Lover Mine(160)

Jesus . . . she was right.

She shrugged. "And I guess I'm not surprised that you never believed in what you were doing. I'm just glad you do now."

Unable to keep the eye contact going, Gregg looked out over their two pairs of socked feet, to the windows on the far side of the room. The moon was barely visible through the lace of the curtains, nothing but a soft glow on the dark horizon.

Holly cleared her throat. "I'm sorry if I made you feel awkward."

"Oh . . . yeah . . . no." He reached over and took her free hand, giving it a squeeze. "Listen . . . there's something I want you to know."

He felt her stiffen--which made two of them. He was suddenly bracing himself as well.

Gregg cleared his throat in the thick silence. "I color my hair."

There was a tense pause--at least on his part. And then Holly broke into bubbling laughter, the sweet, happy kind that came with relief.

Leaning into him, she ran her nails through his falsely dark waves. "You do?"

"I'm gray at the temples. Really gray. I started doing something about it a year before I met you--have to stay young in Hollywood."

"Where do you get it done? Because you're never rooty."

With a curse, he shifted off the bed and went to his suitcase, rummaging around to the bottom of the thing. Flashing the box in question, he muttered, "Just for Men hair color. I do it myself. I don't want to be caught in a salon."

Holly smiled at him so widely, she got crinkles around her eyes. And what do you know, he liked the way they looked. Gave her pretty face some character.

He glanced down at the box. Staring at the model on the front, all kinds of truths came to him, the kind that he simply couldn't fight or even argue with. "You know what, I hate Ed Hardy T-shirts. Damn things'll burn your retinas. And distressed jeans give me the scratch . . . and those square-toed loafers I wear bother my feet. I'm tired of being suspicious of everyone and working for money just so I can spend it ahead of everybody else on something that will be out of style next year." He tossed the hair color back into his suitcase and liked the fact that it could sit out in the fresh air, so to speak. "Those files? On that computer? First ones Stan and I haven't doctored up. I've been a fake for a long time working in a fake industry doing fake shit. The only thing that was real was the cash, and you know what? I don't know if that's going to do it for me anymore."

As he got back up on the bed, Holly finished her coffee, put the computer and the mug aside, and draped herself across his chest.

Best damn blanket he'd ever had.

"So what do you want to do next?" she asked.

"I don't know. Not this. Well, I'm kind of getting off on the ghost-hunter stuff, actually. The producer crap? Meh." Looking down at the top of her head, he had to smile. "You're the only one who knows about my old-man hair."

And he had the weird feeling that the secret was safe with her.

"It doesn't matter to me." She stroked his pec. "And it shouldn't to you."

"How come I never knew you were so smart?"

Her laugh resonated through his own chest. "Maybe because you were being stupid."

Gregg threw his head back and howled. "Yeah, maybe." He kissed her temple. "Maybe . . . definitely. I'm through with that, though."

God . . . he was still unsure exactly what had changed. Well, everything . . . but the precise why was unknown. He felt like someone had set him right, but he couldn't remember who or where or when.

His eyes went to the computer and he thought of that shadowy ghost. For some reason, he had an image of a cavernous, empty room on the third floor of this house--and a huge man sitting in a chair with a pool of light hitting only his knees and lower legs.

And then the man leaned forward . . . into the light--

The pain in Gregg's head made him think someone had Basic Instincted his temples, spearing him with a pair of ice picks.

"Are you okay?" Holly asked, sitting up. "Your head again?"

He nodded even though the motion made his vision swim and his stomach feel like he'd chugged spoiled milk. "Yeah. Probably I need new glasses. Bifocals, even . . . damn."

Holly stroked his hair, and as he stared into her eyes, the agony faded and he felt a strange feeling in his chest. Happiness? he wondered.

Yup. Had to be. Because in all of his adult life he'd been through the full gamut of emotions . . . and he'd never once felt like this. Whole. Complete. At peace.

"Holly, you are so much more than I thought you were," he whispered, brushing her cheek.

As those lovely eyes of hers grew watery, she said, "And you've turned out to be everything I wished you'd be."

"Well, hasn't this been the show of a lifetime, then?" He kissed her slowly. "And I have the perfect ending."