But as he led her toward the doors, she let out a deep breath and hesitated. “Wait.”
“Huh?”
“Does it really matter? It is Halloween, and at least the entertainment will be dressed like this. I think we should just go for it,” she said with a shrug.
The fact that she was being so incredibly cool about it made him want to drag her out of there even more . . . take her someplace quiet, dark where he could get a better look at that costume.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to share the view with all of the guests inside the nightclub. He moved toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “How good is this makeup? Can I kiss you without eating it?”
Her cheeks flushed despite the paled-out face and she glanced downward.
He titled her chin back up. “What was that?”
She swallowed. “Nothing.” Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her body into him and whispered, “I had been planning on testing it out in the bathroom.”
Fuck me. His grip tightened on her and he was sure she could feel his cock pressing against the constraints of the polyester fabric, but she freed herself and headed toward the nightclub entrance. “Let’s go.”
He watched her hips sway as she strode away from him.
And he followed. Because honestly, he would follow that ass anywhere.
* * *
“I can’t believe she stayed,” Grace said when they joined them back in the club a few minutes later, a look of admiration and respect on her face as Parker disappeared through the crowd toward the bathroom.
Seeing the unconcealed looks of interest of the men watching her as she passed, Tyson resisted the urge to follow and punch a few guys out. He kept watching to make sure no one laid a finger on her—otherwise all bets were off. “Yeah, me neither,” he said distractedly.
“I can’t believe you invited her,” Walker said, sipping his drink.
Tyson pointed at him. “Don’t start, man. You’re already on my shit list.”
Walker shrugged. “I’m just wondering what’s going on with you two. Since you started training her, we are all just waiting for the day you two start doing more than just grappling inside the cage.”
Was their attraction to each other that obvious? He’d been hoping to keep whatever was happening out of the gym and away from nosy eyes. “Nothing’s going on. We’re just hanging out.”
“Right . . . because the last time you hung out with a woman, you hadn’t reached puberty yet,” Walker said.
Tyson turned to Grace. “Help me out here before your fiancé gets knocked out.”
She shook her head, her gaze glued to the event happening around them, making sure everything was going according to plan. “Sorry, Tys, I’m just as shocked as Walker. I thought I was the only woman you could successfully keep in the friend zone.”
He looked away. He hadn’t said anything about a friend zone.
“Ah, there’s the look,” Walker said.
“What look?”
“That guilty-as-shit look. She’s not in the friend zone. You already had sex with her.”
“So? I’ve had sex with a lot of women. Sorry, Grace,” he said, but she was barely listening anymore.
Walker grinned. “Yes, but the difference is, this time you’ve had sex with her and now you’re hanging out with her . . .”
His cell phone chimed with a text message in his pocket and, retrieving it, he grinned as he read it. He was being summoned to the women’s restroom.
* * *
Parker woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing far too early the next morning. Struggling to see through tired eyes, she rolled across the bed and glanced at the call display. Her grandmother. She looked at the time. Seven thirty-eight.
She answered quickly, sitting up and shaking off the sleep. “Grandma?”
Abigail sighed. “Okay, I guess we’re going with Grandma . . .”
“Are you okay?”
“My face is still swollen and wrapped in bandages and I’m sure I terrified the life out of all of the children who came to my door last night . . .”
Parker cringed, feeling guilty for bailing on the older woman the night before, but seriously—three face-lifts? Enough was enough. She was almost eighty; it was time to look old.
“But actually I was calling to ask if you were okay.”
Parker frowned, collapsing back against her pillows, streaked with the airbrush makeup she’d been too tired to wash off the night before. Her grandmother would throw a fit if she knew Parker didn’t always wash her makeup off before bed. “I’m fine.” Exhausted, not having made it to bed until midnight . . . and not getting to sleep until hours after that, once Tyson slipped away in the night. She pushed the annoying thought of his late-night exit aside. “Why do you ask?”
“I take it you haven’t seen today’s paper yet.”
She bolted upright. “No . . .” she said slowly, getting out of bed, tossing on her robe and hurrying down the stairs to the front door.
Her cell chimed with an incoming call and she glanced at it quickly. Her agent? It was six thirty on the coast. What did he want so early? Her stomach knotted—she suspected it had to be the same reason her grandmother was calling. “Can you hang on just a sec, Grandma?” she said before clicking over. “Ian?”
“Are you trying to sink your career?” he asked.
Shit. What the hell was in that paper? “I have no idea what you’re talking about . . . Give me a minute to catch up. I’m going to get my paper now,” she mumbled, opening the door and retrieving that day’s paper from her step.
“Let me know when you see it,” he grumbled.
Laying it on her kitchen table, she was relieved to see whatever it was hadn’t made the front page at least. “Help me out here. What section?”
“Entertainment.”
She quickly flipped to it. Her stomach took a dive. First page news of that section was the headline “Is Parker Hamilton’s career that bad?” above a picture of her in the Zombie Burlesque costume inside the nightclub. She groaned and buried her face in her hand. “Damn it!” She should have known press would be there—a new club opening in Vegas was a big deal. She just hadn’t expected this spin to be put on her good-natured attempt at making the best of last night’s costume mixup. So much for people not recognizing her.
Remembering her grandmother on the other line, she said, “Hold a sec, Ian.” She switched to the other line. “Grandma, I see the article and it was all just a misunderstanding. I thought it was a costume party.” She shook her head as her eyes skimmed the article. Career over . . . washed-up child actress . . . Oh, crap.
“Not exactly a great way to keep a low profile until your new movie is announced,” Abigail said.
“I know . . .” Damn Tyson! Or Walker or whoever was to blame for this.
Herself.
Tyson had suggested they leave. She’d been the one who’d offered to stay. This was her own fault. “I wasn’t expecting any media attention. I haven’t had any in so long,” she mumbled. Of course the paparazzi preferred to strike when the story could be twisted to stir up drama and controversy.
“They always find you on your worst days, sweetheart. Chin up. It will blow over,” Abigail said.
She doubted she would get the same reaction from her agent. “Thanks, Grandma . . . I’ll talk to you later.” Clicking back over to Ian, she said, “Look, this was supposed to be a costume party, that’s all. I’m not the newest member of the . . .” She scanned the article. “Sexy Zombie Squad.” She slumped in her chair. “How do we fix this?” Her head hurt. It was too early and she was just a little too hung-over to be dealing with this right now.
“I’ll call Marsha.”
Her publicist. If anyone could fix this, she could.
“We’ll release a statement. Unfortunately, I think we will have to announce the movie role in an attempt to try to steal the focus away from this.”