His smile seemed unexpectedly shy, and that bud of lust deep inside her unfurled.
“Well, you don’t know anybody here,” he said. “And I thought, you know, you might like to meet some people. I’ve got two sisters who are about your age, which is . . . how old?”
“Twenty-five,” she blurted out. That lie was an easy one and probably not even necessary, but duplicity was becoming a habit.
“My sisters are close to that. Wendy is twenty-two and Aimee is nineteen.”
Twenty-two and nineteen. The target demographic for her show, and for every tabloid magazine. His sisters might recognize her, and that wedding reception could be chock-full of another cluster of people who might recognize her too.
“Wouldn’t your family think it’s kind of strange if I came with you? I mean, I’m just the tenant.”
Grant chuckled. “Strange is relative, and my relatives are pretty strange, so I think it would be fine. Actually I know it would be fine because my brother said so.”
“You and your brother talked about me?” Hiccup. The idea tingled through her limbs in a most pleasant fashion, which was ironic considering her whole purpose in being in Bell Harbor was so that people would stop talking about her. But this was different. Grant wasn’t talking about her and The Scandal. She was sure of that because she was certain that at the moment he had no idea who she was.
He had no idea who she was.
That reminder smacked her in the forehead in a most unpleasant fashion. He was flirting with her because he knew nothing about her, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t have suggested she go mix and mingle with his family.
This is my date. Maybe you’ve seen her in action? Show them the top of your head, baby. Then they’ll recognize you.
Goddamn Boyd and his goddamn video. The whole thing left her heart stinging and sent her fledgling attraction to Grant right back into a tight knot. This is where the lying became even more complicated. She didn’t like doing it. She liked Grant too much to lead him astray with more lies, but not enough that she could risk trusting him. She’d liked Boyd all right too, and she’d be an idiot to let two beers, some firelight, and a fuzzy blanket turn into her next sexual misstep.
“Um . . . I don’t—” Hiccup. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She turned to stare at the fire, but not before watching Grant’s expression cool.
He set his empty beer bottle on the coffee table next to the couch. “OK. No big deal if you’d rather not go. I just figured you might want to get out of this house.”
“That’s nice of you, but . . .” What could she say to explain it?
He shook his head. “No worries. I’m going to get some more wood for the fire.” He stood up and tossed his blanket near her feet. It crumpled up and slowly fell to the floor, and she felt like doing the same.
Grant pulled on his coat and stepped outside. The wind sliced through him in much the same way Elaine’s spontaneous rejection had. He’d thought they’d been having a nice bit of conversation tonight. She was laughing at his best adventure stories, not moving her feet back when his stretched out on the couch near hers, staring at him like she’d never seen a man before. Then he’d invited her to the wedding, and her face looked like he’d offered to show her his rash. Maybe she hated weddings, or maybe she was remembering that she had a husband waiting back in Miami, one who was wondering where the hell his wife and all his cash had gone. If that was the case, then she’d done Grant a favor.
Either way, he’d be glad in the morning. Their situation was already awkward enough, and how much more so could it get? How do you say to a woman, hey, I’ll call you if you only live six feet down the hall? She was right to turn him down, and he’d really only asked because he was nervous about facing the rest of Bell Harbor alone. It didn’t have anything to do with the way her skin glowed bronze in the light of the fire, or the way she tapped the edge of her bottle on her lip for a second before drinking her beer. It didn’t have anything to do with the lacy bras she’d left hanging on the towel rod in the bathroom either. None of that had influenced him in the slightest.
He gathered up an armful of wood and looked around to see if any lights were visible in other nearby houses. Someone must have some power, but there was not a flicker anywhere. He was used to pitch-blackness after living so long in inhospitable places, but something about this darkness seemed . . . darker. Maybe it was the cold.
He tromped back inside with a plan to stoke up the fire and make himself a bed on the floor. Elaine could sleep on the couch since their rooms would be ridiculously cold. They could handle this. They were both mature adults.
But he went back to the living room and she was gone.
Chapter 7