Maia had known the hand she took to step out of the limo belonged to London—even before she stepped out and laid eyes on him. Her cells recognized his cells, and they’d had a conversation in that moment, a reconncetion of sorts.
After the initial swarm of butterflies passed, she’d gotten angry. Angry that he’d come without telling her. Angry that he thought a premiere was the appropriate place to reconnect. Angry that he hadn’t called in two weeks and that he’d gone on the gazebo date with his auction woman—not that he had her number.
And then she’d realized that April had set them both up—and she felt like a pawn and realized he must feel like one, too. In that second, she made the choice to make the best of it, because the other option—being miserable at her premiere—didn’t sound at all appealing.
“Maia, may I introduce you to my date?” Franz, her costar who played the handsome frog prince, made his way into the aisle. He had the charm of a diplomat. A stunning redhead clutched his hand for dear life. Her cheeks were tight, like she was forcing herself to keep a happy expression in place. “This is Trista Hamstom. Trista, this is the adorable Maia.”
Maia tottered and found London’s hand under her elbow for stability. “It’s nice to meet you, Trista.” Trista’s palm was moist and her skin pale. Maia glanced at Franz, who beamed like a kid who had the best science fair project. The image clicked because he was the cute-nerd type with glasses, a narrow face, and thin build.
She introduced London as her escort for the evening. If he caught the fact that she didn’t call him her date, he didn’t show it. He shook hands with everyone and complimented Trista on her dress.
Her cheeks warmed and she glanced down at the basic, knee-length black dress. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. Franz said this would be fine, but I feel underdressed—especially next to you, Maia.”
“Trust me, you should be grateful. I’m drowning.” Maia yanked on the fabric that had twisted as she moved.
“What we go through for publicity, eh, Maia?” Franz tugged at the green vest under his jacket. That was his elegant nod to the part he played in the movie, and it fit him well. “Let’s sit.” He placed himself between the women and waited for them to take their seats.
Maia mumbled an apology as she shoved fabric under her legs to make room for Franz and his date. She could feel London watching her and practically hear the gears turn in his mind as he worked over the problem.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
She gave him a dubious look.
“Come on—I have an idea.”
She struggled back to her feet. London stayed sitting. He wrapped his right arm behind her and gathered as much fabric as he could in his hand, and then did the same with his left. He pulled the two handfuls together behind her knees. “Okay, now sit.”
She did, her bottom hitting his shoulder. Her cheeks heated but she could see where he was going with this, so she pressed on. He slid his arm down her legs, still holding the fabric in place. Once she was safely in her seat, he let go. Her dress now hugged her thighs, but it was under control.
“Skadoosh,” London said with a flourish.
“Bravo.” Franz clapped. Now that her dress wasn’t attacking her co-star, he turned his attention to his date. Couples streamed into the rows and the theater filled quickly. The producer, his wife, and two kids sat in front of Maia and London. She made introductions without having to stand up, thank goodness.
London expressed enthusiasm for the film and even complimented Rodrick on a film he’d done several years ago. Maia was impressed that he knew Rodrick’s work. Rodrick asked a few questions about the upcoming Titans season. Their conversation was cut short by the lights dimming to signal five minutes to showtime. The noise in the theater increased as people hurried.
Maia found herself feeling rather shy as she thought about the last time she and London had seen a movie together. She’d made him go to Twilight—which he hated. He’d made her go to Iron Man—which she loved. They both enjoyed Kung Fu Panda, which was funny because neither of them had wanted to see it, but it had been the only movie playing. They laughed like fools and quoted the movie for weeks afterward. In fact, it was Kung Fu Panda that had placed a seed in her mind for doing an animated film.
“Your eyebrow is twerking.” London graced her wrist with his finger, leaving behind a trail of sparkles and mischief.
“I don’t twerk anything.” Maia resisted the urge to lean into his touch.
“What were you thinking?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Come on—you can tell me.”
She quoted the movie. “There is no charge for awesomeness … or attractiveness.”
His grin stretched wide. “His enemies would go blind from overexposure to pure awesomeness!”
“Is that what you tell yourself before you go on the field?” she teased.
He flipped his collar up. “I don’t have to; the press says it for me.”
She bumped her shoulder against his. “Egomaniac.”
“Diva,” he countered, and they both laughed. The room descended into blackness and all heads turned toward the screen.
London took Maia’s hand, causing her heart to race. Her fingers were stiff and her wrist locked in place. She wasn’t sure if allowing him the liberty was a smart idea. Laughing and joking with London as a friend and an evening’s escort was one thing, but holding hands implied there was more to tonight than she was ready to admit.
He leaned closer, his breath warm on the delicate skin behind her ear. “There is a saying: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.”
She tipped her head to the side, connecting her temple with his jaw. How many times had she wished for one more moment with London? Too many to count. Perhaps London’s presence tonight was a gift from God—a chance to fulfill her daydreams and finally set the magic that once existed between the two of them behind.
A single violin cascaded through the speakers and filled the auditorium. The screen came to life with the image of a young girl smiling up at a mother, who tenderly brushed a stray hair off the girl’s face and tucked it behind her ear. Maia tightened her grip on London. Her own mother had never looked at her with such love in her eyes. The stepmother’s cool and sometimes cruel distance they’d see in a few moments on the screen was much more familiar to Maia. She hadn’t given the similarities between the movie and her personal life that much thought—having London here woke up her subconscious, and it was ill-tempered at best.
“This is the story of how I croaked,” came Franz’s gruff voice. A frog hopped into the picture. “Literally.” Its throat swelled and out came a manly CROAK.
The children in front of them giggled.
Maia turned to London and they exchanged a smile. Genuine laughter in the first two minutes was promising.
The show continued. Maia struggled, at times, when the stepmother was on-screen. London sensed her discomfort and would hold her hand tighter as if he could bear the burden, the uncomfortable itch she couldn’t scratch, right along with her.
At the moment when the frog changed into a handsome prince with a goatee and warm brown eyes, London’s thumb brushed across her knuckles and stole her breath away. She had sung every word of the love song hundreds of times, but in that moment, she couldn’t have found one note because all she could see, all she could feel, was London’s soft caress.
The attraction they’d shared emanated from their clasped hands. It flooded up her arm like warm liquid in an IV, and filled her whole body. And then, to her surprise, it continued out of her. She wondered if Franz and his date could feel it, too. The passion, the wanting, was strong and continued to build as each scene built upon the next.
The heat was too strong—too much.
Just when she thought she’d expire or completely pass out, the lights came on, lifting the spell. Maia removed her hand under the pretense of stretching her arms out in front o
f her. She was swarmed with congratulations from all sides.
The strange swirling of the past and the present spiraled up and out until it disappeared and all she was left with was the hearty handshakes, hugs, and London, who stood back with his hands in his pockets. The look on his face startled her, because she’d been all warm and fuzzy sitting next to him and enjoying the present. Then again, he had been tricked into coming tonight and her first reception wasn’t all that welcoming.
Did she really want this non-date to continue? The longer she spent with London, the deeper she would fall into her past, and there were times she didn’t want to rehash.
Since they were in the middle of the row, they had to wait for people to clear out before they could attempt to leave.
“See you at the after-party?” asked Franz.
“I’ll be there.” Maia wasn’t sure what London’s plans were, and she didn’t want to commit him to attend if he wasn’t comfortable. She spoke with a few more people before the path opened up. When she reached for London, he was staring at his phone with a frown.
“Are we done here?” he asked quickly.
Maia fingered the single pearl hanging from a silver chain around her neck. “There’s an after-party upstairs …” Her invitation trailed off as he checked his phone again. “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” He took her by the shoulders and pressed his hot lips to her forehead. “You blew them out of the park tonight, Maia. I always knew you had it in you.”
She took a deep breath and barely caught the scent of his cologne. The scent was light and hardly there. It was all she could do not to bury her face in his neck and breathe him in.
“Thank you for tonight—for letting me share this with you.”
“Thank you for coming.” She meant it. She may have been upset when she first saw him, but tonight was the best night. There was this chorus of excitement and silliness and realness that swelled when they were together. For the whole rest of her life, that music was too quiet to enjoy. London’s presence turned up the volume.
“Good night.” He stepped quickly away and up the slanted floor to the back doors, and then he was gone.
Maia rubbed her bare arms. All around her families and couples chatted and laughed, their eyes dancing with success. No one paid her any notice. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt alone in the middle of a large group of people. The sensation happened quite often. She’d once heard an interview of Elvis Presley where he said he wanted to settle down so he didn’t feel so lonesome—she understood. Right here, in the middle of her biggest career boost, surrounded by the people who were truly happy with and for her success, she felt completely alone.
She tipped her head way back and closed her eyes. She’d talked herself into believing the time with London was a gift from God, but if so, it was a mixed blessing. She knew what it felt like to be the highest-esteemed person in a room, but she hadn’t known what it felt like to be the most important person to one person until tonight. Before now, she didn’t have the sense of belonging, of being held dear, to compare the rest of her life to—and now that she did, she needed to do something about it.
“Maia, are you coming?” Gerald, the director, motioned for her to join the group heading to the after-party.
Maia threw her shoulders back and wrestled her dress free with as much dignity as she could muster. There were cameras to smile for, questions to answer, and people to praise. She folded up her loneliness and tucked it onto the back shelf.
Tonight, with her hand tucked into London’s, had been a gift—God didn’t make mistakes, nor was He cruel. He wanted her to learn something from all of this, and if she’d learned that she could still laugh with London, then that too was a gift.
Even though he’d been tricked, he came. That said something, and the current that grew and grew between them said even more. The next few weeks were busy because of the opening, but she’d find a way to see him again.
Chapter Nine
Shards of terracotta crunched under London’s thick-soled work boots. Black potting soil with the white pieces of perlite carpeted the walkway. Jagged pieces of wood threatened his legs as he passed what used to be a table of perennials.
The police were in the office, reviewing the footage from the security camera.
“At least he didn’t touch anything inside.”
London rounded on his mom. “Don’t do that.”
She brushed dirt off the tabletop and set a flower pot at right. “Do what?” she asked without looking at him.
“Don’t give him any credit for what he didn’t do.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. He didn’t need to see the security video to know that his dad had blown through here in a rage. The old man had seen something or heard something in the news that had ticked him off.
Mom stopped moving and stared into nothing. She reminded him of a scared rabbit. The fear wasn’t because of him, but because of the history they shared.
“He didn’t hit my face, I can still attend service. He didn’t break a bone, you can still play ball. He didn’t destroy Grandma’s serving dish. You do this every time, Mom. Stop. No more silver linings. No more protecting him from the consequences of what he does.”
She nodded, her fist covering her mouth as a sob escaped.
London put his arms around her and pulled her close as she cried. All those years, all those times she’d been brave and looked for the positive in the most negative circumstances. The woman was stronger than she gave herself credit for. She’d stayed with Dad just long enough to get London into a college program. In her own way, she believed Dad was London’s best shot at making it big. The sick truth was, Dad had been the one to find him the best teams, the camps with a flock of recruiters, the trainer who guided him to put on thirty pounds of muscle. And he’d taken every bit of repayment out of London’s hide. He didn’t owe his dad a thing—and neither did his mom.
“I hate him,” she whispered against his chest.
“Good.” She deserved to hate him. Needed to hate him.
She shoved away from him, picked up a pot, and smashed it to the ground. “I hate him!” she screamed. “I wasted my life with that—that—” She dropped a string of curse words London only heard in the locker room or on the field. With her energy spent, she sagged against him, crying softly. “What a mess.”
“We’ll clean it up,” he assured her.
“No, me. I’m a mess.”
“Join the club.” He patted her back.
She laughed derisively. “The funny thing is, I expected this when we opened the place.”
“You did?”
She nodded and went back to straightening what she could. “It’s your dad’s typical pattern: If I can’t hurt you, I’ll hurt something you love. He couldn’t get to me or you, so he went after this place.” She sighed. “I hope he doesn’t cause problems with the Titans.”
“I’ve given his photo to the head of security, and the owner is aware of the situation.” That hadn’t been a fun conversation. Yes, sir, I’d love to play for your team, but there’s something you should know …
Thank goodness James Knight was the type of man who took something like this as a challenge. He’d handed London the card for the company that handled all his personal security. When London called, they had everything in place within eighteen hours. Talking with them was like calling General Patton—they didn’t beat around the bush and they took care of the situation with force if necessary. It was that force that finally convinced Dad to abide by the restraining order. London didn’t have a security guard, but he and his mom lived in a secure neighborhood with guards from Knight Security patrolling at all hours. And Mom could request a guard to accompany her at any time. She put that perk to frequent use, and they both slept easier.
“Mrs. Wilder, if you could come with me, I’d like you to take a look at the film and see if you can identify the perpetrator.”
Mom, with her back hunched
, made her way inside. She’d identify him and she’d swim in embarrassment as she explained that at one point in her life she thought marrying him was a good idea.
London bit back the new curse words his mom taught him and went in search of a broom and one of the large plastic garbage cans they kept around.
He swept away the evidence of his father’s sins, hating that he was once again in this position. How many times had he kept his shirt on during a practice to cover the bruises? If Coach had seen the damage, he’d have pulled London. That was unthinkable. Football was London’s ticket out from under his dad’s rule. It was also the one part of London Reed liked. He’d brag up London’s accomplishments to his coworkers, the guy at the gas station, and anyone else who would listen—always looking like the world’s proudest papa. And London and his mom were expected to play right along with the act or face the consequences.
He couldn’t believe that it was just hours ago that he’d sat with Maia in that grandiose theater with the gold accents and diamond chandeliers and held her hand while his heart ran sprints.
The pot shards clinked together as he swept. That was a whole other world. A world he couldn’t expect to be a part of on a daily basis. But Maia? Maia shone like the sun.
And it wasn’t like he could bring her into his world. Her dainty shoes and gargantuan dress would be forever sullied if she so much as set a toe in all this. He grinned as he remembered holding the gown in place so she could sit down. He’d been so happy to find that she could still laugh at herself—that she hadn’t fallen into the trappings of fame and become too big for her britches. Under all the silk and pearls, she was still Maia.
His Maia.
And he had the same problem he had in high school—a monster always lurking. With a heavy heart, he hauled the can out to the dumpster. Last night was the most perfect night. He had to hold on to that hope; he needed the light. Maybe he and Maia couldn’t be together right now, but someday … someday.
The Warrior Groom_Texas Titans Romances Page 5
