Wicked Heart (19 page)

Now I really need to fan myself.

I’m concerned that Liam playing a dom may make my body spontaneously combust.

The camera crews have left, and the cast is packing up at the end of the day when I notice Liam throwing me nervous glances. Angel is chatting to Marco about her costumes, so
when Liam gives me a pointed look before he heads out the door, I wait a minute, then follow.

On a hunch, I find him in the conference room.

“Thanks for saving my ass today,” he whispers. “I never want to be in that situation again.”

“Ditto. Although I can’t take the credit for anything. You’re the one with the super-fast memorization skills.”

“Yeah, well, that happens when scripts are useless.” He looks at the door, then down to his hands. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you . . . I mean, could I
ask you to help me learn my scenes, just until David gets back?”

“I . . .” A big part of me is dying to say yes, because it means I’d get to spend more time with him, but the logical part knows spending more time with him is the worst idea
ever. “Liam . . . I just—”

“Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but I don’t trust anyone else. You’d just need to run lines with me for an hour or so each night until I get the scenes down for the
next day. David should be back by next week. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Where would we go?”

“My apartment is right around the corner.”

“Won’t Angel get wise that something’s up if we’re running lines in front of her?”

He blinks a few times. “Uh . . . well, we aren’t sharing an apartment while we’re in New York. She has her own place.”

I frown. “Isn’t that weird? You guys are engaged. I kind of thought living together came with the territory.”

“Not for us,” he says. “Working and living together is stressful. Plus, she drives me insane with her messiness, and she hates my compulsive cleaning. It’s just easier if
we have our own space. She’s just one floor down, though, so we’re still close.”

From all my cyber-stalking, I thought I knew the ins and outs of their relationship, but apparently not.

“Do you not hang out after rehearsals?”

“Sometimes, but most nights she locks herself away to work on her lines. Another reason I don’t want her involved in this. She has enough pressure without me adding to it.”

“Okay, fine. Your place. I’ll get there as soon as I can after I finish up here.”

“Great,” he says, and gives me a knee-buckling smile. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“Liam?”
Angel calls.
“Where are you?”

Liam pushes me behind the door and holds a finger to my lips. When the door swings open, he catches it right before it smashes into my nose.

“Hey,” he says to Angel.

“What are you doing?”

“Just grabbing some water for the ride home. Ready to go?”

“God, yes. There’s a bottle of low-carb wine at home with my name on it. Want to come over for a drink?”

“Ah, not tonight. I have to learn some lines.”

“Me, too. It’s never-ending. My brain hurts.”

“So just a small ache, then?”

She groans. “You’re not funny.”

“Yeah, I am.”

After they leave, I head back into the rehearsal room and clean the production desk in a semi-haze.

I’m finishing up when Josh and Denise come over. “Drinks at Lacey’s?” Josh asks.

Denise immediately says, “Hell, yes!”

“Can’t,” I say. “Got stuff to do.”

“What stuff?” Josh asks.

I hate not telling him, but I know I can’t. “Just work stuff, but it has to be done before tomorrow. I’ll see you at home later, okay? You guys go and have a good
time.”

Josh hugs me good-bye, but I can feel he’s suspicious.

After he and Denise have left, I take some deep breaths and tell myself it’s possible to be alone with Liam and not let him know how hung up on him I still am. Power of positive thinking
and all that.

When I finish the tenth affirmation and still don’t feel prepared, I mutter, “Screw it,” and head to the exit.

Liam opens the door shirtless.

I nearly pass out.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “You got here fast. I was trying to get in a quick workout.”

I’m gaping at the thin sheen of sweat making all of his muscles glisten when he selfishly puts on a T-shirt. I inwardly curse that I didn’t even get to examine his new ink.

I shake my head to clear it. “So, let me get this straight. You rehearse for eight hours, then have the energy for a workout? You’re such a freak.”

He checks the fitness tracker on his wrist. “You say the nicest things. Did it occur to you that the reason I have the energy to rehearse for eight hours is
because
I work
out?”

“I’m going to have to take your word for that.”

“Still not a fan of exercise, I take it.”

I whisper, “Not a lot of people know this, but I’m in the fitness protection program.”

He tries not to smile. “Is that right?”

“Yep. Every new year I’m hunted by gym memberships, but they haven’t found me yet.”

He laughs, and man, I love that sound. “Wow. Badass.”

“I know, right?” I look down the hallway. “So, are we planning to rehearse out here? Or are you going to invite me in?”

“Oh, shit. Of course.” He holds the door open for me. “Come in.”

I walk past him, making sure to stay as far away from his rippling body as possible. The T-shirt and workout shorts are really doing nothing to hide his hotness.

When I see the full extent of his apartment, it hits me just how far he’s come from the man I knew six years ago. A far cry from his old Broadway apartment, it’s a penthouse in one
of the new kazillion-dollar complexes that are springing up more and more in the theater district. Everything is sleek and glass—high-tech and luxe beyond what most normal people could
comprehend. Of course, it’s spotless. There’s not one fingerprint on the high-gloss kitchen cabinets. Impressive.

“Wow,” I say. “You own this?”

He shrugs. “I was told it was a good investment, but I’m hardly ever here.”

I can feel him watching me as I take in the open space and million-dollar views. It’s weird how awkward I feel in this environment. It’s hard to process this version of him. The
millionaire. The movie star. Yet in a lot of ways, he still feels exactly like he used to, just with more money and nicer stuff.

“I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself in a place this pretty,” I say. “I’m used to noisy radiators, mismatched dishes, and nonexistent water
pressure. I’ll bet this palace has none of those things.”

“Not true,” he says, and pulls open one of the kitchen cabinets. “Observe.”

There are four plates in the cupboard, and two of them have cartoon characters on them.

I smile. “You eat off
Captain America
plates?”

“Not anymore. But these guys are hangovers from my old place. Back then, I only had two plates, and two glasses that used to be jam jars.”

“I remember those. You served me milk in one the night we met.”

He smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, and because I was trying to impress you, I gave you the one without the chip in it. Plus I would never have forgiven myself if you’d
cut your lips.”

I remember how he kept staring at my lips that night. It’s similar to how he’s staring at them now.

He blinks, then takes a breath and closes the cabinet. “Anyway, can I get you something to drink?” He walks over to the gleaming fridge. “I promise, I have proper glasses these
days.”

“Please tell me you have alcohol.”

“One thing I definitely have is alcohol.” He opens the door to reveal shelf upon shelf of fresh food, as well as a plethora of wine and boutique beer. And cheese. Lots and lots of
cheese.

“Did you stock up for me?” I ask, and point to the cheese. “Or do you usually have a fridgeful of potential mouthgasms?”

He smiles. “The cheese cabinet at a deli would be like a porn shop to you, right?”

“Pretty much.”

He grabs a wheel of something covered in wax and expensive-looking and slides it across the island to me. “As much as I’d like to say I stocked up for you, I didn’t. The irony
of being so rich you can afford anything is that people insist on giving you free stuff. When you’re broke, people wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, but rich and famous?
‘Here: Take everything!’ ”

I grab the cheese and bring it up to my nose. “Oh my God. Italian. Aged. Smells amazing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to be alone with it?”

I put the cheese on the counter and stroke it, lovingly. “No. As much as I want him, he isn’t mine. I’ll just pine for him from afar.” Funny how that seems to be a
recurring theme in my life.

Liam grabs a carry bag from the cupboard. “Unacceptable. True love should never be denied.” He places the cheese inside, then holds it out to me. “I hope you two are very happy
together.”

I put my hand over my heart. “Wow, this is a defining moment in our relationship. Only a true friend would give me cheese.”

When I take the bag from him, our fingers brush. In that second, all the buoyancy in the air turns to lead. We lock eyes, and for a few hideous moments, I think I’m going to launch myself
at him.

He breaks eye contact and clears his throat. “So, beer?”

“God, yes.”

He heads back to the fridge to retrieve two beers, then pops the caps before holding one out to me. “Try this. It’s my favorite.”

I take a mouthful and swallow. “Wow. Expensive beer actually tastes like it’s been fermented with money. That’s delicious.”

“Glad you like it.” He walks over to the couch and invites me to take a seat next to him. I drop my bag on the floor and sink into the soft leather.

Oh, God. I’m never getting up. This is amazing. It’s like being hugged by a leather jacket.

I sit back and close my eyes. It’s possible I moan.

When I feel heat on my face, I turn to see Liam staring at me, eyes hooded and dark. “Comfortable?”

“Very.” I shouldn’t like his eyes on me as much as I do. It’s wrong. And stupid.

“Good. I want you to feel at home here.”

I’m tempted to say I feel at home wherever he is, but even for me, that’s too cheesy. Still, that doesn’t make it not true.

“Was it strange?” I ask. “Getting used to all this?”

He looks around. “This apartment?”

“This life. The money. Fame.”

He looks down at his beer. “What makes you think I’m used to any of it? Every paparazzo on the West Coast will tell you how well I
don’t
deal with it. Hell, you saw it
firsthand the other night. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being treated like a commodity instead of a person.”

“I guess to Hollywood, it makes sense to treat you like a commodity. I mean, think about it like this—if Hollywood is an Italian restaurant, then you’re Parmigiano Reggiano and
Angel is black truffle.”

“Wait, why does Angel get to be one of the most expensive foods ever, and I’m stinky cheese?”

I smack his arm. “Who the hell are you calling stinky, buddy? I’m talking about one of the most delicious and exclusive cheeses in the world.”

He thinks for a moment. “You’re right. I apologize. Knowing how much you love cheese, I should have realized that’s the highest compliment you could have paid me. My ego is
satisfied. Continue.”

I smile, happy to see that his adorable arrogance is still intact. “Okay, so, the chef knows that if he uses the cheese and truffles, everyone is going to love that dish before
they’ve even tasted it. It’s a surefire hit. Same with you and Angel. Put you two in a movie together, and even if the rest of the ingredients are crappy, you’ll make it a
hit.”

He takes a sip of beer. “Okay, I see your point, but I still think it’s unfair to stalk and harass truffle and Parmesan until they have zero life. It’s bad enough that they
can’t go anywhere, but it’s even worse that no one seems to want one without the other. I mean, what if the cheese just wants to be in a dish by himself? Are you telling me that dish
will only be half as good without the truffle?”

“Not at all. But do the math. Parmesan has passionate fans. Truffle has passionate fans. Put them together and twice as many people are going to order the dish.”

He frowns. “I think you’re talking about ticket sales now, but this metaphor is making me so hungry, I’m having trouble concentrating. You want some food?”

“Uh . . .” Before I can refuse, he’s up and striding into the kitchen.

“I don’t have truffles, but I’m sure I can whip up some decent pasta.” He pulls open the fridge and starts placing ingredients on the bench. “Hey, look at
that.” He holds up a wedge of cheese. “Parmigiano Reggiano.”

He gives me a smile, and for a single glorious second, I pretend that we’re in a different reality, one where he’s allowed to smile at me like that, and I’m allowed to get
butterflies in my tummy because he’s so damn beautiful.

“Liss?”

I blink at him. “Hmmm?”

He gets out a cutting board and grabs a knife. “Come and sit by me while I cook. You’re too far away.”

I push up off of the sofa and sit on one of the stools at the island. He quickly puts on a pot of water before dicing an onion and some garlic and throwing them into a sizzling fry pan. Then he
chops some bacon and throws it in as well. A blast of mouthwatering aroma hits me.

“God, that smells good.”

He flashes me a smile and keeps going. He looks so sure of himself in the kitchen, it’s just adding to my attraction to him—the last thing I need.

“Your mom teach you how to cook?” I ask.

He nods. “She started teaching me and my brother when we were little. The first thing we learned was scrambled eggs. Mom showed us how to gently crack the eggs, but Jamie and I were only
about five so we didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘gentle.’ ” He laughs and shakes his head. “There was so much eggshell in that first batch, it was crunchy as
hell. But Mom smiled and ate it anyway. Said it was the best eggs she ever had.”

For a moment, sadness crosses his features. Then, it’s gone, and he puts some diced tomatoes into the fry pan before adding all sorts of herbs. “What about you? Do you
cook?”