call it a night.”

Luke grabbed her hand, pulling her back. He nuzzled his nose against the most sensitive part of her ear. “Be here now,” he whispered. “Nowhere else. Just here.”

Overwrought with both sadness and arousal, Elle pressed her lips to Luke’s; he reached to support her, hoisting her up against the door, allowing her to wrap both legs around his waist. He rocked into her again and again. The sensation of him, hard beneath his jeans, sent Elle into a frenzy. She wanted to escape into Luke, to forget about Troy and the burdensome conflict of her past.

With her legs still wrapped around his waist, Luke carried her upstairs to the bedroom. They made love in the darkness and when Luke drifted off to sleep, Elle stared up at the ceiling, once again enveloped in the incident at Anthony’s Pub. Despite her sated desires, despite the slow rise and fall of the handsome man next to her in bed, a man she’d done nothing but think about for the last few months, she was back at the pub. She was standing next to the bar, looking into Troy’s soulful eyes, wanting to know more about him, despite the resentment that stood within her like a hulking tower. She was standing there, smelling the marinara, feeling the heavy weight of the bar against her fingertips and staring at the man she couldn’t forget despite the rantings in her head and the tugging of her heart.

She tried.

She tried to forget about Troy.

But that just wasn’t possible.

The fourth season of Follow the Sun was well on its way. Six episodes had aired and the tabloids had received word of a new actor who would soon grace the screen of the television hit. Paparazzi stalked Luke like newly discovered prey in the wild. He was a fresh face and although he wasn’t involved in any kind of personal controversy just yet, the photographers held on to any shred of a chance they could get at discovering just the tiniest bit of dirt on Luke Kingston.

Nicole had been fielding phone calls from the gossip rags for several weeks. Elle had given her assistant a script to follow. She was to acknowledge Luke’s role on the show, but to answer nothing else. Of course, Nicole knew nothing of Elle’s personal relationship with the new member of the cast. A very small circle of people was aware of that information and Elle intended to keep it that way.

Elle and Rob were discussing episode fifteen in her office when Nicole knocked on the door.

“Elle, sorry to bother you, but you have a delivery.”

Elle was confused. Nicole knew that, aside from an emergency, she was not to be disturbed while meeting with a colleague, especially Rob or Whitney. Whatever it was, Nicole could place it on her desk when they’d finished their discussion.

“Okay, bring it in, whatever it is.”

“Um, actually, it’s a pizza.”

“Pizza?” Elle glanced at her watch. It was barely 11:00 a.m.

A distinctive flutter spread throughout her abdomen and her heart rate increased within seconds when the deliveryman slid next to Nicole and revealed his face. A face she couldn’t forget even after ten years of trying. A face she hadn’t seen in weeks since their awkward confrontation at Anthony’s Pub.

“Oh.” Elle stood, staring at Troy, who with one hand was holding a small white, green, and red pizza box. His other arm was hidden from view. His dark hair was perfectly coifed and a set of dark sunglasses rested atop his head.

“Thought you might be hungry.”

Rob stood, looking down at his cell. “That reminds me, I told Whitney I’d meet her for a bite. I’ll check in later, Elle.”

“Thanks.”

Rob followed Nicole out of the office and Elle stood staring at Troy. The butterflies in her stomach started out tiny, but were now spreading their wings and bouncing around inside her. She attempted to appear stoic, to sound like her normally confident, collected self. But he knew her too well. He must have known how anxious she was to see him again.

“Rigby.”

“Troy. What are you doing here?”

Troy extended his other arm, revealing a small, pale green branch with slim leaves. Two small olives hung from the sprig.

“You brought me an olive branch?” She resisted a smile as best she could, but the truth was, she was touched by the sentiment.

“It was either this or a jar of olives. I thought this was a little more symbolic.”

“Most definitely.” Elle crossed her arms in front of her chest but walked closer to Troy, taking the branch from his hand. His fingers brushed hers and an undeniable electricity traveled up her arm and down her spine.

“How on earth did you get in here?”

“I told the security guard I was delivering your lunch. You didn’t get to finish eating when you came to my place, and I felt bad about that.”

“Thanks. Come, sit.”

Elle watched as Troy glanced around her office, taking in the photographs on the walls, the posters of previous seasons, and her framed Emmy nomination letter. Once he’d inspected every bit of memorabilia, he sat opposite her, placing the pizza box on her desk.

“Sausage and mushroom, your favorite.”

Elle tilted her head, again touched by the gesture. This wasn’t the same Troy who’d confronted her in the restaurant. This Troy was kinder, gentler, more in control of his emotions. This Troy reminded her of just how sweet he could be. He had a soft side, even though he did his best to conceal it.

“I asked around. The show’s a big hit. Congratulations.”

“You asked around?”

“You know, my staff. The waitresses are huge fans. I may be asking you for some autographs sometime in the near future.” He chuckled, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against his chin. The slightest bit of stubble was coming through and Elle remembered how much she used to love running her fingers over his five o’clock shadow.

“Ah, I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive,” Elle teased.

Troy shrugged. “What can I say? I’m full of ’em, I guess.”

One of the butterflies in Elle’s abdomen stretched its wings to full capacity and she grasped her desk to get her bearings. Being in such close quarters with Troy was unreal—a scenario she’d played out in her head dozens of times over the years. She’d practiced speeches, rehearsed scenes in her head. She’d confront him for leaving her alone in that hotel room. No plane ticket home. No clue as to where he had gone.

But now, she was finding it difficult to simply form a coherent thought while in his presence. She looked around her office as Troy opened the box of steaming deep-dish pizza.

“Plates. I, um,” she stammered. “I don’t have plates. Give me a minute, okay?”

“Sure.”

Elle hurried out of her office, walking briskly down the hall to the kitchen to collect plates, napkins, forks, and knives for their lunch. She had no idea how it would even be possible for her to eat around him. There was no way her frayed nerves would allow it. She retrieved two cans of soda from the fridge and made her way back to the office.

Troy looked relaxed sitting in the office chair, his arm casually draped along the back. One ankle rested on his opposite knee and his hand rested on his thigh. His comfort and ease was sexy, yet disheartening. She didn’t want to be alone in her anxiety. She wanted them to suffer together, to commiserate in their discomfort. But that didn’t appear to be the case.

“I got you a Coke. Do you still—?”

“Yep. Haven’t kicked my sugar habit.”

Elle placed the can in front of Troy.

“And I see you haven’t kicked your poison habit either.” Troy always insisted Elle’s addiction to diet soda was her unhealthiest habit. He was vehemently against all artificial sweeteners, referring to them as poison to the body.

“Yep, still addicted.”

“I guess we haven’t changed all that much, have we?”

Elle paused before popping the top of her can. Her eyes bored into Troy’s. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

Troy’s lips pressed into a thin line and he nodded. The tension in the air was thicker than the deep-dish pizza he sliced open with the knife. He served Elle first, then himself before closing the box and pushing it to the side. The room was still as Elle and Troy stared at one another. They’d already spent entirely too much time dancing around the topic at hand. The elephant in the room was wearing a cowboy hat and a feather boa—it demanded to be seen, discussed, felt.

She stabbed her pizza with her fork, which stood straight up in the layers of cheese, sauce, and toppings. “So I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m terrible at small talk. I need to know why you’re here.”

“I was hoping we’d cut to the chase. I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh.” A lump formed in Elle’s throat as heat grew in her cheeks. She never thought she’d hear those words from Troy Saladino. But she liked them. She liked them a lot.

“The thing is, I gave up hope a long time ago. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Elle crossed her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head. “And whose fault is that?”

Troy flinched. “I probably deserve that.”

“Probably?”

Troy closed his eyes, shook his head, and continued. “We’re in the same city. I had to see you.”

“You left, and then you shut me out. I tried . . . so many times, I tried.”

Troy closed his eyes and grimaced. If he thought she wouldn’t bring that up, he was sorely mistaken. The years could soften some things, but his sudden departure from her life was not one of them.

“I know,” he said.

“I know nothing about your life. Are you married? Divorced? Do you have kids?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as she attempted to appear calm and collected. “To which question?”

“I have a daughter. She’s the reason I live out here.”

Troy was a father? Elle’s stomach tied itself into knots. She hadn’t expected that.

“And your wife?”

“I’m not married.”

“Divorced, then?”

“No. I’ve only been married once.”

Troy’s eyebrows dipped as he peered into Elle’s eyes. His face softened, and without meaning to, she mirrored his expression immediately. Even after ten years, their connection was as strong as ever.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Payton.”

Elle tilted her head. “You didn’t.”

Troy was obsessed with the Chicago Bears, as most Chicagoans were. He was especially enamored of Walter Payton, one of the most prolific running backs in the NFL. Elle would never forget Troy’s drunken rendition of the Super Bowl Shuffle, especially when he’d place the sweatband around his head and proclaim himself Walter.

Troy threw his head back in laughter, then held his hands up in surrender.

“Her mother named her, I swear. But of course I didn’t object.”

“Well, it’s a beautiful name. How old is she?”

“She’ll be nine on Christmas Day.”

Elle swallowed hard, and an ache developed in her gut. Nine? His daughter was going to be nine years old, which meant that as Elle spent months attempting to get over him and his disappearance from her world, Troy wasted no time in moving on. She could feel the blood draining from her cheeks.

“Nine?”

“Rigby, I—”

“Nine?” Her eyes widened as she glared at Troy, who looked up at the ceiling, guilt spreading across his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that. It was a rebound, and her mother and I are still friends.”

Elle shifted in her seat, but said nothing. Troy cleared his throat before filling the awkward silence that lingered between them.

“It works for us and I get to be in my daughter’s life, which is all I want. She’s my whole world.”

“I see.” Elle pushed the rejection she was feeling down below the surface and resolved to focus on the facts. She wanted more information; she wanted to know everything she could. Troy was a puzzle and she was determined to make the pieces come together, even if they would never quite fit.

“You said she’s the reason you’re here . . .”

“Yeah. Her mom moved here seven years ago. She married a guy in the recording industry and I couldn’t be across the country from my kid. So I followed them here.”

“Well, now I know why we never ran into each other when I was still in Chicago.”

Troy nodded. “Yeah.”

“But a restaurant? When we—I mean, you were an accountant—”

“I know.” Troy stood and paced Elle’s office. “I was. Even out here, I was. I worked at a talent agency for a long time. But when my dad got sick, things changed. I changed.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. I had no idea. I would have been there.” The guilt Elle felt for missing Tony Saladino’s services was palpable. He’d always been good to her, even when things between her and his son were rocky.

“I know.”

“What changed?”

“I was miserable, ya know? I went to work every day, crunching numbers, meeting with clients, and I hated it. I went back to Chicago to help out whenever I could. I’d take long weekends and take my dad to chemo. We’d sit and talk and he knew—he knew I was miserable. He told me life was short. And for the first time, I believed him.”

“The restaurant’s great,” Elle said. “It felt like home, like being back in Chicago.”

“I’m glad you think so. Aside from Payton, it’s my pride and joy.”

“You found your dream.”

“And you obviously found yours.” Troy gestured to the frames on the walls. “Seriously, Rigby, this is the big time. Your show is all the buzz, you have an Emmy nomination.”

“I didn’t win.”

“Still. You’re living the dream.”

“Yeah.” She paused, allowing her eyes to wander around her office in appreciation of the career she’d built. “I guess I am.”

“How did this happen?” He gestured to their surroundings.

“Well, years ago I wrote a book. And then another . . . and another. They were picked up by a publisher and just over five years ago, I got this call. It was the head of the studio wanting a meeting.”

“That must’ve been wild.”

“It was. Wild and scary and just . . . crazy. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and before I knew it I was packing up my car and moving here. I rented for a while and then bought my place. It’s not quite home yet, but it’s getting there.”

“Wow.” Troy licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “Would it be weird if I said I was proud of you?”

Elle smirked, appreciating Troy’s honesty given the awkward situation they found themselves in. “A little bit, but thanks. Hey, let’s eat before this delicious pizza gets cold.”

“You’re right. Dig in.” Troy returned to his seat and dug into his pizza as Elle did the same. They ate, mostly in comfortable silence. Elle oohed and ahhed over the delicious pie.

“This was your dad’s recipe, wasn’t it?”

Troy nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of his Coke. “Mostly. I’ve been experimenting with the spice palette.”

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s perfection.” Elle took another large bite, closing her eyes as she relished the rustic Italian flavors of the pizza. “Does your mom ever visit? She must miss you.”

“She lives in Long Beach, actually. I convinced her to buy this tiny cottage right on the water. Payton loves going to Nana’s place.”

“Nice.” She hesitated to say her next statement, but blurted it out before her type A personality could reel it back in. “I’d love to meet her.”

Troy’s mouth opened, and his eyes met hers. For a sliver of a moment, Elle thought he looked hopeful, softer, and slightly vulnerable. Yes, their discussion was mostly surface—catching up with one another, glossing over the gritty details and covering the need-to-know basics. But Elle was genuinely interested in meeting his daughter. She surprised even herself with that realization. And if she wanted to meet Payton, that meant their story wasn’t quite over, despite what the scripts in her desk drawer might say.

“I’m sure she’d love you,” Troy said with a soft smile, tilting his head to the side. Elle’s heart did a double take and the butterflies spread their wings. And they fluttered. It was a hopeful flutter. Her inner cynic wanted to scream her head off, shaming Elle for allowing the turn of this conversation to transpire. Troy deserved her resentment, her inner conflict, and her regrets. He didn’t deserve her hope.

“Why are you here?” Her voice cracked with the words.

Troy wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips. “I told you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Ten years, Troy. Ten ridiculously long years.”

Silence swept over the room. Troy’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth.

“You and I both know there was a damn good reason why I left.”

There it was, the punch to the gut Elle was waiting for. She wondered if they’d ever be able to stand in a room together without him throwing her mistakes in her face. They sat in silence for several minutes, playing an awkward game of chicken. Troy was the first to jump.

“Listen, I’ve kept you long enough,” Troy said. “And the lunch crowd should be starting soon.”

Elle stood, reaching for the top of the pizza box. Troy’s hand stopped her. “No, you keep that. Share it with . . . well, share it with whoever you want.”

Elle walked Troy to the door. When he reached to pull her into a hug, she found herself relaxing into his embrace, breathing in the scent of him. Troy smelled like spearmint and fresh soap. And as she inhaled, years of memories surged through her brain. Some blissful, some unbearable. But many worth hanging on to. At least, she hoped they were.

Elle gritted her teeth, realizing she’d just given Troy Saladino her hope.

Dammit.