They made spaghetti for dinner, wanting to savor every minute they had together instead of wasting time waiting for a table in a restaurant only to be interrupted by more fans. After dinner they lay by the pool cuddled up on a lounge chair, making wishes on stars. I hope you don’t blow your scenes as you finish filming. I hope you don’t burn your next wedding cake. They were careful not to mention their upcoming time apart. But now, as he lay with Willow sleeping soundly in his arms, in a room that no longer felt like home, as dawn crept over the hills, their time apart was all he could think about.
He’d arranged a surprise for her back in Sweetwater, and he wished he could be there to see her face when she saw it. She’d be pissed at first, because in her eyes the things he did were too big, but his girl deserved everything she ever wanted. And he was going to be the man to give it to her.
Willow stirred. “Hi,” she said groggily. Her hair was a tangled mess from his greedy hands, she had sheet prints on her cheek and a little razor burn beside her mouth from their fervent kisses, and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Did I wake you?”
“Mm-mm.” She stretched and glanced at the clock. “Do I really have to leave in three hours?”
He moved over her, kissing her neck and shoulder. Her skin was warm and inviting. “You can stay with me.”
She wound her arms around his neck, cradling his hips between her thighs. “I wish I could, but I have a bridal shower to cater Wednesday, and I have to go back and fight with my distributor about getting a new oven.”
“What about a man to take care of?”
“I thought you’d be upset if I had a man in Sweetwater and you here.”
“You wicked little vamp.” He kissed her as she laughed.
“Two weeks ago we thought we’d be staging a breakup.” She grabbed his face, grinning from ear to ear. “Now you’re stuck with me.”
“Just the way I like it.”
He slid his hands beneath her butt, angling her hips up as their bodies came together. Fire radiated from his core, thrummed through his limbs.
“Love me, Z—”
He covered her mouth with his and loved her until sunlight snuck in through the curtains, warming their tangled legs. And then he loved her again—in bed, in the shower, and he tried to tackle her for a quickie while she dressed, but she threatened his manhood.
On the way to the airport they stopped at Claude’s Café, located around the corner from Zane’s house. It was just about the only place he could go without being hassled by tourists. It was more of a dive than a café, with concrete walls and hand-painted signs. Refurbished stools, large black-and-white floor tiles, and an old-fashioned Formica countertop with metal edging rounded out the eclectic café.
“Dude.” Claude Bouche lifted his chin in greeting. His beanie hung halfway off his head, and sprigs of thick dark curls peeked out from beneath the edges. “Good to see you again.” He gave Willow a blatant, and approving, once-over. “How’s it goin’, beautiful?”
“Watch it, Claude.” Zane wrapped his arms around Willow from behind. “I’m going to marry this girl one day.” His phone vibrated, and she wiggled out of his arms and ordered her coffee.
He read the text from his public relations rep with confusion and navigated to the links she’d sent. Anger burned in his gut as pictures of Willow sprawled out on a bed flashed before his eyes on one gossip site after another. It had to be a hoax. He was going to slaughter whoever was responsible for this shit.
“Wills,” he said, mentally gearing up to fight the attack head-on. “You’ve never had nearly naked pictures of yourself taken, have you?” He showed her the phone. “Some asshole’s trying to pretend they’ve got racy pictures of you.”
The blood drained from her face.
“Wills?”
She stormed out of the café and headed straight for the car. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“Talk to me, Willow. What’s going on? Did you have these taken?”
“Yes! I had them taken for you.”
He froze. “For me?”
She climbed into the car and stared out the window, refusing to speak another word.
He wished he’d called his driver. The goddamn traffic was relentless, and he needed to hold her and get to the bottom of this mess. He’d been giving her time to calm down, but as they neared the airport, he couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“I don’t understand. You had these pictures taken for me?”
“Yes! What don’t you understand?” Tears tumbled down her cheeks. “I was eighteen and beyond stupid. I thought I could win you over by sending you sexy pictures, and then you stopped texting and I never went to pick them up. That seems like a hundred years ago. I don’t know why they’re all over the Internet now or how they got there. All I know is that every time I leave Sweetwater my life falls apart.”
The knowledge annihilated him. Between the hurt in her eyes, in her voice, her words, and the anger in his gut, he could barely breathe. His sweet, trusting girl, who had always hated people looking at her breasts, had taken boudoir pictures for him? He ground his teeth against the stream of curses vying for release and reached for her hand.
She swatted it away, turning her whole body toward the door.
“Wills, I . . . Jesus.” No apology was big enough for what had happened all those years ago, so he focused on the only thing he could do. “The goddamn photographer must have leaked the pictures. I’ll tear him apart limb by limb. I’ll sue the bastard until he hasn’t got a penny to his name.”
“Ohmygod,” she said under her breath. “You can’t fix this with money.”
“Like hell I can’t.”
She gave him a tearful, disbelieving stare. “People can’t unsee those pictures, Zane. Maybe you’re used to this kind of thing, but I’m not, and I don’t want it in my life. I can’t take it.”
“Baby, this will blow over. You’ll see. As soon as another story hits, this will be—”
“Blow over?” She scoffed, staring out the window again, arms crossed, as painful as a barbed-wire barrier between them that he wanted to tear the fuck down. “Everyone will see those pictures if they haven’t already. My parents, my customers . . .” Her jaw clenched. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Willow—”
“Don’t. Just . . . don’t.”
He bit his tongue but didn’t silence his mind. He was going to fix this, no matter what the cost.
When they finally reached the airport, he navigated to the private parking area by the airstrip, and Willow strode from the car before he even cut the engine. He grabbed her bags, flagged the pilot to load them onto the plane, and caught up to her.
“Willow, stop. Please, baby.” He was not going to lose her over this. No frigging way.
She turned, eyes red and damp, her lower lip trembling, slicing even deeper as she continued storming across the tarmac toward the plane. “Don’t, Zane. This is my fault.” Her voice escalated again, and every word struck him like a bullet. “I made a horrible decision, and it’s biting me in the ass. Now I have to go home and clean up my mess.”