“Are you going to help get Grace on a magazine cover?” Monica, Grace’s best friend and partner in deceiving him, asked.
There was a collective round of cheers and clapping and his daughter dipped her head as if embarrassed by the attention.
He waited for Sam to punish him for his outrageously rude behavior. Not only had his words been disrespectful, they were the perfect excuse for her to turn his daughter against him. The worst part was he wouldn’t blame her.
He could see her body was still rigid with tension, but she took a visible breath and tugged on Grace’s long braid. “My niece is beautiful enough to be on any cover, as far as I’m concerned. But she . . . and all of you . . . have a more important job right now. That is taking care of yourselves and each other, paying attention in school, and growing into the best versions of women you can become.”
“School isn’t as fun as modeling,” one of the other girls whined. “School sucks.”
Sam laughed softly. “Modeling isn’t always as fun as the finished product makes it look. What’s fun is living to your full potential and doing something great in the world. None of you . . .” He saw her give a pointed look to both Grace and Monica. “. . . should do anything without your parents’ approval.”
She gave Grace a tight hug and whispered something Trevor couldn’t hear from where he stood. Based on the eye roll Sam received in response, she hadn’t thrown him under the proverbial bus the way he would have expected.
It wasn’t until she turned that her gaze shifted into something fierce and slammed into his. Her mouth thinned and when he reached for her arm, she shrugged away. “Thank you for the invitation tonight,” she whispered and took off without another word.
CHAPTER NINE
Sam looked up from her book when Frank barked then dashed out of the room. She glanced at her clock and thought about ignoring the persistent knocking at her front door. Based on the slew of texts she’d received since leaving the band concert, she knew who was waiting on the other side.
“He’ll go away,” she said to herself at the same time her phone beeped with an incoming text.
I’m not leaving.
She quickly returned the text.
I’m not home.
His reply flashed on the screen a moment later.
Car in driveway and light on in house.
She blew out a breath.
Stalker.
He sent her a smiley face emoji.
Seriously? A smiley face? Oh, hell no.
She headed for the front door, practically tripping over Frank, who’d decided the best defense against a possible intruder was turning himself into a canine speed bump.
As soon as she opened the door, Trevor held up his phone. “The smiley face got you, right?”
“Go away, Trevor.”
“Talk to me first.”
“I think you said plenty earlier this evening.”
He took a step forward and she placed a hand on either side of the doorjamb.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Why? Because you think I’m a slut or because you told me you think I’m a slut?” Her eyes burned with anger. “First you called me a hooker, then I was a garden-variety whore. Either way, it didn’t stop you from sleeping with me.”
“You aren’t those things,” he said, his tone fierce. “I know you’re not.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it, I hate that I made you think—” He cursed again. “Let me in, Sam.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Underneath her temper were more dangerous feelings. Humiliation. Shame. A belief that he was right. If she opened her mouth, those things might tumble out and then how would she pretend she wasn’t that person any longer? What if Grace saw in her the parts that she’d tried so hard to hide?
If Trevor were totally to blame, it would be different. But he’d only said what so many others thought. What she’d proven time and time again with her self-destructive actions. All of it played out on a public stage. She was a fool to think she could be someone different than her image. A pathetic fool to believe Trevor would see her as someone more.
She pressed her fingers to her lips when the emotions rose up anyway, refusing to be denied any longer. “I don’t want to be that woman,” she whispered, more to herself than Trevor. “I’m not—” She choked out a sob and tried to close the door, but the irritating man shoved his boot in the opening.
She slammed the door several times on his foot and heard him grunt in pain. “I wish it was your head in the door!” she shouted before going still, her strength abruptly drained.
“I know, honey,” he murmured and then pushed his way into her house.
She didn’t stop him. All her focus was going toward not ending up in a weeping puddle on the colorful rug in her entry. She bent forward, concentrated on pulling air in and out of her lungs.
The dog looked up, wagged his tail.
“Intruder,” she whispered when it was safe to speak. “Kill him.”
Frank belched.
“I was jealous,” Trevor said after a moment.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Please,” he whispered. She could feel the heat of him at her back, but he didn’t touch her, as if sensing that was too much for the state she was in right now. She hated who she was at the moment—weak and sad—almost as much as she hated the woman she’d been when she modeled. “Please let me make this right.”
“Where’s Grace?”
“Asleep. I told her I had an errand to run after she went to bed.”
“You’ve said your piece. Bye-bye.”
“I haven’t said half of what I need to.” She could hear the frustration in his voice and hoped he felt like crap. Misery really did love company. “Will you look at me?”
“Nope.” She straightened, grabbed the door handle, and pulled it farther open. “Since you got me out of bed, I’m having ice cream. Feel free to let yourself out.”
There was a snowball’s chance in hell he’d leave, but if she continued to ignore him long enough, maybe he’d give up. He’d certainly given up on her years ago.
She headed for the kitchen and Frank scrambled to his feet to follow. The dog might not be the best security system, but he could do double duty as a garbage disposal any day of the week.
She opened the freezer and stuck her head in for a few extra moments, hoping the frigid air would cool her nerves. When it didn’t work, she grabbed a carton of ice cream then took a spoon from the drawer.
“I’m guessing you aren’t offering to share,” Trevor said, his voice low and soothing. Another thing to add to her long list of annoyances tonight was the way it melted over her like warm caramel, sweet and thick.
“Nope.” She opened the carton and dug in with the spoon.
“That’s not ice cream,” Trevor said, moving closer. It was as if the small container had diffused some of the tension between them. He seemed genuinely interested in the food in her hand. She realized that despite how much they knew about each other, she and Trevor were virtual strangers at this point.
The fact that they were strangers who’d gotten naked with each other made her blush a little, but she tried to ignore it. What would have happened if he was just a man she’d hired to repair Bryce Hollow? There was no denying how attractive he was. Even here in her kitchen, wearing a tattered long-sleeve T-shirt and faded jeans, his dark blond hair a rumpled mess, he was the most gorgeous, masculine man she’d ever seen.
When awareness zipped along her skin, she shoved a spoonful into her mouth. “It’s a frozen soy dessert,” she answered as it melted on her tongue. “I limit dairy.”
“Since when?”
She shrugged. “Almost five years.”
“Why?”
“It’s healthy for me.” She took another bite. It wasn’t the same as real ice cream, but she’d gotten used to the difference by now. “Is that so hard to understand?”
“No,” he admitted. “It’s just not how I rememb
er things.”
Right.
“Do you still drink?”
He asked the question softly, as if this were simply a friendly conversation.
“A glass of wine with girlfriends on occasion,” she told him. “Otherwise, no. If you’re asking if I drink like I used to the answer is no. You don’t have to worry about Grace driving with me or anything like that.”
She made the reference to the very publicized DUI she’d gotten in her early twenties. Her mug shot had made the cover of several tabloid magazines and even landed a small spot on one of the national morning news shows. She wished she could have told him that wrapping her car around a telephone pole had been rock bottom, but she’d had several more years of bad behavior after that before she’d pulled herself out of the abyss.
“I’m not worried about Grace driving with you,” he said quietly.
“Only about me seducing her band teacher?” she shot back.
He let out a long sigh. “Again, I’m sorry. It was my jealousy fueling those idiot words, not anything you did.”
“What do you have to be jealous about?”
He laughed and massaged his hand along the back of his neck. “Nothing. But that doesn’t seem to stop me. I’m jealous of every man who looks at you. Of every damned photographer who ever got close enough to take your picture. I hate the way people see you.”
She hated it, too—being famous for something was only a two-dimensional reflection of who she was. She’d won the genetic lottery. So what? She’d inherited her beauty from a father she’d never known and a mother who’d, from the time Sam could remember, traded on her looks to get jobs, men, booze—whatever Lorna had needed at the time.
“I’m just like her.”
Sam didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Trevor asked, “Like who?”
“My mom.”
He shook his head. “I knew your mom, and you’re nothing like her.”
She wanted to believe she didn’t have anything in common with her mother, but her mom’s level of selfishness had been Sam’s only example of what a woman should be. Maybe it had seeped into her just like it had poisoned Bryce. She’d used her beauty to make it in the world the same way her mom had used her charms on men.
“Really? She used her beauty to get what she wanted. I made a career off mine. We’re the same; I just played the game at a different level. Mom was beautiful, and she never let us forget it.”
She set the carton on the counter, the sweetness suddenly too cloying on her tongue. “One Christmas she took us shopping with her rich boyfriend. She was good at landing the ones with money. He was one of the few who didn’t demand she pretend not to have kids. Downtown Tulsa was the biggest city Bryce and I had ever visited, and it felt so special. We had lunch at a restaurant with cloth napkins.” She pointed at him. “You understand what a big deal real napkins would have been for us, right? In Colby, a trip to the local drive-thru was a treat.”
He nodded. “Greasy fries were a big deal in Colby.”
“We were crossing the street after lunch, and Bryce dropped the doll she was carrying. Mom bent down to pick it up and . . . well, you know the length of the skirts she always wore . . . mini-minis. She caused a wreck. A man actually smashed into the bumper of the car stopped at a red light because she distracted him.”
“It could have been a coincidence,” Trevor murmured.
“He got out and came running over to tell her how beautiful she was. My mother actually stopped traffic.”
He inclined his head. “I imagine that could have happened to you on more than one occasion if you’d wanted it to.”
“That’s the point.” She tugged on the hem of the oversized T-shirt she wore as a pajama top. “I never wanted it to. I wanted to get out of Colby and away from her. I wanted that for Bryce, too, but never any of the rest of it. Mom broke up with that particular boyfriend right after Christmas because he didn’t want her to flaunt herself that way. She had a chance at a better life for all of us, and she couldn’t give up partying, drinking, and making a spectacle of herself. I got a few extra inches in height that helped me, but she never let me forget who was the real traffic stopper in the family.”
“That was her issue. It didn’t mean—”
She held up a hand. “I’m not asking for anyone to feel sorry for me. ‘Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful’ was a sad cliché even in the eighties. But I allowed her issues to become mine. Add Bryce’s problems to the mix and I was a hot mess. A hot mess with fame and money. I didn’t think I deserved any of the opportunities I got, so once Bryce died I did my best to sabotage them. No matter what I did,” she said, pointing to her face, “it never showed up here. I couldn’t ruin myself on the outside.” She bit down on her lip when it started to tremble. “So I ruined the inside.”
“Sam, don’t.”
“All those people are right, Trevor. I have nothing to offer other than my face. And I can’t even take credit for it.”
“It’s not true. Look at what you’ve done with Bryce Hollow.”
“Penance,” she whispered. “I hate the money I have, what it represents, what it did to Bryce and me. I started the camp because I needed something to wash me clean.”
He moved closer, traced his thumb over her cheek. “Has it?”
“Sometimes I think so. When the kids are there during the summer it feels like we’re making a difference. That’s important. Cleansing. But the rest of the time it’s just me and my twin sister’s ghost up there. It’s why the Hendersons live on site and not me. I don’t like to stay at camp alone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time she let the words wash over her. But they were too much, and she feared she might drown under the weight of the emotions that came along with them. What gave her the right to accept an apology from Trevor when she’d made so many mistakes herself?
“You don’t need to be sorry,” she said, plastering the brightest fake smile on her face. “I own the choice that gave me my reputation.”
“Isn’t it time you own that you’re not the woman you were back then?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss her.
She didn’t want him to taste so good or for his mouth to feel so right claiming hers. She didn’t want to want him the way she did—deep inside like he’d been a part of her forever. This man was going to hurt her, or she was going to find a way to ruin what was between them and, in the process, her relationship with Grace.
Wasn’t that her history? Success and self-sabotage.
But she also couldn’t seem to move away. Instead she drew her fingers up over the hard planes of his chest and around his neck, pulling him down and pressing herself closer. She’d been with plenty of men in her day—not as many as the tabloids made it seem—but enough to know that what was between her and Trevor was special.
Or maybe she needed it to feel special.
Another “oh, hell no” moment.
She took several quick steps back and tripped over the big lug of a dog sprawled across her kitchen floor. She landed on her butt with her legs splayed over Frank, who grunted but didn’t get up.
“I don’t need you to make me feel special,” she shouted at Trevor, wagging her finger back and forth at him.
His eyebrows lowered. “Ok,” he said slowly.
“You also need to leave. Now.”
He took a step toward her. “Can I help you up first?” he asked, kindly ignoring the fact that she was acting like a raving lunatic.
She shook her head. “Not one step closer or I swear I’ll strap a steak to your back and send Frank after you.”
He eyed the snoring dog. “Should I be scared?”
“He’s very food motivated.” She pulled her legs under her and stood. “Go away, Trevor.”
“What the hell is going on, Sam?”
“I don’t need you to make me feel special,” she said again.
“I get tha
t, but I have to say I was the one who felt pretty damn special with your mouth fused to mine.”
“Duly noted. Thanks for sharing. Get out.”
He ran both hands through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I’m not a complicated guy,” he muttered. “I have a simple life. I like my simple life.”
“Head on back to it,” she suggested. “We’re good. All forgiven. You didn’t mean to call me a slut. I regret the years I acted like one.”
“Stop saying that word,” he growled.
“Goodnight.” She smiled. “That’s a word. The only one I want to hear from your gorgeous mouth right now.”
“I have a couple of other words.”
She groaned. “For a simple guy, you sure as hell like to blather on.”
“I don’t blather. But thank you,” he said, “for not throwing me under the bus with Grace. You had every right to be angry after how I acted. You could have taken advantage of that.”
She drew in a shallow breath. “We may not agree on modeling, but I won’t undermine your authority as her dad.”
“I understand that now,” he told her with a nod. “And I want you to know how much I appreciate it. She’s the most important thing in my life, and it’s clear you care about her the same way.”
“I do,” she agreed. “But I don’t think dipping her toes in the world of modeling is the worst thing. Not if she wants it so badly. But I’ll honor whatever you decide. You’ve done a great job of raising her, Trevor. No matter how much I wish I’d been a part of it, I won’t deny that.”
He studied her for a moment. “I’ll think about the modeling, but not until she’s older.”
“Agreed.”
He flashed her a grin. “We agree on something. I guess that’s progress.”
She also agreed that she liked having his mouth fused to hers, but now wasn’t the time to mention that. Now was the time to be strong.
“Goodnight,” she repeated. “I’ll see you at camp tomorrow.”
One side of his mouth curved and he took the spoon from the ice cream, putting the lid onto the dripping carton and shoving it into the freezer as he licked the spoon clean.
Tell Me Again Page 11
