Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

"Why good?" I ask, looking at my wine and not him. "Because it's convenient for you? What with me being shown off to the world as your wife-to-be."

He reaches across the table and takes my hand, and I look up into face, his blue eyes dark with an emotion I don't recognize. "Maybe I'm the jealous type."

"Oh." I swallow, tugging my hand away so that I can wipe my palms on the napkin in my lap. "Lyle, this is..."

I want to say this is starting to feel real, but I can't quite get the words out past my fear of utter mortification if he tells me it's just another acting gig for him. Which is why I finish lamely with, "...a really nice surprise. Thank you."

He says, "You're welcome," as the waiter returns with my steak, and we spend the meal on safe topics. The food, which is delicious. The wine, an entire bottle of which we finish off. The pro's and con's of Disneyland versus Disney World, a topic I'm unprepared for since I've never been to Florida.

"As far as I'm concerned, Disneyland is the sentimental favorite," he says.

"Noted. Why?"

"It's the original. And," he adds as he lifts his wine glass, now filled with the first glass from our second bottle, "I'm here with you."

"Oh." I twist my napkin in my lap, feeling ridiculously pleased.

"I had a really good time today." His voice is low and earnest, and although I know that the appropriate response is, I did too, my mouth has other plans. The kind of plans that are going to toss cold water all over these tingly feelings, and yet I can't stop the words from coming.

"Why don't you do this more often?" I ask.

"Well, we only just met..."

"I'm serious," I chide. "And maybe it's none of my business, but from everything I've seen, you're this really great guy. So why don't you date? Why do you, well, do what you do? With the hotel and the girls and the paying, I mean."

"I know what you mean. And I told you before. It's hard to date in LA, especially if you're a celebrity. You never know for certain why a woman's interested."

"That's what you said, but I don't buy it."

"Well, it's the truth. Take it or leave it."

The sensual tone is gone now, and I want to kick myself. Because just like I said, it really isn't any of my business. And yet I had to poke the beast, and probably mess up a pretty nice evening. And all because I'm attracted to the guy who's paying me to be with him. Really not a recipe for future bliss.

"Forget it," I say. "I should never drink wine. It makes me both nosy and stupid."

He doesn't look at me. Instead, he picks up the saltshaker and stares at it as he slowly twists it between his fingers. "I know you must think I'm an asshole, but I do have my reasons."

"I don't think you're an asshole."

"No?" He looks up from the saltshaker. "What do you think?"

For a moment, I consider lying or dodging the question. But he deserves the truth. "I think you're lonely," I say. "And I think you're exhausted."

His forehead crinkles. "Exhausted?"

Now it's my turn to fiddle with the table setting. I pick up a packet of sweetener and turn it over and over in my hand. "It's just that it's a lot of work pretending to be someone you're not." I shrug, as if these words are easy and casual. "Hard enough doing it in your job. But you do it in your life, too."

He says nothing, but I'm watching his face. I see the shadow in his eyes. And I see the way his throat moves as he swallows.

"Maybe I'm wrong," I go on. "But I think I'd like the Lyle Tarpin you're hiding. Just saying," I add with a tentative smile, "in case you ever want to introduce him to me."

18

Her words seemed to hang over the table in a cartoon balloon, and Lyle wanted more than anything to reach up with a pin, pop the bubble, and have everything she'd just said crumble into dust.

Across from him, she winced. "I really should have stayed quiet. Like I said, me and wine and words can go very, very wrong."

"It's okay," he lied. "Really."