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That smile was tinder to make knees weak, to set a heart on fire. It was the smile that launched a laugh. The crinkle of cheek, the uptick of lips, and a glimmer of teeth, they all came before the deep-voiced articulation of mirth. She knew that smile originated in his eyes, before he lowered his lids as if he had already given away too much and wanted to keep a thought secret. She knew it ended in a dimple.
She loved that smile.
It wasn’t the one he used on stage at the conference or in the restaurant. Now that she’d seen this smile, she knew his public smile, while freely given and oozing warmth, had a smooth, practiced look to it. It had all the gloss and loveliness that the camera loved, that Hollywood banked on, but there was a distance in his wide-open eyes even as they met yours, and his features remained symmetrical. As if he knew he could dazzle, and he didn’t want to unleash that on the unsuspecting. As if every smile given in public had a professional tax on it and cost him something of his soul.
The smile captured on Haydn’s face in the bridge climb photo wasn’t safe for public consumption. It was the one he used when he wasn’t being watched, when he was enjoying himself and wanted you to know it. It wasn’t balanced or fixed. He would wrinkle his nose and shutter his eyes. She’d seen it above her in bed, and on the dance floor and beaming at her from inside his fake beard. It was her smile. A gift. Different, separate, goofier and spontaneous, and so extraordinarily sexy it dissolved all the anger inside her chest.
“The others are being auctioned,” he said. “We only have a description of them.”
His “people” had learned about them from a tip-off. All shot from behind, no full face, Haydn in profile. Rick was sure the leak came from the boatyard and the photographer was on a balcony of the hotel near the dock.
“I knew this kind of thing happened. I was aware all weekend how careful you were to avoid it, knowing when you could take a risk like the restaurant and the ballroom and when you couldn’t. You thought we were safe. You don’t seem mad.”
“Rick is furious. Hassan feels like he let me down.” Haydn turned away, going to the dresser across the room and putting his back to her. “My agent will quietly seethe. I’m inured to it. It’s part of the job.” He was withdrawing.
“I would never sell you out.”
“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to fundraise. Hassan is on standby to take you home whenever you’re ready.”
He didn’t believe her. “You said you trusted me.” She needed to see that smile again—her smile—before she left and had to make do with the other one the world knew.
He turned and leaned against the dresser, arms folded over his chest. “I trust you won’t tell lies. That’s not who you are. It’s a lot of money, Teela. Extra publicity won’t matter to me, and you could donate what you make to charity.”
The weekend was over. Being papped and learning how she could profit from having simply spent time with Haydn drew a line under their differences. She’d seen their time together ending in quite a different way, in hopeless lingering kisses and final hugs repeated, in unfathomable tenderness. None of this was Haydn’s fault. He didn’t even have to tell her about it or offer bizarre investment advice. He’d be gone before the photo story appeared.
“I don’t think I’m ready to go yet.”
“Are you sure?” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t want to coerce you into staying. Shouldn’t have stalked you to your office, even though that worked out.”
Coerce was a more intense word than beg. This wasn’t the same playful, intimate mood as cuddling on the yacht. Haydn was well aware of the power of his position relative to hers. He held all the cards and nothing she did, not even shouting from the rooftops in a tell-all sex-weekend expose that the Sexiest Man Alive had toe jam, halitosis and trouble getting his one inch up, could hurt him.
And yet for all that. He was tense. The veins on his forearms popping as he locked them down tight over his chest. His brows angled down. Waiting for her to decide.
“If you still want me? We have a few hours, but I need to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“I haven’t stopped wanting you all weekend.”
The words. The way he said them, with a voice gone dark and thick. The way he looked at her. As if he might not stop wanting her after they were done. It made her body feel lush and tropical-storm alive.
“Then what are you doing all the way over there?” she said.
He visibly unlocked his body. Eyes opening wider, shoulders lowering, head straightening and arms dropping to his sides as he made for her in long, sure strides, a hand out to cup her face.
She’d get her private smile to take away and she’d pack it with her other memories in a stay-fresh section of her mind to have forever.
The coercion was all on her side.
TWELVE
“You do things to me,” Haydn murmured as he took Teela’s face in his hand, cupping her cheek and sliding his fingers into her hair as if it was forgiveness.
She tipped her head back. “Good things?”
Bad things. Like wishing the weekend wasn’t over. Like wishing they could play happy couple together a little longer. He kissed her neck, running his nose over her skin and breathing in hotel soap and her own indefinable scent that made a fine thread of thrill run under his skin, lighting up pleasure sensors all over his body.
“Sexy things,” he ground out, pressing her closer. Other things he couldn’t quite put a name to.
“That’ll do,” she said.
