I’m glad he can’t see the sad smile I offer. “Some worse than others.”
Rogan brings his hands back to my face, his thumbs drawing soothing arcs over my cheekbones. “Show me your worst. It won’t matter. I’ll want you anyway.”
Lies. He can’t possibly know that. Because he can’t possibly know me.
Reality rushes in and the spell is broken. All too soon, I’m reminded that this was just one moment in time. Perfect yet fleeting, which is all it can ever be for someone like me. In the harsh light of actuality, nothing has changed. Not from today or yesterday or two weeks ago. Rogan is still a star and I’m still a ruin.
I take a step back, lowering my face and pulling my hair back around to its customary place, hiding behind the thick wave like I’ve done for so long. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. I think you’ve got this scene mastered.”
Although he lets me go, Rogan is still too close for my peace of mind. When he speaks, I can smell his sweet breath, a mixture of wine and something that’s just Rogan. “I’ll let you go. For tonight. I think I could still use a little more help, though. I can’t screw it up again Monday. One more night oughta do it. Two at the most.” Even in the dark, I can see the white glint of his teeth between his spread lips.
Holy crap, that smile! It starts back to work immediately, weakening my resolve.
“What if I have plans?”
“Do you?”
I hedge. I’m always hedging with him, it seems. “I’m not sure yet. But I’ll let you know.” It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him, so I stall until I can. Until I’ve been away from him long enough for my brain to clear. Until I can think past the fog of his closeness.
“Just give me a call. Or come by. I’ll be here. Waiting.”
My lips want to smile. My blood wants to sing. My heart wants to soar. But there, in the background, is dread. And sadness. That’s why I can’t let him see how I feel. No one else can know that, least of all Rogan.
I give him a nod and take another step back, hiding. I’m always hiding.
“Now, for the return ride on the Death Machine,” I say, hoping to put things on a more casual level.
Rogan laughs. “It’s better you think of it that way.”
“Why?” I ask. I’d rather talk than focus on the way it feels when he takes my hand to lead me inside, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Because you’d blush a thousand shades of red if you knew how I see it. With you on the back. Those legs of yours wrapped around my waist . . . I call it something else.”
Heat rushes to my core. His words, the sexy lilt to his voice, the picture that he paints . . . I can fill in the blanks. All too clearly.
“Maybe you should’ve picked me up in the minivan, then.”
“You don’t even want to know what I’ve thought of doing to you in that back of that thing.”
I feel my mouth twitch in amusement. “Is that all you think about?”
“No.” He stops to look down at me, his sparkling green eyes luring me in again. “I think about the way your eyes start to look haunted when you think no one is watching. I think about the way you try not to smile when someone is watching. I think about the way you lick the corner of your mouth when you concentrate and how you lose yourself in your work.”
“What?” Knowing that he watches me that closely makes me nervous, but it also makes me feel like laughing. And singing. And twirling.
“You think I don’t see you, don’t you? But I do. I see you. I could watch you and see you all day and never get tired of it.”
“You’d be bored in no time.” I laugh. It bubbles out before I can stop it. It warms me all the way to my toes to know that he pays such close attention to my mannerisms, to my habits. To me. “What else?”
“I think about the way you try to disappear. And how much I don’t want you to.”