When Lightning Strikes (10 page)

“Are you ready for this?” he murmured as he guided her through
the restaurant.

“This?”

“The paparazzi.”

They wanted her picture as badly as his, and that was an
experience she’d never had before. “As ready as I can be. I don’t know how you
put up with the loss of privacy.”

“Part of the territory,” he said. But she knew it bothered him
more than he was letting on. She’d heard him make statements about “being
hunted.” He might have elaborated, but the restaurant manager darted into their
path to thank Simon for his patronage.

“I hope you found each dish to your liking,” he said, all but
bowing in deference.

Simon gave him a stiff nod. “Everything was delicious.”

Knowing the man must have noticed that Simon had eaten very
little, Gail jumped in. “It was wonderful,” she gushed. “The best!”

Relieved, he thanked her profusely and begged them to come
again.

“What I said wasn’t enough?” Simon muttered as they moved
on.

Had she irritated him? “He was so…hopeful.”

“That’s how they all are.”

The constant attention would get tiresome. She could see that.
She could also see that being a celebrity was exhausting. Tonight that was more
obvious than ever. Simon could never give enough to the people he encountered
because there was only one of him and so many of them. He never got to feel he’d
met others’ expectations.

“There’s no break,” she said as they stepped out of the
restaurant and into a sea of flashing lights.

Gail had told herself she’d smile and hold her head high
whenever she encountered the paparazzi, just as she advised her clients to do.
Make them think you enjoy it, that you have nothing to
hide.
After all, what were a few pictures? It was better to pose and
get good ones. That was her classic line.

But because of the crush, there was a much greater sense of
urgency than she’d ever seen or experienced before. And acting as if this was an
unwelcome surprise was part of the campaign. She turned her face into Simon’s
chest to avoid being blinded by the strobelike effect and felt his arm tighten
as he sheltered her from the most aggressive of the cameramen.

“Car’s right here,” he said.

One of Simon’s bodyguards, who’d been waiting with their
driver, had created a path. Relieved to have a safe resort, Gail slipped inside
the same limousine that had picked her up at her house. Simon rarely traveled in
vehicles like this, unless it was Oscar night, a premiere or some other special
event where it was expected, but there hadn’t been any point in holding back on
the accoutrements for this date. Tonight he’d
planned
to dive into the shark-infested pool of celebrity obsession—and he’d
taken her with him.

The silence that met them as soon as the door was shut felt
odd, oppressive. But it didn’t last long. The stereo went on, playing classical
music, as the driver inched through the crowd, most of whom were still vying for
photographs—from the curb, the street, anywhere they might gain advantage.

“Wow,” Gail breathed. This was what she had to look forward to.
Could she keep up the charade?

She thought Simon might be as talkative on the drive as he’d
been in the restaurant, but he didn’t say a word. Back to his laconic self, he
stared out the window.

“So? How do you think it went?” she asked as they glided around
the corner like a slow-moving parade float.

“Good.” His response was clipped, perfunctory. Apparently he’d
been acting a lot more than she’d realized. Maybe that vulnerability that
appealed to her was part of the character he’d decided to play. She hoped so. It
made her too eager to defend him, whether he deserved it or not. She’d always
been an “underdog” kind of girl.

But a movie star of Simon’s caliber and success could hardly be
considered an underdog; she had to remember that.

They merged into traffic, finally leaving the scrambling
photographers behind. “I played my part well enough?” she pressed. “It was
convincing even though I’m not an actress?”

He didn’t turn to look at her. “You did fine.”

“Did it come across as natural when I reached for your
hand?”

This seemed to pull him out of his brooding. “That was smart.
It made you appear confident of my feelings for you and suggested that we’re
comfortable touching each other.”

“Great.” Especially since nothing could be further from the
truth. Although it was easier to touch Simon in public than anywhere else, even
that simple gesture had given her pause.

“But surprised the hell out of me,” he added.

“Why?” He’d taken her hand earlier.

“Because you think I’m the big bad wolf.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You’re afraid to make even accidental
contact.”

Knowing him the way she did, she should’ve expected his candor.
He always said what he thought, regardless of whether it put her on the spot.
“I’m not
afraid.
” She searched for a better way to
explain her reaction to him. “I’m just not groveling at your feet, dying to get
a piece of you, like most people.” Because she knew how superficial his
attention would be, how quickly it would pass. “You should find
that…refreshing.”

The panel between the front and back opened before he could
answer. “Boss?”

Simon’s gaze cut to the rearview mirror and the reflection of
his chauffeur’s eyes. “What is it?”

“Where to?”

“My place.”

“
Your
place?” Gail echoed. “You
mean, after you drop me off, right?”

“We’re being followed,” he said. “Might as well let them think
you’re staying the night. We’ve already put this much into it.”

She twisted around to look behind them. It made sense that the
paparazzi who’d staked out the restaurant would want to know where they were
going next and follow in hopes of another photo op. She couldn’t pinpoint any
specific driver as one of the people she’d seen outside the restaurant, but she
hadn’t looked at them as individuals—only as a pack. “Okay, but…won’t they hang
around for a while?”

Simon’s gaze returned to the buildings whipping past them now
that they’d picked up speed. “Some of them will probably camp out.”

“How will I get home without them noticing?”

“You won’t.” His lips curved into a challenging smile. “I guess
you’ll just have to share my bed.”

11

O
nce they got inside the house, away from
the photographers’ prying eyes, Gail suggested she sleep in the room next to
Simon’s, where they’d each have some privacy. She didn’t want to worry about
brushing up against him during the night, and she didn’t see how having her own
room in such a big house would hurt. With her hair mussed and her clothes
wrinkled, she’d still be able to put on a good show for any media that had the
tenacity to wait until morning.

But he said he had too many domestic workers who might notice
and would, no doubt, find the arrangement odd enough to mention to others. So
Gail relented. They had to look like lovers, which meant she’d probably be the
first woman to spend the night in Simon’s bed without taking off her
clothes.

Actually, she did undress—but in his expansive closet, with the
door closed. She borrowed a T-shirt and a pair of boxers so she could at least
be comfortable. Then she climbed into bed beside him, propped some pillows
behind her back as he’d done and watched an indie film he’d been meaning to vet
on his big screen.

“You’ve got a nice setup here,” she said when the credits began
to roll. She was wondering what they’d do next. Even if he could go to sleep,
she couldn’t. Ever since they’d closed the door to his bedroom, she’d been
trying to pretend that spending time with him was no different from hanging out
with any other platonic friend. She and Joshua had shared a hotel room at
various PR conventions, hadn’t they?

But this didn’t feel the same. Besides the obvious difference
in Josh’s and Simon’s sexual orientation, Simon was sitting only a couple feet
away from her wearing nothing but his boxers. She’d asked him to put on some
pajamas, but he’d given her that look of his, the one that said he’d do as he
damn well pleased.

His stubbornness on that point should’ve bothered her more than
it did. She had a long list of complaints about his character, but she couldn’t
fault his looks or his sex appeal.

“It’s not hard to have a nice setup when you’ve got money,” he
said, and used the remote to start flipping through channels. “It’s the things
you can’t buy that are difficult.”

Even in the dark, with only the glow of the TV screen to light
the room, his bare chest drew her gaze. She knew most women in America would
give anything to trade places with her, but all she wanted was to go home. Being
here, feeling what she was feeling—it wasn’t good. She was the one who’d
insisted on the “no sex” mandate, and yet having sex with Simon was suddenly all
she could think about. No doubt he’d been hoping that would be the case when he
brought her home.

“Are you talking about peace of mind? Or personal
relationships?” Using all the self-restraint she could muster, she shifted her
attention back to the TV.

“Both.”

She nodded. “You do need some help in those areas.”

With a withering glance that said he didn’t appreciate her
comment, he switched to the Golf Channel.

“Golf? Really?”

“Wow, this
is
like being married.”
He kept surfing, but what he chose next didn’t make her any happier.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she said. “I’m equally interested in
basketball.”

One dark eyebrow slid up. “It’s
SportsCenter.
And they’re talking about the Colts. They’re a
football team.”

She hadn’t really been paying attention or she would’ve known
that from following Matt’s career. “Whatever. You sure know how to entertain a
woman.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “You’re the one who tied my
hands.”

“Sort of makes you appreciate all those women who’ll put out,
doesn’t it?” She manufactured a yawn.

“Sort of makes me mad you won’t,” he grumbled.

She couldn’t help laughing at his surliness. Their date tonight
hadn’t been bad. As a matter of fact, she’d enjoyed it. Despite some of his
comments since, she was beginning to believe they might actually get along. “We
could always watch the shopping network.”

“I’d rather stick a fork in my eye.”

“But it’s time I started spending your money.”

“Who says?”

“Isn’t that what wives of movie stars do?”

“You’ve made it abundantly clear that you won’t
really
be my wife.”

“And you’ve made it clear that I could still have some decent
pocket change.”

He got up. “Fine. I don’t care. Just shop on your own
time.”

She pulled the blankets higher. “Whose time is this?”

“Mine,” he said without looking back.

“According to who—you?”

“It’s part of your contract.” He went into the bathroom and
shut the door.

“I didn’t sign anything that said I had to watch TV with you,”
she called after him.

He poked his head out. “You don’t. You only have to share my
bed and pretend to like it. So feel free to roll over and go to sleep.”

She tried. But she was too aware of every move he made.

A few minutes later, he was back in bed, surfing stations
again. “How long are you going to be up?” she asked.

“It’s still early.”

“In which country? Because here it’s after one o’clock.”

“One more program.”

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m going to sleep.”

His hair stood up as he raked a hand through it. “Does that
mean I can finally watch what I want?”

“Of course,” she said, and flopped over, but she’d expected him
to choose something sports-related, like before. She had no idea he’d settle on
a skin flick.

Male and female moans immediately drew her attention back to
the screen, where a woman with obscenely large breasts was having sex with a man
whose body parts were equally exaggerated. It was low-budget, down and dirty,
but it was effective. Gail hadn’t been with a man in so long, a sight like this
couldn’t fail to trigger a deluge of hormones. “What are you doing?” she
gasped.

He blinked innocently at her. “Watching TV.”

“That’s
pornography!
”

“You just said you were going to sleep. I said, ‘Does that mean
I can finally watch what I want?’ and you said, ‘Of course.’”

“But that’s cheating! You’re trying to get me interested.”

He raised his hands as he shook his head. “Not my plan at
all.”

Then he was after revenge. No doubt he thought it was funny to
arouse her, since she was the one who’d taken physical satisfaction off the
menu.

When the woman threw her head back and cried out in ecstasy,
Gail felt her face flush. “I don’t want to watch this!”

“Fine. Then choose something else.” Tossing her the remote, he
scooted down and closed his eyes.

Gail selected a news channel for a few minutes, then a cop show
for a brief time, then an old rerun of
CHiPs.
She’d
won that skirmish, she told herself, satisfied that she’d gained control of the
remote. But as the minutes lengthened and Simon’s breathing grew regular, she
couldn’t help going back to see if the show he’d chosen was still on. And then
she couldn’t seem to pull away from it until it was over. By the time she turned
off the TV and put the remote on the nightstand, she was far from sleep. As a
matter of fact, she was so hot and bothered she wanted to slug Simon.

“Something wrong?” he asked when she couldn’t get
comfortable.

He hadn’t moved in some time. She’d assumed he was asleep. “No,
why?”

“I thought you didn’t want to watch
Here
Comes Pussy.
”

She could hear the laughter in his voice and felt a certain
amount of embarrassment. “I didn’t really watch it. I was just…surfing
around.”

“Sure you were.”

He’d caught her and he knew it. “It was your fault!” She threw
a pillow at him, which he batted away.

“You were in charge of the remote.”

“I told myself not to go back to it, but…”

“But?” he challenged.

She stopped searching for an excuse he wouldn’t believe,
anyway. “It was sort of fascinating,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen anything
like it.”

This seemed to startle him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Damn, you really are straitlaced.” He didn’t sound
pleased.

“And you’re already corrupting me,” she muttered.

“Just living up to my reputation.” He covered a yawn. “Anyway,
if I’d known it was that great, I would’ve watched it with you. What was so
fascinating about it?”

She couldn’t find the words to explain, but having those images
on TV while he was lying next to her, all but naked, had been erotic. Which went
to show how poor her sex life had been so far. He hadn’t even touched her and it
was still the best sexual experience of her life. “It just…was.” Since he’d
played the male lead in her fantasy, she decided she’d be much better off to let
it go at that.

“Good to know you have a libido,” he said.

She shot into a sitting position. “Was that some sort of
test?
”

“It was a joke.” He reached out and took hold of her chin so
that she had to look him in the eye. “But since it was a little more effective
than I expected, I’ll do right by you if you want.”

She might’ve gone for it. There was a small part of her that
was urging her to take what she could get. But he was laughing at her again. She
could feel the bed shake with his mirth.

“You are
so
bad!” she said.

Dropping his hand, he sobered instantly. “I know.”

* * *

These days, Simon slept only in snatches and giving up
alcohol wasn’t making getting through the night any easier. His mouth was dry,
his hands felt shaky and he was nauseous. It was nothing for which he needed a
doctor; just his body’s way of trying to demand he return to his earlier habits.
Maybe it was more of a psychological craving than a physical one. Regardless, he
woke up only forty minutes later and couldn’t go back to sleep.

Shit…
He’d hoped by giving himself
a bed partner, even one who slept on her own side and wouldn’t let him cross
that imaginary line, he’d have better luck, some reason to stay put instead of
rambling around the house. But nothing seemed to help. He figured he could take
a sleeping pill, but considering his state of mind, he was afraid of where that
might lead. He didn’t want to toss away one crutch only to grab another. Ty
deserved a better effort than that.

Rolling over, he scooted toward Gail. He was afraid to get too
close for fear she’d think he was making a move. But maybe the steady sound of
her breathing and the solidity of her presence would anchor him, somehow ease
his insomnia. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was Bella and
this was before they’d torn each other apart—that Ty was still a baby sleeping
in the next room.

It might’ve worked, but Gail wasn’t asleep.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, slightly embarrassed when he realized
she was watching him.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Not much. Not these days. What are you doing up?”

“Thinking.”

He punched his pillow. “Be careful. Don’t do too much of that
or it’ll drive you crazy.”

“Is that what it does to you?”

“Unless I stop the whole process by dousing my brain with
alcohol.”

“Which you can’t do at the moment.”

“Or any moment in the next two years.”

“I’m glad you’re taking that seriously.”

He blew out a sigh. “It’s been a whole seventy-two hours.” He
could’ve given her the minutes, too. He was pretty sure she understood that.

“So…now you’re looking for other distractions.”

“Except there’s nothing on the list of approved
activities.”

She adjusted the bedding. “Is that why you didn’t watch the
porn flick you showed me?”

“Part of the reason.”

“I suppose you could start gambling, if you must have a bad
habit.”

“I’m willing to consider anything.”

“I believe it.” When she laughed, he realized she was more
attractive than he’d ever given her credit for. She wasn’t a beauty in the
classic sense, but…there was
something
about
her.

“You’re a lot prettier when you laugh,” he said.

She didn’t respond, just stared at him with those serious gray
eyes, and he could tell she’d discounted his words as soon as he’d uttered
them.

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“You don’t have to pay me compliments.” Her shrug suggested she
didn’t believe him, anyway. “I don’t expect you to pretend to see something
that’s not there.”

The silence stretched with only the swoop of the ceiling fan to
interrupt it. “Is that why you won’t let me touch you?” he asked at length. “You
think, for me, it’s all about the perfect body?”

She seemed to consider her answer carefully. “No, I don’t think
you care what I look like or that you’d even notice. For you, sex is like
alcohol. You’re just trying to deaden the pain.”

She was right. Since the breakdown of his marriage he’d gone
from one woman to the next. Some of them he’d never seen before or after, never
even learned their names.

“You’re going to be hard person to live with, Ms. DeMarco,” he
said.

Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Why’s that? Because you
can’t bullshit me?”

“Because you see enough truth to think you know it all.”

“I haven’t been wrong yet.”

“Yes, you have. I
do
think you’re
pretty,” he said, and got up.

She leaned on her elbows. “Where are you going?”

“I have a project I’m working on.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need something to do,” he said, and pulled on his jeans.

* * *

Gail woke up alone in Simon’s bed. After dressing in
last night’s clothes, she wandered out of the room and down to the kitchen,
where his chef, a stout man who reminded her of Emil Villa, insisted on making
her an omelet for breakfast. Once she was finished eating, Simon’s driver, a
handsome younger man of maybe twenty-five, came in through the French doors and
announced that he’d be happy to take her home whenever she wanted to leave.