He let out an aggravated sigh but was smiling. "Fine. I want you to be independent, but I'm gonna pamper you with love, a lot of mind-blowing orgasms, and as many gifts as it makes me happy to buy you. I won't push money on you for the inn, but it's not cheap to be with me, so you'll take my money for anything you wouldn't ordinarily pay for to go on a regular date."
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn't like the idea of taking his money. It didn't set well with me.
He kissed my cheek. "I'm serious, Morgan. I don't wanna have to worry about what you're giving up financially to be my girlfriend."
My mind was spinning. He just said girlfriend. I didn't know if it was from excitement, nervousness, or anger, but the word ran over and over in my head.
His hand moved an inch over to cover my heart. "Hey, what kicked your heart into overdrive?"
It took me a minute to respond. "Girlfriend?" I whispered.
"Oh—I, uh, did—are you okay with that?"
Was I okay with that? Good question. I'd only fully met him a few hours ago… girlfriend? Was I okay with that? "Sean Wilder's girlfriend," I whispered and couldn't hold back the fear and anxiety behind those words. There were millions of girls across the country who would have erupted into excited giggles over that statement, but I was feeling very panicked.
"No," he said firmly, leaning up to look at me with steel in his eyes. "Sean Hallowitz—your Sean—his girlfriend." He kissed my nose.
I let out the breath I'd been holding and relaxed a little. Nodding, I agreed, "My Sean." He nodded back, and I smiled at that thought. "I'm okay with that."
He let out a long breath as if I'd just lowered the gun I had pointing at his head. He relaxed back behind me. I was seriously tired. Emotionally and physically it was all catching up to me. Closing my eyes, Sean ran his fingers through my hair, and it wasn't long before I'd drifted to sleep in his arms.
Why Me?
I was the first to wake up. The screen was still showing our progress and brightly displayed "ETA 7:24 p.m.." The little plane was just over Utah. I looked at the time at the top of the screen: 6:03p.m.—only a little over an hour left. Before I could start really worrying, I disentangled myself from Sean's arms, happy that I was able to do it without waking him. I found my bra and tank top thrown over a chair and pulled myself back together. After sighting a small door toward the front with a familiar restroom label, I grabbed my bag and freshened up a bit.
Expecting to find the typical tiny restroom, I was surprised to see that I had more than enough room to turn around. It wasn't spacious by any means, but I was able to brush my teeth, wash my face, and reapply some makeup without any difficulty.
When I finished making myself presentable, I pulled out my cell phone and texted Cerise. Everything okay at the inn?
Inn? Who cares about the inn? It's fine and dandy. What the hell is going on with you?
I had to smile at that, and I felt a little guilty for not calling or texting earlier, but we'd been on such a whirlwind adventure the past several hours that I hadn't had time to calm down. Sorry I didn't text sooner. It's been crazy. I'm on my way to LA for his movie premiere. Seriously can't believe it.
You're telling me. Sean Wilder. That's got me speechless.
She was speechless? I was a mess, but I'd managed to get myself under control. As I looked around the plane, taking in again exactly where I was, where we were going, and who I was with, I just had to shake my head over it all. Me too. Hey, I don't know if I'm supposed to be using my cell phone on a plane. I'll call you in LA. Just wanted to check in on the inn and let you know I was okay, relatively speaking.
OK. Take care of yourself. Really. We love you.
Love you too. Byeii.
I sat for several minutes just watching Sean sleep. There were literally millions of girls on the planet who would die to see him in such an intimate way. I shook my head. If this was going to work—and I really wanted it to—I had to find some way to cope with his fame.
His perfectly peaceful face inspired me, and I dug around my bag to find the small sketchbook I knew was buried in there somewhere. After retrieving a pencil from my purse, I pulled my feet up on the seat across from the couch and set about doing justice to his sexy features. I was going to draw his peaceful sleeping face, but the image that insisted it get out of my brain and onto the page was that of him looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive. I'd never seen him with that expression in any of his movies. I fantasized that it was a look he only gave me.
I was concentrating so much on my drawing that time slipped past me.
"What are you drawing?"
I jumped, literally. "You scared the crap out of me." I laughed a little.
"Sorry, sweetie. I was just watching you."
I smiled at him and went back to my drawing. "You—I'm drawing you."
He pulled himself up from the couch. The sexy, satisfied expression on his face as he stretched made me want to start another drawing, but I made myself finish what I'd started. Sean leaned forward to see what I was doing, but I pulled my drawing closer to my chest. "It's not done yet. You have to wait."
He winked at me. "Okay. You want some water or a soda?"
"Uh, water, please."
"K." He kissed my forehead, grabbed his bag, and left me to finish my drawing.
A few minutes later, he handed me a cold bottle of water. I saw him return and take a seat back on the couch with his arm across the back. He was watching me. I could see it, and I could feel it, and I really loved it. The way his eyes on me spread warmth through my whole body was a feeling I had experienced so little in life. In fact, I couldn't even remember the last time a guy made me as crazy as Sean did even before I'd met him.
"Morgan, I need to… we should… I, uh, I need to prepare you."
The warmth faded, and I slid farther down in the seat and tried to focus on the drawing, swallowing the apprehension overwhelming me. "Okay."
"There's a group that follows me around pretty much nonstop when I'm home. They take pictures constantly and throw questions at me, trying to get some response they can use to sell papers or magazines or get people to—"
"The paparazzi," I said quietly.
"Right. They're relentless. Sometimes they say completely off the wall things to get my attention. It took me a while to learn how to handle them. I just—you can't listen to them, and you can't respond."
I was done with my drawing, but I pretended not to be. It was bad enough that I could hear the worry in his voice; I didn't want to see it as well.
"You need to smile—don't even listen to them. They'll have a lot of questions since I'm not letting you out of my sight, but let me handle it." I nodded and glanced up at him. He had his fingers to his mouth like he was lost in thought. The muscles of his upper arms were visible and his T-shirt sleeve was pushed back a bit. I wondered if it was even possible for him to not look sexy. "I also—I'm supposed to be—I don't know how to tell you this."
This sounded too familiar. I had flashbacks to his reluctance about telling me that he was taking Michelle to the Thanksgiving party. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, which I was starting to suspect was his "serious" pose. I started biting my lip in anticipation of what I was sure I didn't want to hear.
"Don't tell me you're taking Michelle to the premiere."
He was silent and scrubbed his hand across his face.
"Sean?" I couldn't keep the hurt out of my voice. "Seriously? You're not—"
"No. I had planned to take my sister. She comes with me to most of my premieres, but I'm taking you this time. It's just—there's this publicity thing. I agreed to it all before I met you. I—"
"Stewie told me about it at Thanksgiving. He didn't tell me the specific details, though."
"Well." He ran his hand through his short, dark hair and looked so uncomfortable. "I'm required to lead the media to believe that Michelle and I have a relationship going on—that can be boyfriend/girlfriend,
dating, or, uh, sex. I—I don't know if I can break it. Stewie's working on it. If I can't, I'll have to—"
"Hide me." Now I really felt like I didn't belong.
"No." I looked at him, surprised, but he shook his head firmly. "I refuse to hide you—I couldn't even if I wanted to. But—I—you're not gonna like the alternative." I used my finger to needlessly shade a background to my drawing and tried not to react to the tension in his voice. "Morgan, I have to pretend like—well like I'm seeing both of you."
I tried to make sense of that. "Seeing—"
"Sleeping with."
I stood up. I had to do something. Dropping the sketchbook on the seat, I walked to the end of the cabin and back, pacing.
"Morgan? It's not true. You know it's not true."
"But the world doesn't. What will they call me? They'll say I'm a slut. I've never been a slut before, ever." I thought about Petey and the adoratwins and what they'd think of me.
"You're not a slut, Morgan. And they don't know you. Women will call you a slut regardless of whether I say Michelle and I are over or not."
Seriously? Was that supposed to help? I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.
He put his hands up in the air. "Okay, bad time to mention that. I just mean that people will talk no matter what happens. If you listen to any of it, you wind up hearing all of it, and it eats away at you—it'll eat away at us. I can't—" He grabbed my hand as I walked by again. "I can't lose you, Morgan."
I stared down at him. Could I handle this? Could I keep my mouth shut and ignore the crap that would be flung my way? If I couldn't, I would lose him. I didn't want to lose him. So I needed to just deal with it—pretend everyone was one of the old bitties and let it go. And if it got too bad, I'd just have to walk away.
"Okay," I said quietly and sadly.
He dropped his head to my hand. "I'm so glad you're not running from me and that you're saying 'okay,' but damn if I'm not starting to hate making you say that word that way."
I tugged on his hand. "I need you to be completely honest with me, Sean. I want to hear everything from you no matter how small, so I know what's true and what's crap. I wanna say that I won't listen to what people are saying, but I'm human, some of it's gonna get through."
"Just, whatever you hear, ask me about it first. Please talk to me before you get upset or give up on me. This mess isn't easy to deal with, but I can't handle losing you. I'll do whatever it takes to make this work."
"Like stop acting?" The question popped out before I could pull it back.
He looked down at his hands. I already knew the answer was no, and I don't know why I even asked because I would never make him give it up, but—
"Yes."
I stared down at him like a lunatic. He just said yes. No. He couldn't have. He would give it up for me? I stepped back away from him, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes. My lips parted, and I had trouble breathing normally.
"Mr. Wilder," the intercom said. "We're beginning our final descent into Los Angeles International Airport, please take your seats and buckle your safety belts."
He put his hands on my shoulders and steered me to the seats we'd occupied when we took off. He grabbed the sketchbook and set it on the table between us. I still had the pencil in my hand, gripping it tightly. He kept his eyes glued to mine. "Talk to me, Morgan."
I didn't realize how wide my eyes were until they started to sting. Blinking a few times, I focused on the drawing in front of me.
"Morgan?"
"Y—you'd really—" I couldn't believe it.
"Yes." His answer was immediate. "I can't lose you—I just can't."
"But—"
"No, Morgan—there are no buts. That's it. I want you. Can you accept that? Can you be okay with that?"
"I—I don't—"
"I'm not asking for anything." He leaned forward and lifted my chin with his fingers, so I looked him in the eye. "Not yet anyway." He winked at me. "There's a lot you need to figure out—I get that. You just—I can't explain to you how little it all starts to mean—the fame, the flying all over the world, being told I'm amazing. It sounds great when you don't have it, and when you do, you realize it doesn't mean shit without someone to share it with. I'm not letting that go. I'm not letting you go." He smirked. "Even if I have to spend the rest of my life as your stalker."
I smiled a little at the reference to our early conversations. Glancing down, I remembered the drawing. I turned it so he could see it. "Just—one question. And be brutally honest with me. How many girls have seen this expression on your face?"
He looked down at the drawing, and his mouth fell open. He pulled it closer to him. "Morgan, this is amazing. I can't believe—" He shook his head repeatedly and looked me in the eye again. "None." I tilted my head and gave him the "stop shitting me" look, but he shook his head again. "I'm serious, and I might regret this, but I want to be honest with you. Girls come easy for me. I've never had to work to get any woman, ever. With you—it's been complicated and you've scared the crap out of me, and well, I've wanted you so damn badly, Morgan. Every time I look at you, I just want to hold you and kiss you and make love to you and never fucking let you go."
My hand flew to cover my face of its own accord. He was too amazing, and I wanted to believe in his words and in his sincerity, but I just couldn't ignore the blazing truth that he was Sean Wilder and I was nobody. "Why me?"
He leaned forward and put his hands on my cheeks, holding my complete attention. "Are you serious?" He looked at me like I'd just asked if he thought the sky was blue. "First of all, you're gorgeous. You shake me up inside almost every time I look at you. You have this shyness that isn't really shy, but modest and sweet." He reached down and undid his safety belt so he could lean even closer to me. "You're so determined and damn stubborn and yet you're so loving to your friends. You actually care about people in general. After being around the cutthroat people in the film industry, it's really nice to be around someone who's not just out for their self." He brushed his lips against mine.
"And you like me for me, not for Sean Wilder. The way you're barely okay with me even being Sean Wilder actually makes me love you more. And we've been through similar things. It's hard to deal with everything when you constantly have to wonder if the person standing next to you is trying to use you for some reason. That you're uncomfortable with my having money just makes me laugh. God, Morgan, everything about you is amazing to me." He stared deep into my eyes like he was trying to speak telepathically to me. "Damn. I swore I wouldn't say this until you felt more comfortable around me, but I just can't keep it in. It's—I—I know it's fast, but Morgan, I'm—I'm just—so—so in love with you."
My eyes widened almost painfully, and my heartbeat sped up considerably, but I couldn't miss the fearful tone to his voice. His eyebrows were pulled together with worry, and for some reason, his uneasiness about telling me he loved me made it all the more powerful and amazing to hear.
"I know you're still getting to know me, but I feel like I've been looking for you since—well, even before I was actually looking for anyone."
I just stared at him, feeling a little numb and a little giddy. He loved me and for reasons that were true. I mean, I certainly questioned the gorgeous part, especially knowing he'd been with the most famous of actresses, but my mind flashed back to a similar moment when I'd asked Brent why he loved me. I couldn't forget his answer, and believe me, I tried. He said that I was sweet and nice and cute, and that I was a hard worker and usually happy. Everything he said could be applied to millions of people on the planet. But what Sean said—he loved me. It didn't stop the severe fear that encased my heart. I still didn't know the Sean Wilder side of him. There was a lot I didn't know. I stared down at his hands holding mine.
"Morgan?"
I didn't look up at him. I was so confused about my own feelings. My Sean was tearing down any and all barriers to my heart, but there was this whole half of him I didn't know or understan
d. I wanted it to be simple. I wanted the easy happily ever after, but I knew that wasn't reality. A real future with Sean was going to call for some of my stubbornness and some time.
"I don't want to scare you off, Morgan. I just—"
"I'm not going anywhere." I could at least put his mind at ease about that. "I'm not sure I can handle whatever this is going to be like, but I'll do my best. I don't want you to give anything up that you don't want to. I don't—I'm not sure how to—um—"
He nudged my chin back up to look at him again. "You can tell me anything, love."
I nodded, feeling like I could, but also feeling like I didn't know how to phrase it. "I just don't want to be that—that's a lot of responsibility, Sean. I don't want you to—" I let out a loud sigh and tried to pull my thoughts and my words together. "I shouldn't be that important in your life."
"I'm not making any decisions, Morgan. I'm not stepping off this plane with the intention of ending my career. Nothing has changed, but I know that if it did—if it ever actually came to that, you're what I don't want to live without."
I shook my head, thinking this was crazy and moving too fast.
"Don't you dare tell me I don't even know you. It feels that way because you don't know everything about me yet, but that doesn't mean I haven't taken every word you've said, every sigh from your lips, every expression in your eyes and come to know exactly who you are. I don't know everything about you, and I like that there's so much more to learn, but I know enough to know I'm completely in love with you." He pulled in a long breath and slowed down. "So… I'll stop talking about forever and distant possibilities if you promise to just take it one day at a time and tell me what you're thinking."
I nodded slowly. "Okay. I can do that."
He pulled my hand to his and kissed the palm as the plane tilted and dropped lower in the sky. He leaned back and put his safety belt back on before taking my hand again.
I squeezed his hand tightly. I always hated landing, and in a small plane, I hated it even more. My stomach did a back-flip, and I bit my bottom lip. "Talk to me," I begged, closing my eyes tightly.
Accidental Texting: Finding Love despite the Spotlight Page 16
