Free B009R9RGU2 EBOK by Alison Sweeney Page A

empty space, I am obsessed with making sure Billy doesn’t get the wrong impression about how I feel about him.
    “Is it my breath or something?” Billy jokes, followed up with a test exhale against his cupped fingers. “Slide over to this side, will you?”
    How can I refuse without looking even more like an idiot? I take his hand and cross over the divide, settling in beside him, but not too close.
    “Um, how else was your day?” An inane question, I know, but the best I could come up with. The cheesy ambient “mood lighting” is making me a bit self-conscious. But maybe Billy doesn’t notice. After all, celebrities are used to traveling in stretch limos; maybe it’s always like this.
    “It was fine. My agent gave me a new script to read. I reallylike it. It’s a challenging character; I’d have to learn an accent. I’m kinda nervous about it actually.”
    Okay, wow, Billy Fox is opening up to me. Confiding in me. I can handle this.
    “Sounds intriguing. What kind of accent? I thought your role in
Bonaparte
was pretty challenging. You played the villain well.” And I’m not lying. For all his
People
’s Most Beautiful appeal, he’s an equally fine actor. There’s no need here for the often job-required flattery.
    “Thanks. I couldn’t wait to play bad. It was such a one-eighty from all I’d done before. But this is different… It’s special.” And as if proof I watch this look come over his face. The way you’d always want a guy to look when he’s thinking of you, I guess. Thinking of what he loves. And clearly Billy
is
focusing on his one true love—acting. How can a girl compete with that?
    And—yes, I’m aware—I’m taken. Why am I even wondering if a girl could compete with that?
I
certainly don’t want to.
    “Well, I can’t wait to hear more about it. I mean, if you want to tell me…”
    “I’d bore you to death on this one.”
    “No, really,” I say, and again it’s the truth. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve suffered through a million actors waxing rhapsodic about the “craft” of acting. Detailing their characters’ “backstory” and “subtext” until you need toothpicks to keep your eyes open. But as I listen to Billy explain the story of his probable next picture, his low, sexy voice describing his character’s development, I am entranced.
    We arrive at the hotel with no warning. One second Billyhas me in the imagined wilds of Africa, and the next, the doorman of the Beverly Hills Hotel is opening the car door. Thank God Billy is closest to the exit, because I need the extra few seconds to regroup.
    “I’ll tell you the rest on the way home. It gets really good after that,” Billy says, as he takes my hand and extricates me from the back of the limo.
    “I look forward to it,” I think I reply as I find myself standing not four inches from Billy’s face, looking up into his incredible ice-blue eyes. I can’t back up… the limo is right behind me. If anything, I should be moving forward to allow the doorman to close the door. But I can’t move forward, because Billy Fox is standing right in front of me, his hand holding mine, and he is
looking
at me.
    “Billy! Billy, right this way.” I recover from my momentary trance and glance over Billy’s shoulder to see Darren White working his way through the crowd toward us.
    Billy has seen him too, and the moment is gone.
    “Billy, this is Darren White. He’s in charge of the auction this evening. Darren, this is—”
    “Billy Fox, of course. It’s a pleasure. Thank you so much for hosting our charity event this evening.” Darren places his arm through Billy’s and begins proudly escorting him toward the paparazzi line. Gay men are equally entranced by Billy’s charms. I follow close behind, listening to Darren’s rundown. For those keeping score, my blood pressure has returned to normal, and the faint crescent marks on my palms from my fingernails are already fading.
    “Sophie, where are you?” Billy turns