you answer my question.”
I sighed. “Do you want my current real concern or just a list of general discomforts?”
“Let’s start with the first and take it from there.”
“Okay.” I took a breath. “I get jealous sometimes when it comes to you. I don’t like that. I don’t want to be that person.”
He nodded.
“And I know you’re not doing anything to encourage them, it’s just . . . I don’t know.” I downed the other half of my drink.
Patrick took my empty glass and handed me his full one without comment.
“You’re beautiful and famous—of course people are going to want to look at you and hit on you and be in your general vicinity. It’s the nature of being successful at your job,” I said. “I just need to get over it.”
He licked his lips. “Norah, my looks are useful. But they’re not helpful when it comes to making real connections with people. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Here’s the thing. If I got into a terrible accident tomorrow and scarred my face, would you walk away?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Would you wear a sexy nurse’s costume and bend over inappropriately in front of my hospital bed?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he said. “That’s all that really matters then, isn’t it?”
I grinned. Ah, yes. There was the rush of oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine I was after. This somewhat perverted man made me so stupid. And happy. “Let’s go forth and socialize and find food.”
“You got it.”
One in the morning had come and gone by the time we got home. Parties were still in full swing when we left. Lord knows what time they’d be winding up. Given our surprise engagement party the night before, however, we’d had enough.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said, continuing our conversation, “some of them were raging assholes only interested in what you could do for them. Then there were the narcissists who didn’t even recognize that other real live people with wants and needs shared their world. But some of them were remarkably normal and nice.”
“Guess you get a mix of people everywhere.”
“Even in Hollywood.”
Patrick followed me into the quiet of the bedroom, discarding his bowtie and jacket. With a universe worth of relief, I toed off my shoes and placed the earrings back into the waiting velvet box.
“Can you get the zip for me?” I asked.
I showed him the back of my dress and careful as can be, he lowered the zipper. Then I began the not-so-elegant process of wriggling out of said dress, discarding the underarm sweat patches, and peeling off my pantyhose, all before starting in on the double Spanx and the underwear waiting beneath. The things women did in the name of fashion and beauty. Talk about sexy.
“Turn your back,” I ordered. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I already know you didn’t wake up looking like that.”
“Well, that’s harsh.”
“You woke up with my face planted in your bed hair and my morning wood pressed against your ass,” he said, sounding perfectly pleased with the situation.
“As is good and right.”
“And you were gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I said, my heart feeling too big for my chest again.
“I thought you were remarkably cool in the face of your childhood heartthrob,” he said. “You only stared at him dumbstruck for a full minute.”
“Hey, at least I didn’t drool.”
“This is true.”
“Makes me nostalgic for my teenage years. Would you mind if I put up a few posters in here?” I asked with a teasing grin.
“That would be amazing, Norah.”
“Right?”
“Why don’t we stick them on the ceiling? I know I paid thousands to an interior designer, but a few pretty boy posters here and there is bound to add to the aesthetic.” He smacked me on the behind. “Smart-ass.”
“Ow.”
He chuckled and headed for the shower. “You coming?”
“Yes.”
Patrick’s en suite had a soaking tub and a generous-sized rainfall shower. A truly amazing invention. He stripped off his clothes, tossing them over a wooden chair in the corner. The man had the most amazing ass. All toned, with just the right amount of roundness. Made my hands get all grabby.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“You.”
He held out a hand and drew me underneath the warm water with him. Ah. So good on my back.
“Had you met the woman who was with Cole before?” I asked.
“No. She’s new.”
“The way he was watching her was . . . interesting.”
A grunt from him.
Without being asked, he started plucking hairpins out of my fancy do and placing them on the built-in bench running along one of the gray marble walls. Washing