The Things She Says

Her heart beat so fast, she was shocked it wasn’t audible. She stared at his profile. What had just happened? It had been A Charged Moment. Thrilling—for her, at least. But what did it mean?

She might be from Nowheresville but she could follow instructions. “Instead of assuming again, I’m going to ask. Why does it seem like you’re flirting with me sometimes?”

“I am.”

“Why?” Additional words, phrases, ideas escaped her. In fact, it had been a surprise her tongue worked at all.

“Why not?” He lifted a shoulder. “I like you. You’re fun. Beautiful.”

He thought she was beautiful? The jumpy crickets stampeded through her stomach.

Stuff like this didn’t happen to her. Oh, she’d had her share of boyfriends—small-town, small-minded boys who wouldn’t know romance if it bit them in their unimaginative butts.

The difference between them and this enthralling, charming man beside her was the difference between Ford and Ferrari.

But he wasn’t finished. “What does it hurt? It’s harmless and has zero calories. Besides, you’re flirting back.”

Harmless. Nothing more than sport for the beautiful people. Yes, Kristian Demetrious was exactly like his car. Smooth, exotic and his engine was equally unfathomable.

The crickets died a quick death. “Of course I’m flirting back. You’re driving. I’d hate to be dumped on the side of the road.”

He paused for a beat and didn’t laugh. “Women don’t flirt with me. They slip me room keys and follow me into the bathroom. Flirting with you is the polar opposite of that. I enjoy it. There aren’t any expectations. It’s safe.”

Now she was safe. How appealing.

She needed to throw it in reverse, distance herself, or eventually he’d drive right over her heart, flattening it like an unfortunate armadillo too transfixed by the bright lights of the freeway to see the splat coming. “Tell me about Kyla. Where did you meet her?”

He glowered, tightening the lines of his cheeks and mouth, and the expression looked wrong on him. “I don’t want to talk about Kyla.”

The reference to his glamorous soon-to-be fiancée was like a shock of icy water. The atmosphere in the car cooled and grew icicles. Fantastic. Exactly as she’d intended. Now she wasn’t thinking about that seething, charged moment. Or the sparkling weight of his arm against hers.

“Well, I don’t want to talk about Kyla, either. Tell me about your next movie.” That should be an innocuous enough subject, and she’d been dying to revisit it after seeing his entire demeanor transform upon mentioning it at Pearl’s.

“I’d rather not talk for a while.”

She flinched at the bite in his tone. “Sure. No problem.”

The less they talked, the better, because then his beyond-sexy accent wouldn’t skim down her spine and take up residence inside, heating every pore of her skin as if she’d crawled into the sun.

They barely knew each other. They were strangers soon to part ways and only thrown together because she lacked the fortitude to leave Little Crooked Creek on her own. What else could they possibly be to each other?

Road signs for Van Horn flashed by twice before Kris sighed. “Sorry. I can be a jerk.”

She waved dismissively. “Don’t apologize for not wanting me to pry into your life. I’m sure people do that all the time, and you’d like to keep some things private.”

“That’s true, but it’s not the reason I’m a jerk. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated is my specialty.”

He grinned and shot her another of those enigmatic glances over the top of his sunglasses. “Have I mentioned how much I like you?”

“Yes, but you should definitely tell me again.” Maybe she was getting better at the sport of flirting. The trick was not to let on how that kind of statement thrummed straight to the place between her thighs.

He bit his lip, contemplating. She had to avert her eyes from the sight of his white teeth sinking into flesh.

“The problem is,” he said, “Kyla’s starring in my next film, Visions of Black. I guess I’m kind of touchy about it because of the unconventional demands around the financing. Without the right backing, the project’s dead. The downside of not being affiliated with a studio.”

“Contract negotiations are shaky. I get it. Is it worth whatever your investor is demanding?”

He froze, and her hand flew to his arm before she’d realized it. She wanted to comfort him but had no idea why.

She did know one thing—Kris wasn’t and never would be a stranger. There was something between them. A recognition. A mystical draw she couldn’t ignore or pretend to have imagined.

“Is it worth it?” He exhaled and nodded slowly. “To have a chance to direct this film, which will solidify my career and put me on the A-list? Yes, it is. I’ve been busting my back for years to get this shot.”

The raw longing and aspiration carved into his expression hit her in a wave way hotter than the music. She swallowed, hard. Her fantasy imploded and shrank down to one crystalline shard of desire—that he’d look at her like that. She tucked it away before it grew too sharp.

“That’s a lot of mileage for one film.” No doubt he’d be successful, as soon as his investor was happy. “Out of curiosity, what is he asking you to do?”

A tiny muscle in his forehead jumped. “Announce that Kyla and I are engaged.”

Four

Kris could have gone at least another hundred miles without mentioning that. Next he’d be telling VJ it was all a publicity stunt, one he strongly suspected Kyla had talked Abrams into as a method to either push her way into Kris’s bed again or drive him insane. Maybe both. Kris assumed she’d split with Guy Hansen and was on the hunt for another warm, male body, but, knowing Kyla, she could have other ulterior motives. Until he figured out her agenda, it was better to stay off the subject.

Regardless of who had devised the fake engagement, he recognized the value of Kyla’s attachment to Visions and had to suck it up. Without her in the starring role and without the publicity, Abrams would pull out. Without Abrams’s experience making blockbusters, Kris’s career couldn’t move to the next level. Period.

“Oh.” As if fascinated, VJ stared out the window at the landscape dotted with lumpy cactus and heat shimmers, which she’d doubtlessly seen a million times.

VJ was at a loss for words. That was unfortunate, but the less said about Kyla and engagements, the better.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Thanks.”

“Is that your wallet talking or your stomach?” He glanced at her, certain it was the former. He’d never met someone so determined not to accept nice gestures.

Her forehead scrunched. “Are you practicing your ESP?”

“Yeah.” He turned back to the road. “For my next trick, I’m going to levitate.”

The joke went over like his last film, with zero reaction and a lot of white knuckles. Where had all the fun and flirting gone? From the moment VJ appeared out of a swirl of dust, the awful temper he’d been in since leaving L.A. had fled and he didn’t want it to come back.

After a few minutes of silence so loud his eardrums hurt, she said, “So. Kyla’s a lucky woman. I’m sure you’ll be really happy together. How are you going to propose to her? Put the ring in a champagne glass?” Her tone was bright and saccharine-fake.

Kyla had her spooked. Inexplicably, he opened his mouth to tell her that he and Kyla had split up a while ago. But, he closed it. He valued his relationship with Jack Abrams and hoped to partner on many more films with the man. VJ probably wouldn’t tell but accidents happened and his job was to drive positive press. Not put the smile back on the face of his desert mirage. “I haven’t thought about it. I’ll probably give her the ring and ask.”

VJ gaped. “You can’t do that. It’s a proposal, not asking her to dinner at a dress-up place. She’s dreamed of it her entire life. It has to be perfect. Something she can tell your kids and grandkids over and over because it’s so outrageously romantic. You have to do better.”