One Hot Secret: A Second Chance Romance (Love on Fire)

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No!” Isla says. “You’ve had a massive shock. Don’t apologize for crying. It’s okay.” She holds me close, and fresh tears come to me.

  “He lied to me!” I say harshly. The shock is gone. What I feel now is red hot anger. “He used me, knowing all along he would be out of my simple little life and back to his fancy one.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, Grace,” Isla says.

  “What do you call it when you let a man into your life in all the ways that a man can, and then you find out later that he lied to you?” My mouth tastes bitter. Pain ripples through me, and my skin burns with shame. Had he been laughing at me the whole time that I could imagine a big movie star like him would be interested in a simple girl like me?

  It hurts. But I only have myself to blame. I ignored all the warning signs, some so big that they were practically sticking out of his forehead. How could I have thought it nothing that he had never taken me to his place? For almost three weeks of sleeping together he always found a way to divert my attention from wanting to go to his place.

  I was such a trusting fool.

  “He might have a good explanation for it,” Isla says. “Don’t condemn him before hearing him out.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear his explanations. There’s no explanation for lying to someone.”

  A knock comes on the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Isla says and hurries to the door.

  “There’s a call for Grace in the chief’s office,” someone says.

  I do my best to wipe my face before going to the chief’s office. Thankfully, it’s empty, but the phone is out of its cradle. I pick it up, my heart pumping because I have an inkling who it is.

  “Yes,” I bark rudely.

  “Grace, it’s Jack. You’re not picking up your phone. I was worried.”

  I really want to hear what lie he’ll come up with. Then maybe I can have a chance to laugh at him as well. “You found me.”

  “I owe you an explanation. I’m really sorry it came out before I could tell you myself.”

  He doesn’t even have a ready lie. I’ve wasted enough time. “Look, Jack, Kyle, or whatever the fuck your name is, I’m not interested in an explanation. What I want you to do is to get out of my life. I never want to see or hear from you ever again. Got it?”

  I don’t wait for an answer. I bang the phone back to its cradle and experience a moment of satisfaction. Except that it’s short-lived and shallow. Two seconds later, my chest constricts, and I’m a breath away from bursting into tears in the chief’s office.

  Then the bell goes off, and a dispatch goes off over the speakers. I’ve never been so pleased to hear that sound.

  Chapter 13

  Jack

  They are everywhere. I feel as if I’m under siege. I can’t leave my house, and Grace won’t take my calls. I’m growing more desperate by the day and getting very little work done. I’m waking up at night drenched in sweat. I can’t lose her. Not when I just found her. It’s afternoon, and I’m in the library practicing scenes from the movie, which we’ll start shooting in two weeks. But I’m not working. All I can think about is Grace.

  We’ve tried to figure out how the paparazzi caught on that it was me, and we’ve come to the conclusion that it was the night I took Grace out to dinner at La Sade. They figured that I had to be someone monied, and they probably followed me as I led them home. From there, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I’m glad the fuckers didn’t bother Grace. They didn’t follow her trail, and I’m glad they are not intruding into her life.

  I need to talk to Grace and explain myself. I fear that this is it for us. More so now that I know why she would never date a celebrity. I need to convince her that it can work between us, but to do that, I need to see her or at least talk to her.

  Just as I’m feeling as if I’ll go mad, my phone vibrates, and I jump for it. It’s Greg. I swallow down my disappointment.

  “Hey, man,” I say by way of greeting.

  “Are you home? I’m in the neighborhood,” he says.

  “I’m home.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  He finds me pacing the room ten minutes later. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”

  “Are they still outside the gate?” The last time I’d checked on the CCTV cameras, the paparazzi were still outside my gate. I feel like a prisoner in my own home.

  “Oh yes, but there are cops. Wasn’t too difficult driving in. Man, you look like shit,” Greg says.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “I feel worse.”

  “Maybe you should give them something, then they’ll stop hounding you,” Greg says.

  “Yeah, Sebastian and my publicist are pushing me to give a short interview,” I tell him.

  “I’m with them,” Greg says.

  “Want a drink?” I ask him. I feel so tightly wound up that if someone so much as touches me, I’ll snap.

  “Sure. A cold beer would be awesome.”

  I lead the way to the kitchen to grab some beers from the fridge. We carry them to the living room, and as soon we enter, Greg spots two of the paintings I bought off Grace.

  “What the?” he murmurs going to stand closer to the portrait that is hung above the mantelpiece. “Who did this?”

  “Grace,” I tell him, forgetting my own woes as I watch his reaction. I can see that he is as entranced as I had been.

  “The same Grace?”

  I laugh. “Yes. She’s gifted, isn’t she?”

  “She’s more than gifted. She captured a part of your soul in that painting. It’s almost as if we can see your thoughts.”

  I swallow hard. I can still see Grace’s face when she opened the door for me that day, with paint smeared on her face and clothes. But it’s the passion and excitement in her eyes I remember the most.

  “Does she have more finished work?” Greg says as he moves to the landscape. I can tell that he’s fighting to keep the excitement from his voice.

  “Plenty. They are lined up in the spare bedroom she uses as a studio.”

  “I’ve got to see them,” Greg says, dropping all pretenses of being cool.

  “Hold your horses. She’s not going to let you see her paintings. Not now. She’ll associate you with me. Be patient. I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

  He doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “You sure no one else will snag those paintings before I take a look?”

  “Double sure.”

  Greg goes to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I follow him. We look out to the well-kept gardens with gorgeous bright red roses.

  “You’re really serious about her, aren’t you?” he says quietly.

  “I’ve never felt this way about any other woman. She’s real, Greg, and you know how rare that is in the showbiz business.” The last three days without Grace have been the worst that I can remember. It feels as if the sunshine has gone from my life.

  “Tell me about it,” Greg says.

  He’s been thick in the business as well. His ex-wife is one of the most gifted actresses, and she has a temperament to match. She had had affairs when they were married, and Greg had only come to find out about it afterward.

  Being in the same business, I’d heard rumors of Maryann’s cheating, and being the good friend that I was, I’d told Greg to investigate. He’d flown off the handle, and we hadn’t spoken for six months. The first thing he did when he and Maryann separated was to come to me to apologize.

  “So what will you do?” Greg says.

  “I need to deflate attention away from me, so I’ll do the interview, and hopefully, that will satisfy the vultures. Then I’ll get the space I need to be alone with Grace.” I haven’t risked going to her place when I’m being followed everywhere. The last thing I want is for them to find out about Grace. If they do, my chances will drop to zero percent.

  “Sounds like the smartest thing to do. They’ll lose interest when they hear the story from the ho
rse’s mouth,” Greg says.

  We have another beer, and then Greg leaves after casting another longing look at Grace’s paintings.

  “Call Sebastian and Anna. I’ll do the interview. Tell them to set them up as soon as possible.”

  ***

  I sit still as a makeup artist brushes powder across my face. The momentous nature of this interview doesn’t escape me, but I’m too worried about Grace to obsess over what my fans will think of the new me. I’ve grown used to my scarred face, and so have the people around me, but I’m prepared to get all sorts of comments.

  “Ready, Mr. Bryce?” one of the producers of the show asks when the makeup artist is done.

  The interview has been set up on my front lawn with the house as a backdrop. My publicists chose the Morgan Morris show to do the interview for the host’s respectful way of handling interviews. He has been in this game for decades and commands respect everywhere.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say.

  Morgan Morris is a lanky man with gray hair and a friendly manner. He also has sharp, intelligent blue eyes that miss nothing. Now, he comes over to me and shakes my hand.

  “Thank you for doing this, Kyle,” he says.

  “My people trust you, and so do I, Morgan,” I tell him and shake his hand.

  He smiles and sits down on the seat arranged for him. He takes me through a few things, like the questions he’ll ask. I’m okay with all of them, especially the ones that deal with the new movie we’ll start shooting soon.

  Above us, the sun disappears behind the clouds leaving orange streaks of color in its wake. It’s a beautiful evening. An evening I wish I could share with Grace. The show is going to be live, and they are expecting millions of viewers to tune in. Grace won’t be among those people. She’s not a TV person. During her free time, she’s either reading or in her studio, creating magic with her gifted hands.

  Lights placed in strategic spots come on, momentarily blinding me. I blink several times to get my eyes used to the glaring light. The makeup artist brushes my nose again, and the producer counts down, and the interview begins.

  I watch Morgan do his thing, smiling for the camera and making the viewers believe that he’s a close friend. A part of the family even. He introduces me, and I smile for the camera.

  “I’m sure most of you are thinking that I must have made a mistake, and this is not Kyle Bryce,” he says with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I’m not mistaken. I promise you that this is Kyle Bryce.”

  A monitor out of view of the viewer shows my previous face. I look at it expecting to feel pangs of nostalgia, but nothing comes. Grace knew and liked the face I’m wearing now.

  “Kyle, can you tell us the journey that led to the drastic change we see in your looks now?” Morgan says.

  “Sure,” I say and launch into the tale of the accident.

  I’d been driving my SUV along the road, and then I made a turn I’d made countless times to get to my place. A blue truck came flying at me from nowhere, and the next thing I knew, I was flying into the windshield. The airbag never went off. My face took the impact of the windshield and the steering wheel. I broke most of the bones in my face as well as having a punctured lung from broken ribs. My body was broken, but thankfully, I was unconscious most of the time I was in intensive care.

  “When did you first see your face, and what was your reaction?” Morgan asks.

  “A month after the accident when they finally removed the bandages. My reaction was, who the heck is that dude staring back at me? I had completely changed.” I chuckle when I remember my friends’ reactions when they first saw me.

  “When the bandages were removed, a visitor would enter my hospital room, take a look at me, apologize and then leave.”

  Morgan laughs before he grows solemn and asks me the next question. “I heard that you refused to have cosmetic surgery to return your face to how it was before the accident. Did you not worry about the impact it would have on your career?”

  I contemplate his question for a few seconds before answering, “Everyone was pushing me to get the surgery done, which was understandable as that was how people recognized me.”

  “What led you to make that decision?” Morgan asks.

  “Our looks and bodies are the vehicles with which we come into this world. That can change in an instant. A disease or an accident can turn your face to a pulp. But what will never change is the person you are inside. I knew that by now, my fans knew who I was, and it didn’t matter that the vehicle I came in had changed. I’m still Kyle Bryce.”

  “That’s deep,” Morgan says. “Tell us about being unrecognizable and how that has been?”

  I laugh. “It’s been an experience and being at the fire station and seeing what those brave men and women do every day was beyond humbling.”

  “Did you actually fight fires?” Morgan asks.

  “I did, and it was scary as hell.”

  We talk about the fire station experience for several more minutes.

  “I have two last questions to ask you. First, what did you dislike about that experience?”

  “That one’s easy. I came to care a lot about people who knew me as Jack, and I hated that I had to lie about who I was. It got worse by the day but admitting to my real identity would have meant compromising their privacy. Yeah. That haunted me.”

  “That must have been tough,” Morgan says.

  “Yeah. I missed my nice car too. I had to borrow a car or get a friend to pick and drop me at work.”

  Morgan makes fun of that and teases me that I’ve become a little spoiled. It’s true. As much as we like to think that fame and fortune have not changed us, they have. I like my life, and I enjoy the things that I’ve worked hard for. I enjoy eating in five-star restaurants with celebrated chefs cooking for me, and I like going on luxurious vacations when the work is done. I also enjoy driving my Porsche and Lamborghini.

  “What was the thing that you learned you’d forgotten by stepping out of your movie star persona?” Morgan says.

  “I learned that there are real people out there. People who are not interested in how famous you are or who you know. People who love and let you into their loves with no reservations, just an open heart. I found gems that I would not have found if I’d been Kyle Bryce.”

  Chapter 14

  Grace

  I watch the interview over and over again, pressing repeat when it comes to the end. The very end captures my attention, and I feel as if Jack is speaking to me. I can’t think of him as Kyle. He’s Jack to me. I listen to his explanation again about why he couldn’t come clean with who he really was. I don’t buy that, and if he were here, I would tell him so. That explanation applies to everyone else except me. He didn’t trust me, that’s why he didn’t tell me. And he had no intention of continuing with our affair once the three weeks were over.

  I stare at Jack. Comparing his looks, I think that he looks hotter now than before. It’s amazing that a person can undergo such a drastic change. I got tears in my eyes when he talked about the body being the vessel through which we come into the world. I miss him so much. My hands itch to reach out and stroke his handsome face. His deep voice resonates through me, reminding me of private moments shared. He laughs, and I miss hearing that with an intensity that causes physical pain.

  The bell rings suddenly, startling me. I turn off the TV, pad to the door, and press the intercom.

  “Grace, it’s me.”

  “Jack?” I say.

  “Yes, can I please come in. I need to speak to you,” he says, his tone pleading.

  I want to say no so badly. I want to move on with my life and forget about the blue-eyed firefighter I fell in love with. But I can’t bring myself to say the words that will get him out of my life forever.

  It’s only fair to hear his side of the story before deciding. “Ten minutes.”

  He exhales loudly. “That’s all I need.”

  I let him in and fling the door open. The c
reak of the elevator fills the air before it comes to a halt. A minute later, Jack is strolling toward me.

  All air leaves my lungs as I stare at him. His gaze burns through me, and tingles vibrate through every part of my body. Jack has an aura about him that sets him apart from everyone else.

  He comes to a stop right in front of me, and I hope that he cannot hear the hammering of my heart.

  “Grace.” His voice is a whisper, a caress.

  His eyes take me in as if he can’t quite believe that I’m standing right in front of him. I harden my heart and remind myself that this is a man who is used to the company of beautiful women. I’m nothing to him.

  “Come in,” I say.

  He follows me in. I take him to the kitchen with the pretext of needing coffee. What I actually need is something to keep me occupied. Anything to take my attention from Jack and how desperately I need to feel his mouth on mine and his hands on my body.

  “Coffee?” I ask him.

  “Yes, please, thank you,” he says.

  I can feel his eyes on me as I go about getting the cups ready and the coffee going. The silence is deafening, and I fight the urge to turn to Jack and see what he’s doing. When the coffee is ready, I carry both our cups to the island and sit as far from him as I can.

  His eyes flash with anger. “Are you suddenly frightened of me? If you think I’ll hurt you, why did you let me in?”

  My face heats up. I move my stool until I’m right opposite him. I feel so much for him, but none of that matters. There’s no future for Jack and me. Of all the people I could have fallen for, it had to be a celebrity. Life is so unfair.

  “You have five minutes now,” I tell him and sip my coffee as if my heart is not hurting so badly I want to throw caution to the wind and jump into his arms.

  “I owe you an apology, Grace. I wanted to tell you every day, but I knew if I did, it would be over between us,” he says, staring straight into my eyes, his gaze unblinking.

  Despite my best efforts to keep calm, my lower lip starts trembling. I bite down on it. “Maybe not.”