“My point was...I realized that for whatever reason, he didn’t instill a sense of confidence within me. It was more a sense of me needing to be what he needed. I know, knock me over the head with a brick, right. It takes me getting attacked to see that I don’t love him enough to marry him.”
She didn’t really love him at all. She cared about him.
For a while, she’d quite enjoyed having him as an exclusive sex partner. But the last few times he’d tried, she’d had one excuse or another to put him off. She’d invited him to sleep at her place. She’d cuddled and made out with him. But she’d lost interest in sex, thinking it was just...her whole life change thing. She’d figured her physical desire for him would return. Until that week, when she’d been unable to bear his touch at all.
“You ready to walk down the beach?”
She stared at Michael, at the glint in his eye, the steady way he met her gaze, at the jawline that seemed to hold such strength.
She’d never told him she wanted to walk down the beach. Only that she’d wanted to walk “on” the beach. Which was what they’d done.
“That’s what you need, isn’t it? To return to the scene. To be there without them.”
She hadn’t put it into words. Even in her own mind. But she nodded.
Once again, Michael was right.
* * *
MIKE SPENT MUCH of the next two weeks wondering if he’d lost his mind—if he had any idea at all what he was doing.
The rest of the time he was a man on a mission. Two missions: see his brother graduated and on the road to a successful future, and support Kacey as she worked to get her life back. His specific mission there was to keep his eye on the light inside her, to help her believe it was still there.
Willie had applied to a couple of state colleges. He was cooperating with all aspects of his Mike-imposed probation, even helping around the house with dishes and picking up. He just couldn’t seem to get over the remorse of having had a beer the first time Michael had left him alone.
The kid’s constant apologies for everything—from leaving his load of clothes in the washer to dropping a pork chop on the kitchen floor—were beginning to wear on Mike. Still, he didn’t relent regarding the beer. Didn’t tell the kid that his actions hadn’t been that bad. Sara Havens had suggested to Michael, when he’d picked Willie up from the Stand one afternoon, that his brother’s sense of guilt, while latent, could very well stem from years of misbehavior. While Willie might appear to be apologizing for a pork chop, his contrition was for the pot he’d smoked six months before, the joint he’d rolled four weeks ago, the test he’d failed the previous year or the money he’d taken out of his mother’s purse before that. He was sorry for his belligerence.
Most of all, of course, he was sorry for shooting Michael.
As all of their previous counselors had said, Willie was going to have to work through that guilt. To get to the other side of it. This was something he had to do on his own—no one else could do it for him.
But on Wednesday afternoon, when Michael picked up his brother, Sara told him something else. She believed that Willie was finally doing what everyone had known he had to do. Instead of becoming one with the guilt, giving in to it, taking it on, living it, he was finally working through it and was on the way to putting it behind him.
He hoped to God that was the case, he told Kacey when he phoned to let her know he was on his way to LA. She was in her dressing room, in between scenes.
She’d sounded genuinely thrilled with his Willie news. Asking questions.
And then she’d brought him back to what he was trying not to think about, his reason for going to LA, when she asked, “You’re sure you’re okay with this, Michael?” She sounded breezier than she had in weeks, but still nowhere near the way she’d been before the attack. “I can go alone...”
He was picking her up at the studio and accompanying her to a black-tie affair where her director Steve was being honored for his work on The Rich and Loyal. A lot of industry people were going to be there, including Bo. It was by invitation only and had included a guest.
There’d still been no media mention of her attack. She’d managed to lie low for the three weeks since the incident—working long hours and spending her weekends in Santa Raquel with her family. And sneak aways with Michael. He hadn’t been back to Lacey’s house. Nor had he and Kacey been out together publicly in town.
But things were changing between them. In the past, she’d never in a million years have asked him to any kind of function in Beverly Hills. And if she had, he’d never in a million years have accepted. But she’d been loath to show up alone, especially with Bo there. And she’d been unable to bring herself to ask any of the men she knew in the city.
She’d been meeting with Dr. Freelander, and having conversations with Sara, too, but she was still struggling with the idea that her sexuality was a danger to her, and yet, without it, she felt as though she lost value...
“Michael, if you’re too uncomfortable, I can go alone. It’s a sit-down dinner with assigned seating in a ballroom. It’s not like there will be dancing, or like I really need to bring someone. I can just say my guest took ill or was called out of town. Which you are...out of town...”
She’d brought her dress for the event with her to the studio. At least, that had been her plan.
If he didn’t go, she’d be left to drive herself from the studio to the event and then home. Or take a cab. If he was there, their tentative plan had been for him to pick her up from work and drive her to the event and then back to her place, where he’d crash on the couch, then he’d drive her to work in the morning, where her car would still be, and head back to Santa Raquel.
His family thought he was out of town overnight on business. Willie was staying at home in his old room.
“Michael?”
There could be photos from the event. Could be another photo of Kacey, looking drunk, with Mike as the one who was behind her, holding her up.
People he knew might see them.
“I’ll be there.” He finally made his decision, after which he admitted to himself that he’d been strongly considering backing out on her. He was her Santa Raquel friend. He knew his place. His responsibilities. And, after the past few weeks, he was fully certain he could manage them with complete success.
Beverly Hills was an entirely different story.
But she needed someone. And since, according to her, he was the only man other than Jem and her father whom she could stand to be close to right now, and she didn’t want her family to know quite how badly she was struggling, he’d been the obvious choice.
“You really don’t have to, Michael. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you and I can’t bear to do that to you.”
She knew about his aversion to large crowds. To eating out in public. He hadn’t told her that the thought of being seen in public with her—and being the recipient of all the shocked glances, of pity—made his blood run cold.
“You aren’t taking advantage of me. I’ve got my eyes wide-open.” He wished to God people would quit thinking that he didn’t see what was going on. He knew full well that Kacey would never be his—not in the man-woman sense. But he believed she’d be his friend for life. Which meant more.
“It’s just... I... I feel horrible about putting you on the spot like I did and...”
It occurred to him then that she didn’t want him to be there. That she was regretting the low moment—at a time when she most definitely was not herself—that had made her ask. That she was trying to let him down lightly.
Slowing the car, readying to take the next exit and turn his black-tuxedoed self right back toward Santa Raquel, he said, “Kace, if you’ve changed your mind...if you don’t need or want me to be there, just say so. You know it’s not going to hurt my feelings any.” His neck go
t a little tense, though, as he said the words. He hated the possibility that she’d be embarrassed by him.
He understood. She’d said just a couple of weeks ago on the beach how she’d learned from an early age to see the value in her looks. In physical appearance...
“Oh, my God, Michael. Don’t keep doing that to me. You know I want you there. I just don’t want to lean on you too much. Or use you. Or anything else bad I’m apt to do without realizing I’m doing it.”
Pedal to the metal, he grinned. They really were a mucked-up pair. Funny how much he liked being in it with her, though. “I want to be there, Kace,” he said.
And he knew that, despite the cold tremors beneath his skin, the horror story he was walking into, he wanted to do it.
Because he wanted to be there for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SHE LOOKED ABSOLUTELY STUNNING. Mouth dry, Mike could hardly believe the woman walking toward him in the back lot where she’d had him escorted by security was his date for the evening.
Could hardly believe she was Kacey. Even at her best. He’d never seen such perfection. Flawless skin. Creamy and...perfect. Her eyes looked bigger, her lips fuller, her cheeks higher.
And her hair...it flowed over her shoulders, and part of it was up, too, clipped in something that glittered and looked expensive, creating ringlets of hair around her head like a halo.
Her neck and chest glittered in the early evening sun. As she grew closer, he saw why. She actually had glitter on her skin.
He barely held back a gulp as he dared himself to really look at her dress. Black, with silver rhinestone accents at the cleavage, it was cut down to her ribs and showed him the swells of both ample breasts. It hugged her waist, her hips, her thighs—to the point where he could think of little but running his hands down it.
But it was her ankles that took his breath away. The dress ended right above them, leaving them exposed. And fragile looking.
The bruises were gone, but he remembered the way those ankles had looked, multicolored and swollen. The delicate bones hardly seemed capable of supporting her.
Black with rhinestones, her shoes were strappy and fragile looking, too. The heels raised her up almost to his nose and it felt odd, having her face so close to his.
“I know, too much, right?” she asked as she stopped in front of him and struck a modeling pose. “It’s okay, you can say so.”
What he needed was a cold shower. Maybe a jail cell. He had no business wanting to touch any part of her. Let alone wanting to run his hands along her thighs.
Or dip his face toward the enticing swell of her breasts.
He had no business finding her so attractive. Period. Or feeling any of the things he was feeling.
She trusted him not to see her that way, or at least not to lust after her when he did. She could be with him because he didn’t want sex with her.
Hadn’t wanted it, he amended.
About as confused as he’d ever been, he told himself it was Doria he was seeing. Doria he wanted.
But in that moment, standing alone with her in the studio parking lot, his hard-on hidden by the jacket of his tux, sex with Kacey was pretty much all he wanted.
* * *
“YOU LOOK STUNNING.” Michael’s tone, almost worshipful as he stood before her, every inch virile masculinity, was for her benefit. She knew that.
He was trying to make her feel better.
But this was Michael’s first trip to Beverly Hills—with her. Their first time together in her world, and she was not going to ruin it with issues, no matter how real they might be.
So, slipping into Doria, she spun for him. “I’m in costume.”
“You’re also Kacey,” he told her, his glance changing, growing...real. And serious. “This is the you I’ve seen in pictures. And I’m honored to be your escort for the evening.”
“Well, if we’re going to be all serious, I have to say, you’re stunning, too, Michael.”
Truth be known, she was more than just slightly off her mark. She couldn’t stop looking at him. And finding him...attractive.
“You cut your hair.” She’d noticed instantly but had wanted to keep things light. And here she was, feeling so much more than she should. He wasn’t hiding his face.
“I...thought it was time,” he told her, just standing there in the evening’s waning sunlight. “I’m matching you courage for courage. I know that putting yourself back out there—as Kacey—is looming as a potential fall point in your mind, and you know how I feel about this—” he pointed to his scarred jaw “—out in public, so I figured, the way I support you is to show the same kind of courage. We’re in this together, right?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“No, don’t cry!” Michael looked worried. “You’ll ruin your makeup and we’ll be late if you have to go back in and redo all that...”
She laughed. Real laughter. There and gone. But it felt so good. “It’s waterproof,” she told him, linking her arm in his—just as she had on the beach. “How do you think women cry on TV all the time? If our makeup ran every time we shed a tear, it would be a filming nightmare with makeup repairs!”
“Great, so now we know just how blind I am walking into this shindig.” He opened the passenger door for her, helping her in. “Good thing I’ll be on the arm of the brightest light in the room.” He shut the door on any reply she might have made.
He needn’t have bothered. She was tearing up again. It had been a corny thing to say. So unlike Michael. And yet...just what she’d needed.
Even if she was dark inside, she could still shine for others. That was her job tonight. To shine for Michael as he put himself out there on her behalf. Tonight wasn’t about her. It was about him. And supporting Steve. It was about being unselfish.
It was about getting over herself.
She smiled at him as he got in the car beside her, bringing his clean musky scent with him. He smiled back. A manly smile that was in his eyes as much as any place else.
A smile that warmed her in places she hadn’t been warm in a very long time.
* * *
BO WAS NOT at the evening’s celebration. Kacey didn’t say why. She just leaned in as they were shown to their table to let Mike know that she’d just been told her ex wasn’t going to be there. He hoped it was an omen that the night would turn out better than he was expecting.
But then, he’d never been one to believe in omens.
In some ways it was as bad as Mike had known it would be. He hadn’t been poor me–ing when he’d told Kacey why he stayed out of the public eye. For those who didn’t know him, his face was...unexpected.
The startled glances hardly bothered him anymore. They felt like a part of his life. And they usually were replaced with compassion.
It was the outright shock that got to him. Tonight it was followed by hand-covered whispers from those sitting close by. The woman on his left didn’t even look in his direction when the star of their table, Kacey Hamilton, who was seated on his right, was speaking to her.
He didn’t blame her. If he’d been anyplace else, with anyone else, he’d have excused himself for the duration of the meal. As it was, he focused on Kacey. And hoped that his presence didn’t embarrass her. Catching himself repeatedly tapping his thumb against the table, he stopped. Started again. Stopped. When he found himself starting a third time, he removed his hand from the table.
The fact that he’d tried to warn Kacey that she wouldn’t want to be seen with him wasn’t enough consolation to make the evening palatable. He felt her hand suddenly slide onto his knee under the table. There was nothing sexual in the gesture. She wasn’t coming on to him. She was offering him support. And to show her that he understood, he covered her hand with his own. Gave it a squeeze.
And then
tried to pretend that he wasn’t a man at great risk of falling in deep lust with the stage persona of the woman at his side. Doria—the sex object. If nothing else, the predicament distracted him from the odd glances he and Kacey were getting.
“Everyone just wants to know who you are,” she whispered. “You’re the man of the hour because no one has seen you before. They’re all thinking, Is he a producer, considering her for a lead role?”
“They’re wondering if I’m richer than God, because how else would you possibly be with me,” he said back, only half teasing. But gave her hand another squeeze. Since she’d left it on his leg and was managing to eat her meal one-handed, he figured he should do the same.
They were each other’s mutual support society.
And for the rest of the dinner, and the presentation and speeches afterward, they continued to regale each other with possible conversations going on around them about them, each one growing more ridiculous than the last.
When, during a particularly long round of applause, Kacey said, “Leftie—” as they’d nicknamed the woman on his left “—just asked her husband if he had a crush on you,” he laughed out loud.
And earned himself another round of glances, some with raised eyebrows thrown in.
But as much as he was glad to support Kacey, he wanted the dinner party to be over.
* * *
SHE COULDN’T REMEMBER if the steak Diane they’d been served had been good or not. She hadn’t eaten enough of it to care. There’d been some kind of potato that she hadn’t touched. The salad dressing had been good. She hadn’t tasted the dessert.
What she remembered most about the entire evening was how incredibly good it felt to be with someone she could share her snarky comments with, someone who wouldn’t care if she sneezed on her dinner and whose only concern if she tripped was that she hadn’t hurt herself.
And she would never ever forget the way some people had looked at Michael. Or how, after they’d seen that he was with her, they’d looked back at him a second time, as though to ascertain if it had been as horrible as they’d thought.
Her Secret Life Page 19
