Unravelled (Revealed #2) (16 page)

In our last hour at the beach I must have checked my phone a million times, probably to the point where Cait was getting tempted to snatch the thing and chuck it in the sea. But there were no calls. No texts either, and by the time five thirty rolled around and we were on the bus heading home, I was in a severely bad mood. Like apocalyptic levels of stroppy-ness. As far as I was concerned, Sean Phillips could take his snivelling apologies and shove them where the sun didn’t shine.

Cait checked her watch and glanced up. ‘It’s been a fabulous day, but I need to pop back to the hostel now – I’ve got a meeting to finalise the social event I said I’d run with them tomorrow. Shall we eat there? It’ll be cheaper than the hotel menu.’

Cait was watching me carefully, and there was concern obvious in her voice – she’d clearly seen me repeatedly checking my phone, not that it would have been easy to miss.

‘Actually, I think I might have an hour or two alone, if that’s OK with you? I might head back to the hotel and do some writing. It always helps take my mind off things.’ I stayed vague about what the ‘things’ were, even though it would have been pretty obvious that I was referring to one thing in particular. One
man
.

Cait didn’t look convinced at all, but I knew I would make miserable company, so I nodded my head again. ‘Honestly, go to your meeting and get some dinner then we can meet up for hot chocolate when you get back to the hotel.’

Looking reluctant, she relented with a sigh. ‘OK, but only if you’re sure?’

‘I’m positive, I’ll be fine.’ And I would be fine, once I’d cursed Sean’s name a few times, anyway. ‘If you need a hand with the event tomorrow, I’ll help out,’ I offered. ‘What is it exactly?’

‘Just a meet and greet for the newbies to help them settle in to travelling, but help would be great, thank you. I kinda got roped into volunteering by Julie, the cook.’

It sounded quite interesting, and besides, anything would be better than sitting in a posh hotel waiting for a call that clearly wasn’t going to come.

With plans made, I jumped off the bus at the closest stop to the hotel and left Cait to go to her meeting. My best friend had done an amazing job at keeping me occupied, but the events with Sean had finally caught up with me and I needed some alone time. I’d said I was going to do some writing, which I might, but really, after being snubbed by Sean, I just needed to sit down and work out what on earth I was going to do next.

Chapter Fifteen

Cait

As soon as I’d finished my meeting with Marlon and Julie, I grabbed my phone to check on Allie. I’d seen her mood gradually drop this afternoon and I was worried about her, but she often liked to write when she was thinking, so there was really nothing else I could do until she decided she wanted to talk. I checked my phone, sagging in relief when I saw a message from her telling me she was safely tucked up at the hotel.

Phew. OK. Now I wasn’t worrying about Allie I could crack on with the shopping list that Julie had asked me to get for tomorrow’s event. As well as being the in-house cook, Julie was assistant manager and pretty much ran the hostel, but she was so likeable that I really didn’t mind giving her some help every now and then. Picking up my bag, sunglasses, and cap I smiled warmly at the three other volunteers that had been roped in – Jen, Sally, and Isla; girls that I knew fairly well now from around the hostel – and we set off for the local 7-Eleven.

Fifteen minutes later, we were loaded down with enough ingredients to make about a million cupcakes – at least that’s what it seemed like – and after sharing out the bags were heading back towards the hostel.

Turning my face upwards I smiled as the rays from the evening sun warmed my cheeks. This was one of the things I loved about America, the long, warm evenings. It was just gone seven now, and although it was still warm it wasn’t sunburn temperature any more, so I paused to pull off my cap and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt at arranging it in some sort of style.

An excited murmur suddenly ran through the girls as they drew to a sudden stop on the pavement, their heads bobbing up and down as they bounced on the spot like a trio of meerkats. Throwing them an amused glance I shrugged in confusion, wondering what on earth had got them so keyed up.

Jen spun around with eyes wide like saucers, her cheeks flushed. ‘I totally forgot! It’s the American Television Awards ceremony at the theatre tonight! Famous people everywhere! Who fancies some celeb spotting, girlies?’ Her words were met with an uproar of yeses from the others, and I then proceeded to watch in silent astonishment as our small group of usually normal girls changed into a giggling mass of red cheeks and excitable arm flapping. God, they were like a pack of rabid animals.

As amusing as their transformation was, I grimaced. Hanging around street corners hoping for a glimpse of a famous face wasn’t really my scene. I read the occasional gossip magazine at the hairdresser’s, but I certainly didn’t go harassing celebrities in the street like a stalker.

Except for when I had bumped into Jack Felton a few days ago, of course, but that had been totally accidental, not stalker-like, and let’s face it, was probably more his fault than mine. Burned into my brain for posterity, but totally accidental, I thought with a blush, a strange, squiggly feeling settling in my stomach.

Hmm. I was doing exactly what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t – thinking about Jack Felton. That was dangerous territory, so as a distraction I tapped Jen’s arm and made my excuses, telling her I would find a bench in the sun and wait for them. She couldn't understand my nonchalance where it came to celebrities, looking completely perplexed by my decision to miss out on the ‘fun’, before rapidly forgetting about me as she turned back to the crowds.

Unfortunately, there were no benches on this street, so I settled myself in a doorway to the side of the red carpet area at a safe distance from the energetic crowd, but close enough that I could keep an eye on the girls. I might not be keen enough on celebrity spotting to risk getting squashed in the middle of a writhing mass of people, but observing from a distance might make interesting viewing.

Over the course of the next twenty or so minutes, I watched a procession of limousines come and go as they dropped off their cargos of celebrity actors, actresses, directors, and writers, all dressed to the nines and practically reeking of wealth. While I recognised some of the faces and was quite enjoying myself, I was glad I’d chosen this spot and wasn’t in amongst the throng of spectators, because they buoyantly surged back and forth with each new arrival, and I knew that I would hate all of that bodily contact. It was making my skin crawl just imagining it.

Absently spinning my baseball cap on the end of one finger, I was thinking I might head back to the hostel to drop my shopping with Julie and then see if Allie had finished writing and wanted to hang out, when my thoughts were rudely interrupted by my pulse suddenly leaping in my chest.

The cause for my near heart failure was the dark brown head of hair bobbing out from the latest limo. That hair cut was awfully familiar. In fact, the more I stared at it, the more I became sure that I’d spent at least ten minutes staring down at the top of it very, very recently. As the stooped figure finally unfolded from the car and stood to its full height and waved to the crowd my suspicions were confirmed … it was Jack Felton.

As stupid as it was, I momentarily flattened myself against the wall in case he saw me, but then scoffed a dry laugh and rolled my eyes at my stupidity – with all the clamouring fans surrounding him the chances of him even looking this way were slim to start with, and then even if he did he was hardly likely to recognise me. Our encounter on Thursday morning had been so brief he probably didn’t even remember me.

Resuming my original position against the doorway, I found myself watching Jack with interest, and then promptly groaning as memories of our encounter – the ones I had been stringently trying to forget – flooded my mind. I pinged my elastic bands in an attempt to supress my body’s traitorous reaction, but unfortunately my eyes were still glued to him, so it didn’t seem to be working.

In the four years since I’d left my ex, I hadn’t so much as romantically thought about a man, let alone let one touch me. Jack’s touch as he’d cleaned the cut on my arm had been so gentle, tender, and as much as I might not like to admit it, it had made me feel … well, I’m not entirely sure what word would describe it, but I’d definitely felt something out of the ordinary.

The blush on my cheeks in no way dwindled as I continued to look at Jack, and it occurred to me that his beard was gone, leaving his angular jaw cleanly shaven and looking far more appealing than the facial fur had been.

He was fully decked out in a sleek, black tuxedo, white shirt, and black bow tie, and predictably looked absolutely gorgeous. Swallowing hard, I realised that my elastic bang pinging had now reached excessive levels and winced as I looked at the reddened skin. Looking back at Jack, I forced my hands into fists to stop the pinging temptation and then let out a long, low breath that sounded quite a lot like a lusty moan.

Lusty was probably about right, really, because the suit made his broad shoulders look even more impressive than the tight running T-shirt had, and I wasn’t even going to let my brain focus on how great it made his bum look. For a guy who was nearly forty, he looked pretty flipping amazing, and easily passed for thirty.

Tipping my head back, I stared at the pale pink dusk sky, drew in a breath, and then let it out slowly through my teeth, hating the way I seemed to be losing control of myself again.

Sod it,
why hadn’t I left sooner? I could be tucking into a large pepperoni pizza and curled up on the sofa with Allie right now. The last thing I needed was a ridiculous and totally unrequited crush on a bloody Hollywood star. I knew I shouldn’t look, but I found my eyes drawn back to Jack again as he stood on the red carpet, one hand tucked casually in the pocket of his suit trousers as he waved to the crowd.

At that moment, an absolutely deafening roar went up and I turned in time to see Brad Pitt emerge from the next sleek black limousine at the kerbside. Blimey. Brad Pitt? Even I was quite impressed by his arrival. The crowd were going crazy for him, but I found my gaze sneaking back towards where Jack had been standing, and saw that he was now almost completely alone with a slightly ironic smile twisting his lips. It seemed that he had been deserted by the press and fans in their desperate attempt to get a glimpse of Brad. Poor thing.

Suddenly, like a ridiculously cheesy scene from a slushy movie, Jack’s head turned in my direction. The moment could only have been improved if it had occurred in slow motion, with some dramatic music in the background perhaps, and some hi-def colouring to improve the look of my clothes.

The next second he was looking straight at me, his head tilting slightly as he observed me, before a flicker of what might have been recognition sparked in his eyes and he broke into the most immense grin I had ever seen. Crikey, that man could smile. I actually felt my breath catch in my throat as I weakly attempted to smile back and nod a hello to him.

What happened next couldn’t have shocked me more than being slapped in the face by a huge cream pie, because without so much as another glance at the preoccupied crowd, Jack was suddenly vaulting the rope barrier and making his way hastily towards me with a rod straight back and easy strides.

Swallowing loudly, I pushed off from the wall, my mouth hanging open in shock as I wondered if I was hallucinating, but no, after several forceful blinks it seemed that Jack Felton was indeed making a bee line for me, and … what on earth was he doing? I watched as he began loosening his bow tie with one finger, and then quicker than was surely possible he had removed it and begun work on undoing his jacket and shirt as well.

Holy heck …
Was he going to completely strip? Had he lost his mind? Both of these questions were answered seconds later as Jack stopped his strip tease after revealing a sky blue T-shirt hiding under his dress shirt, and then he was at my side.

‘Can I borrow that hat? Thanks.’ Jack didn’t give me time to respond. Instead, he simply grabbed the baseball cap from my hand, jammed it on his head, shoved his jacket and shirt into my shopping bag, and proceeded to steer my stunned body away from the theatre.

‘So, how’s your elbow?’ he asked casually, as if he hadn’t just leapt over a barrier and run away from an awards ceremony.

Dazed by his actions, I found his words caused me to blink back to reality and blush as my stomach dropped to my boots. Well, that settled that then; he definitely did remember me, but I was too flabbergasted by the events of the last few seconds to even speak.

‘You thought I didn’t recognise you, didn’t you?’ he quipped lightly, but I was apparently still struck dumb. ‘I might be getting on a bit, but my short-term memory isn’t that bad. Besides, I wouldn’t forget a face as pretty as yours in a hurry.’

I immediately narrowed my eyes and felt myself tense. So, a smooth talker, was he? I was particularly sensitive to anything remotely complimentary, even if there was a chance that the sentiment was genuine and non-sleazy, so his words had effectively raised my defences within seconds.

Since Jack’s leap from the red carpet, everything had happened so quickly that I had barely registered we were moving, my feet on autopilot as he slowed down and started to walk casually, as if we were a normal couple out for an evening stroll. We could probably get away with it too if it weren’t for his ridiculously shiny dress shoes and my stiff posture, which was so tense he practically had to drag me.

Small tremors of awareness began to dance across my back, and to my horror I realised that at some point Jack had placed a hand on my lower spine. How had I not noticed that immediately? Normally even a light contact from a man passing me on the street would have me stiff as a board. But no, this one had definitely escaped my attention, because his hand remained planted almost territorially as we walked and I felt my entire frame stiffen. At least it felt territorial to me, but that was because when Greg had placed his hand there he
had
been marking his property, not that I’d realised that at first.