Elle freed herself from his grasp. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, turning back toward the door. “We should really call it a night.”
Luke grabbed her hand, pulling her back. He nuzzled his nose against the most sensitive part of her ear. “Be here now,” he whispered. “Nowhere else. Just here.”
Overwrought with both sadness and arousal, Elle pressed her lips to Luke’s; he reached to support her, hoisting her up against the door, allowing her to wrap both legs around his waist. He rocked into her again and again. The sensation of him, hard beneath his jeans, sent Elle into a frenzy. She wanted to escape into Luke, to forget about Troy and the burdensome conflict of her past.
With her legs still wrapped around his waist, Luke carried her upstairs to the bedroom. They made love in the darkness and when Luke drifted off to sleep, Elle stared up at the ceiling, once again enveloped in the incident at Anthony’s Pub. Despite her sated desires, despite the slow rise and fall of the handsome man next to her in bed, a man she’d done nothing but think about for the last few months, she was back at the pub. She was standing next to the bar, looking into Troy’s soulful eyes, wanting to know more about him, despite the resentment that stood within her like a hulking tower. She was standing there, smelling the marinara, feeling the heavy weight of the bar against her fingertips and staring at the man she couldn’t forget despite the rantings in her head and the tugging of her heart.
She tried.
She tried to forget about Troy.
But that just wasn’t possible.
The fourth season of Follow the Sun was well on its way. Six episodes had aired and the tabloids had received word of a new actor who would soon grace the screen of the television hit. Paparazzi stalked Luke like newly discovered prey in the wild. He was a fresh face and although he wasn’t involved in any kind of personal controversy just yet, the photographers held on to any shred of a chance they could get at discovering just the tiniest bit of dirt on Luke Kingston.
Nicole had been fielding phone calls from the gossip rags for several weeks. Elle had given her assistant a script to follow. She was to acknowledge Luke’s role on the show, but to answer nothing else. Of course, Nicole knew nothing of Elle’s personal relationship with the new member of the cast. A very small circle of people was aware of that information and Elle intended to keep it that way.
Elle and Rob were discussing episode fifteen in her office when Nicole knocked on the door.
“Elle, sorry to bother you, but you have a delivery.”
Elle was confused. Nicole knew that, aside from an emergency, she was not to be disturbed while meeting with a colleague, especially Rob or Whitney. Whatever it was, Nicole could place it on her desk when they’d finished their discussion.
“Okay, bring it in, whatever it is.”
“Um, actually, it’s a pizza.”
“Pizza?” Elle glanced at her watch. It was barely 11:00 a.m.
A distinctive flutter spread throughout her abdomen and her heart rate increased within seconds when the deliveryman slid next to Nicole and revealed his face. A face she couldn’t forget even after ten years of trying. A face she hadn’t seen in weeks since their awkward confrontation at Anthony’s Pub.
“Oh.” Elle stood, staring at Troy, who with one hand was holding a small white, green, and red pizza box. His other arm was hidden from view. His dark hair was perfectly coifed and a set of dark sunglasses rested atop his head.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
Rob stood, looking down at his cell. “That reminds me, I told Whitney I’d meet her for a bite. I’ll check in later, Elle.”
“Thanks.”
Rob followed Nicole out of the office and Elle stood staring at Troy. The butterflies in her stomach started out tiny, but were now spreading their wings and bouncing around inside her. She attempted to appear stoic, to sound like her normally confident, collected self. But he knew her too well. He must have known how anxious she was to see him again.
“Rigby.”
“Troy. What are you doing here?”
Troy extended his other arm, revealing a small, pale green branch with slim leaves. Two small olives hung from the sprig.
“You brought me an olive branch?” She resisted a smile as best she could, but the truth was, she was touched by the sentiment.
“It was either this or a jar of olives. I thought this was a little more symbolic.”
“Most definitely.” Elle crossed her arms in front of her chest but walked closer to Troy, taking the branch from his hand. His fingers brushed hers and an undeniable electricity traveled up her arm and down her spine.
“How on earth did you get in here?”
“I told the security guard I was delivering your lunch. You didn’t get to finish eating when you came to my place, and I felt bad about that.”
“Thanks. Come, sit.”
Elle watched as Troy glanced around her office, taking in the photographs on the walls, the posters of previous seasons, and her framed Emmy nomination letter. Once he’d inspected every bit of memorabilia, he sat opposite her, placing the pizza box on her desk.
“Sausage and mushroom, your favorite.”
Elle tilted her head, again touched by the gesture. This wasn’t the same Troy who’d confronted her in the restaurant. This Troy was kinder, gentler, more in control of his emotions. This Troy reminded her of just how sweet he could be. He had a soft side, even though he did his best to conceal it.
“I asked around. The show’s a big hit. Congratulations.”
“You asked around?”
“You know, my staff. The waitresses are huge fans. I may be asking you for some autographs sometime in the near future.” He chuckled, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against his chin. The slightest bit of stubble was coming through and Elle remembered how much she used to love running her fingers over his five o’clock shadow.
“Ah, I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive,” Elle teased.
Troy shrugged. “What can I say? I’m full of ’em, I guess.”
One of the butterflies in Elle’s abdomen stretched its wings to full capacity and she grasped her desk to get her bearings. Being in such close quarters with Troy was unreal—a scenario she’d played out in her head dozens of times over the years. She’d practiced speeches, rehearsed scenes in her head. She’d confront him for leaving her alone in that hotel room. No plane ticket home. No clue as to where he had gone.
But now, she was finding it difficult to simply form a coherent thought while in his presence. She looked around her office as Troy opened the box of steaming deep-dish pizza.
“Plates. I, um,” she stammered. “I don’t have plates. Give me a minute, okay?”
“Sure.”
Elle hurried out of her office, walking briskly down the hall to the kitchen to collect plates, napkins, forks, and knives for their lunch. She had no idea how it would even be possible for her to eat around him. There was no way her frayed nerves would allow it. She retrieved two cans of soda from the fridge and made her way back to the office.
Troy looked relaxed sitting in the office chair, his arm casually draped along the back. One ankle rested on his opposite knee and his hand rested on his thigh. His comfort and ease was sexy, yet disheartening. She didn’t want to be alone in her anxiety. She wanted them to suffer together, to commiserate in their discomfort. But that didn’t appear to be the case.
“I got you a Coke. Do you still—?”