“You love her,” Fox said, stealing all the air in Noah’s lungs. “You’ve loved her for so long, and now you’re just going to give up? That isn’t the boy I knew.”
Noah sucked in a breath at Fox’s oblique reference to their childhood. “Don’t go there,” he said quietly. “Never go there.”
“Is keeping your secret worth giving up Kit?”
“Yes,” he said on a wave of gut-twisting pain. “I’ll lose her anyway if I tell her.” It was torn out of him, the serrated edge in every word ripping him bloody. “I can’t stand how she’ll look at me.” How his father had looked at him.
His mother had stopped looking at him altogether.
“You don’t know that.” Fox threw down the bag he’d been holding against his eye. “She loves you too.”
“So much she threw me out.” That hurt, that she’d thrown him out the first time he’d fucked up… except it wasn’t the first time, was it? He’d more than fucked up the night in the hotel suite when he’d orchestrated that ugly little play that had devastated her.
He could still see the stark, shocked pain in her eyes, still hear the dull sound of her heels on the carpet as she ran out of the room.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he collapsed into a chair. “I was so angry at her,” he whispered through a throat gone raw. “For expecting me to be normal.”
“You sure she’s the one expecting anything?” asked the man who’d known him since he was a boy who just wanted to be like everyone else. “Or is it you?”
Chapter 31
When her phone beeped, Kit gratefully abandoned the script she’d been trying to read since throwing Noah out. It was a message from Becca: Hey, I know it’s late, but I’m out with some girlfriends not far from your place. Want to join us?
Kit didn’t usually go out so late, but that was because she’d been on back-to-back early-morning shooting schedules. She had no reason to be up early tomorrow. And what else was she going to do but stomp angrily around the house?
Sounds fun, she messaged. Where exactly are you?
Becca texted back the name of an upscale bar located a short fifteen-minute drive from Kit’s place. After stripping off her clothes, Kit slipped into a short and shimmery dress in beaten gold, let down her hair, and slid her feet into sky-high heels. Five minutes in front of the mirror and her face was done.
Becca would probably play with it in the bar’s bathroom anyway. The makeup artist couldn’t help herself—she constantly tweaked all her friends’ looks, but since she was so damn good at it, no one minded.
Turning, Kit checked the back of the dress in the mirror—there wasn’t much, the two sides held together by chains of tiny pearls that just asked for a man to break them. Below that, the fabric hugged her hips without being so tight as to look ridiculous. Sweeping her hair down her back again, she made sure the front was sitting well. The shoulders merged into a kind of a cowl-neck that softened the otherwise clean lines of the dress.
It didn’t need jewelry.
Since Casey was back from his delayed break, she asked him to drive her while Butch sat in the passenger seat. Another two guards remained behind to watch the house. Thank God she could now actually afford them—but much as she liked all the men, she wished she didn’t need the entourage of security.
Damn her stalker.
“Thanks, guys,” she said as Casey opened her door in front of the bar. “I’ll be fine inside. It’s pretty busy.”
Neither guard looked happy, but they nodded. The three of them had long ago come to an understanding that while she’d take their advice, she’d call the final shots. Right now, she just wanted to hang out with women who weren’t close enough friends to pick up on her mood. Becca usually would of course, but if she’d been at the bar for a while, she was probably happily buzzed by now.
Walking in, she immediately found Becca’s group. A pretty, bubbly foursome, they were ensconced in a relaxed seating area around which circled several hopeful men. At least one had made some headway, was whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a blonde Kit couldn’t recall meeting before. Becca, meanwhile—dressed in a short black dress paired with black boots striped in blue—was firmly rebuffing all advances.
Seeing Kit, the makeup artist jumped up and hugged her tight. “Congratulations again, babe! I’ve been waiting all day to hug you.” Another squeeze. “Redemption! What a coup!”
It was impossible not to smile. “To say I’m happy about that is an understatement.” She tugged gently on a strand of Becca’s hair—gone was the pink bob, replaced by a vibrant blue one. “I like this. And”—frowning, she leaned in—“are those tiny feathers on your eyelashes?”