Bad to the Bone (5 page)

“So Audrey Birnbaum is just as out there as everyone says she is, huh?” Tom asked as he brought Kiley a Diet Coke from his minibar. She was sitting on the taupe velvet couch in the living room of his new suite at the Hotel Bel Air. The carpet was plush aquamarine, the floors and counters of the kitchen slate gray marble, the two bedrooms done in ocean colors. When Kiley had been a contestant on
Platinum Nanny
, she and her mother had been ensconced in the suite next door to Tom's. In fact, that was how they had met. But since Tom's career had heated up, he'd moved to one of the corner suites.

“Well, she chain smokes, that's for sure,” Kiley mused, sipping her drink. She'd filled Tom in on the night before with Platinum, Audrey, and Lydia. “And she made some joke about illegal substances, so maybe all the stuff you read about her is
true. I mean, imagine having that kind of talent and then trashing your life.”

“Kind of like Platinum. No wonder they're friends.” He sat next to her and took a long pull on the bottle of beer he'd opened.

Kiley smiled. “But so talented. You should have seen them working together on their song. You know, I remember when Platinum wanted to
be your
fast friend.”

Once, when Tom had showed up at Platinum's estate to take Kiley out on a date, Platinum had flashed him. She'd been drunk at the time, which just proved Tom's point. That was before the trial. Since then, Kiley hadn't seen Platinum touch a drop of alcohol, a joint, or a line. It was a new Platinum.

Tom leaned close and brushed his lips against the side of Kiley's neck. “Not interested. Wasn't into her then, not into her now.” He smoothed back a few auburn hairs that had escaped from her ponytail, and kissed her ear. “Got my eye on someone else….”

Me
, Kiley thought.

Even after all these months, every time she saw Tom and took in the incredible hunkiness of him—the blond hair, intense blue eyes, and cleft chin; the square shoulders and long, lean muscles; the entire package that had girls and women all over the world sighing and swooning over his now infamous underwear ads—she found it hard to believe that he had chosen her. That she was his girlfriend. That she'd finally had sex for the first time and he was the one with whom she'd had it.

And that it wasn't just sex. It was so much more. Love. It felt like love.

But. Tom had never said those words. And neither had she.

“You hungry? We could order room service. Or delivery. There's a great new Indian restaurant on Sunset. Killer Curry. They deliver.” He ran one of his fingertips over her lips.

Indian food?
Kiley thought.
That's what's on Tom's mind the night before he leaves for Russia?

Finally the tickets had been sent over by the producer. Tom was booked on an eight a.m. flight to Moscow; principal photography would start on his film the day after tomorrow. Yet he was as casual with her as if he was shooting the movie in Los Angeles, as if they wouldn't be apart at all. Or maybe—this was the part that made Kiley's heart feel like a beached carp flopping around inside her chest—this was casual like a guy who wasn't in love at all.

“Maybe later,” she replied, determined to keep things as light as he seemed to want them kept.

“Works for me.” He leaned in and kissed her softly. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to it. Soon the tender kisses grew more passionate. He tugged her T-shirt over her head, and reached around to unclasp her decidedly uncool white racer-back bra.

She mentally chided herself. Why hadn't she bought some fabulous lingerie? Why didn't she think about things like this ahead of time? What about her panties? Bikini with polka dots. She'd tried a thong once and had deemed it a torture device. Now Tom was reaching to undo her jeans, and she realized that her polka dot bikini panties were not exactly going to fill him with lust. Lust was what she wanted him to feel when
he thought of her and he was on the other side of the world surrounded by gorgeous, ready, willing, and—Kiley had no doubt—extremely Russian girls who would long to make Tom feel right at home in Red Square.

“Hey.” Tom's eyes peered into hers.

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

“You seem like you're a million miles away.”

“You're the one who's going a million miles away,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.

He kissed her again. “That's tomorrow. I don't want to talk about tomorrow. Come on.”

He stood and reached out a hand for Kiley. She took it and he led her into the larger of the two bedrooms, kissing her as he gently laid her on top of the seafoam quilt, which covered a king-sized silver four-poster bed. The only light came from the twinkling stars and a three-quarter moon shining through the picture window. Tom's hands were everywhere. His lips took Kiley's breath away. There was nothing in the world but that moment, that guy, until she thought all the stars in the night sky were exploding, and after that, she didn't think at all.

Kiley awoke in Tom's arms. His body curved around her, his lips buried in her neck. The bedding was a mess, the pillows on the floor. How had that happened? She smiled. Right. Now she remembered how it had happened. How long had she been asleep? She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the clock radio on the nightstand without waking Tom.

“Hey,” he whispered hoarsely. “What time is it?”

“Can't see the clock.” She turned in his arms so that she was facing him. “Did I wake you?”

He kissed her forehead. “Sleeping is overrated.”

“But you have to get up so early.” With an international flight at eight, he'd have to be at LAX by six. That meant leaving the hotel at five.

“My ticket's first-class, courtesy of Worldwide Pictures. I can sleep on the plane.” He reached over and adjusted the Bose clock radio so that he could see the face. “It's just ten. Time's on our side.”

“Ten,” Kiley repeated dully. That meant they had only seven more hours. “Do you still need to pack?”

“Did it already. Not taking much. You know me, I'm still a farm boy at heart. Mmmm. I'm going to miss this.”

He tugged her toward him and started stroking her bare back. She nuzzled into his warm, hard chest, wondering what he meant by “this.” Did he mean he'd miss sex? Or did he mean he'd miss her? If he meant her, why hadn't he said “I'm going to miss
you
”? But he couldn't mean he'd miss sex—that would be laughable. He could hook up with half the former Soviet Union if he wanted to. Why shouldn't he? It wasn't as if they'd ever talked about being monogamous. Not that Kiley would ever, ever,
ever
have sex with another guy while she was involved with Tom. She didn't want anyone else. But that didn't mean Tom—

“Uh, Kiley?”

“What?”

“Something is going on with you.”

“No, nothing.”

“Yes, something. Is it Platinum? Is it the kids?” He rolled over onto his back and regarded her thoughtfully in the moonlight.

“No, no, they're good. Surprisingly good, actually.”

“What is it, then?” He gently massaged her right shoulder. “You're so tense.”

She knew what she wanted to say, but she didn't dare. “Please don't have sex with anyone else while you're in Russia. All those amazing Russian girls, with their cheekbones and clingy dresses and would you please take me to America, you rich and famous American model, I'll do anything for you? When they smile at you, please don't smile back.”

There was more. She wanted to ask him if he loved her. But that was even more out of the question. Too awkward. Too blunt. Too needy. She had zero experience with this kind of thing. Why hadn't she thought to ask Esme or Lydia how to handle it? Not that Lydia would be able to help. She'd basically torpedoed things with Billy. Esme—Esme would know what to do.

“I'm fine. I was wondering how you think it'll be, working with Chloë Sevigny?” Kiley asked, going for casual. Chloë struck her as a sexy free spirit, someone daring. Someone who might just get involved with her handsome costar.

“Great. The table read was awesome. We're on the same flight. It'll give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

Swell.

“And now that Jessica Simpson is doing a cameo—”

“Say
what?”

Tom's brows knit together. “Didn't I tell you about that?”

“No.”

“Yeah. I thought everyone knew. She's this big star who shows up out of the blue on opening night to help Boris get the honky-tonk off the ground. Supposedly she met him when he used to be a Moscow cabdriver. That's the backstory She plays herself.”

“I guess it won't be a stretch, then,” Kiley managed.

“Guess not. I haven't met her yet but my agent says she's a sweetheart.”

Kiley tried to recall the last things she'd read about Jessica Simpson. Was she still with the Cowboys quarterback? Lydia would know—she always knew all the celebrity gossip. Even if Jessica was involved with someone, what if she also wanted to be involved with Tom?

First a country full of beautiful women. Then Chloë. Now Jessica. Kiley felt like barfing. She glanced downward at her very visible, slightly rounded stomach. Jessica's stomach was washboard flat. So was Chloë's. She reached for the sheet and tugged it upward to cover herself.

“Don't,” Tom said, reaching for her hand, which held a bunched-up hunk of sheet. “You look so beautiful in the moonlight.”

“I'm cold,” Kiley lied, and settled the sheet over both of them. “We'll text each other, right?”

“Yeah, sure. I'll be really busy, though, and I'm not sure what kind of cell reception I'll get over there. So if a few days go by and you don't hear from me, it won't mean that I'm not thinking about you.”

Maybe he really would be thinking about her, but Kiley knew she'd be thinking about him more. She'd read somewhere that in every relationship, one person always loved
more, and the other person was loved more. If that was true, then it was clear to her who loved more in her relationship with Tom. She
hated
that, feeling all insecure and needy. She felt certain that it had to be wildly unattractive. She felt just as certain that a guy like Tom wanted a girl who didn't need reassuring. Why couldn't she be more like Esme, who was never insecure when it came to guys? If she could just be more like Esme, this whole situation would be so much easier. She asked herself:
What would Esme do?

The answer was obvious. And it made a whole lot of sense, especially if she could deliver it in the most offhand, casual tone she could muster.

Kiley was standing her ground.

“So I was thinking. While we're apart? It's perfectly fine to see other people.”

He cocked his head sideways a bit. “That's what you want?”

She wanted to scream the truth:
no!
But he wasn't saying he didn't want to see anyone else. And if he wasn't saying it, how could she?

“I just don't think there should be this pressure.”

He looked confused. “Pressure to what?”

“I know how it is on a movie set. Well, I mean, I've read about it. It becomes its own world for a while. That's the world you'll be in. And that's okay with me.”

“It is?”

“Sure.” She forced herself to smile and kiss him lightly. “It'll end, you'll be back, and we'll see what we see.”

“If that's what you really want…”

He pulled her close again and kissed her temple, then closed his eyes. That was when she realized that he was
dozing off again. How could he? She'd just given him a green light to hook up with whomever, and he was perfectly fine with that idea.

Soon she heard him snoring softly. It was a long, long time before Kiley could sleep too. When Tom's wake-up call came, he went in to shower while she stayed in bed, sadder than she'd ever felt. When he finished and pulled on jeans, a T-shirt, and an ancient brown leather bomber jacket that had once belonged to his dad, Kiley was dressed and waiting for him. She'd made coffee in the suite's coffeemaker, and handed him a cup.

He took a long sip, then put the coffee down. “You don't have to leave. Why don't you go back to bed?”

“I do have to leave. I've got school, and the kids, and it's too sad to be here without you.”

Whoa
. That was honest.

“Hey.” He used a forefinger to tilt her face up to him. “I won't be gone that long.”

“Sure, I know. And I'll be so busy I won't even realize you're gone.”

So much for honesty. Talk about telling a big, fat lie.

They left the suite together. The hotel grounds were empty at this hour, almost as if it was a movie set. Kiley thought that if it had been a movie, it would be some chick-flick weepy where the heroine—her—won't admit how much she loves the hero.

A black car was waiting for Tom at the hotel entrance. Tom handed his bag to the waiting driver, a thin middle-aged man with steel gray hair, who put it in the trunk. Then Tom snaked his arms around her and kissed her. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too.” She kissed him again, then broke away quickly fumbling for her car-check tab in her purse so he wouldn't see the tears that were welling up in her eyes. She forced herself to smile brilliantly and wave as the car pulled away carrying Tom and her heart with it.