His toe reached the sensitive skin of her thigh, and he stroked back and forth. “All that rolling,” he went on, his voice lower. “The sway of the boat, up and down, up and down. We might get wet.”
If she was any wetter, she’d need a second napkin. His toe stroked in time to his words, leaving no doubt at all in her mind what he was up to. A famous movie star was trying to turn her on in public. She would kill him…if she didn’t die first.
“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” she replied, voice cracking halfway through. Damn. She was terrible at this kind of sexy talk. He would run circles around her.
“Then again, I’m not sure the things I want to do are the kind of things you do in a crowd,” he said.
Circles, just like that.
“Your wine?” The waitress returned as Tasha was getting ready to babble like an idiot and ask for the check. Before they’d eaten.
“Thank you,” Spence smiled at her, cool as ice. And there she was, getting ready to burst like the Hoover dam.
The waitress poured a glass of wine for each of them, then left the bottle on the table. “Your food will be right out,” she said, glancing to Tasha, then giving Spence her brightest smile, before leaving.
Spence sat straighter, planting his feet on the ground. Tasha did the same, but her head was still high in the clouds. They grinned at each other like fools in silence, until Spence’s expression suddenly tensed.
“What?” Tasha sat straighter. “Does somebody have a camera?” She peeked around.
“No.” Spence chuckled. Tasha relaxed and turned back to him. A decided flush spread across his face and he shook his head as though scolding himself. “I’ve just remembered something.”
That he was a million miles above her? That she wasn’t worth his time?
“What?”
His sheepish expression turned into a wince, and he shifted forward, leaning across the table toward her. “I just remembered that I only had that one condom with me, for emergencies.”
She couldn’t keep the giggles from bursting this time. As soon as they escaped, she slapped a hand over her mouth. That didn’t seem right either, so she distracted herself by taking a sip of her wine.
“Oh well,” she said when she was feeling slightly more sane. Only slightly. “I guess that’s that, then. It was nice while it lasted.”
He silenced his chuckling with a drink. Anyone watching them—and it was a safe bet that at least half the people in the restaurant were watching them—must have thought they were either drunk already or as ridiculous as kids.
“It was nice,” he murmured. “And it will continue to be nice. Doesn’t that five and dime across the street sell that sort of thing?”
“I’m sure they do,” Tasha answered, pretending to be suave and raising her eyebrow when really she had about as much maturity at that moment as one of her students.
“We’ll pick up a box after dinner,” he whispered, then added. “Maybe two.”
“Two?”
“It’s a long summer.”
A long summer. Tasha was dizzy with all that implied. Her vacation was barely a week old. Seven whole weeks still to come, and Spencer Ellis was talking about buying large quantities of condoms.
Their food arrived before she could fully absorb the idea. As she dug into her shrimp scampi—as delicately as she could for someone starving after an afternoon of rigorous activity—she let it all sink in. Was she suddenly the girlfriend of a movie star? Did one afternoon count as the start of a relationship? No, she couldn’t go there, not yet. Just because one man was proving to be different from Brad, she wasn’t willing to dive back into the dating waters. Until further notice, this was just a fling. A really interesting fling.
That idea settled comfortably in her brain, laughing and skipping around like waves in a tidal pool, until it came time for dessert. Or rather, until dessert was interrupted.
“Well look at this,” an all-too familiar voice said beside them.
Tasha was still grinning around a bite of chocolate cake when she glanced up at the man who had stopped beside their table, a pretty blonde by his side. Her mouth went dry and she nearly choked as she swallowed her cake.
“Chip,” she managed to croak before reaching for her wine.
“Somebody told me they spotted you with a movie star.” Chip took advantage of her momentary speechlessness to stare down his nose at both her and Spence. The blonde with him stepped back, eyes wide with wariness. “I didn’t think it could possibly be true.”
Spencer inched his chair back and stood. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve been introduce.” He held out his hand, towering over Chip. “Spencer Ellis. And you are?”
The way Spence met Chip’s peevish frown with a shark-like smile sent a jolt of giddy panic straight to Tasha’s gut. She shouldn’t have ordered the cake.
“Spence, this is Charles Jamison, Chip. He’s Brad’s brother. Remember, I told you about Brad?” She was tempted to stand herself to block whatever male showmanship had sprung up, like a bad squall, but already too many people were watching them.
“I think you did mention Brad,” Spence said, the smile he gave Chip showing exactly what he thought of Brad and, by default, Chip. He turned to the blonde. “And you are?”
“Kristy,” she somehow managed to squeak.
“Nice to meet you, Kristy.” Spence’s smile was so perfect and his stance so strong and calm that he deserved an award. “Please, join us.”
Tasha’s gut clenched. The last person on earth she wanted to share a table with was Chip. Well, the second-to-last person. Brad edged his brother out by one. She put her fork down and stared hard at Spence, willing him to stop whatever game he was playing.
Chip rested his weight on one leg, ignoring his date and pretending not to be intimidated. “I’ve got my own reservation, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Spence went on. “Any friend of Tasha’s is a friend of mine.”
“I didn’t realize Tasha had friends,” Chip said. “I mean, that she had friends who weren’t losers.”
“We’re sharing a beach house for the summer,” Spencer answered the jab as if sharing a house with a celebrity was like renting a bike for a few hours.
Chip’s brow flew up, then his face pinched in offense. He turned to Tasha. “The house you were supposed to share with my brother?”
“I saved up for a summer at Sand Dollar Point for twenty years.” It was the only thing she managed to squeeze out. She didn’t even have enough sense to make it sound defensive, only informational.
“I’m finding the arrangement delightful,” Spence said. The smile he sent Tasha was designed to suggest everything that had gone on between them and to set Chip in his place at the same time.
It didn’t work.
“Boy, Tash, you’re some piece of work,” Chip said, crossing his arms. “I bet your bed wasn’t even cold before you let Mr. Hollywood here slide on in.”
“Chip, let’s go,” Kristy begged behind him. Chip ignored her.
Tasha’s cheeks flared. She shrank in her chair, aware of every set of eyes that were now glued to the scene Chip had created. “Brad dumped me,” was the best she could come up with to defend herself.
“Brad didn’t dump you,” Chip snorted. “You cut him loose.”
“I caught him cheating,” she said, her voice even smaller.
“So? You never seemed to mind his extracurricular activities before, Miss Pike.”
The way he used her name, like an insult, made Tasha lower her head and swallow a wave of self-consciousness. “I didn’t know before.”
“Was it because you were hooking up with this guy?” Chip pressed on.
“Hey.” Spence planted a hand on Chip’s chest, pushing him back a step. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“Why don’t you just stay out of this, Mr. Famous. It’s between me and my brother’s lousy ex.” Chip batted Spence’s hand away, but kept his distance.
Most of th
e restaurant was watching them now, and a pair of waitresses were whispering furiously to an older man in a suit. He looked like the owner. Tasha had sudden, painful visions of being thrown out of the restaurant and having it broadcast all over the entertainment news the next day.
“It’s not between anybody and anybody,” she hissed, glaring at Chip and pleading with Spence.
Spence schooled his face into a benign smile and leaned toward Chip. “Last I heard, cheating on your girlfriend was a dick move,” he murmured so that only Chip and Tasha, and maybe Kristy, could hear. “I’d say that makes your brother the lousy one and Tasha the innocent party, entitled to do whatever she wants with her life. So why don’t you get the hell away from us and leave Tasha alone?”
“Who are you?” Chip growled. “Her new boyfriend?”
Tasha held her breath, eyes snapping to Spence, anxious for his answer.
Spence answered with a smile. “You can leave us alone, or you can meet me out back. I’m sure my trainer would love to know that all his work has real-life application.” He clenched his hands to fists as his sides.
Chip swallowed and took another step back. He sized Spence up with one quick glance and must not have liked his odds. “You’re not worth my time,” he said, a hair too shaky to pull off the tough guy brush-off. He turned to go. Kristy grabbed his sleeve and tugged for him to move faster. “And besides, your movies suck,” Chip threw in one more insult over his shoulder.
Chip fled, and Spence sat. He bristled with furious energy that Tasha saw now that she could look straight into his eyes. His color was high and he flexed his hand as if it didn’t want to come out of a fist, then reached for his wine. Somewhere in the back of Tasha’s head, it was flattering that a guy could get so worked up on her behalf, but she’d just as soon have skipped the scene.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice still low and weak as the restaurant started to hum with conversation and comments again.
“Yeah.” Spence blew out a breath before downing a sip of wine. “I hate guys like that.”
“Like Chip?”
“Entitled assholes with no respect for women. He probably has old money, belongs to a country club, and goes sailing on the weekends too.”
Tasha blinked. “You got all that from one tiny confrontation?”
“Was I right?” His face relaxed into genuine surprise.
Tasha let her tension out in a nervous laugh. “Sort of. They don’t belong to a country club or go sailing as far as I know. Although their dad owns a yacht. The Jamisons have more money than I do, but Mr. Jamison, Brad and Chip’s dad, earned it. He’s actually nice.”
“Nice or not, if I ever see either of his sons again, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”
Spence finished his wine and looked for the waitress. He had her attention immediately. Half the people in the room were still sneaking furtive glances at them. As Spence asked for the check and then walked her up to the front to pay, Tasha battled the twisting unease in her stomach. Chip may have been a jerk of the highest order, but it was possible he had a point. She dumped Brad, not the other way around. If she hadn’t said something, Brad would have kept right on going the way things had been, red-heads and all. She should be proud of putting her foot down when she did. Except that years of not putting her foot down, of being a blind idiot, might just have earned Chip’s and everyone else’s scorn. It’d sure earned her own scorn.
“Stop it,” Spence ordered her as he held the door to let her out of the restaurant and into the street.
“Stop what?” And now Spence was catching her looking and feeling like the biggest fool in New England.
“Stop worrying about things. The asshole is gone, and I left a ridiculously large tip.”
She liked the idea of that last bit and made herself smile. It only reached her lips, though.
“Come on.” Spence took her hand and tugged her across the street. Night had fallen, and even though it was the weekend, Summerbury was already clearing out and getting quiet. “We’ve got a few things to pick up at the five and dime before we head home.”
He punctuated his comment with a wink. Tasha laughed, a thrill of expectation swirling through her. Then again, that could have been indigestion. Chip had thrown her off, and it would take a lot more than a box of condoms to set her to rights.
Chapter Eight
The call Spence had been expecting and dreading came at the start of business hours on Wednesday.
“Who is she?” Yvonne snapped at the other end of the line. “Is she that teacher who you wouldn’t let me get rid of?”
“Good morning to you too, Yvonne,” Spence called across the counter to his phone—set on speaker—as he fixed homemade waffles. He had to do something to lift Tasha’s spirits. The condoms, when put to their recommended use, had helped a little, but only temporarily. The asshole at the restaurant had done more damage the other night than could be fixed by rubbing some dirt on it and walking away.
“Answer my question,” Yvonne went on. “You know it irritates me when you get evasive.”
“Tell me what you’re talking about first and I’ll stop being evasive.” He checked the temperature of the waffle-iron with a sour expression. He had three guesses as to what she meant, but figured he only needed one.
“There are pics all over the internet, and they’ve been picked up by a few tabloids. You and some short chick with a boy’s haircut looking a little too cozy in the ocean.”
Spence clenched his jaw. It had only ever been a matter of time.
“She doesn’t have a boy’s haircut, it’s just short. But it’s really cute. She’s really cute. And her name is Tasha.”
“I don’t care if her name is Princess Madeline the Magnificent.” Yvonne paused. “I take that back. If she was a princess, we could work with it. It would look fantastic. But this one is just some teacher. She’s not going to help your image at all, you know.”
He frowned and glared at this phone as he reached for plates in one of the cupboards. “I don’t care how it looks. I like Tasha. A lot. We’re having a good time.” Except for a few minor hiccups having to do with her ex-boyfriend’s family.
“Oh, Spence,” Yvonne groaned. “You know better than that. How long have we been in this business together?”
“A long time,” Spence replied, more excited about the fresh maple syrup he had ready and waiting for the waffles than any part of this conversation.
“You know how these things go. You need to keep your brand intact. We’ve worked very hard on how you’re packaged for the public and for insiders.”
“You make me sound like toilet paper,” he said.
“Well,” she argued. “In a way you are.”
He shook his head, even though she was just a voice at the other end of the phone. “Unlike toilet paper, I don’t take shit from anyone, even you, Yvonne.”
“Spence,” she scolded him, more like his mother than either of them would want to admit. “Why don’t you invite company over to your beach house for a week or so,” she changed the subject. “I was talking to Marissa Starr the other day and—”
“I’m not inviting Marissa Starr over,” he killed the idea before it could take hold.
“Why not? She’s available, she’s just landed a deal with Lionsgate, and she’s ten times hotter than your little chickie in the waves.”
“Her name is Tasha. I’ve only met Marissa once, and let’s just say it wasn’t the most auspicious encounter.”
“Why? What’s wrong with her?”
The waffle-iron light went on and he moved to open it and pry the waffles out with a fork. “She’s the Hollywood equivalent of a gold-digger,” he told Yvonne. “She’s a star-digger. She tried to hit on me when she thought I had some influence in the casting of that Middle East thriller, and when she found out I’d passed on the part, she walked away without saying goodbye.”
“She’s just career-minded, is all.”
“Half of her body parts were
fake.”
“How do you know? Did you touch them?”
“No,” he growled. The conversation was going to all the wrong places. He shifted the plate of finished waffles to the stove where it could keep warm and poured another round of batter into the iron.
“Look, Yvonne, this is a pointless argument,” he went on. “I’m here with Tasha. We’re enjoying ourselves. That’s what those pics were. End of story.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
There was no way he was going to answer that one.
“Spencer,” Yvonne went on. The use of his full name, even distorted by the speakerphone, filled him with dread. “Remember why you’re there. You said you wanted a break to get your head on straight again. Well, get it on straight. Don’t dilly-dally with the riff-raff.”
“Tasha isn’t riff-raff,” he warned her. “She’s helping me figure things out.”
“Is she? Because from where I’m standing, she’s distracting you from the things that really matter.”
“You’re standing in L.A.” He reached for the coffee carafe. It would take another cup to get through this conversation. “Can’t see much from there, can you.”
“Who said I was in L.A.?”
More dread, like a fist in the gut.
“Yvonne, where are you?”
“Never you mind. I’m more concerned with where your head is. Both of them.”
Spence’s frown darkened. “None of your business. Either of them.”
“Honey, you pay me for it to be my business. I take my business seriously. Have you read any of the scripts I sent you?”
God love her, Yvonne was going to be the death of him. Right after she secured his place in history. “I’ve read some,” he told her. “I’m not impressed.”
“Well, I should have the pilot script for Second Chances by the end of the day, so get ready for that. In the meantime, ditch the teacher.”
“I’m not going to—”
The front doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Tasha’s voice, small as a mouse, answered from the kitchen doorway.
Spence nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around in time to see Tasha’s back as she darted for the front door. The dread Yvonne had started exploded through him.
Summer with a Star (Second Chances Book 1) Page 11
