His nose drifted over mine. “You know I want kids, so I couldn’t give two shits about what Marla or anyone else thinks. All I care about are the decisions we make as a couple.”

I brushed my lips on his for a kiss, loving him even more than I thought was possible.

Ryan lounged back and I rested my head on his shoulder. “But,” he said conspiratorially, “back to the Marla thing. I found out earlier today that on the day I proposed to you, Marla caught her husband screwing one of the bartenders from the Chateau in her shower.”

My head popped off his bare chest. “No kidding?”

“I think that explains some things, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

He combed my long hair back. “Trish wanted to tell you about the email she got this morning but I guess I spoiled all her fun now.”

I envisioned Marla walking into her pala-tial estate, catching her husband’s wet, naked ass in mid-thrust. Oh to have been a fly on the wall for that one. Still, part of me could relate all too well to that scenario and I actually pitied her.

“Bartender, huh? She probably thinks we’re all sluts.”

“Well, that’s her problem, not ours, okay?” I nodded. “Okay.”

Ryan gently rubbed his hand up and down my back, lulling me into a stupor.

“I just wish David didn’t hate me, too,” I said.

Ryan huffed. “David sees you as a distraction.”

The way he spoke, I could tell that wasn’t all there was to it.

“And?”

“Annnd . . . I really don’t care what he thinks.”

“He’s had it in for me ever since we had that dinner meeting with Follweiler.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like you influencing my career decisions.”

“Maybe I should keep my opinions to myself then.”

Ryan stirred. “No way. Screw that. I want to know what you think. Your views aren’t jaded like his are. Besides, I know what’s temporary and what’s permanent in my life.” He shifted me on his lap. “Anything else you want to get off your chest while we’re on a roll?”

I scratched my puffy lip and muttered, “I was arrested today.”

“No,

you

weren’t,

remember?

No

charges?”

“There will be photos of me getting taken into custody in every paper, Ryan.”

“And you’re expecting me to be mad at you about it?”

“Well, yeah. Not just mad, furious actually.”

“I am mad. I’m freaking furious, but not at you. I’m pissed off that hordes of women prevented you from getting back into the hotel and that you were manhandled and treated like a criminal and injured. That’s what I’m pissed about.”

I bristled. “You don’t need negative press.” Ryan shirked it off. “It is what it is. If it bleeds, it leads. This isn’t a scandal, Tar. It will blow away eventually so spending a lot of energy on it is a waste. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Ryan stood up with me in his arms. “Oh, you’re a big lug,” he said. He smiled and kissed me before setting me gently down on the bed. “Hungry? I take it they didn’t feed you in the slammer.”

I frowned at his lame joke, but he was too busy reading the room service menu to notice. “Starving, actually.”

He glanced back at me. “Come to think of it, I am sort of mad at you, though. If you were so desperate to try bondage and handcuffs and shit, all you had to do was ask. I’d be more than happy to go there with you. We have yet to fully explore the depraved side of sex. Hell, we haven’t even scratched the surface.”

Leave it to him to find the humor in it all.

Ryan ordered a late lunch and then called the front desk for antibiotic cream and ibuprofen. I was relieved that food was on its way.

I snuggled with a pillow on the bed. “You still need go to your premiere. You know that, right?”

Ryan grabbed his cell. “David, what’s the stylist’s name that’s traveling with Jenna?

No, the girl that does makeup. I need you to find her and send her up here.” After he ended the call, he climbed over the bed to me. I curled up to his chest.

“I know why you’re bent . . . and I don’t care what the papers will say. A week from now it will be forgotten and someone else will wear the target for a day.”

What a relief. “Thank you. I’m glad we can talk things out like this.”

He stared at me for the longest time. I could sense the sadness building. “When I think of the things that could have happened to you, worse than these scratches on your cheek—”