Part 14 (1/2)

Trip's need to kill Bert was being overshadowed by his need to not destroy our evening. I could see the slight s.h.i.+ft in his expression and used that line of logic to my advantage. ”It will ruin our night, okay? Please don't let him.”

He didn't say a word, but he didn't go after Bert, either. Instead, he grabbed me by my wrist and practically dragged me around the corner, slammed me against the wall and opened his mouth on mine.

Whoa.

I was caught off guard, but it didn't take me long to melt into his forceful kiss. Our tongues tangled as he groped at my breast, his other hand gripping my gown at my thigh, lifting and gathering it in his hand until he could slip his palm underneath and grab my a.s.s. His hips jacked into mine, his hardening length grinding against the front of my dress, causing the body parts underneath said dress to clench from the heat he was creating between us.

I should have been more concerned with someone catching us, right there in a shallow alcove, where anyone could turn the corner and find us at any second. But Jesus, the kiss was freaking hot.

I grabbed his lapels in my hands, pressed myself against him, and I could feel how hard he was, that amazing fifth limb of his straining against the fabric of his pants. He let out with a growl and teased his fingers against the edge of my garters, pulling one of the straps away and letting it snap against my thigh.

”You're mine.”

My brain had shut off, stealing my ability to form actual words. ”Mm hmm.”

”You called me 'baby.' I like that.”

”Mm hmm.”

”You little liar. You're still wearing your panties. But not for long.”

That one jogged me out of my trance as I giggled and answered, ”Mmm hmm.”

”Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now? Feel this. Feel what you're doing to me.” He took my hand and pressed it against the front of his pants. ”It's torture, knowing what you've got on under this dress. You're leaving the garters on.”

Note to self: Always, always let Trip see what I'm wearing under my clothes at the beginning of the night.

I was coming unhinged, right there in a restroom alcove in the middle of Chteau Blanco. I mean, the guy wasn't just s.e.xy. He was s.e.x.

”Jesus,” he hissed, exasperated. ”We gotta get out of here. Unless...” He pointed to the restrooms nearby, and I took note of the signs on the door: Men's Room. Ladies' Room. Men's and Ladies' Room.

”Epletely ignore that small fact in her quest to make time with my boyfriend. Again, from the looks of it.

Smelly pirate hooker. Go back to your home on Wh.o.r.e Island.

Trip very politely excused himself from her clutches and led me over to our booth to grab our stuff. I'd been looking forward to diving into the SWAG bags as soon as humanly possible, but suddenly, I could care less about them. I was way too p.i.s.sed to be curious about a sack of free tchotchkes.

Trip put a hand at my elbow, and the contact served to break my control. I spun on my heel and snapped, ”Is there anyone in this city you haven't f.u.c.ked?”

His shoulders sunk as he registered the broken look on my face, the barely restrained tears. ”Layla, come on. That was before. You and I weren't together for a long time.”

”Oh, but 'you never stopped loving me'. I was 'always with you'.”

He slid his hand up and down my arm. ”You were. You are. Babe. Don't do this. Don't be one of those crazy jealous girls. It's not who you are.”

I don't know where he got the impression that I wasn't a jealous person. I guessed we just hadn't ever been a couple long enough before to be able to find out.

The truth was, I was feeling pretty green right at that moment. Not just green-eyed in a monster-like capacity, but green about this entire world of fast and loose s.e.x.

Green-skinned as I became sick to my stomach.

Trip was looking at me hopefully, unsure of just exactly what to say. He raised a hand to my face and brushed a thumb against my cheek. ”I love you.”

I let out a conceding breath at his words. ”I know. I know you do. This is...” just so much to handle. ”This is just not how I pictured the ending of our night. When I see hints of your life as him, it's kind of confusing for me. Understand?”

”Oh, Lay,” he chuckled and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly against his chest. ”It's not real. We are. I'm sorry if all this made you doubt that.”

All this. The glitz and the glamour, the flashbulbs and the phoniness. I shouldn't have been doubting him. Just because he was playing Trip Wiley all evening didn't mean that's who he was to me. I'd have to do a better job of reminding myself I was in The Land of Make Believe. To be honest, it felt as though I were playing some sort of part, too. The jealousy thing was a tad out of character.

He tipped my chin to his face, bent down and gave me a sweet kiss along my lips.

A very real, very sincere kiss. A Trip Wilmington kiss.

The gesture thawed me out and allayed my concerns. And thankfully, by the time we got back to his house, we'd both decided to table the incident.

It was easy to overlook almost anything when Trip was intent on making me forget.

He made leisurely love to me for hours, and after that, I couldn't even remember my name.

Chapter 20.

COME AWAY HOME.

We had a couple free weeks to take it easy, considering Slap Shot wasn't due to start filming until the end of March. We went out into the world sometimes, but mostly, we just enjoyed staying in. It was easier to relax when we were able to take up residence in our own, private coc.o.o.n.

Because going out was always a spectacle.

In spite of the baseball cap, Trip was stopped everywhere we went; people asking for autographs, tourists snapping pictures. He took it all in stride, but it was a little overwhelming for me. I was astounded at the attention he attracted. I mean, I knew he was famous and all, but knowing something and living it were two totally different things. I watched his interactions with awe, seeing ”Trip Wiley” the way the world saw him, the pieces of this public figure they thought they were ent.i.tled to. Who was this s.e.xy, urbane man that had emerged from the clunky (but okay, yeah, still s.e.xy) teenager I once knew? When Trip was being him, he carried himself with an inflated confidence which managed to come off as almost... graceful.

I spent some of our time in seclusion getting some writing done, and thank G.o.d, because I had barely thought about work since the moment Trip walked back into my life. Aside from that notable distraction, it was just simply too hard to get back into the grind out there. California was so laid-back. Content. Peaceful.

At first when I'd taken over Trip's office, I spent more time staring out at the suns.h.i.+ne than doing any work. I daydreamed. I called Dad. I called Lisa.

My best friend was such an enabler during that time. She'd call every few hours with questions about the Academy Awards. Who was hotter in person; how tall was so-and-so really? I told her a few stories, but kept most of the slimy stuff to myself for the time being. I didn't want to tarnish her impression of the glamorous Hollywood faade that she'd come to know; the s.h.i.+ny, star-studded lifestyle of her imaginings. Besides. Lisa was never one to let me get more than a few words in edgewise. I was saving the details for when I got home.

I was also, apparently, saving my productivity for another time. I did everything but work during those first days.

I watched every one of Trip's movies that I hadn't yet seen, then I watched the ones I already had. I collected all the entertainment magazines that had covered the Oscars and clipped any pictures I found of Trip and me together.