The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

“You know what they say,” Caleb said, smiling. “Honesty’s the best policy.”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t—I don’t think I could sleep just yet.”

He put his hand under her chin and raised her face to his.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly.

“I know.” She smiled again. “That’s one of the dangers of being an actress. Having an overactive imagination, I mean.”

“Is that what you are? An actress?”

“Uh-huh. That’s why I work nights. At the club. It leaves me free for auditions.”

“Would I have seen you in anything?” he said, and they both laughed, knowing it was the most clichéd of clichéd questions.

“Lately? Well, there’s a commercial for Perrier and if you look really fast, I’m shopper number four at the checkout.”

Caleb grinned. “Shopper number four, huh?”

“I tried for shopper two because she gets a line, but the director thought another actress was better for the part.”

“His mistake.”

She grinned back at him. He wanted to cheer.

“When I get my first Tony or my first Oscar, I’ll point that out in my acceptance speech.”

They both laughed again. Then their laughter faded. Time seemed to stretch; the room filled with heavy silence.

And with awareness.

Her awareness of him.

His, of her.

He could hear his pulse beating in his ears.

He took a quick step back.

So did she.

“Coffee coming up,” she said brightly. “Just give me a minute to change, okay?”

He cleared his throat.

“No problem. I’ll just—I’ll just …” What would I just? Nothing sane, if I’m not careful.

She was gone five minutes, which was fine. It gave him time to get control of himself.

And to wonder what she was changing into.

Images flashed through his head. The kind he should have been ashamed of because there was nothing sexual about any of this, and she confirmed that when she reappeared wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, her face scrubbed clean, her hair loose.

How could she be even more lovely without any artifice?

“… jacket.”

He blinked. She held out his suit jacket.