Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(65)
Author: Mimi Strong

“You know, they weren’t that bad at parenting. They were absent mostly, and left me to fend for myself, but all that made me who I am.”

I wrapped my arm over Dalton’s, warming quickly in his embrace. It was hot under the covers with no air conditioning on.

“Did your father always drink a lot?”

Dalton chuckled. “Yes, but he was always a fun drunk, you know?” He laughed some more. “You never hear about that in the celebrity biopics. ‘His father was a fun drunk, and never even beat young Dalton, even when he probably deserved it.’ Nope, that wouldn’t make the cut. Not sensational enough.”

“What was your mother like?”

Dalton paused for so long, I thought I’d sent him into another panic attack with the worst question.

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” he said. “She was my mother, and she was perfect.”

I bit my lower lip. My heart broke for Dalton, because I knew his money had destroyed his mother—or at least that’s how he viewed it.

“I’m sorry I won’t get to meet her,” I said.

“We have some nice family photos. Picnics and stuff. I’ll show you all the albums some time.”

“I’d like that.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles tenderly.

“I guess it’s pretty obvious why I want to hold onto you,” he said.

“What? Do you mean like this?” I squirmed up against him, still being held in the front-spoon position.

“My mother’s gone. And before that, the only other woman I loved, Kiki. She died. So, it doesn’t take a three-hundred-dollar-an-hour shrink to connect those dots, does it?”

“I don’t understand. Are you worried I’m going to die?”

His voice tiny, he said, “Maybe.”

I shifted away and rolled over to face him, our noses touching at the tips.

“The doctor said I’m in great shape. She said I could probably cut back on the Pop Tarts, but I’m not going to die. Well, not for a long time.”

“Me neither.”

I reached up and stroked his cheek, which was stubbled with dark hair.

He closed his eyes and smiled, so I kept touching his face, exploring every plane and texture. His eyelashes felt thicker than mine—no surprise there, because his dark, thick eyelashes were stunning. His eyebrows were softer than they looked, as was his hair at his temples. It grew in thick, but the individual hairs were fine and soft like satin. His skin was perfect and smooth, neither oily nor dry, and his jaw seemed to have more stubble than the last time I’d seen him, just a few hours earlier.

“Dalton, does your beard grow extra-fast when you’re asleep?”

“This is my panic beard. It grows when I have a panic attack.”

I gasped.

His eyelids flicked open, and his face went into full-smirk mode.

“You fibber,” I squealed. “I actually believed you for a few minutes.”

“Never trust an actor.”

I laughed, but uneasily. Dalton Deangelo was so cute, and charming, and I wanted to open my heart to him completely, but how can you trust a guy who tells you not to?

He stretched his arms overhead briefly, then rolled away and jumped out of the bed. He already had boxer shorts on, and grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans and got dressed in record time.

“Everyone’s probably still in the dining room if you want to go down and join them,” I said.

He disappeared into the bathroom. “Is that what you want to do right now?” He popped his head out of the door, toothbrush in his mouth.

I propped my head up on my hand, my elbow on the soft, warm bed. I’d gotten a few ideas while cuddling, but didn’t want to let on my bad-girl horniness and act desperate.

“We could go for a walk to catch the sunset,” I offered.

“You’re the boss,” he said, then disappeared to finish getting ready. “Want me to shave?” he called out.

“Your panic beard is sexy. Leave it on.”

“I might give you whisker burn!”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

I sent my mother a short text message letting her know I was going for a walk with Dalton, and would see them for breakfast as planned.

Mom: Come to the lounge for a drink! I want to see my future son-in-law!

Me: Don’t get too attached, Mom. You know Hollywood marriages.

Mom: Don’t toy with my heart.

Me: Is Jake still hitting on those two chicks? Do you want to make a bet he brings them both to breakfast?

Mom: Ha ha I’m laughing out loud.

(My mother hadn’t caught on to texting abbreviations.)

Mom: He gave us a hint about the surprise. Dalton is meeting his cousin tomorrow. Don’t tell him.

Me: Sounds like an ambush. I should probably warn him.

Mom: Up to you. Your father is telling me to put away my phone. Hugs and kisses. Love, Mom.

I smiled down at my phone. It never failed to amuse me when she formally signed off her text messages.

CHAPTER 28

Holding hands, Dalton and I walked away from the resort and down toward the lake.

“Are you nervous about the wedding?” he asked.

“Where is the wedding, by the way?” I laughed at the absurdity of the bride-to-be inquiring about the wedding’s location, a week before the date.

“I can’t tell you, because if people know, we’ll be swarmed with paparazzi.”

He wouldn’t tell me?

I kicked at some loose stones on the dirt path. I’d changed from my dressy sandals into a pair of blue running shoes. The combination of sneakers with my purple skirt and green top had seemed cute in the room, but I probably looked like an overgrown toddler. I felt like one, too. I wanted to kick Dalton in the shin and shove him down the hill.

Why did he have to say all the right things, and then ruin my mood with just a few words? Keith Raven would never do that to me. He always put himself in my shoes, and thought about how I would feel. I glanced around at the vineyard countryside, imagining myself in Italy. I could have gone there with him, accepted his invitation. If I’d chosen Keith, I would have avoided all of this mess with Dalton, and all these feelings.

“The cabin,” Dalton said.

“What?” I’d been so consumed with thoughts of pushing him down a hill, I’d forgotten what I was upset about.

“Vern is working out all the arrangements. We’ll have tents, of course. The cabin and the Airstream will be used for washroom facilities, and by the caterers.”