“Come here,” he said quietly. He sat down on the bed, his back against the pillows, and beckoned to her with his free hand. Joy followed him, lying on her side and facing him. He held up his champagne glass. “To our little getaway. May it lead to a deeper understanding of each other.”
She lightly touched the flute to his. The champagne was cold and dry and delicious. She made a sound of appreciation. “Did you buy this?” she murmured, studying the bold lines of his profile with appreciation. He nodded. “I suppose you’re an expert. Let me guess—you took wine lessons from a world-renowned sommelier in his private chateau in the French Alps,” she teased.
“No, I was smart enough to listen to my mother when I asked her advice on a nice champagne to offer you.”
She paused in the action of bringing the flute to her lips. “Your mother? You told her about this weekend?”
“I told her about you,” he corrected. “Why do you act so surprised?” His gaze was narrowed on her lips. A shiver went through her.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“Because you wouldn’t consider telling your mother about me, is that it?” he asked, eyebrows cocked. He put the glass to his lips.
“No, it’s not that. I might have told her. If she were alive.”
The champagne slid back into his flute before he’d drank it. “I didn’t know,” he said, staring at her. “How long has it been since she passed?”
“She died when I was almost eighteen.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“No. It’s just me . . . and Seth, of course,” she said evenly, sipping her champagne. “What about you? Are there more out there like you and Katie?”
He shook his head. “No. Mom and Dad always say they had their hands full with the two of us, and they couldn’t imagine adding more chaos to the mix.”
She laughed and pulled up her knees, cuddling closer to him. He put his hand on her hip and stroked her. She saw his eyebrow quirk up in male interest when he noticed she didn’t wear any underwear under the gown. She smiled.
“Your parents are still together?” she murmured, resting her head on the pillow.
“Oh yeah. They’re crazy about each other. It’s embarrassing”—he caught her eye—“and great. Katie and I were very lucky growing up. I didn’t realize what great parents Meg and Stan were until I was an adult myself.”
“They must be the reason you’ve remained so grounded, despite all the fame.”
“I’ve seen more people than you can imagine bottom out in this business. It seems like every time I’ve been on the edge of some Hollywood mind-fuckery, Dad was there to drag me out to the golf course and kick my ass, or I’d be bailing Katie out of some fiasco she’d gotten herself into with those crazy rich geezers she used to work for, or Mom would be calling, insisting I come over and help her get a hornets’ nest out of the gutters, or yelling at me for not sending a thank-you card to Aunt Sherry for the fruitcake she gave me for Christmas, or Rill would be telling me the latest project I was working on was ‘shite’ and when was I going to do some real work for him, and there you have it—no matter what, I’m always Stan’s and Meg’s oldest kid, and Rill’s oldest friend, and Katie’s big brother. It’s sort of hard to believe all the other crap you’re fed in Hollywood when you have all those people seeing you so clearly.”
“You’re so lucky,” she whispered.
His gaze sharpened on her. “Yeah. I am. So where was your dad when your mother died?” he asked so abruptly she didn’t have time to put up her guard.
“He was on the national racing circuit. He left when I was sixteen.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was and it wasn’t,” she said, running her hand over the swell of well-developed biceps and over his shoulder. She felt his skin pebble slightly beneath her touch. “He wasn’t really there all that much, even when he was in residence, if you know what I mean. His job consumed him.”
“Do you like him?” Everett asked quietly.
She blinked, his question surprising her. “Like him? Yes,” she said, realizing what she said was true. “He’s fun and charismatic. He has a zest for life I admire.”
“So you’re not mad at him? For not being there when your mom died?” he asked quietly.
Her gaze zoomed to his face. He watched her with the steady, focused calm she’d come to expect from him. “No,” she said with pressured honesty. “I’m not angry with him at all.”
He nodded slowly. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did your mom pass? She couldn’t have been very old, if you were only eighteen.”
She studied the bubbles clinging to the side of her glass. “She had Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It eventually spread to multiple organs. Her kidneys and liver shut down, at the end.”
She glanced into his face when he didn’t speak. He looked still and somber, the line of his mouth grim.