I nod. “Sounds fair.”
“In other words, don’t tell me after the fact you’ve fucked someone else, okay? Tell me we’re done before you do it. Give me a chance to win you back.”
“Ben, I understand. I get it. Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I think you think I’m a hell of a lot more promiscuous than I am. In point of fact, I haven’t had sex with anybody for two months. I’ve been going through a bit of a hermit phase since a bad breakup.”
His face lights up. “It’s been a couple months for me, too.”
“Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I couldn’t be bothered. I saw a photo of a certain yoga instructor on the beach and I couldn’t get her out of my head.”
I study his earnest face and suddenly have this distinct thought: this guy actually thinks he’s in love with me. Jesus Christ. It’s written all over his face. “Ben, listen,” I say. “Just don’t dream too big when it comes to me, okay? I’m not a girl who dreams of white picket fences and fairytales. My parents divorced when I was five. My dad took off and never came back. My MO has always been to stay for as long as the relationship is good and take off when things turn to shit. Life’s too short to do otherwise. So, please, let’s just take it day by day.”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me. As long as I’m the only guy you’re taking it day by day with.”
“Fine. Good.” I pat his hand. “Good talk.”
“Come here.” He pulls me to him and I rest my cheek on his chest.
“Damn, I’m suddenly wiped out,” I say, yawning.
“Sleep,” he says softly.
I feel his fingertips glide softly down my back and my eyelids turn heavy.
“I’ve had a blast with you tonight, Kaylee,” he says, his chest rising and falling underneath my cheek.
“Same here,” I say softly. They’re the last words I say before falling into blissful sleep in his arms.
Five
Three Months Later . . .
I snuggle up to Ben’s naked body in my bed and read from the script page in my hand—the lines Ben’s been dutifully practicing for his big audition tomorrow. “These are evil men,” I say. “We can’t defeat them, just you and me, Trent. We’d need an army. Oh, God, I’m so scared, Trent.”
“Don’t be scared, Lenora,” Ben coos, using his best American accent—which, I’ve got to admit, ain’t so great. “As long as we’re together,” he continues, his deep voice rumbling underneath my cheek, “we can conquer anything—even Gershwin and his goons.”
“Goons,” I correct.
“Goons. Goons?”
“Goons.”
“Goons?”
“Better,” I lie.
“Damn. That’s a tough one. Goons.”
“You’ve got it,” I say, simply because I truly don’t think he’ll ever get it and I don’t want him to feel self-conscious about it during the audition. But, yeah, I’m totally lying. He didn’t get it. “That was almost perfect, babe. Just a little tweak with a vocal coach after you get the part and you’ll be golden.” He squeezes me. And I can tell by his body language, his mind is racing with anxiety about tomorrow. “Keep going,” I say softly. “Don’t worry about the accent. That’s icing. The cake is you. Your charisma. Your charm. That’s why they’ve given you three callbacks.”
Ben clears his throat. “Let them send their tanks. Let them fire their bazookas.”
“Fire their bazookas,” I say, correcting his accent again. “Fire.”
“Fire their bazookas.”
I giggle. I don’t mean to do it, but he’s so damned cute I can’t help myself.
“Shit. I think Trent ate an Aussie for dinner last night,” he says. He groans and throws his head back against my pillow. “Fuck. I’m not gonna get it.”
“You will. There’s no doubt in my mind.” I thread my fingers in his. “Don’t worry about the accent thing, babe. Just go in there and dazzle them and melt their panties. That’s the thing they care about, not how you say fire. If they want you badly enough, they’ll just rewrite Trent as Australian. Easy peasy.”
“They can’t do that, babe. Fans of the books would riot if Trent Dowager talked like an Aussie.”
“Well, I happen to think Aussies are sexy as fuck.” I throw the script onto my nightstand and then, in one fluid motion, straddle him.
He shoots me a huge, sexy smile and immediately brings his large palms to my naked breasts. “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Hello.”
“What would I do without you?” he asks.
“Lie around being very gorgeous but very sad.”
“Fuckin’ oath, I would. I’d be bloody miserable.”
I run my fingers over his chest . . . and lean down to kiss him . . . but suddenly, the look on his face makes me freeze before our lips connect. “What?”
“You know what.”
“No, Ben.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He laughs. “Yes.”
“No.”
“I have to say it, Kaylee. I can’t hold back anymore. Your six-month rule is stupid and I won’t obey it any longer. I refuse.”