Page 7 of Crossing the Line
He wasn’t an actor, some leading man sent to tempt her. She was sure of that. This was no golden boy, making bank from his pretty face. It wasn’t pretty. It was breathtaking. Things that beautiful were always trouble, and she wanted no part of it, of him.
He smiled then, a lift of the lips, as if he read her mind. She swore she could feel the echo and pulse of his heartbeat from across the room. It matched her own.
“Oh, Waverly! There you are,” her mother chirped, setting down the teapot with a clink.
“Here I am,” Waverly agreed vaguely, trying to drag her attention away from the stranger with probing eyes.
“Come. Sit,” her mother ordered.
Waverly made a valiant effort to stop staring back at the man and took a seat on the pearl pink silk sofa across from her mother and Phil. She refused to relax. There was an ambush coming, and she wanted to be ready for it.
“Xavier,” her mother turned to the man by the fireplace. “Come join us,” her invitation much warmer than necessary.
Waverly watched him as he pushed away from the marble surround and strolled toward her. She was at war with herself, wanting him closer and, at the same time, wishing he’d stay on the other side of the room.
Waverly wasn’t aware of standing, but when Xavier stopped in front of her, she was on her feet.
“Waverly, this is Xavier Saint,” her mother began.
Of course that was his name.
The man extended his hand, the same subtle curve of amusement on his sinful lips. A dare. After a brief hesitation, she accepted his offered hand. Their palms met, and she felt a crackle of electricity. Definitely a warning to stay away, she decided. She gripped his hand and shook it firmly pretending that it was Phil’s cold spaghetti handshake instead of the confident, hard contact against her skin.
Xavier had yet to say anything, and Waverly was inclined to extend the silence between them. Rather than a barrier, it felt like a bubble with just the two of them inside.
“Xavier is your new security.” Sylvia’s airy announcement popped the bubble like a dart.
“Excuse me?” Waverly felt her insides ice over. She started to tug her hand free and glared up at him when he merely tightened his grip. In her bare feet, Saint still had several inches on her, and his gaze warmed considerably. He made her feel vulnerable, exposed. She didn’t like it. Waverly set her jaw and dug her thumbnail into the flesh between his thumb and index finger.
She bared her teeth in a fierce smile as he tightened his grip crushing her fingers. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Saint,” she said sweetly, drawing on her acting skills to dare him to contend.
“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Sinner.” His voice was as rough as his edges and sent a delicious, unwanted chill down her spine.
“I told you they’d get along,” Sylvia trilled to no one in particular.
Saint let go of her hand and Waverly felt the rush of blood returning to her digits. She didn’t retreat to the empty chair at the end of the Lalique coffee table but reclaimed her spot on the sofa. Xavier laid claim to the seat next to her, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat gracefully.
Their shoulders brushed, and Waverly immediately shifted to get some distance. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Saint,” she began, interlacing her fingers on her knee. It was hard to look imperious in yoga shorts, but she’d make it work.
“Now, Waverly,” Sylvia said, trying to head off Waverly’s dissent. “Let’s discuss logistics.”
Sylvia loved logistics. Every moment of her mother’s life was planned out in excruciating detail with the sole goal of maintaining her brand… and satiating her need for attention. When parts began to go to younger actresses, Sylvia effortlessly changed gears to focus on building Waverly’s brand and career. She looked at her daughter as an extension of her own success.
“Darling, put that away so we can discuss this,” Sylvia said to her husband.
Robert dropped his phone on a side table and pasted on an enthusiastic expression.Nothing like a family of actors,Waverly bit back a sigh.
“Yes. Let’s discuss,” Waverly said agreeably. “I don’t need security. No offense, Mr. Saint,” she offered.
“None taken, Ms. Sinner,” he said coolly.
“Oh, come now. Let’s not be so formal,” Sylvia said, clasping her hands together.
“Fine,” Waverly agreed. “No offense,X.”
“None taken, Waverly.”
She didn’t like the way he said her name, as if it was a private joke.
