“You can survive without sex, Josh.”
Josh pops up onto his side, startling me. “Woman, do not make me hog-tie you and drag your ass to Alabama.”
“I’ve never been tied up,” I interject. He drops his head and groans, before looking at me again.
“Seriously, though, Joey. I don’t want us to be apart from each other. After a long day at work I want to come back to your arms and make love to you. We’ll rent a suite at a hotel, and while I’m working you can explore or take some of the local tours. When I’m not working, we’ll walk hand-in-hand while we sightsee and have a mini-honeymoon.”
“That’s what I wanted, too, Josh.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, cupping my cheek.
“I was afraid.”
He doesn’t ask of what because I’m sure he knows. Leaning forward, he kisses me softly, letting his lips linger against mine. “Never be afraid to tell me what you want. You’re my wife. My partner. After this movie and the next, every project I do will be a decision we’ll make together. Wherever I have to go, you’re always welcome.”
A small tear forms in the corner of my eye and he wipes it away. “You’re so beautiful, Joey. I tried to deny my feelings. I tried to fight every single one of them, but every touch, every kiss, and every time you would look at me it would chip away at my resolve. I thought I could kiss you and enjoy the days we were spending together, but every single one sealed our fate. There was no way I was leaving that house without you next to me.”
“But you did,” I stupidly remind him, ruining the moment.
“It’s a mistake I’ll never make again.”
While we dress for dinner, Josh gives me the rundown on what to expect. He says most of the paparazzi will be gone, having moved on to the next celebrity, but some will linger around, waiting for us to make another appearance.
He asked me from the get-go if I wanted to order room service or venture out and I chose the latter. Not because I don’t want to be holed up with my husband, but because I felt like if we didn’t leave we’d never eat any food, and we’re both famished. We need food in our systems, good food at that, and room service isn’t always reliable when it comes to quality.
I put on a simple blue dress with matching heels. It was hanging in the closet and Josh said the manager likely sent it up as a gift. It would be rude not to wear it. Josh dresses in relaxed jeans and a button down, rolling up his sleeves and showing off his arm-porn. He catches me licking my lips as he flexes absentmindedly.
“We can stay in,” he reminds me, causing me to avert my eyes.
“No, we need to eat and you know as well as I do if we stay here we’ll end up rolling around in our food and not eating it.”
Josh comes to stand behind me, nipping at my neck. “And what’s wrong with rolling around in a little chocolate pudding?”
“You’re insatiable.”
“I am, and it’s all your fault. I can’t get enough of you and I don’t want to share you with anyone else.” He grinds into my backside, showing me just how much my words ring true.
“Maybe we should go downstairs to the hotel restaurant. That way the manager will see that I’m wearing his gift. The last thing I want to do is upset him.”
“I like that idea. Being in good graces with hotel managers is beneficial to us, especially when we want to escape. Plus, that means if we stay in, there will be no paparazzi trying to take our picture. I really like that idea, Mrs. Wilson.”
My knees go weak when he refers to me as Mrs. Wilson. I lean my head back onto his shoulder, giving him ample space to continue his beautiful assault on my neck.
“If we’re living in L.A., would we really escape to a hotel?” I’ve read the tabloid reports before—celebrities coming in and out of hotels and calling it a getaway—but if you live there, why would you need to?
“Depending on what’s going on in your life, the media could be hounding you and sometimes you just want a break. Hotels offer security, seclusion, and other amenities you might not get at home. Most have state-of-the art gyms, spas, and other services.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
Josh stands behind me and we regard our reflections in the mirror. Aside from the obvious physical changes—like both our hair being longer and Josh sporting a nice scruff—we’re the same people that we were inside the house.
“I think I could look at you all day and never tire of it.”
“I think that would be creepy, but I’d still like it. That means our roles would be reversed. I will have gone from the stalker to the stalked,” I tell him, taking a jab at my own infatuation with him.
“President of my fan club, remember?” He winks, reminding me of the job title that he bestowed upon me in the house.
“Is this a paid position?” I ask, turning in his arms. I let my fingers drift along his cheekbones, tickling the pads of my fingers with his whiskers.