With a sigh that almost parted her hair, Richard lifted his arm and slid it around her waist. Pulling her up against him, he smiled down at her and the creases reappeared around his sardonic blue eyes. His warm breath gently fanned her ear when he ducked his head and whispered, “You’re habitually overplaying the death scene.”
Her own eyes sparking retribution, she returned his smile. And laughed, light and tinkling, like an absolute idiot. She could feel herself tensing, knowing what was coming next, and had to steel herself not to physically lean back from his mouth.
It was the most sexless, unexciting kiss she’d had since primary school, when a seven-year-old boy had kissed her on a dare and then run off screaming to stick his face in the drinking fountain. Eric Westfield had used more tongue on the back of her hand. After a couple of seconds, there was another camera flash, and Richard removed his lips from her person, looking equally bored.
“There,” said their proud surrogate mother. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She smiled cajolingly at an unimpressed Lainie. “And you look great. Love the dress.” Which was not exactly convincing, when her own was clearly nicer. “Doesn’t she look nice, Richard?” Lynette prompted him, again with the parental nagging.
Richard spared Lainie’s dress another brief glance. “Hmm,” he said, and Lynette looked as if a few silent prayers for patience were taking place behind her bland expression.
“It’s fortunate you’re so attractive,” she said to Lainie, with a certain amount of relief.
It would obviously be too much to expect the great actor to lower his lips to a plain face.
This whole evening was beginning to feel exhausting.
“Don’t you think Lainie’s pretty?” Lynette had turned into a stuck record.
Richard was eyeing Lynette’s neck, and Lainie wondered if he was valuing her diamonds or indulging in a strangulation fantasy. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said, and she scowled at him.
That was no less flattering than her opinions of him, but really. “Have you ever actually spoken to a woman before? Because with charm like that, I can’t imagine where your new nickname came from.”
His lips tightened. Evidently that one was rankling a little.
“Play nice, kiddies. Remember, you’re smitten,” Lynette warned, and then thankfully took herself off before either one of them could give in to a murderous impulse.
Another camera flashed and people turned to look their way, whispering to one another. A few partygoers entirely gave up on manners and just openly pointed. Richard’s affectionate smile looked more like a grimace from where she was standing. “You can hold my hand,” he said, as if he were the Queen bestowing a knighthood.
She ignored his raised palm. “No, thank you.”
His smile became even more horrifying. “Just take my damn hand. Two more circles of the room, a donation at the door, and we can get the hell out of here.”
It was the prospect of going home to her bed, kettle and chocolate stash that sealed the deal. Suppressing a sigh, she held the tips of his fingers. He rolled his eyes and wrapped a warm, rough hand around hers.
“Why, hello. Fancy seeing you two here. Together.”
They turned to greet the newcomers with identical fixed smiles.
“Two more circles of the room” was easier said than accomplished when they were stopped by friends, colleagues and nosey parkers every two steps, but they finally made it to the exit, where they each made a pledge to the cause. Lainie was impressed against her will by the size of Richard’s donation. He was many things—few of them complimentary—but he wasn’t mean.
In the financial sense. In terms of attitude, half a dozen stage assistants reduced to tears would disagree with her.
They left by the side entrance of the hotel, where only a handful of photographers lay in wait. A valet brought Richard’s car around and received a generous tip but no verbal acknowledgment. Richard didn’t even look at the friendly young man.
When the valet had moved away to take another guest’s keys, she shook her head. “You could have at least said thank you.”
“To whom?”
“The valet.”
Richard shrugged. “I thank people when they do me a favour. He’s paid to do a job. For which I gave him additional compensation.”
“Because it would kill you to just say a quick ‘thanks’ when people work hard to make your life easier?”
Under her steady regard, his high cheekbones took on a very faint tinge of red. He said nothing in response, but when the valet walked back past them, he held up the keys. “Appreciate it,” he said, and the kid blinked and grinned.
“No worries, sir.”
Richard looked at her with a raised brow. “Satisfied?”
She was, oddly. For the first time—ever, possibly—she gave him a genuine smile.