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That took care of Lawrence, but it didn’t rewind the clock. Daphne was up and adjusting her hair and looking everywhere except at him.
“Hey,” he said.
She glanced back at him, still stretched on the bed. Something flickered in her eyes. A flash of regret for a lost moment? Maybe they could recapture it.
No, recovering a moment was always awkward, and he was too good at awkward already. Also, didn’t he keep telling himself he wasn’t jumping into bed with her? Doing that—even semi-innocently—seemed guaranteed to derail his plan. Slow and steady.
He pushed up on one arm, propped on the bed. “Do you want to talk about the film stuff? Or shelve it for a while?”
“Both?”
She sat on the end of the bed. Close enough for him to reach over and tug her down into a kiss. He didn’t because, yeah, he might fumble the ball—a lot—but he also understood when he’d be grabbing for one she hadn’t thrown.
The moment had passed. She needed something else right now.
“Is that a bottle of bubbly?” he said.
She started to smile, as if he were joking, but then she followed his gaze to a basket on the desk. She bounced up and grabbed it, then returned to the end of the bed again and set the basket between them.
“Ooh, goodies,” she crowed. “From the film people. I guess this was supposed to be your room.”
“No, it’s supposed to be the author’s room. Which means the basket is yours. Let’s see what you have.”
The card on the basket said it’d been sent by Begum and McKay. Then the hotel had added in gifts from two others.
“Apparently, Zane Remington likes…” He lifted a bottle.
“Single-malt scotch.” She peered at him. “You don’t actually like scotch, do you?”
“Pfft. Of course I like—”
“Liar. I saw your face when you spotted that bottle.”
“It’s the brand.”
“But the one I gave you was a brand you like,” she says.
“Exactly.”
She leaned back on the bed, propped on her elbow facing his way. “Name it.”
“Glen… something? From Scotland?” He leaned back, too, and faced her. “I think it had a deer on the label. Or a thistle. I only know labels. That’s how I remember which one to buy.”
“Good. I mean, if you’d only said you liked scotch because you thought Zane would, I’d appreciate your honesty. But since you really do like it, when I get my first royalty check, I’m buying you a whole case of it.” She lifted a hand. “No, I insist.”
“I…”
“Hate scotch?”
“No, no, it’s just…”
She reached over, took the scotch bottle, and opened it.
“Screw glasses,” she said. “I’m going to be a cretin and drink single-malt straight from the bottle.” She took a slug, eyes watering as she gasped. “Wow. That’s good.” She held it out. “Your turn.”
He took the bottle.
“Bottoms up,” she said.
