Brad didn’t focus on his phone much. He didn’t spend time on social media from what I could see, leaving it to his fans to talk about him behind his back. I didn’t wonder about that. Some stars didn’t engage that way.
So when I’d walked into the VIP waiting room and he was staring at his phone with his lips straightened in concentration, I’d been tempted to ask what the problem was.
But whatever was on Brad’s phone simply wasn’t my business. He put it away as soon as he got a good look at me, and cracked up at my new, clean, horrible T-shirt. So I’d forgotten about it.
We’d chatted about the DVD and my shirt on the cart ride and in the limo until we pulled into the hotel driveway.
“Everything okay?” I said, giving in to temptation.
“Yeah. It’s cool.” He smiled a big movie star smile that I didn’t trust at all.
We stopped in the circular drive in front of the hotel.
He and Nicole had a suite with a grown-up bedroom and bathroom while she slept in a princess-themed room with a separate bathroom done up in castles and rainbows. I was in the studio next to them. There were only two suites and two studios on the floor. The nanny setup was obvious.
“I should give her a bath,” I said, holding my arms out. Nicole yawned and tucked her head in her dad’s neck.
“You need to give yourself a bath, teacup.” He flicked me my keycard, and I snapped it out of the air.
“But—”
“I’m perfectly capable. Go on, now.” He shooed me.
“All her outfits are in little bags, set up together.” I stepped backward down the hall.
“Are you joking?”
“She was supposed to wear the frogs tomorrow, but she might need them today.”
“Yes, ma’am. Shoo.”
I backed up another step, turned, and went into my room.
He was capable in small doses. I knew that. I was being too sensitive to his inconvenience. He’d live. He might even get closer to his daughter.
The room was small but luxurious, with pillows galore on the queen mattress, a down comforter, a TV as big as a dinner table, and a glass-enclosed shower separate from the tub. There were perks to being a nanny to the rich and famous. I pulled off my pants and soaked them in one of the two bathroom sinks. Brushed the yuck out of my mouth at the other one. Peeled my underwear off, set the water to scalding, and got under it.
I had vomit chunks in my hair. Gross. That’s what I got for puking into the wind. Ugh. What a weird scene. What a weird, fun scene. I’d laugh about it in ten years. Hell, I’d laughed about it five seconds after it happened.
I’d never had so much fun with a family. Not even my own. We never went anywhere because we lived everywhere. When you live in Paris for eight months, where are you going for vacation? That’s how my parents thought. Maybe they were right. Their lives were crazy. The last thing they needed was to block out fun time with my brother and me. They couldn’t even plan a week ahead because they never knew when we’d be packing to move.
I never felt like I’d missed out on anything until I rinsed the shampoo from my hair in a Disneyland hotel shower. I’d missed something, but I wasn’t dead yet. I had plenty of time in life to puke on all kinds of rides.
“What are you laughing about?”
I jumped. An indistinct yet unmistakable man’s form stood on the other side of the wet glass, in the center of the bathroom. Fully dressed. Bare feet.
“Brad!”
He snapped the door open, looked at my naked body up and down.
“I knocked. You didn’t answer.”
He stepped into the shower. His tan shirt got dark under the water, sticking to every curve and angle.
“Jesus! You boiling crawfish in here?” He put his hand on the knob, and I pushed it off.
“Go away.”
“Say it again and I will.”
My mouth made a shape for the G sound, but a rivulet of water flowed down his cheek and changed direction, following the path of least resistance to his lips, and dripped down. It enchanted me. Like the crystal droplets between his eyelashes and the steam rising off his shirt. They glistened as if infused with magic.
“Where’s Nicole?”
“Cleaned up and passed out.”
His lips. The way they moved. Just like on screen, but bigger, better, wetter. Every second that passed took my breath away.
Was he waiting for something?
Me, perhaps?
I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I was frozen. He didn’t belong there. We didn’t belong in the same shower. He didn’t ask first. Why wasn’t I mad? Why didn’t I scream and throw him out?
Because my nipples were tight even in the hot water. Because his body called to mine. Because I was made of flesh and blood.
And common sense. I was made of all the sensible thoughts I’d ever had.
“This can’t be a thing,” I said. “This is now. And it’s a secret.”
I didn’t do things like that. I didn’t have one-night stands or booty calls. Not for any moral reason. They just didn’t interest me anymore. Been there, done that, puked on the T-shirt. Until now, and now was all I had.
“That’s a yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t know what I was agreeing to, exactly, but I was okay with it, whatever it was. As long as it was now, when I wanted it, not when I could make excuses for it.
He crashed his lips into mine.
Without his daughter between us, away from his property, far from Los Angeles, I let myself feel the things I’d forced away.
You’re allowed.
It was such a conscious decision to let go. I had to tell myself I was allowed to enjoy his mouth, his hands, and the pressure of his body against mine. But once I did I was flooded with the agreement of mind and body.
Go ahead.
I kissed him back fully. His hands went down my back, over my ass, grabbing it and pulling me into him.
“How long does she nap?” he whispered in my ear.
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Turn around.”
He turned me gently until I faced the wall with the shower head.
“Let’s get this soap out. Come on. Head back.”
He stroked my hair, letting the water run through it, running his hands over my body in tandem with the superheated water. I groaned when his hands drifted low, slipped between my legs, pressed down where I throbbed most. I bent my knees and spread my legs so he could get all the way down.
Losing my mind. I was losing my mind.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he said into my ear.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but . . .” The last word dropped into a groan as he stroked my clit. My legs wouldn’t hold me.
“Not just once. This isn’t a one-time deal. God, you’re so fucking sexy. I need more than forty-five minutes.”
“We can’t be a thing. Say it’s not a thing. I can’t be a thing.”
“Not a thing.” He pulled moisture from inside me and ran it along my clit.
“Zip it. Oh, God, lock it.”
“Put it in your pocket.”