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  “Does it really matter here? Can’t I just take off the binder? No one will recognize me.”

  “If we are going to do this, we can’t do it halfway. You have to be in full disguise every time you’re in public. Do you really think the people in this diner have never heard of you? That they couldn’t potentially recognize you? Doing this all the way is the only way we’re going to keep you under wraps.”

  She sighed in resignation.

  “Would you rather stay in the car while I go and get us some food?” he asked.

  “I’d like to go to the bathroom and wash up a little.”

  “I figured,” he replied reasonably. “If we can get you back to boy status, you can stretch your legs and enjoy your dinner before we take on the next stretch of road. Instead of thinking of the disguise as a burden, you might think of the freedom it’ll give you to be someone else besides Gia Harris.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. What was the point of all this secrecy if she blew her own cover on their first stop on the road?

  “Lean your seat back all the way again. I don’t want anyone to see what we’re doing.”

  Something in his deep, gruff voice made her skin prickle. His words had sounded illicit. Or her hyperactive libido had made them sound that way. She hesitated. Closing the binder wasn’t really a one-person job. His friend, the owner of the salon—Karen Leader—had helped her get it on earlier, before she’d closed up her shop and left. Gia hadn’t thought about the fact that for the rest of the trip, Seth was the only person who could do it. He wore sunglasses. His face was impassive, but she had the strangest feeling he was as aware of the seething tension between them as she was.

  She touched the seat-adjuster button and reclined all the way back again. She felt very vulnerable, but also . . . excited for some damn reason.

  Seth unbuckled his seat belt. Her breath caught when he reached over and did the same to hers, his actions brisk and matter-of-fact.

  “I’m just going to retouch your face first,” he explained, reaching into the backseat and extracting a small black bag. He must have packed it for roadside purposes with supplies specifically for her disguise. The first thing he did was exchange his sunglasses for the blue-tinted ones. When he’d done her makeup earlier in the back of the salon, it had come back to her in a rush that she’d seen them resting on his head that night two years ago. He seemed to only wear the unusual—not to mention very sexy glasses—for makeup applications.

  He brushed her cheek with a soft brush, his expression intent and focused. It felt different in this position than it had while she’d been sitting in the swivel chair in the back of Karen’s salon. This time was far more intimate, inside the confines of an automobile and lying back. Seth peered down at her as he worked, his mouth set in a hard, stern line, although his lips were as shapely and sensual looking as always. She recalled vividly how he’d consumed her with utter confidence and skill.

  He’d done everything with a bone-deep sense of mastery. He’d been completely in control during lovemaking, but his dominance hadn’t offended her, only excited.

  A moment later, he leaned closer and dragged a cool, damp brush against her sensitive lower lip, back and forth, back and forth. Her clit tickled in awareness. Against her will, she had a graphic image pop into her head of him using the brushes, which he wielded so deftly, on her sex.

  She focused on his face, startled at the uncalled for, potently erotic fantasy. His dark brows slanted. He lowered the brush. Her muscles tensed in anticipation, suspecting what was coming next because he’d done it during her original application, much to her unsettlement.

  He gently cupped her jaw with his big hand, loosely covering her lower face. There was a smooth onyx stone on that silver ring, not on the top, as most decorative stones would be worn, but beneath the band on the palm side. He used it now with mind-blowing, subtle precision to smooth the makeup on her lips. She held her breath, the ache at her core mounting. He met her stare.

  She only took a ragged lungful of air when he leaned back, wiped off the stone and his hands with a moist towelette, and put away his brushes. Then he was turning back to her.

  “We have to get you back in now,” he said gruffly. She was barely able to nod. Had she done something terrible in another lifetime that she was being forced to endure such torture now?

  He lifted her T-shirt several inches and slid a hand beneath it, then paused, the slight pressure of his touch on her belly making her muscles go tighter in amplified awareness.

  “Relax,” he said quietly, leaning closer across the console. “I’ve seen breasts before.”

  I’ve seen yours, many times.

  Her gaze zoomed to meet his stare. He hadn’t said it out loud, but it’d felt like he did. She saw the slight tilt of his mouth. His fingers found the zipper. Gia stared down at his large, dark hands moving on the white fabric of the binder, speechless.

  “I think I can do the whole procedure under your T-shirt, if that’ll make you feel better.”

  “What a skill to possess,” she managed dubiously.

  He chuckled. “Every high school boy learns how to maneuver under the clothes. We haven’t talked about who you are yet,” he said, pulling on the zipper. It inched up above her belly button.

  “Who I am?” she squeaked, surprised by his turn of the topic during such a delicate maneuver. Had he said it to distract her from what he was doing under her shirt? He paused and stared into her face. She’d absorbed his scent repeatedly when he’d applied her makeup this morning and done her hair application: clean, spicy, male. It had alarmed her, her body’s reaction to that scent. He leaned closer, and she had no choice but to inhale him even more deeply.

  “Yeah. Your character. Makeup artists come up with characters and backstories to flesh out a makeup, just like an actress might do for a role in a script. We have to come up with a story for why we’re together and traveling across the country. Here’s what I have so far. You’re from San Diego. You’re my nephew, my brother Jake’s son. Jake is the manager of the European Formula One racing team. He’s a wanderer who has about as much conscience—and control—as a jackrabbit hepped up on testosterone. I always wondered over the fact that he didn’t have at least a half dozen children popping out of the woodwork. You were supposed to start at UCLA this fall, but instead you decided to postpone college for a semester while you discover yourself. You badgered your mother until she finally told you Jake’s name. In a fit of teenage rebellion against your mom—you have those a lot—you traced Jake to the reservation in New Mexico. My relations told you his whereabouts, in addition to mine. Since Jake is in Europe, and almost impossible to track down, you came and found me for the time being. We decided to take a little vacation together to get to know each other. You haven’t traveled much, and you always wanted to see the country, so we decided on a road trip.”

  “Do I love Jack Kerouac?” she asked in an amused, choked voice.

  He pulled up on the zipper and frowned. “Sure. And surfing. Adjust your breasts.” She was so caught up in his little story, she didn’t register his meaning at first.

  Coming to herself, she shoved both her hands beneath the T-shirt, Seth’s buried forearm between them. She grunted softly, struggling to cram her breasts more securely into the shaper while Seth hovered over her. How ludicrous could this situation be? “We are maligning Joy’s father with this story, right? That’s who you mean?” she asked in a stifled voice, wanting to keep things straight in her mind. “You want me to be Joy’s sister?”

  “Her brother,” he said succinctly. She looked into his face, startled. He grinned, white teeth flashing against swarthy skin, at the same moment she laughed.

  “Don’t laugh. It’s no joke,” he instructed with amused exacerbation, forcing the zipper up beneath her breasts with brute strength. “I’m proud of your makeup. You’re a damn good-looking boy.”

&
nbsp; That definitely didn’t help quiet her giggles. Her jags of laughter certainly weren’t helping Seth bind her breasts.

  “It’s no good, I have to lift the shirt. I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. He flipped the edge of the T-shirt up beneath her chin. Cool air-conditioned air flickered across the exposed skin in the V of the binder. Seth’s stare landed on her chest and stuck. Her mirth evaporated as quick as it had come. It took her a moment to realize his had as well.

  “Exhale all the breath from your lungs,” he said unsmilingly. His knuckles brushed against the exposed swells of her breasts as he firmed his hold on the zipper. The unintentional caress made her lungs collapse as surely as anything else could. Seth jerked the zipper up to just beneath her collarbone. Any remaining air was expelled from her lungs.

  “Mission accomplished,” she gasped.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he replied grimly before he turned toward his door and popped it open.

  * * *

  On the way to the bathroom, Gia worked on her boy impression. It was sort of fun. She’d always thought playing the opposite sex would be a great challenge. Her character slouched a little and possessed that stiff-hipped, hands-in-pocket, slightly awkward gait she’d observed in teenage boys. Her character, she decided, was a late bloomer.

  She headed immediately to the bathroom. She extended her hand to open the door, turning in surprise when someone grabbed her wrist from behind. Seth looked down at her.

  “Wrong bathroom,” he said.

  She gaped at the W on the bathroom door and then back at Seth. Despite the shadows in the hallway and her sunglasses, she saw the slight tilt of his mouth.

  “Men’s bathrooms? Really?” she hissed incredulously. “Did you and Charles even consider that little detail when you came up with this crazy plan?”

  “I’ll pick clean spots.”

  “Men’s bathrooms are never clean.”

  “How would you know? Now who’s being prejudiced?” he asked quietly. He cast a wary glance down the dim, deserted hallway and exhaled. “There’s practically no one in here. Go on into the women’s. I’ll keep watch and say the men’s was out of order if someone comes. But you’ll have to dare the men’s room at some point on the trip. The last thing we need is for you to get arrested.”

  She threw him a dark look—which he stoically ignored—and plunged into the bathroom.

  He was waiting for her at the entrance to the bathroom hallway near the hostess station, a newspaper in his hand, when she exited. Seth asked the waitress to seat them at a specific booth. Gia wondered if he had chosen it because it gave him a good view of the road and the diner entrance. She studied him surreptitiously over the top of their menu after they were seated, trying to picture him in espionage work. She had no problem doing it. Seth Hightower looked like he could hold a bunker full of secrets inside him.

  Another slap of reality hit her when she went to order her food. She hadn’t practiced a boy voice. But she was an actress, wasn’t she? She was delighted to see the waitress mostly ignored her as she jotted down Gia’s order, although she did keep casting speculative glances at Seth.

  Her attempt had worked.

  She noticed Seth examining her closely when the waitress moved out of hearing distance.

  “What? Wasn’t I convincing?” she whispered.

  “No. It’s not that,” he replied, his expression stony.

  “Well? What?” she prodded.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn I was sitting across this table from an eighteen-year-old boy.”

  “Well, that’s good,” she said, muffling her pleasure at his compliment. She noticed his continued sober look and wilted a little. It was a compliment, wasn’t it? “Isn’t it, Seth?”

  “Yeah,” he said, opening up his paper.

  She mentally rolled her eyes at his laconism. Determined to be as calm about the situation as Seth, she looked around with veiled interest. He had been right about one thing. The gazes of the few people inside the sleepy diner slid right off her as if she were about as interesting as the paint on the wall. Anonymity was familiar to her from her younger years, of course, but an extremely rare experience recently. It was nice.

  She found herself breathing easy for the first time in months, despite all these new realities and the cursed binder she wore. The binder, she discovered, might restrict deep breathing, but it was no dieting device. She ate more than she had in months, willfully ignoring Seth’s small grin as he watched her wolf down a double cheeseburger and fries.

  “You don’t have to be so patronizing-looking. I was hungry,” she told him stiffly as she ate her last fry with relish.

  His dark brows arched. “Is that how I looked? I’m just glad to see you eating. You’ve lost weight since . . .” He abruptly wrapped his hand around his coffee cup and took a sip. “Is that because of all the crap going on in your life, or Hollywood having its effect on you?”

  “Do you mean is it making me anorexic?” she asked scathingly.

  “Yeah. Because that’s something I’ve never seen: an actress with an eating disorder.”

  She blinked at his quiet, dripping sarcasm.

  “I’m not eating disordered,” she hissed under her breath. “I’ve just been . . .”

  “Run ragged?” he asked levelly, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

  “You should try keeping all the balls in the air that I have lately.”

  “Not a chance,” he replied with quiet conviction.

  Gia opened her mouth to respond, but the waitress returned.

  “Are you two an item?” the chesty waitress asked as she began to clear. She waved her hand between Seth and Gia significantly. Gia froze in the act of setting her napkin on the table. Crap. Had the waitress seen through her disguise all along?

  “He’s my nephew,” Seth said, giving the waitress a stare that would have sent a less determined woman running for the distant mountains. The waitress was made of strong stuff, apparently. She blanched, but rallied.

  She winked at Seth as she took Gia’s plate. “Just double-checking. I knew God couldn’t be so cruel as to make a man who looks like you gay. Boys are a bottomless pit at this age, aren’t they?” she asked Seth, glancing at Gia’s polished plate. “But a big, strong guy like you definitely needs his energy as well,” she added with a warm downward glance at Seth’s chest. “That salad isn’t enough to power up muscles like those. How about a slice of cherry pie?”

  Gia watched in openmouthed amazement as the waitress continued to flirt outrageously with Seth for the next half minute. She seemed to consider Seth’s occasional grunts and brief, uninformative replies to her comments and queries as some sort of challenge to try harder.

  Finally, Gia’s amusement waned and she stood, mumbling an excuse. She checked out the tiny on-site gift shop. Seth joined her a minute later.

  “Are you a gambler in addition to being a surfer?” Seth joked a few minutes later as they walked through the parking lot back to the SUV. He nodded at the pack of playing cards she’d bought; they featured Route 66 streaking through the desert like a black-paved path to adventure.

  “I thought we might need something to do while we’re in exile. Do you play?”

  “A little,” he replied with typical brevity.

  “Hmmm. You sound like you’re still talking to the waitress. Could you believe her?” she asked as they got into the SUV. Seth had indicated he wanted to keep driving until he got tired.

  Seth started up the vehicle. “Believe what?”

  “That waitress! The way she was coming on to you like I wasn’t even there,” Gia said with incredulous amusement.

  He shrugged. “She thought you were a guy. She didn’t bother to put on the dampers.”

  Gia absorbed this bit of information in fascination. “You mean that when you’re not with a
nother woman, women flirt with you like that as a matter of course?” Weird. There was a whole other world out there to which she had previously had no access.

  He pulled onto the highway. “I wouldn’t say as a matter of course. If they’re prone to flirting, they certainly tone it down if there’s another woman around.”

  “She really did think I was a guy,” Gia said, the reality of her appearance striking her again. She looked down at her boyish figure with renewed interest. When she focused on Seth, she saw the amused tilt of his mouth as he stared at the road.

  “I’m good,” he said.

  She laughed at his atypical cockiness. “What about my acting? You have to admit my boy voice was good,” she challenged, pointing a finger at him.

  He nodded once in uncontested agreement. “And your walk was inspired. Smart of you to keep your hands in your pockets as much as you can. You definitely have the hands of a girl.”

  She grinned because he’d noticed. A flash of guilt went through her when she recalled she’d refused to say anything about his disguise because she was feeling a bit prickly and vulnerable about these circumstances.

  About being with Seth.

  “If I was inspired, it was by your work. I didn’t tell you after you finished the makeup in L.A. I couldn’t believe that was me in the mirror. You are good,” she conceded, her gaze glued to his compelling profile. “I’ll give you that.”

  Good at quite a few things.

  His smile faded. Damn. Why did she feel like he could sometimes read her thoughts?

  “So what’s my name?” she rallied, trying to turn things light again. He was going to think she was as flirtatious as that waitress. “My boy name, I mean.”

  He seemed to consider for a second. “Jessie? Jessie Bauer.”

  She tried out the name in her head and nodded in agreement. “And should I call you Uncle Seth?” she teased.

  His swift, dark glance made her clamp her mouth shut.

  “Let’s not make this any weirder than it already is,” he stated flatly.