Tough Enough(31)

“I read over my lines every night. I just . . .” I feel like punching something. I need some time in the ring to get rid of a little aggression.

“Maybe get Rayelle to help you out a couple times a week.” His wink says he thinks she can help me with more than just my lines. I’m sure she’d be more than willing, but she can’t fix what ails me. Only one woman can, and I’ve hit a brick wall with her.

Then it occurs to me. “I think I might know just the person to, uh, help me out.”

“Fine, fine. I don’t give a damn who it is, just make it work.”

“I’ll be right as rain by Monday,” I pledge, my mind already on the weekend and how I can convince Katie to spend it with me.

Tony grins and slaps me on the back. “That’s my boy!”

With that, he turns back to the set. “Get Groenig in here. We’ll shoot the mansion scene this afternoon instead.”

My enthusiasm spikes to a more normal level and I swivel my head back to where Katie was standing. The spot is empty now.

Why come if you were planning to leave so soon?

I don’t understand her at all, which is probably part of the appeal. She’s such a contradictory female I don’t know what to make of her. She doesn’t react to me like most women do.

I think back to the way she looked at me when she saw my scars. They affected her. Why, I don’t know. She didn’t appear to be disgusted, so I don’t think it was that. Regardless, I’m more determined than ever to get inside that beautiful head of hers.

I’m smart enough to know she damn sure ain’t gonna spill her guts for me. But if she has come to know me at all, then she ought to know that I don’t give up. I’m no quitter. I will know her. And I’ll know her well.

Ignoring all the chaos surrounding me, I tug my shirt over my head and make my way to Katie’s brightly lit cosmetic cove. I stop just inside the doorway, catching and holding my breath so that she won’t hear me. Her back is to me, her rich hair spilling between her shoulder blades like a coppery waterfall. She’s doing something with her hands, something I can’t see, but she’s also humming. She’s swaying the tiniest bit to the music inside her head and, at this moment, she looks more peaceful than I’ve seen her so far.

The scene makes me ache to touch her, but the song she’s humming makes me smile through the discomfort. “Ten Feet Tall.” It’s funny because something about her, something about the way she tries not to care but can’t seem to help herself, makes me feel that way—ten feet tall. Like I’m somehow an exception to her rules, whether she wants me to be or not. I don’t think anyone has gotten close to her in a long time.

Maybe until me.

Suddenly, she turns to throw something at the trashcan. I don’t have time to warn her of my presence and she gasps in alarm, her big sapphire eyes getting bigger as she stumbles backward. The makeup chair clips her behind the knees and I see her start to go down. Her arms shoot out and her mouth rounds into an O, as in oh shit! I rush forward, reaching out to wind my fingers around her thin wrists and pull her toward me. The shift in momentum causes her to overcorrect and she falls against my chest.

“Oh!” she chirps, stunned. “Thank you. You startled me.”

“You’re welcome, and I didn’t mean to. I was enjoying the show.”

Color pours into her cheeks and she tucks her head. “How embarrassing.”

“Why?”

“Because. It just is. I mean . . . I don’t know.”

“I love that song, by the way.”

“You knew what I was humming?” She seems surprised.

“Of course I did. Now if it were me, it would be anybody’s guess. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

Shyly, she glances up at me, a wry twist to her lips. “For some reason I doubt that. I bet you’ve never sucked at anything in your whole life.”

“I suck at things all the time,” I reply, hoping to keep the conversation going so that she doesn’t become too aware of the fact that I’m still holding her. Because I like holding her. I love the way she feels against me, all tiny and warm and curvy. And if she thinks too much about it, she’ll pull away.

“Like what?”

“Like origami. Like crocheting. Like ballet. Like—”

She grins up at me. “Have you actually tried any of those things?”

“I have.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“No, you dare not.”

“Secrets. A man after my own heart.” She says it in jest, but I know she’s only partially kidding. I don’t doubt that she has a lot of secrets. And I want to know them all.