His hand smoothed the hair from my face, tilting my face to his. He looked at me, my desire undoubtedly exposed in the moonlight. He shook his head and sighed. His hands fell from me and he stepped back. “Do you like music?” he asked.
I quirked an eyebrow, disappointed by the absence of his hold. “Yes.” My voice sounded forced, escaping on the breath I’d been holding.
“There’s a bonfire on the beach later. It’s a beautiful night. I play guitar. Join me?” The shadow of a smile lingered on his face.
I looked over my shoulder. Shannon waved frantically at me. “But I…I’m not wearing the right clothes.” Wait. Am I seriously thinking about doing this?
He shrugged. “Keep the jacket on. Come with me. Please.”
Shannon caught up to us, a little breathless, her eyes sliding back and forth between me and Josh. “Sorry. I have to go,” she panted. “It’s getting late and I have this big meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Sure,” I said.
She hugged me as she spoke. “Your room here at the hotel is already booked and paid for. I’ll come get you tomorrow, say around six?”
“Shannon, I’m heading back tomorrow. If it’s all right with you, Claire, it might be easier if I take you to Shannon’s. It’s not out of my way or anything.”
I stared at him, pleasantly surprised, as he waited for my answer. If I agreed, it would have nothing to do with the whole practical side of his suggestion.
Shannon answered for me. “That’d be great, Josh, thanks.” She turned back to me, pressing a room key card into my hand. “Your stuff is already in your room.” She looked at Josh, then me. “Have fun!”
I spoke quickly. “Want me to walk you back?” Wasn’t it weird for me to stay here with him?
“Stay, Claire. Have some fun for a change.” She squeezed my shoulders.
I shot her a look, trying to speak firmly and quietly. “Okay, I won’t walk back with you. But stop saying everything you’re thinking. I’m fine. I’m good.”
“Uh-huh.” Shannon smiled. “You’re on a beach in California, with a night sky full of stars, with a hunky movie star, with you looking like…that, and you’d rather walk me to my car than hang out with him? I wouldn’t classify that as fine or good.”
Josh laughed; there was no way he could avoid hearing every word of our conversation.
“Shannon,” I mumbled.
“You’ve been dealt more than one person should have. You’re single and free. Put yourself first now, okay?” I was acutely aware of Josh as she spoke. “I’ll shut up now. Love you, and I’m glad you’re here.”
She kissed my cheek and half sprinted across the beach back to the party.
Silence hung between us. There was no denying the attraction. That didn’t mean I wanted my best friend to drop cryptic hints about my skeleton-riddled past, or that I had any intention of baring my soul to him. I had little doubt that’s what he wanted, either. I took a deep breath and walked around him, putting him in the moonlight and me in the cover of its shadow.
I took another deep breath and shrugged, smiling. “You were saying something about music?”
His face was intent as he took a step toward me, his hand cupping my cheek gently. “Claire.” His eyes fell to my mouth, his thumb searing against my lips.
I laid my hands over his, stepping closer to him. I was going to kiss him. I wanted to, very much. I didn’t think as I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his. It was a shock, a complete and total surprise. But then his mouth responded—soft, lingering, moving over my lower lip and clinging as I gasped against him. His arms were around me, holding me against him as he deepened the kiss and left me trembling.
I pulled back, reeling from my instinctual response to him. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his cheeks were taut.
I flushed warmly as he asked softly, huskily, “Will you stay with me? Come with me and enjoy the night…the music?”
The word escaped before I could stop it. “Why?”
“There’s something between us.”
I stared up at him.
“In addition to being beautiful and mysterious,” he whispered, “you’re the first person in a very long time who doesn’t want something from Hollywood’s Josh Wiley. But you might have some interest in me.” He smiled down at me, one finger stroking down the side of my face, hesitant. “I hope?”
I frowned at his words, my butterflies arguing that I did want something from him. Loneliness was an emotion I understood. It wasn’t limited to who you were or what you did. Beyond the celebrity status, I could imagine how he must feel: new country, cutthroat business, a sense of disconnect from reality and, for the most part, alone. An unspoken connection had formed between us. I was attracted to this man, more than I should be. Ironically, I could also relate to him…and like him, too.