Now, I’m waiting in Kane’s trailer for him to make sure the rest of the crew closes the set before heading off. I take a hearty gulp from the glass of wine Kane poured me before walking out the door ten minutes earlier with the promise of returning quickly.
Fortitude of strength in the form of liquid courage.
I reach out to the bottle of wine chilling on the table and refill my already empty glass. Looking around, I notice how homey it looks for being his temporary home away from home.
It’s not large, but it’s inviting. There’s a small kitchen area; however, after peeking in the fridge, it’s clear he’s never used it. Behind the kitchen is a doorway that leads into a bedroom. I looked, but quickly closed the door when I saw some of his shoes neatly lined in the corner. All of Kirby’s earlier comments came rushing back. I slammed the door so hard that I startled myself when the noise rang out around me. The other side is a worn couch and television set up. And the middle of the room, where I’ve determined is the safest spot to be, holds a small four-person table and chairs.
Middle ground. Away from the bed … and those shoes. Not on the couch where things would feel a little too intimate for me. Safe.
Ugh. There’s that word again. I’m starting to hate that word.
I look over at the couch again. It would be safer than the bed, but not something I would have picked because it wasn’t the stupid safe choice.
Screw it.
Grabbing the bucket holding the wine and ice in one hand and my glass in the other, I walk over to the couch and place the bucket on the coffee table. Then I spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to find a position I can feel good about. When I relax and lean back, I feel like my pants are too tight and my gut has some sort of neon sign saying ‘hey, look at me.’ Scooting to the edge makes me look about as nervous as I feel.
Dang it.
Finally, after draining my second glass, I settle on the couch and make a mental note to keep my back straight so my pants don’t get so tight around my middle.
I was just about to reach out and refill my glass—again—when the door clicks and Kane climbs in. His eyes roam from the kitchen to the table, and when he sees that I’m settled on the couch, his eyes go soft. Clearly, he thought I would have picked the table too.
“Get started without me?” he asks with a nod to the bottle in my hand.
“Hey, you’re the one who poured the first glass,” I tell him, a little too loudly, and then—to my horror— I giggle.
Giggle.
I don’t giggle.
He shakes his head, and his smile grows slightly.
“You make me feel so weird.” Uh. Hello? Filter … did you decide to just take a hike and leave me?
He laughs softly but doesn’t move toward me.
“Like really weird.”
“Good weird?” he questions, that darn smile not dimming at all.
“Even your teeth are handsome.” His left brow arches. My eyes follow the movement and all thoughts about his impeccable teeth are abandoned. “Do you pluck your eyebrows?” God, Willow, shut up.
“No, Willow.”
“Well, they’re really nice eyebrows.”
“Thank you.” He laughs. He looks at the bottle, over halfway empty, and then back at my face. “Are you drunk?”
“I didn’t think so five minutes ago, but I think I’m well past tipsy.”
He lets out a low, but deep, laugh and finally moves toward me. “Let’s get some of that food you didn’t think we would need.”
I follow his movements when he walks over to the table and leans down to collect a cooler placed near the back wall. My eyes move down from his face, and I watch the fabric of his black tee shirt pull against his muscles. His forearms flex when he lifts the cooler, and before he turns, I note how good his butt looks in his denim jeans.
“Is it hot in here?” I ask and lean back to fan my face. “It feels hot.”
“It’s not hot, Willow,” he responds, bringing the cooler over and sitting next to me on the couch.
Right next to me.
Not a few spaces down to leave plenty of space between us. Nope, right next to me, so close that his thick thigh presses against mine. The heat his touch brings feels like a scorching burn through the fabric of our pants.
“Hey,” he says, his hypnotic voice soft like smooth velvet.
“Hi,” I squeak.
“Are you nervous?”
I nod. “Uh, clearly. I just sucked back the majority of this bottle trying to calm myself down.”
His laugh is low. His eyes are shining brightly. “What makes you so nervous around me?” He turns his attention to the cooler and pulls out some grapes and cheese slices.
Pulling a plate from inside, he arranges a few slices before passing it over to me. I look at the plate as if it’s a snake about to bite me. I hate eating in front of people. I always wonder if they can hear each bite and then swallow as it settles in my stomach.
Reaching out, I take the offering and pick up one of the grapes, plopping it in my mouth and chewing, not taking my eyes from his.
“Willow, talk to me.”
I grab a slice of the cheese and swallow it down before I speak. “You’re really intimidating.”
His brow furrows. He doesn’t speak, but nods, waiting for me to continue.
“And … okay, well, you make me feel things that I have no idea how to process.”
He nods. “Yeah, Willow, likewise.”
“What?”
“Honesty, right?” he asks and waits for my confirmation before continuing. “A few years ago, I was at a charity function in New York for one of the local hospitals. They were opening a new cancer treatment center, and Kane Entertainment was one of the majority donors. That, Willow, was the first time in my life I felt something burn my senses into awareness. I couldn’t understand it. The spark against my skin, the tingles down my spine—none of it made sense. It wasn’t until about an hour into the event that I found out why … or I should say who had caused it.”
“What?” I gasp, knowing exactly what event to which he was referring.
He doesn’t speak, but when my eyes widen, he nods, letting out a soft laugh.
“Yeah. You. I didn’t know anything about you. I went to leave the table as soon as dinner was over, but that was when you stood from your table and left with someone else. I brushed it off because it was clear that you were spoken for, but I didn’t feel it again until that day at Buchanan’s firm. Thirty-five years and not once has someone made me feel like that, Willow. I still knew nothing about you, but there was no way I was going to ignore what my body was telling me. It confused the hell out of me. I felt protective of you. A stranger to me in every sense of the word, but it wasn’t just that foreign protectiveness that confused me. I felt as if I had finally found something I hadn’t even realized I had been searching for.”
“But … Jesus, Kane, I was a mess.”
“No, Willow, you weren’t.”
I look down at my now empty plate before leaning forward and placing it on the table. The buzz I had felt earlier ebbed, and I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with getting something in my stomach and everything to do with the shock his words caused.
“That day …” I pause, looking down at my hands. “Kane, I was without a doubt a mess that day. Emotional and a ball of nerves because I was having to deal with my jerk of an ex and my sister—two people who loved to see me suffer.”
“I remember, Willow, but I also remember seeing someone who, even though she was suffering through something hard, pushed herself through it.”
“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree. I was there, Kane. Sprawled on the floor and seconds away from breaking.”
“I told you before that your eyes are like a window to your thoughts, Willow. I didn’t have to know you to be able to see the strength in those beautiful eyes. You just hadn’t realized it yet.”
I shake my head.