yourself.”
“Well enough,” she agreed.
“I never would have pictured you here.” He shrugged. “I thought you were…more of a country girl, maybe. Not so many hard edges back then.”
Claire raised her eyebrows. “You hardly knew me ‘back then.’”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He grinned wickedly. “I thought we got to know each other pretty well, in fact.”
Claire couldn’t tell if he was mocking her. “Having sex with someone hardly constitutes ‘knowing’ them—not in the usual sense of the word.”
“Maybe you’re right. I didn’t even know your real name, much less anything else about you. As I recall, I did most of the talking when we were together.”
She shifted her gaze, remembering against her will. It was true, she had encouraged him to talk about himself. And she had listened, wide eyed, as he shared anecdotes about his family back in Montana. It was as if he were talking about life in the Australian outback, so different was the life he described from hers.
She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose I was something of an introvert.”
“An introvert?” He laughed, incredulous. “The next day you were taking your clothes off for the camera!”
“On your advice, I might add!”
“I agreed with the director that it was crucial to the scene. But you could have refused. No one would have blamed you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! How can you be so hypocritical?”
“ I’m hypocritical? You were the one acting as if you had never taken your clothes off in front of a camera.” His lips twisted in irony. “Imagine my surprise when all those photos turned up.”
“They were doctored! I’ve never posed nude before!” She felt color flame along her throat. “I modeled lingerie—demure bras and panties for a staid department-store catalog.”
Her hand covered her mouth as she remembered the shame, the mortification she’d felt when she’d seen what the tabloids had done with those photos. It was those photos, taken during a modeling gig to earn extra money, which had landed her the role of Vanessa. The photographer had mailed them to his friend, a Hollywood agent. A few weeks later, Claire found herself on the set of Bed of Roses , filling in for an actress with a drug problem, and she was as unprepared for the minor role as she’d been for an affair with an up-and-coming actor named Matt Grayson.
When Matt spoke, his voice was quiet. “So you got screwed. First by me, then by the press.”
“That about sums it up,” she said lightly, swallowing the bitterness.
“For what it’s worth,” he told her, “I had no idea they had come down so hard on you. It was a while before I got around to even reading the papers. When I finally did, they had already crucified you—us,” he amended.
Claire closed her eyes, wishing he would stop digging up memories better left buried.
“We were both branded with the scarlet A, weren’t we?” Matt laughed. “Despite the fact Hayley and I weren’t even married.”
She hadn’t known of his relationship with Hayley James at the time she met him; she was shocked when she read about it in the papers later. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but remembering the last time she had seen Matt, slumped in the chair at the police station, so racked by grief he hadn’t even noticed her, Claire had no choice but to accept it. It had hurt at the time, but after reading the full account of their love affair in the papers, she had understood. Or thought she had.
“There were rumors, later,” she said finally, curiosity getting the better of her. “That you had been married in Vegas. Before the film began.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “And last month I was supposedly shacking up with Snooki,” he said, then sobered. “Claire,” he continued, earnestly, “there are a lot of things you don’t know, things about my relationship with Hayley.”
She waved a hand, as if batting a pesky fly. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time
“Well enough,” she agreed.
“I never would have pictured you here.” He shrugged. “I thought you were…more of a country girl, maybe. Not so many hard edges back then.”
Claire raised her eyebrows. “You hardly knew me ‘back then.’”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He grinned wickedly. “I thought we got to know each other pretty well, in fact.”
Claire couldn’t tell if he was mocking her. “Having sex with someone hardly constitutes ‘knowing’ them—not in the usual sense of the word.”
“Maybe you’re right. I didn’t even know your real name, much less anything else about you. As I recall, I did most of the talking when we were together.”
She shifted her gaze, remembering against her will. It was true, she had encouraged him to talk about himself. And she had listened, wide eyed, as he shared anecdotes about his family back in Montana. It was as if he were talking about life in the Australian outback, so different was the life he described from hers.
She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose I was something of an introvert.”
“An introvert?” He laughed, incredulous. “The next day you were taking your clothes off for the camera!”
“On your advice, I might add!”
“I agreed with the director that it was crucial to the scene. But you could have refused. No one would have blamed you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! How can you be so hypocritical?”
“ I’m hypocritical? You were the one acting as if you had never taken your clothes off in front of a camera.” His lips twisted in irony. “Imagine my surprise when all those photos turned up.”
“They were doctored! I’ve never posed nude before!” She felt color flame along her throat. “I modeled lingerie—demure bras and panties for a staid department-store catalog.”
Her hand covered her mouth as she remembered the shame, the mortification she’d felt when she’d seen what the tabloids had done with those photos. It was those photos, taken during a modeling gig to earn extra money, which had landed her the role of Vanessa. The photographer had mailed them to his friend, a Hollywood agent. A few weeks later, Claire found herself on the set of Bed of Roses , filling in for an actress with a drug problem, and she was as unprepared for the minor role as she’d been for an affair with an up-and-coming actor named Matt Grayson.
When Matt spoke, his voice was quiet. “So you got screwed. First by me, then by the press.”
“That about sums it up,” she said lightly, swallowing the bitterness.
“For what it’s worth,” he told her, “I had no idea they had come down so hard on you. It was a while before I got around to even reading the papers. When I finally did, they had already crucified you—us,” he amended.
Claire closed her eyes, wishing he would stop digging up memories better left buried.
“We were both branded with the scarlet A, weren’t we?” Matt laughed. “Despite the fact Hayley and I weren’t even married.”
She hadn’t known of his relationship with Hayley James at the time she met him; she was shocked when she read about it in the papers later. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but remembering the last time she had seen Matt, slumped in the chair at the police station, so racked by grief he hadn’t even noticed her, Claire had no choice but to accept it. It had hurt at the time, but after reading the full account of their love affair in the papers, she had understood. Or thought she had.
“There were rumors, later,” she said finally, curiosity getting the better of her. “That you had been married in Vegas. Before the film began.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “And last month I was supposedly shacking up with Snooki,” he said, then sobered. “Claire,” he continued, earnestly, “there are a lot of things you don’t know, things about my relationship with Hayley.”
She waved a hand, as if batting a pesky fly. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time
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