He looked away, collected himself, and looked back, but she was gone—the kitchen door flapping against the frame with a loud SMACK.
Ben cleared his throat, and the eye of every chicken stared, accusingly, in his direction.
CHAPTER 39
I hated that man; he was an asshole unlike I’d ever known. Why God deemed to gift men like him with looks like that was beyond me. Or maybe looks like that shaped men into assholes like him.
I stood in the Kirklands’ back yard, on perfectly cut grass, the fingers of which tickled the edges of my feet—a birdbath beside me trickling, a patch of sunflowers swaying before me. Beauty, all around. And behind me, darkening that rooster-infested patch of square footage: The Beast.
I hadn’t kissed someone in three years. The last person was Scott, and look how that turned out. For Cole to just grab me and do that, in front of Ben… I let out a hot breath of anger. And then, his laugh. Scornful and mean. As if it had been nothing. Worse than nothing. Bad.
I hadn’t kissed a lot of men in my life, but for me, it hadn’t been nothing. And it certainly hadn’t been bad. He probably kissed a different girl every day. I’d seen him, onscreen, kissing women so beautiful they’d make your eyes hurt. He’d been married—or technically still was—to Nadia Smith. Why was I not surprised that my kiss didn’t compare? I shouldn’t have felt hurt; I should have felt mad. I had been. Mad enough to push him off and inflict pain while doing so. I was not Cole Masten’s to take. I was certainly not Cole Masten’s to ridicule and push aside with a laugh.
Tears burning the edge of my eyes, I stepped to the picket fence at the edge of the Kirklands’ lawn, undid the latch, and stepped down into the first open lane of cotton. Crossing my hands over my chest, my flip-flops soft in the dirt, I headed home.
CHAPTER 40
Cole rested his hands on the sink and leaned forward, looking out the kitchen’s window, watching Summer’s hair picked up and pulled by the wind. “Where’s she going?”
“Home,” Ben said from behind him. He stepped forward, joining Cole at the sink and pointed, a manicured nail tapping on the glass. “That big house back there is the Holden plantation. Her house is the little one, to the right.”
“That’s her house? Right there?” Cole squinted, surprised. “It’s so close.”
“They’re neighboring estates,” Ben said with some importance.
“How pissed is she?” Cole nodded toward Summer, who was smaller now, her red dress barely visible, her steps quick.
“You should go after her,” Ben said. “She’s pissed… but I also think she’s hurt.”
Hurt. It had been a long time since Cole had cared whether anyone was hurt. He pushed off the sink and turned away, stepping toward the living room. “Show me the rest of this place, Ben,” he called out, moving farther from the window, from her, from weakness. “And if I see a fucking chicken in the bedroom I will rip it apart myself.”
He couldn’t go after her. Even if it was the right thing to do. Even if it would make their relationship smoother, the movie better. Because he knew himself. And right now, if he chased her down that dirt row and pulled her around, apologizing would be the last thing on his mind.
CHAPTER 41
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brad DeLuca’s voice boomed through the cell phone’s speaker, Cole wincing and pulling it away from his ear. Cole hadn’t had a clear call since he set foot in Quincy, yet DeLuca’s voice was crystal. A crystal hammer.
“What?” Cole sat up in bed and looked for a clock, his eyes landing on a small silver timepiece, quite possibly the only thing in this damn house that didn’t have a rooster on it. “It’s eight in the morning,” he mumbled.
“I’m well aware of that. And my wife has come three times so far this morning, so get your ass out of bed and be productive.”
“I’m on California time,” Cole mumbled, his eyes closing. Anything to break the view. If he saw one more rooster, he would go insane.
“I was very clear in my instructions to you. You were to go to Quincy and behave. Not run around grabbing the first single woman you find. And then you made her your costar?” The man growled out the last word, and Cole sat up.
“How do you know that? Deadline? Who reported it?” He kicked at the covers to get his legs free. It was probably Perez. That prick had informants coming out of his freshly bleached ass.
“It hasn’t hit any press. But it will. And Nadia’s attorneys will crucify you with it. You can’t put your new girlfriend in the movie that we’re—”
“She’s not my new girlfriend,” he interrupted.
“Sorry. Your new fuck—”
“No,” Cole stopped him. “She’s nothing. I didn’t cast her because I’m fucking her or dating her. I cast her because she is Ida Pinkerton. She’s perfect for the movie; she was born for this role. And she’s cheap. It’s a good decision all around.”
“Perfect for the movie or your cock?”
Cole closed his eyes. “The movie. I listened to you. I’m behaving and focusing on the movie. I haven’t even thought about Nadia since I got here. Everything has been about the movie.”
“Then why, with all of that said, did you kiss her?” DeLuca’s voice was softer, a cushion ready for a confession, soothing undertones hiding the blades he held beneath.