Together for Christmas (27 page)

“Yeah. Maybe.”
Or maybe he was lying!
Trying to get into the right mind-set for scoping out the truth, Heather paced, Columbo-style. “Except you don’t have any chicken pox spots!” she pointed out in her most accusatory
aha!
tone. “Why is that, Alex? Huh? Why don’t you have any spots?”

He gave her a confused look. “Because I’m better now?”

Right
. Deftly, Heather sneaked his cell phone into her pajama pants pocket, where it would remain out of sight until she could examine it in more detail later. “Mmm-hmm. Lucky you.”

Another baffled frown. “Is something up with you?”

“I could ask
you
the same question! Couldn’t I?”

“All right. Hold on. There is definitely something going on here.” Alex grabbed his glasses. Then, patiently, he sent his concerned gaze around their shared suite. He noticed Heather’s cast-off popcorn bowl. The TV with its muted pay-per-view holiday movie still playing.
Her
. As though taking inventory of the suite’s contents, he moved to the sitting area and then the peninsula, where his watch and wallet were—where his cell phone conspicuously
wasn’t
. “Did something happen while I was in the shower? Did someone visit, or—”

Realizing that he was going to notice his missing phone any second now—and
then
she’d really have some ’splaining to do—Heather abandoned her impromptu interrogation in favor of a hastily fabricated excuse. The first thing that came to mind was . . . “I’m upset. Because
you
hardly have any spots at all, while
I
have been
ravaged
by the chicken pox! It’s just not fair.”

He grinned. “Ravaged. Word of the Day from last week.”

Ordinarily, she’d have beamed beneath his proud, approving expression. She’d have been thrilled by their shared word-geek camaraderie. But tonight, Heather only narrowed her eyes.

“I look
awful!
” she moaned theatrically, hoping to keep up her cover. If she could get Alex to go into the other room and get dressed (she couldn’t believe she was actively campaigning for him to put
on
clothes), she could finish thumbing through his cell phone photos and find out exactly what kind of perfidy her shoulda-been, wasn’t-gonna-be boyfriend had been up to.

Perfidy
. That was a Word of the Day from next month. Now Heather was smarter—the way Alex had inspired her to be, against her will—and it was all for naught. No, for
nothing
. Argh.

She was shredding that dumb Word of the Day calendar the first chance she got. But until then . . . “My hair is all stringy!” Heather complained further, hoping to explain away her moodiness. “My clothes are all gross, and my face is naked—”

“Soon we’ll have to get the rest of you naked, too.”

At Alex’s devilish eyebrow waggle, Heather nearly lost the will to go on with this. His potential treachery had sapped her strength and broken her heart. She’d thought he was special.

She’d thought he was The One. The One for her.

“—and I’ve got a huge bloated belly,” she pushed relentlessly onward, starting to get invested in what suddenly felt less like a cover story and more like the truth—more like a desperate plea for Alex to disagree with her. The way anyone else in her entourage would have. (
No, you look fab, Heather!
) “And I’m pretty sure my pedicure is completely shot, too.”

Alex only smiled at her. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

She gawked. “You’re criticizing my
toes?
”

“I’m agreeing with you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course not!” Didn’t he know anything? Didn’t he know you weren’t supposed to agree with a woman who was kvetching about her appearance? It just wasn’t done. “I’m really upset!”

Because I think you’re a traitor. And I trusted you!

“I can see that. I’m sorry. Let’s start over.” Sobering, Alex came nearer. “All I mean is, the fact that you’re noticing what you look like is a good sign. It means you’re getting better. It means you’re feeling like yourself again.”

“How’s that? Superficial?” she demanded to know.

Another smile. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have believed Alex meant it. “When you’re sick as a dog with chicken pox,” he said, “you usually don’t care if you look like hell—”

“I looked like
hell?
” Even though Heather knew it was true—objectively—it still hurt to hear him say it out loud.

“—but when you’re on the mend,” Alex continued patiently, holding out his hands to ward off a potential freak-out, “you start to notice that you haven’t combed your hair or showered.”

“Are you saying I stink?” Indignantly, she crossed her arms over her chest—a pose that had the advantage of isolating any supposed BO. She just got stealthier and stealthier. It wasn’t a quality she cherished in herself. “Are you? Just say it!”

“Okay. You stink. A little.” Evidently not bothered by that, Alex came a little nearer. He really did look supercute in his towel. He even had nice-looking legs. And his chest was—

“I
stink?
” With effort, Heather made herself quit ogling him. She had to have some self-respect here. She couldn’t get distracted. “Gee, Alex. You really know how to seduce a girl.”

“I really do,” he assured her. With the same tranquility he always displayed, Alex gently unfolded her arms, making room to put his arms around her waist. He gazed meaningfully into her eyes. “I think I’m recovered enough to show you, too.”

At the unmistakable sexiness in his expression, she balked. He couldn’t mean . . . “Show me? You mean you really want to—”

“I really,
really
want to. With you.”

No
. She couldn’t fall for this. “Even though I’m—”

Ugly? Lazy? Awkward?
She couldn’t say those things aloud. But they dogged her thoughts and made her feel scared. Of this.

Especially now, when she knew she couldn’t trust him.

“Even though . . .
everything
.” Tenderly, Alex kissed her. “I’m not here for glamazon Heather. I’m here for real Heather.”

“‘Real Heather’?” Deliberately, she scoffed. “That’s aiming pretty low, isn’t it? I mean, why settle for ordinary Heather, when you could wait for me to pull myself together and have—”

“
People
magazine’s ‘sexiest songstress’?”

“Well . . . yeah.” That’s what everyone wanted from her.

With a thoughtful, semiamused look, Alex gazed at her. He actually looked as though he . . .
treasured
her or something. Wow.

He
definitely
had to be scamming her somehow.

“That stuff is what you
do,
” he said. “Not who you
are
.”

Heather disagreed. “They’re the same thing.”

“Not to me, they’re not.” Alex touched her grungy T-shirt. He lay his palm over her heart. “I like
you
. I like who you are when you’re alone with me, just hanging out. I like who you are when you think I’m not looking, and you sneak French fries from my Galaxy Diner delivery. I like who you are . . . no matter what.”

Oh, boy. This was really weakening her. “You do?”

Alex nodded. “We’ve been through a few things together over the past several days. I think I know who you are.
Really
.”

Feeling herself begin to relax, inch by inch, into his arms, Heather tried once more to resist. “The members of my Facebook fan club think they know me, too. But they don’t.”

“They haven’t duct taped mittens to your wrists to keep you from scratching your chicken pox spots, now have they?”

“Argh!” Heather guffawed. “Don’t remind me of that!”

“Hey, it made you laugh. It was worth every minute.”

At the sappy look Alex gave her then, Heather was a goner.

Maybe he was secretly planning to betray her. Maybe he had only pretended to have chicken pox as part of some nefarious scheme. But right now, Alex seemed so sweet and real and sexy . . .

Well, right now, the possibility of sabotage felt very far away. Because Alex had his lanky arms around her. He was giving her the kind of love-struck look ordinarily only found in Nicholas Sparks novels and Pepé Le Pew cartoons. He had said he liked
her,
the real her, and Heather knew that that was an unusual quality for anyone to have . . . because no one, in her experience, had ever had it. Including her own parents, who seemed to appreciate their eldest daughter primarily because her fame brought them bragging rights and comped tickets and nice vacations to far-away places that were
not
like Podunk Kismet.

Frankly, it hurt that they valued Kristen for who she
was
—smart, practical, determined, kind—and Heather for what she
did
.

“You
have
taken good care of me,” Heather admitted, setting aside those painful family dynamics for now. She gazed curiously at Alex. “Not many people would have done that.”

“Any one of your staff would have done it,” he said, poo-poohing her skepticism. “Your loyal hangers-on would have purposely infected themselves with the varicella zoster virus, dabbed calamine lotion on you,
and
done that taped-on mittens trick. They would walk through fire for you.”

“Maybe.” Heather snuggled closer. She gave Alex a kiss that made him quit arguing and made her forget the uncomfortable revelation she’d had. “But they wouldn’t have done
that
.”

His eyes turned even dreamier. “They might have.”

“Really?” She caressed his bare chest. “How about this?”

He swallowed hard. Nodded. “Probably.”

“You make it sound as if I have a bunch of first-aid-trained, low-self-esteem prostitutes on staff.” Smiling, Heather trailed her hands down Alex’s chest to his towel. She was dying to pull it off. But first . . . “When really, all I have are a few well-paid sycophants and a couple of genuine friends.”

Alex’s bedazzled gaze met hers. “Sycophants. Word of—”

Heather cut him off with another kiss, not wanting to be reminded of the linguistic bond they used to share. “Enough talking.”

He nodded. Heat leaped between them. At the thought of what was to come—what she’d yearned for all this time—Heather nearly squealed with excitement. She was finally going to be with Alex!

They were going to kiss and hug and get naked. They were going to be sexy and playful and intimate. They were going to take their relationship to the next, most necessary level.

She’d never wanted anything more. Not even a Grammy.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex said in a wiseass tone she loved. In an admirable show of post-chicken-pox strength, he hoisted her in his arms. “No more talking. Just a lot of loving. Coming up.”

He was so romantic! With a sigh, Heather laid her head on his shoulder, waiting for Alex to carry her to the nearby king-size bed, honeymoon-style, and then make love to her. She could hardly wait. Any man who could
want
to get busy with her while she was wearing a tatty old Disney T-shirt was a keeper for sure. She loved Alex. She just
loved
him! He was so
perfect
.

Well, except for that potential photo-related sabotage he might possibly (almost assuredly) be planning. But maybe Heather was wrong about that, she rationalized. In the face of immediate temptation, she’d developed a very accomplished ability to rationalize. That’s what working in showbiz did to a person.

“Here we go.” Manfully, Alex adjusted his grip on her, headed for that cushy bed. Tenderly, his arms cradled her. Adroitly, his fingers flexed against her flannel-covered thighs.

He stopped moving. An unusual expression crossed his face.

Oh God
. “Am I too heavy?” Heather blurted, knowing it was true. “I am, aren’t I? I should never have had so much popcorn!”

But Alex hadn’t stopped because she was too heavy for him. After all, he routinely hoisted heavy beams while constructing sets, she recalled belatedly. But he did set her down anyway.

Confused, Heather righted herself, only to see Alex peering down at his hand—where he now held his formerly contraband cell phone. She recognized it instantly. Had it fallen out of her pocket? Had he felt an unusual lump in her pajama pants pocket and effectively pickpocketed her to find out what it was?

“This is my phone.” His gaze sharpened. “What are you doing with this?”

Oh no
. Not this. Not now. “Um, making . . . a call?”

“Your phone is right there on the nightstand.”

“Yours is . . . cooler?” Heather tried.

That
almost
worked. Flattering Alex’s guy-centered gadget sense almost bought Heather enough time to regroup—enough time to get them back to romantic gestures and sweet words and love.

Alex tightened his jaw. “You were spying on me.”

Heather’s heart dropped to her unpedicured feet. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted things to go. She’d thought she was in the clear. In fact, she’d sort of
forgiven
Alex, generously ahead of time, for the treachery he was going to enact on her.

How
dare
he act like the offended party here?

“No,
you
were spying on
me!
” Heather huffed.

His betrayed gaze seared into her. She knew she’d never forget it. “Is that really what you think?” Alex asked.

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” she said cryptically.

“Yes,” he said. “It does. And I’m sorry for it.”

With a sigh, he turned away. For a heartbeat, Heather wondered if she’d made a mistake. Could Alex be innocent?

Standing with his back to her, still nearly naked and rippled with lean muscle, Alex bowed his head. “Most of all, I’m sorry for you, Heather. Because if you can’t trust me . . . this can’t happen between us. And I was really hoping it would happen.”

That sounded sort of heartfelt. And intelligent. And mature, too. But Heather felt too wounded and baffled to listen anymore. This was all happening much too fast for her.