“Clearly. Have you seen the size of my ass?”

His eyes blaze as he glares over at me over his coffee mug.

“Don’t ever put yourself down like that around me again, Natalie.”

Holy shit.

I frown and look down at my plate.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you or show you how beautiful I think you are for you to get it through your head.”

“Luke…” He reaches out with his long fingers and grasps my chin, tilting my face back up to meet my eyes.

“Look at me. There is nothing for you to be uncomfortable about when it comes to your body. Eat whatever you want. I love watching you eat. I’d love to work out with you, just because I love watching you move. Your curves are beautiful, and I can’t wait to get my hands on them again.”

“Okay.”

What else am I supposed to say to that?

“Are you trying to send the florists kids to college?” I ask, trying to distract him.

Chapter Eleven

Luke laughs at my quip and I relax a little. I really need to watch what I say around him about my body. I’ve never been so self-conscious with other men, but that’s probably because I didn’t really care what they thought of me.

They could take me or leave me.

I want Luke to take me.

“Thank you for breakfast.” I pick up my coffee and lean back in my chair, admiring the view of the water and the boats sailing across it.

“You’re welcome,” he stands and holds his hand out for me to take.

“Come, let’s get more comfortable and have that talk.”

Wow, I’m not going to have to drag it out of him! This is good. I take his hand and abandon my coffee, but grab the orange juice and follow him over to the plush love seat. I sit facing him and wait for him to start.

Luke sits on the edge of the sofa and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s agitated, probably nervous. I don’t really know what to say to put him at ease. And I desperately want him to start talking.

“Hey,” I say and link my fingers with his. “It’s okay. Tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me, and we’ll go from there.”

His eyes are worried, his brow furrowed, as he leans back and kisses my knuckles.

“First of all, I didn’t mean to lie to you.” He looks me square in the eye. “I should have been honest with you the night you were here, but frankly, I just got so caught up in you. You make me forget my own name sometimes.”

So he has that problem too, huh?

“Obviously, the morning we met I thought you were taking photos of me.

That doesn’t happen often anymore, but every once in a while it does, and I panic.”

“I won’t ever take your picture without your permission.”

He squeezes my hand and gives me a sad smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He takes a deep breath and continues. “A few years ago things were pretty crazy. The paparazzi

can

be

merciless,

and

sometimes the fans are worse. I’ve never been great in crowds, no idea why, but being literally chased down the street by hundreds of people on a regular basis pushed it into a full blown phobia.

Every

moment

of

my

life

was

documented for five years.”

He turns toward me, his eyes wide and haunted. “I couldn’t have had a girlfriend if I had wanted one. There was never a moment to myself.”

“I thought I read something about you being with the co-star… Meredith Something or other.”

He shakes his head with frustration.

“That was all fabricated for the sake of the films. For the publicity. The studio owns you when you’re in big-budget films, Nat. They dictate who you’re with, what you do, where you go. I was too young to truly understand what that meant.

“Meredith is nice, but she was never my girlfriend, and that’s just another example of how ruthless the paparazzi are. They can twist anything around until they get the story they want, rather than the boring truth.” He swallows and frowns, and then his beautiful blue eyes find mine again.

“If you have questions about my past, you need to ask me. Don’t go looking around online for answers.”

Geez. “Okay.”

“This is important. It could make us or break us, and I refuse to lose you over something that is no longer a part of my life.”

“Is stuff still printed about you?” I ask.

“Sometimes, not often anymore.

Thank God.”

“Have you really not made a movie in five years?”

“I haven’t acted in one in five years,”

he replies.

“Why?”

He runs his hand through his hair again. “Because not all money is good money.”

“What does that mean?”

“I made a lot of money from those films, Nat. I still do thanks to merchandising, and my accountant and lawyers. And I could still be making a lot of money acting in films, but at what cost? So I can be hounded and have my life ruled?”

“What about actors like Matt Damon and Ben Affleck? They seem to lead fairly private lives.” I remind him.

He nods. “Yes, they do, but they’re also a bit older now and aren’t starring in romantic comedies geared toward young women. They aren’t great fodder for the rags anymore.”

“So no movie business at all?” I ask, wanting to know more, he still hasn’t told me what he does.