Page 39 of Hard Road Home
She shot him a glare. “What do you think?”
“I think we should talk about what you’re looking for in a relationship.”
They were back to there, despite the diversion. “Someone who’s prepared for the worse part offor better or worse. Someone who doesn’t run at the first sign of difficulty.”
A dark gleam lit the blue of his eyes. “We’re talking marriage vows here?”
Oh God. Had she given herself away?“Not necessarily. Commitment doesn’t need a piece of paper.”
“But you think in terms of the same kind of commitment. ’Til death us do part.”
How could she say yes with him looking at her like she was a delectable dish ready for him to eat? “I know it’s not realistic in your world. Relationships don’t last in showbiz. All the same, I wouldn’t want to go into one with that expectation.”
“Hopeful rather than pessimistic in terms of a time frame.”
“Yes.” The word came out with a wobble as he ran one long finger down the edge of the fabric, his nail raising a frisson of something hot as it scraped her skin. She should tell him to stop.
“So you wouldn’t object to thedeath us do partthing?”
“Why would I?”
“Maybe you can’t see yourself with the same guy forever.”
The trouble was, she could. It was hard to imagine Xander would feel the same way.He keeps coming back.She hushed the sneaky voice. He didn’t know how hard being married to her might be. Sticking around under those circumstances was way different to breezing into town for a hook-up now and then. He’d had four years to find another buddy with benefits. He’d been discreet with her, so there was no reason he hadn’t fixed up an arrangement with someone else. If the media hadn’t picked up on his relationship with Bonnie, until he’d suggested it to the reporter, he was capable of keeping any number of women under wraps.He keeps coming back.Did it mean something or was it wishful thinking?
“If I make a commitment, I’ll keep it.” Even if Xander couldn’t, wouldn’t. Did it matter, if she could have him for a while? He wanted a family, including children. That suggested more than a hasty Hollywood-style marriage, over almost before the tabloids caught up. Only she needed to find out if it were possible. Practical.
His hand moved away, leaving her skin chilled, her molten insides churning. She didn’t want Xander Mac touching her, caressing her. Doing all those things he did in a lead up to making love. It was too dangerous. It had taken four years to get him out of her system and here she was, aching for him all over again. If it were only the sex she was missing, why did the smile in his eyes when he teased her do the same thing, flipping her belly and warming her chest?
She’d never experienced the sparks and electrical zaps people talked about in romances. With Xander it was more like sliding into a warm pot of something thick and sweet, coming to the boil with a sizzle in her insides and her skin tightening, squeezing until she burst into flames. A brandy flambé. Did it mean what they had wasn’t love? Maybe not on his side, but she knew love when she’d lost it. It hurt.
He placed another log in the stove and turned back, kneeling between her legs. “Are you getting warm?”
Boiling.“A bit. The fire is lovely.”
“Take off your hoodie. It’s damp around the collar anyway.”
Without waiting, he started edging the jumper up. He surprised her by pulling her insulin pump from the pocket where she’d placed it after taking off her jeans and laying it carefully on the seat beside her. In moments, he’d hauled the hoodie over her head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Why do you always keep your hair tied up so tight?”
“It gets messy when it’s loose.”
“It’s beautiful.” He tugged at a curl loosened by dragging the hoodie off.
“Mine never sits perfectly like yours.” Even now after being drenched it had fallen into place. All he needed was a light comb to smooth the roughness from towelling it dry.
A tinge of colour brightened his cheekbones. “A five-hundred-dollar haircut is the secret.”
She sat up. “Five hundred dollars? You have to be kidding. Twenty-five bucks will get a perfectly adequate cut here in the Crossing.”
“My publicist organises it.”
Bonnie tweaked a strand falling forward over his brow. “All about the image.”
He shook his head. “Don’t try and distract me. Your hair is beautiful, but you put it in those tight plaits and pin it up like a helmet.”
“It’s easier for work.”
“You could tie it back in a ponytail or regular plait and put a cap on.”