Kitabı oku: «Perfect Timing», sayfa 4

Melodramatic, but that was how she felt. And because of that, she took a deep breath and allowed herself to consider the decadent little thought that had been seeking entrance to her mind: Tina’s words, loud and clear in her head. “Find a man you want and take charge. No strings, no expectations. Just make it all about Sylvia. Get exactly what you want from the guy. And once you do that, you’ll be free of Martin. I promise.”

Tina’s plan had seemed unlikely and frivolous while standing in the museum, now it seemed not only palatable but promising.

Tucker Greene could be the focus of her Grand Experiment. A chance to follow Tina’s advice and to take what she wanted. Not her usual behavior, to be sure, but nothing about this situation was usual. She could be gone in a split second, right? For that matter, she wasn’t even really here. After all, she wouldn’t even be born for another sixty-some years.

So why not—as Tina said—take what she wanted?

She took a deep breath, steeling her resolve. She was going to seduce Mr. Tucker Greene. And for the first time in her life, she intended to be the one in charge between the sheets.

Scary to be sure. But mostly, Sylvia simply couldn’t wait.

SYLVIA COULDN’T SLEEP.

She tried. Everything from counting sheep to singing lullabies to herself.

Nothing worked. She told herself that she simply wasn’t tired. For all she knew she’d been blissfully asleep for the equivalent of days as she traveled back through time. It wasn’t as if she understood the physics of going back, after all. For all she knew, it had taken a full month of “her” time to get here.

A nice theory, but probably not true. More likely, she couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t get her mind to calm down. Having come up with a plan, now she wanted to implement it.

Trouble was, she wasn’t very good at first steps. At least not where men were concerned.

A soft tap at her door startled her, and she jumped. Probably Blythe, come to check on her. She drew in a breath, slid out of bed and called, “Come in.”

A rattle and then the door pushed open. Sylvia’s heart did a skittering number as she saw that it wasn’t Blythe standing there at all. It was Tucker, and her pulse immediately picked up its tempo. This was her chance, she thought, even as she wondered if she could see it through.

“Ah,” he said, looking at her, then immediately at the floor. “I beg your pardon, Sylvia. I thought I heard you say come in.”

“I did,” she said, wondering what was wrong with him. The thought had barely entered her mind, when she realized the answer. She was in pajamas. True, they covered up more of her body than many of the outfits in her closet at home, but they were pajamas nonetheless. Intimate apparel. And this was, after all, another era.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, slipping into a robe she’d found earlier. “I don’t know where my head is. Please, I’m decent now.”

He looked up then, and the heat she saw in his eyes sent a trill of power through her. Without a doubt, he’d had the same reaction to her that she’d had to him. And if she wanted to take advantage of the situation, now would be a perfect time.

The trouble, of course, was that she had no clue what to do. She took a step toward him, wishing she had Tina’s bold confidence. How could she be so confident in the courtroom and so muddled with a man? It really defied explanation.

“Did you—” She broke off, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Did you need something?”

“No, I…” He moved closer, and she matched him step by step until they were separated only by inches, the air between them crackling with need. She wanted to touch him, but although she had the desire, she couldn’t quite find the courage.

“I saw your light on,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”

Not everything. But she couldn’t say the words aloud. Instead, she nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, watching his chest rise and fall. His eyes stayed on her, dark brown and intense. Filled with concern and something else, too. A familiar heat that she was certain was matched by her own steady gaze.

Do it! Walk one step toward him and kiss him. You’ve already kissed him once. Just do it again. Take control, just like Tina said.

Right. She could do that. This was fantasy. She was in a world not her own, and when would she ever have such an opportunity to be bold again?

Before she could stop herself, she shifted her weight, starting to take the last step toward him. She froze, however, when he started to speak.

“I also wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”

She peered at him, confused, and something in his tone making her wary. “Not at all. It’s a lovely room. Blythe gave me carte blanche with the closet. And these pajamas are awesome.”

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat and not quite looking her in the eyes. “I noticed.” He cleared his throat again. “Ah, what I mean to say is that I understand you were a bit dizzy and delirious earlier. I hope you don’t think that I would be so bold as to presume any intentions on your part because of our earlier, ah, kiss.”

It was Sylvia’s turn to blush. “Oh. Right.” Damn. So much for her ability to read men. In the moment, she’d thought he’d been enjoying the kiss. Apparently, he’d only been indulging her particular neurosis. “Um, thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. It was essentially an exit line, and she expected him to turn and leave.

Except he didn’t. He stood there, looking at her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and inviting. So inviting, in fact, that she almost took another step toward him.

She tried to channel Tina. Tried to conjure up some semblance of control. Of a woman who could, in fact, have the upper hand with a man.

But whatever confidence she’d gathered only moments ago had vanished, and she found herself unable to meet his eyes. Even as she cursed her hesitation, she heard herself say, “Thanks for coming to check on me. That was very sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he said. “You’re our guest. We want you to be comfortable. If you need anything during the night—”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, riding waves of hope. “Yes?”

“—Blythe’s room is the last door on the left. Or you can ring for Anna.”

“Oh. Sure. Thanks,” she said, the butterflies turning to lead weights.

He turned then and left, his departing gesture nothing more sensual than a smile.

Sylvia stood there, staring at the door and cursing herself for her failed attempt to take control. Even in the twenties, she thought, some things never seemed to change.

TUCKER PACED THE length of his room, not sure if he should be thanking his parents or cursing them. Because it was only their constant drilling of manners into his head that had made him walk away from Sylvia.

Damn.

He’d wanted her—still wanted her. And it had cost him dearly to walk away.

Even now, he could imagine the way the soft silk of those pajamas felt under his hands. The buttons hard against his fingers as he made short work of them. The softness of his skin against his palm and the beat of her heart pounding in time with his own.

He pressed his hands to his head, cursing himself. It was as if the woman had worked a spell on him. She was beautiful, yes, but she was also confused, possibly sick, and most definitely lost. He wasn’t a scoundrel. And only a scoundrel would take advantage of a woman in her condition.

He paused in front of his window and looked down at the yard. Only a few stragglers remained. Understandable since it was almost four in the morning. Still, if he went down now, surely he could find someone to share a drink—or five—with. He needed to sleep. And with Sylvia on his mind, sleep wasn’t going to come without a bit of gin to help it along.

Armed with a plan to keep his mind off the girl, he crossed to his door and yanked it open, then gasped as he saw her standing there, her hand raised as if she were just about to knock.

“Sylvia!”

“I—Oh, I didn’t realize you were stepping out. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s—”

“Wait.” She closed her eyes, drew in a breath. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed calmer, less confused, and certainly more in control. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and pointed at him. “You,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “Back in the room.”

“Pardon?” But she was already stepping toward him, and he had no choice but to move backward. As soon as she cleared the threshold, she kicked back, catching the door and slamming it shut. “Does it lock?”

“Yes,” he said, then watched with increasing fascination as she engaged the lock and handed him the key.

She drew in a breath, looking nervous and determined and positively delicious. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No,” he said, feeling himself harden, and hating himself for so desperately hoping that she’d come to him in that way. “Not at all.”

“Good.” Her features relaxed a bit, and her mouth curved into a smile. “I had second thoughts,” she said.

“About what?”

“About letting you leave my room.”

Heat coursed through his veins, and he felt a wave of relief. He’d been right. Thank God, he’d been right. “I see,” he said, hoping he really did.

“Did I misunderstand?” she asked, her voice losing some of its power and taking on a vulnerable tone. “I thought you had wanted to stay. That you’d only left to be polite. Proper.” She licked her lips. “Was I wrong?”

He could practically hear his parents screaming in his head for him to send the girl back to her room. She’d had a difficult evening. She was confused. No gentleman would take advantage of her in that state.

Tucker, however, wasn’t concerned with being a gentleman. Not then. Not with her.

Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “No,” he said. “You didn’t misunderstand.” And then, when he saw the flare of heat in her eyes, he knew that he’d said exactly the right thing.

SYLVIA COULDN’T believe she’d done it.

After he’d left her room, she’d cursed herself, trying to talk herself into following him. She’d never expected to convince herself, though. And the fact that she had—that she’d actually ended up outside Tucker’s door—both delighted and baffled her.

Fantasy, she reminded herself. She wasn’t even born yet. This wasn’t real, no matter how much it might feel real. This was just a chance. A chance to be in charge. A chance to work out the demons of her personal past here in the temporal past. Because right now she should have no demons. Martin didn’t exist any more than she did. All that mattered in this world was her and Tucker and that zing of desire she’d felt arc between them.

Fulfill the promise embedded in that zing, and she could go back to her own time with a new confidence. The kind of confidence she’d wanted to take with her to Los Angeles, leaving her sexual shyness behind with Dwight in San Francisco.

That had to be why the guard had sent her here, after all. Because she was certain he had sent her. All that talk about the past, and then the business with the coin. She didn’t know how he did it. But she was absolutely certain that the exhibit guard was responsible.

Only time would tell if she should thank him or curse him. But as she stood there looking at Tucker, her heart was filled only with gratitude. And desire.

“I convinced myself I needed to come after you,” she said, distilling the lecture she’d given herself in her room to its most basic components.

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

“Are you?” she moved toward him, her voice low, her body humming.

“You may think me very ungentlemanly, but I’ve craved you from the first moment I saw you.” He’d moved even closer to her as he spoke, and now he was mere inches away, so close she could feel the heat of his skin, and the scent of him made her light-headed.

More than his proximity, though, it was his words that thrilled her, firing her confidence. “Kiss me,” she said boldly, forcing the demand out before she could stop herself.

He didn’t give her any time to change her mind. The request had barely left her lips when his mouth blocked any further words. His lips were soft, yet firm, and captured her fully. One hand snaked around her waist, and the other held the back of her head, holding her captive as his tongue sought entrance and explored the heat of her mouth.

Her body reacted, melting against him even as her head screamed for her not to give in, to take charge. To take him.

But the connection between mind and body had been severed. She was losing herself to the sensations. His mouth. His hands. The way his fingers stole down the pajama top, managing to combine skill and fumbling as he unfastened the buttons and freed her breasts.

His hands cupped them, his thumbs rubbing her rockhard nipples. She tilted her head back and lost herself to the pleasure. And it was good. His touch, the heat that coursed through her, the trembling in her belly. Nothing dangerous. Nothing scary.

But also nothing in her control.

It’s okay to give up control when you want to. The words ricocheted through her head, and she told herself they were true. Martin had taken her control away. Here, she was giving it freely to Tucker.

His mouth left hers, and she gasped, sucking in delicious air to cool the heat raging within her. A heat that didn’t dissipate when he pressed his mouth to her neck and started kissing his way down, lower and lower, his lips caressing the curve of her breasts even as his fingers kneaded and pulled, igniting a fuse that ran from her nipples all the way down to between her thighs.

She pressed her legs together, not sure if she was trying to quell the need building there or satisfy it. All she knew was that she couldn’t keep still, and she writhed against him, desperate for his touch.

His lips didn’t disappoint, as he continued his southward journey. His tongue played across her skin, tickling her navel as he teased and promised with his lips and hands.

His fingers tugged at the soft drawstring on the pajama bottoms, and she gasped a little when they came loose, then pooled around her feet. She hadn’t worn her panties, instead rinsing them out and hanging them in the bathroom to dry for the morning. Now she heard his gasp as he saw her naked before him.

He eased his thumb between her thighs and found her clit. She tossed her head back, her eyes closed as he stroked her, her entire body shaking from the thrill of it. She wanted to lose herself to him in a way she’d never done before. Certainly not with Dwight. Not, for that matter, with any man before.

But then he did the unthinkable. He bent his head closer, his breath tickling the soft skin of her inner thighs. And with his tongue, he teased and tasted her.

She froze. Fear and revulsion fought to take over, and she fought back. Not with Tucker. She didn’t want those feelings with Tucker. The sense of being lost, of losing herself. Of having to take whatever was given even if she didn’t want it at all.

But she was. She was standing there taking it even though inside her head she was screaming for him to stop. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek, and she knew that she’d lost the battle. She’d foolishly believed that Tucker was different. That even though she’d come in here with Tina’s plan of being in control, that she could surrender to him and still not lose herself.

She’d been wrong, and now everything between them would be tainted.

Tucker. Dear Lord, not this. Not when a fantasy had been laid at her feet. This was her fantasy, and she was determined to take it back.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

And as she repeated that mantra in her head, her heart pounded in her chest, fear fighting courage, until she had to force the word out in a single breath even as her hands cupped the side of his head. “Stop.”

He looked up, his eyes soft but surprised. The surprise faded quickly to alarm, and he was on his feet, his finger brushing away a tear. “My darling,” he said. “Forgive me. I was too bold. I thought—”

She pressed a finger to his lip. “Shut up,” she said, then kissed him hard. She fumbled for his belt and loosened his pants. “The bed,” she demanded, determined to take control. To take back this moment, and not let anything about Tucker be tainted with the revulsion she felt for her stepfather.

He hesitated, but when he looked into her eyes, something seemed to shift. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then scooped her up, carrying her bridelike to the bed and laying her there.

She refused to stay down, though. She climbed to her knees and then, with a soft hand on his chest, she laid him back, then straddled him. Leaning forward, she captured him with a kiss, her hands stroking his chest as she went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, a testament to her nerves. But she wanted this. Wanted to take this man on her terms and prove that she could do it. And so she pushed onward, stroking his shoulders as she eased off his shirt, delighting in the way his muscles tightened as she ran a finger down the smattering of hair leading to his navel.

She eased his fly open, then tugged his pants down, noticing with delight how he lifted his hips to help. He was rock hard, and that fact both thrilled her and urged her on.

“Sylvia,” he whispered.

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “No talking,” she said, then replaced her finger with her lips.

With one hand, she took his and pressed it between her thighs, easing him back and forth until he took up the motion, his fingers sliding in and out and making her even hotter and wetter than she’d been before.

He drove her to the edge like that, and she moaned against his mouth, her hands tight against his chest until she couldn’t stand it any longer. With a sharp sigh, she slid onto him, impaling herself on the length of him. She arched back and moaned. His throaty groan matching hers, and his hands reached for her, cupping and stroking her breasts even as his hips rose and fell in a rhythmic motion that matched hers.

They fell into a pattern full of wild and desperate need, more and more until, at last, the world exploded around her and she sagged against him, totally spent.

He was, she realized, still hard. He started to ease her over, but she shook her head, spooning up tight against him. “Later,” she whispered, even as fatigue took over.

She thought he might argue, might fight her for this moment of control. But he didn’t. Instead, he pressed tight against her, his hands softly stroking her back. She felt safe in his arms. Safe and right and free of her demons.

And with that thought, she drifted to sleep, secure in Tucker’s arms.

CHAPTER FIVE

“MORE TEA, MR. GREENE?” Anna asked, holding the teapot as if she were determined to pour whether Tucker wanted more or not. He didn’t, actually, but neither did he want to leave the patio yet. After an incredible evening with Sylvia, then falling asleep in each other’s arms, he’d awakened quite alone.

Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what to think. The woman had taken over their lovemaking, a scenario that had thrilled him more than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t quite gotten all that he’d wanted out of the encounter, though, and he’d ended up taking a cold shower after she’d drifted off.

Despite the cold shower, he’d awakened this morning hoping that his own satisfaction was on the agenda, only to be disappointed by the discovery that she’d disappeared during the night.

He’d come down to breakfast, hoping to see her here, and instead found only his sister.

Though once again frustrated, he supposed it was for the best that she’d sneaked back to her room, especially since Blythe had announced to Tucker that she’d popped her head into Sylvia’s room and told her where to find them for breakfast. As soon as his sister had told him that, Tucker had slowed down his attack on his poached eggs and toast, hoping she would appear before he finished his breakfast.

So far, he was eating by himself.

He shot a glance at his sister and amended the thought. Not by himself, but also not with the woman with whom he wanted to be.

“If you keep staring at the door, she’ll never come,” Blythe said, a teasing smile dancing across her expression.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Tucker said, reaching for the newspaper.

“Certainly not,” Blythe said. But the smile widened and she eyed the paper knowingly. Tucker never read the blasted thing. That was his father’s domain and until he was forced to sign the papers putting him in charge of Carson Greene’s financial empire, Tucker preferred the chatter of the society gossip pages and the entertainment news reporting on film and radio.

Unfortunately, he’d already perused the entertainment rags. Which left him with two choices—leave the table or read the only other printed material available. Since he had no intention of leaving, he’d chosen the newspaper.

Not that he could have concentrated on it even if he wanted to. He was too anxious, waiting for Sylvia to show. He needed to look into her eyes and know that last night wasn’t a fluke. That she wasn’t simply another loose girl playing games with him.

He hated the fact that he’d already fallen so hard for the girl, but fallen he had. And Tucker knew that he’d be devastated if she was simply an airheaded flapper out to play the tease in his house and in his bed.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know the truth until he saw the girl. Until then, he was having breakfast with his fears and frustrations.

“Sylvia, darling,” Blythe called out, her waving hand appearing above his newspaper. “Come and have some eggs and toast.”

Tucker closed his newspaper, trying not to appear too eager as he looked at the woman who’d appeared so mysteriously in his home and had, just as mysteriously, captured his imagination. Not to mention his libido. She wore one of his sister’s dresses, black and covered with a red fringe that shimmered when she walked. It had no sleeves, only thin strips of red silk holding it up, and her shoulders looked soft and kissable. Her legs, he noticed, were covered by ivory-colored stockings, and her feet were adorned in a pair of red shoes that he also recognized as belonging to Blythe.

Sylvia tossed each of them a quick smile, then ran her fingers through the fringe of the dress. “I hope you don’t mind. I just love this dress. I couldn’t pass it up.”

“You look wonderful,” he said, straightening the place setting next to him in a not-so-subtle attempt to direct where she sat. It worked, too, and she settled in next to him, her thigh brushing his as she leaned sideways for glass of orange juice that Anna had poured in anticipation of her arrival.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him, her expression a mixture of happiness and modesty. “And Blythe. Thank you for inviting me down to breakfast. And of course, for the outfit.”

Blythe looked between the two of them, her expression one of delight. “We can’t have you feeling that the household is inhospitable,” she said, as Tucker wondered just how much his sister had figured out.

He cleared his throat. “I trust you’re feeling better this morning?”

“I feel terrific this morning,” she said, her eyes dancing. “Thanks for asking.”

“I hope the music didn’t keep you awake,” Blythe said. “I thought about sending everyone home since you seemed so ill, but trying to get a crowd to leave a party is quite impossible.”

“I’m glad you didn’t kick everyone out on my account,” she said. “I slept just fine,” she added, with a quick glance toward Tucker.

He threw caution to the wind and took her hand under the table, twining his fingers through hers, his senses springing to life as she squeezed back, then rubbed the pad of her thumb rhythmically over the back of his hand.

He was just wondering if Blythe would notice if he reached for his coffee cup with his left hand when the clatter of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Soon Jonathan and Talia stepped through the open French doors and onto the marble tile of the patio. “Darling!” Talia enthused, her eyes fixed on Sylvia. “I told Jonathan last night that we had to come by and check on you. You don’t remember us, I’m sure. I believe you were quite unconscious when we saw you. But do tell us, how ever are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you,” Sylvia said, aiming a bemused expression toward Tucker as Jonathan took the empty seat next to Blythe.

Tucker cleared his throat. “Sylvia, this is Talia Calvert and our neighbor, Jonathan.”

She nodded politely, but her gaze lingered on Jonathan a moment, her brow furrowing.

Tucker almost inquired, but then Blythe stood and put her napkin next to her plate. She nodded briefly at Sylvia and then Talia. “Ladies, I apologize, but I must run. Sylvia, darling, make yourself at home. I hope you’re not too bored rattling around in this old house.”

“I thought perhaps she could join me today,” Tucker said, both because it was the truth, and because he wanted to toss something into the conversational mix before the expression of anger and hurt on Jonathan’s face got any more heated.

“Absolutely,” Sylvia said, so quickly and with such enthusiasm that Tucker had to assume she’d also noticed Blythe’s snub of Jonathan. “Where are you going?”

“Hopefully to see R.J.,” Talia said, looking down her nose at them both. She shifted her focus to Sylvia alone. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into the boy. His sense of familial duty is going to ruin his career.”

“Oh.” Sylvia looked around, baffled. “I, um…”

“Ignore her,” Tucker said firmly. “We’re not going by the studio, Talia. I have to run a new script over to Charles at the radio station.”

“A script?” Sylvia asked.

“A radio play,” Tucker said. “My most recent project is Goodnight: Los Angeles.”

Her eyes went wide and her grip tightened on his hand. “How fun! I listened to one of those. It was on a DVD!”

“On what, dear?” Talia asked, leaning forward with a hand cupped to her ear.

“Oh, right,” Sylvia said with a nervous little laugh. “My, um, darling velvet divan. I call it a D.V.D.” She smiled at Tucker. “Silly, but I like to sit on the divan and listen to the show. It’s wonderful.”

“He’s wonderful,” Talia said. “Which is why R.J. is desperate to sign him.”

“R.J.? Wait. You’re Talia Calvert. You’re married to R. J. Calvert?” Her voice rose with excitement. “Oh, my gosh. I’m flabbergasted. He’s a legend. Or, I mean, he will be a legend. Someday. You know. Because he’s so talented.”

Talia arched her eyebrows. “Some people apparently don’t have the faith that you do,” she said, without once looking at Tucker.

“Fine,” Tucker said. “You win. I’ll talk to the man.” He turned to Sylvia. “How does spending the day alternating between radio and film sound to you?”

“It sounds perfect,” she said.

Talia clapped her hands together, beaming. “Wonderful!” She eyed both of them sharply, though. “You have the girl back in the house before dark, Tucker. And you don’t leave her side.”

“Of course not,” he said, his thoughts turning to the Strangler. “What have you heard?”

She waved a hand. “Nothing definitive. But the police are concerned. The Strangler hasn’t struck recently, and they’re anticipating an attack soon.”

“Perhaps he’s moved on,” Tucker said. “Or quit.”

“I doubt that,” Sylvia said under her breath. “Predators like that don’t quit.”

“Exactly,” Talia said.

“Don’t worry,” Tucker said, his hand closing protectively on Sylvia’s arm. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Talia nodded. “Good.” She turned and patted Jonathan’s hand. “Dear boy, you’ve been so quiet.”

He jerked and Tucker realized he’d been silent and brooding since Blythe left the table. Now he looked up, the fire in his eyes intense enough to make Tucker wince.

“Steady there, old man,” Tucker said. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Jonathan said sharply. “Excuse me.” He rose quickly, then left the way he’d come.

“Well,” said Talia. “I don’t think your friend likes rejection of the feminine sort.”

“Apparently not,” Tucker said. For a moment, Tucker considered going after him, trying to calm him down and encourage the man to play the field. Blythe wasn’t the only attractive woman out there, and Jonathan would make a fine catch.

He stayed seated, though. At the moment, his own love life was all that he could focus on, and right then he was flying high. Not only had Sylvia praised his radio work, but she’d agreed to spend the day with him. His fears that she’d today spurn him, choosing to forget last night or, worse, run from it and him, faded into a dim memory.

He glanced toward her, caught her smile and felt his heart do a little flip. The woman had secrets, to be sure. But what woman didn’t? And considering that no woman before had made him feel quite so giddy, Tucker thought that wading through secrets was a very, very small price to pay.

After all, every week he turned in a new Spencer Goodnight mystery, each one wrapped up and solved right before the last commercial. If he could manage that feat with such enduring regularity, surely he could learn the secrets of the mysterious Sylvia’s heart.

And even if he couldn’t, he fully intended to enjoy trying.

“AMAZING, DON’T YOU think?” Tucker asked. “All that sound delivered through these small microphones.”

Sylvia looked up, momentarily unsure what he was talking about. Her mind was still at breakfast, thinking about Tucker and radio plays and Hollywood. And, also, thinking about the strange, familiar man who’d joined them. Jonathan. She supposed he was okay since he was a friend of Talia and Tucker’s, but something about the man gave her the creeps. Considering the way Blythe had departed, she had to assume she wasn’t the only one who found the man somewhat disturbing.