Starfire(89)

Dalton stirred, pulling my hand so my arm disappeared under his covers. I thought for sure he was going to put my hand somewhere sexual, but he stopped with my palm over his heart.

He licked his lips, the smacking sound audible in the quiet room. “Am I alive?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and felt his heart beating under my hand, strong and steady.

“For now you are, but if you make me share another meal alone with your father, you might not be alive for long.”

He wiggled his body back on the bed and lifted the blanket in invitation for me to join him. I kicked off my shoes and slid in, my back facing him in spooning position. He gripped me tightly, like a favorite teddy bear.

“How is dear old Dad?”

“Oh, he makes quite the first impression. I can’t believe I was worried about my mother being the embarrassing one.”

“You know, they weren’t that bad at parenting. They were absent mostly, and left me to fend for myself, but all that made me who I am.”

I wrapped my arm over Dalton’s, warming quickly in his embrace. It was hot under the covers with no air conditioning on.

“Did your father always drink a lot?”

Dalton chuckled. “Yes, but he was always a fun drunk, you know?” He laughed some more. “You never hear about that in the celebrity biopics. ‘His father was a fun drunk, and never even beat young Dalton, even when he probably deserved it.’ Nope, that wouldn’t make the cut. Not sensational enough.”

“What was your mother like?”

Dalton paused for so long, I thought I’d sent him into another panic attack with the worst question.

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” he said. “She was my mother, and she was perfect.”

I bit my lower lip. My heart broke for Dalton, because I knew his money had destroyed his mother—or at least that’s how he viewed it.

“I’m sorry I won’t get to meet her,” I said.

“We have some nice family photos. Picnics and stuff. I’ll show you all the albums some time.”

“I’d like that.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles tenderly.

“I guess it’s pretty obvious why I want to hold onto you,” he said.

“What? Do you mean like this?” I squirmed up against him, still being held in the front-spoon position.

“My mother’s gone. And before that, the only other woman I loved, Kiki. She died. So, it doesn’t take a three-hundred-dollar-an-hour shrink to connect those dots, does it?”

“I don’t understand. Are you worried I’m going to die?”

His voice tiny, he said, “Maybe.”

I shifted away and rolled over to face him, our noses touching at the tips.

“The doctor said I’m in great shape. She said I could probably cut back on the Pop Tarts, but I’m not going to die. Well, not for a long time.”

“Me neither.”

I reached up and stroked his cheek, which was stubbled with dark hair.

He closed his eyes and smiled, so I kept touching his face, exploring every plane and texture. His eyelashes felt thicker than mine—no surprise there, because his dark, thick eyelashes were stunning. His eyebrows were softer than they looked, as was his hair at his temples. It grew in thick, but the individual hairs were fine and soft like satin. His skin was perfect and smooth, neither oily nor dry, and his jaw seemed to have more stubble than the last time I’d seen him, just a few hours earlier.

“Dalton, does your beard grow extra-fast when you’re asleep?”

“This is my panic beard. It grows when I have a panic attack.”

I gasped.

His eyelids flicked open, and his face went into full-smirk mode.

“You fibber,” I squealed. “I actually believed you for a few minutes.”

“Never trust an actor.”

I laughed, but uneasily. Dalton Deangelo was so cute, and charming, and I wanted to open my heart to him completely, but how can you trust a guy who tells you not to?

He stretched his arms overhead briefly, then rolled away and jumped out of the bed. He already had boxer shorts on, and grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans and got dressed in record time.

“Everyone’s probably still in the dining room if you want to go down and join them,” I said.

He disappeared into the bathroom. “Is that what you want to do right now?” He popped his head out of the door, toothbrush in his mouth.

I propped my head up on my hand, my elbow on the soft, warm bed. I’d gotten a few ideas while cuddling, but didn’t want to let on my bad-girl horniness and act desperate.

“We could go for a walk to catch the sunset,” I offered.

“You’re the boss,” he said, then disappeared to finish getting ready. “Want me to shave?” he called out.