When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,58
the screen. You’re clearly addicted to porn.”
He smiled. “When you can’t have the real thing . . .”
He was messing with her again. He wasn’t watching porn. Something else had his attention, and she wondered what it was.
* * *
Four-star hotels excelled at fulfilling their guests’ last-minute requests—in this case, supplying Thad with a pair of rain jackets. Liv’s was too big, his too small, but at least the top half of them was staying dry.
The weather, in typical April fashion, was cold and drizzly, which gave Thad the opportunity he’d been looking for. They had a few hours before tonight’s dinner, and after this morning’s visit to the Metropolitan Opera and Olivia’s reckless side trip to the museum, Thad’s determination to do something to help her had strengthened. But he needed a special place for what he had in mind.
Liv peered at him from under the hood of her rain jacket, a few drops slithering down her nose. “Where are you taking me?”
“Never you mind where I’m taking you. You keep forgetting I’m the man in this relationship, and what I say goes.”
That cracked her up, as he’d known it would, and she emitted a trio of unladylike snorts.
They were in his favorite part of Central Park, the North Woods. During his days with the Giants, he’d often come here to run. Because of its location in the park’s far northwest corner, the North Woods wasn’t as heavily visited as the central and southern sections, and today’s inclement weather had left it virtually deserted.
Which was exactly what he needed. Hotel suites, no matter how luxurious, weren’t soundproofed, leaving him to wonder where, in this busy, crowded city, he might take a woman who could potentially break glass with her voice. The answer had come to him as they were leaving the museum. The North Woods on a rainy day when no one would be around.
He’d been surprised how easily he’d gotten her to agree to go out with him in this less-than-ideal weather until he remembered she liked being outdoors nearly as much as he did, although in typical diva fashion she’d wrapped her neck in a couple hundred wool scarves.
“It’s raining,” she pointed out unnecessarily.
“It’s drizzling. There’s a difference. And I thought humidity was good for your voice.”
“Not if I’m freezing to death.”
“Are you?”
“No. But I might be.”
“If that happens, we’ll head right back to the hotel, lock all the doors, and settle into whichever one of our beds we get to first.”
Apparently, he looked exactly as lecherous as he felt because she gave him another of her snorts. “This is Manhattan. Not Las Vegas.”
“We could pretend.”
She laughed, but she sounded nervous. He wasn’t exactly calm himself. They’d made too big a deal out of the last-night-in-Las-Vegas thing. They should have been getting it on from the beginning. This was what came of lusting after a high-strung diva.
He steered her off the paved pathway onto a side trail leading in the general direction of the part of the North Woods known as the Ravine. A woodpecker drummed on a dead tree, and ferns pushed their way through the winter leaf debris bordering the stream that ran through this section of the park. He could hear water rushing down one of the cascades. Frederick Law Olmsted had wanted to re-create the Adirondacks here, and he’d designed the woodlands with a stream, waterfalls, and outcrops of boulders.
They hadn’t seen anyone for a while, and as they reached a thick grove of ironwoods where the distant sound of traffic was barely audible, he decided now was as good a time as any. “I need a rest. It’s been a busy day and after this morning, I’m in the mood for one of those arias you’re so famous for.”
She looked so hurt he wanted to snatch the words back, but that wouldn’t help her. “You mean one of those arias I can’t sing well?”
“I’ve got a theory about that.”
“You don’t know anything about opera, so how can you have a theory?”
“I’m that smart.”
“Seriously?” She managed a skeptical smile.
“Face it, Liv. You don’t have anything to lose and everything to gain. Start with those warm-ups. There’s nobody around to hear except me, and I’ll stick my fingers in my ears.”
Her forehead knit in frustration. “I can’t do my warm-ups, not the way I used to. You know that. My chest feels like it has a boa constrictor around it.”