From Fake to Forever (9 page)

“Okay, okay. I still think you’re nuts. What if that superstar out there is your soul mate?”

“He’s not.” Ben couldn’t be. She didn’t want him to be. She turned away and grabbed an unopened bottle of water off her desk. “Besides, we’re only going to paint—not have a romantic tryst.”

“Okay. How about I help you paint tomorrow, too, then?” Carol shot her a devilish smile. “Since you won’t go for it, there’s no sense letting a perfectly good opportunity with a certain super hottie go to waste, right?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem at all.” Carol swiped the bottle of water out of her hands and waved it in front of her. “I’ll take this to Ben for you.”

Sandra watched her go but couldn’t help feeling as though something was off. She didn’t know why. It was nice of Carol to offer to help her and Ben paint tomorrow. Yes. The more she thought about it, it was quite nice. A relief, too. Now she wouldn’t have to be alone with him. If Carol wanted to make a fool of herself, well, that was her choice. Carol was single, had no responsibilities to anyone, and didn’t mind one bit that Ben seemed to be looking for a brief fling. More power to her.

She closed the door and ran her tongue over her teeth, experiencing a taste of something bitter. It was oh so very Florence Nightingale of Carol to bring the water to Ben, too. That didn’t bother her, either. She couldn’t care less how Ben was feeling. He was a healthy man who could bounce back quickly from whatever was ailing him. Carol was probably offering to give him a little personal TLC at this very moment. He’d be fine. Everything was fine.

So why did she suddenly feel sick herself?

…

Ben paced outside the preschool, waiting for Sandra. He’d said he’d help her paint the classrooms today. What was holding her up?

He glanced at his watch again. She was more than forty-five minutes late now, which was funny in itself, since she didn’t strike him as an unpunctual person. No, she struck him as one of those anal-retentive types. The type who harped about things being just so and always wanted things their own special way. She would’ve made one heck of an agent.

Sandra’s car suddenly raced into the parking lot, screeching to a stop. The car door flew open, and she jumped out, unsmiling and her shoulders as rigid as plywood boards. Somehow, wearing jeans, pink sneakers, and a sweatshirt that said “Mexico,” she still managed to look like royalty. Her head was held high and with each step toward the rear of the car, her ponytail swung from side to side in a crisp rhythmic pattern. She hooked open the trunk, shoved some paintbrushes under her arm, and yanked out two gallon-sized paint cans.

“Don’t just stand there modeling your designer jeans for me,” she snapped as she marched up the sidewalk. “Or are you having second thoughts about painting?”

Ben glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was the one she was addressing. “Uh…no. I’m going to paint.”

She gave a stiff nod. “There’s more stuff in the trunk.” Sidestepping him, she opened the front door and disappeared.

Ben tried to get his bearings as he rubbed his arms to ward off the chill from that whirlwind of frost she’d just left in her wake. What the heck was that all about? What had he done this time? He thought long and hard for almost a full minute.
Nothing!
For the first time, he did absolutely nothing! He’d been on his best behavior. In fact, he was a damn nice guy for even being here on a Saturday, and there she was giving him a nasty minus-thirty-two-degree attitude.

Not this time, sweetheart.
What more could he do to prove to her that he wasn’t here at her school for some lark, but to help her? He wasn’t going to lie down and take it like any ordinary Joe Schmo she was used to dealing with. Publicity be damned! This woman’s attitude needed adjusting.

Ben marched in after her, longing for a good fight to get out some of those pent-up feelings he had for her—in one way or another. If his agent wouldn’t allow him to do it physically, then he’d have to do it verbally. “Look, Sandra, I—”

He stopped in the doorway as he took in the picture presented before him. Sandra sat on top of a small desk with her head tilted down and a hand spread, covering her face. She was silent, and her chest rose unevenly as though she had difficulty taking in a breath. He stood there, stunned, and the anger left him before he could blink, replaced with an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.

For that reason alone, he didn’t dare step closer.

Sandra swiped at her eyes and looked up. “Is there a problem?” she asked. She questioned him with such composure he would have never guessed she was upset, except for the few tears that still clung to her eyes.

“You tell me,” he said.

“There’s no problem at all.”

He didn’t want to think about why her refusal to open up stung so much. After all, he’d only known her for about a week. He wasn’t a relative. He wasn’t a shrink. So maybe it wasn’t any of his business to know what was bothering her. He didn’t want to get any more involved in her life, anyway. It wasn’t his style. In fact, he should respect her want of privacy and turn right around and ignore the distress he saw on her face.

But he didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Because if there was anyone who was in need of a friend right now, it was Sandra.

“Where’s Hannah?” he asked, changing the subject.

“At home. Missy’s with her.”

He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to put on an air of ease and casualness. “I guess that’s why you were late then, because of Missy, right?” He fell silent and waited.

Seconds ticked by. He almost thought she wouldn’t respond.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t late because of Missy. I was late because of Steve. He called before I left.”

Steve. The jerk face himself. He should have known it was the ex-husband who put her in such a foul mood. “So what did the man of cheer want?”

Sandra didn’t smile at his potshot, which told him she was even more upset than he thought. “It was what he
didn’t
want. He promised Hannah he’d come to school for the Halloween party. She’s excited to show him her princess costume. But he called to tell me he has a sudden conflict with work and can’t make it now.” She shook her head. “I really thought this time was going to be different, for her sake. Hannah’s going to be so disappointed. I don’t know why he makes these promises to her.”

“Can’t make it? Just what the hell does he do for a living that he’s too busy and can’t change his schedule?”

“He’s an actor,” she said softly.

He went numb. “Did you say
actor
?”

“Yes. He’s been doing some off-Broadway stuff. Some Broadway, too. That’s why he’s been in New York. He has a small role in
The Producers
right now.”

Her ex-husband was an actor. Holy crap. No wonder she gave him such a hard time. He was viewed as the enemy. “You don’t say,” he managed, still feeling dazed by the news.

“I suppose you can sympathize with his schedule more than I can.”

That comment snapped him back to awareness. “What? No! Hey, I do have some principles.”

She gave him a long look before she responded. “Yes, I’m starting to believe you do.”

He gave her a brutal stare back, annoyed how little she thought of him. Still. “Damn right I have principles. Look, I know how it feels to be Hannah, okay? No dad in the picture or even trying to be in the picture, so I would never condone a father acting like that. Ever. If I had a great daughter like Hannah who I didn’t get to see often, I would make it a point to be there when I promised.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Why do you think I got so good at acting?” His breath came in and out in a ragged manner. He realized he was on a roll now. But he couldn’t help himself. It was as if his soul needed emptying, and the more he told her, the lighter he felt. “I
perfected
my craft by standing in front of my mirror at home by myself. I would practice every day what I would say in case someone asked me where my dad was—which people often did. I was so damn convincing no one ever suspected how hurt I truly was at being ditched like that. Now look at me,” he said, thumping his chest with a hand. “I guess I’ll have to thank him in my Oscar acceptance speech someday.”

Sandra rushed over, placing a hand on his arm. “Oh, Ben, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

He barely grunted, hypnotized by her touch and how sweet she smelled. She had a soothing presence, and it took everything in him not to pull her into him and not let go. But this wasn’t about him. It was about Sandra and what she was dealing with.

“I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that.”

Sandra raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, surprising him into silence. “Thank you, Ben.”

“Thanks for what?”

She shook her head as if she didn’t quite know, either. “For being honest. For sharing. For helping me. You know, for getting all riled up for me. I didn’t tell Missy or Hannah about Steve’s call. I thought it’d be best if I dealt with it myself like I usually do. I don’t even know why I told you, but I’m glad. I feel so much better.” She grinned. “You’re a lot cheaper than therapy.”

“You don’t have to always show you’re the boss of every situation. It’s okay to admit you’re upset, that you need someone to talk to. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

She shrugged lightly. “I guess I got in the habit of that when I found myself raising a baby alone. It’s hard to open up and trust. But you’re right. Sometimes I do need someone.”

A warning voice whispered in Ben’s head. Sandra was too open with him, too close to him, too vulnerable at the moment. He was feeling kind of vulnerable, too, and, since it was for real and not acting, he didn’t know how to deal with it. He needed to end where this discussion was heading before he ruined everything.

He quickly picked up a paintbrush and twirled it in his fingers. “Okay,” he rushed out with a forced smile. “How about we start painting? I’ll let you watch the master with his skilled strokes firsthand.”

Sandra shot him a seductive smile. “I know a little about skilled strokes myself, you know.”

He flinched and dropped the brush with a swoosh and a plop. Did Sandra just flirt with him? He wasn’t sure. But he was pretty sure she had. He tried to swallow, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. This was terrible…but, in a way, friggin’ awesome. He suddenly thought of his agent… Okay, it was mostly terrible.

What the hell was he going to do now? Ignore it? Flirt back? He probably looked like an idiot doing neither and just standing there with a paintbrush on his foot. Sandra was even staring at him the same way as yesterday when he showed up at school with that hangover.

“Hey, guys,” Carol greeted, stomping in and tossing her oversize handbag on a desk. “Sorry I’m late.” She pushed up her sleeves and looked anxiously from Ben to Sandra. “You two are quiet. Did I interrupt something?”

He and Sandra stared at each other in silence.

“Well, I can see I didn’t interrupt any painting,” she remarked sourly. “By the way, Sandra, your trunk is open.”

“My fault!” Ben realized too late that he had shouted. But his heart rate and breathing hadn’t slowed since Sandra had smiled in that suggestive way. He licked his lips and tried again. “I’ll go bring in the rest of the stuff so we can start. Because that’s why we’re all here. We’re here to stroke—I mean, paint. Which is why I need to go get the rest of the stuff. Out there, in the trunk.” He clamped his mouth shut and practically did a home-run slide out the door before he embarrassed himself further.

Well done. If he were ever up for a role as a babbling lunatic, he’d get it hands down. But who wouldn’t be reduced to a pile of mumbled words if Sandra had flirted with them? Talk about your twist of fate. He’d been after that since he’d met her, but now—because of his agent’s brilliant advice—he couldn’t have it. He stopped at Sandra’s car and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy a brief fantasy of him and Sandra alone—if he wasn’t an actor supposed to be behaving like a saint. Oh, baby. He’d take Sandra and—

Still do nothing?

His eyes shot open. Not exactly the kind of sexual fantasy he could send in to
Playboy
. Too grounded in reality for his taste. But he’d known Sandra long enough to discover she wasn’t a woman who went for casual affairs. She was a relationship type of woman. The
long
relationship kind. Not one of his strengths. Sandra was a woman who needed stability and a man who could be a good father to her child. Again, more of his acquired shortcomings. His brain had just given him the wake-up call he needed. Sandra obviously was not the woman for him—in any way—and the sooner he reminded himself of that fact, the easier it would be to keep her at arm’s length if need be.

He hoped.

Chapter Eight

Sandra rushed to school on Monday, saying a small prayer that the fumes had died down from the weekend’s paintfest with Ben and Carol. The fact that the rooms were even done before tonight’s parent-teacher night was a stroke of sheer luck on her part, but she wanted things to look—and smell—their absolute best.

Walking in with Hannah, she immediately stopped and admired the painted classrooms, and her heart lifted with pride. No more water stains. No more drab tan interior. The classrooms were now bright and cheery with their new lemon-yellow walls, almost as if a little bit of sunshine was captured in the tiny, confined spaces. She knew exactly whom to thank for all this. Of course, she had played a small role, and maybe Carol, too, had contributed the best she could—when she wasn’t rubbing up against Ben all weekend—but Ben was the one who truly had a way with a roller brush. And when Ben did something, he gave all 100 percent of himself. He’d even opened up and shared all 100 percent of himself with her that night, too, when he spoke about how his father’s leaving had affected him. When he did things like that and showed her the real Ben Capshaw, it became harder and harder to remember why she should keep her distance from him.

“This place looks pretty, Mommy. Wait till my best friend Liam sees it. He’s gonna say, ‘Oh, boy!’”

She looked down at her daughter with a smile. “I didn’t know your best friend was Liam. He’s a nice boy.”

Her little face puckered. “Yeah, but he’s very quiet, and when he’s quiet, I don’t know what he’s saying.”

Sandra bit down on a laugh. Ah, the troubles in a four-year-old life. “Hmm. Yes, I see. That is tricky. You can nicely let Liam know when he needs to speak louder, and you two will be fine.”

Hannah nodded, her attention now focused on the tower of blocks Ben had left in the corner of the room, and skipped away. Sandra sank down in a chair and watched her play.

Her daughter wasn’t the only one with man problems. Apparently, it ran in the family. But her difficulties with Ben couldn’t be solved so easily.

Chewing on a fingernail, she questioned the events that had unfolded on Saturday. She still couldn’t believe she’d broken down and flirted with Ben. That was so unlike her. So uncontrolled. She should have known better than to let her needs rule her thinking. She had responsibilities to remember. She couldn’t afford a repeat performance of what she went through with her ex-husband. Not only did she have her own heart to protect, but her child’s as well. She and her daughter deserved someone in their life they could trust.

Maybe all of Carol and Missy’s talk about what a great guy Ben was had finally gotten to her. He’d been so sweet, the way he got all indignant when he’d learned her ex-husband had disappointed Hannah. Her heart had brimmed with an odd combination of amusement and tenderness as she’d watched him get angry and spew off various epithets for Steve. Then, when Ben had admitted he had a father similar to Steve and how he understood how that could affect her daughter, she’d really begun to believe that maybe Ben was different from other men—from other actors. Although that still didn’t mean he wanted her. It was obvious from his reaction to her flirting that he wanted to remain friends.

“Oh, wow,” Missy said, walking in and looking around the room with delight. “This place looks fantastic. You guys did a great job.”

“I know.” Sandra stood up and smiled, tossing the images of her and Ben as a super couple aside like a used tissue. “It’s amazing what a little paint will do. Ben worked extra hard. I don’t know how to thank him.”

“I’m sure if you tell Ben that, he’d be more than happy to give you a few examples,” Missy said with a wink.

“Give you a few examples of what?” Ben asked from the open doorway.

She and Missy looked at each other with wide eyes, and instantly Sandra felt like a four-year-old herself, caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Uh…I wanted a few examples of the people you admire in Hollywood,” she said, willing Missy not to call her on her lie. “I’ve always meant to ask you that.”

Ben walked into the room, suspicion lurking in those green eyes of his. “Oh, yeah? That’s funny. You’re one of the very few people on this earth who hasn’t tried to pump me for information about anything to do with moviemaking, celebrities I know, or even the role I’m working on.”

Feeling jittery, she smiled despite herself. “Yeah, that is funny. See? I guess I’m exactly like everybody else you know.”

“No,” he said, his face grim and unsmiling. “I can honestly say you’re not like anyone I know.”

A loud laugh escaped her, probably to keep from passing out. Then it hit her that it might not be the good news she thought it was. Maybe he just meant he didn’t know any neurotic single mothers who ran preschools.

“Hey, I think that’s the office phone ringing,” Missy interjected. “I’ll go grab it.”

Sandra wanted to tell her not to bother, that she would answer it herself, but Missy had already run off like a squirrel chasing a peanut butter truck. Where was that sisterly mind reading Missy was so proud of? Didn’t she realize how bad it was for her self-respect to be left alone with Ben?

She turned her eyes to the floor but felt him looking at her. This was insane. Ben had managed to invade her work, her home, and her dreams. Even though her emotions felt out of control, she looked up and gave him a cool smile. He was so handsome, standing there in his olive turtleneck and jeans, she wanted to walk right over to him, throw her arms around him, and melt into his body. Not quite the normal “friends only” thoughts she wanted to have now, especially with her daughter across the room. But all he had to do was give her that deep look that sent a tingle through her spine, and she was toast—complete and unbuttered whole-wheat toast.

“Did I remember to thank you yet for all the painting you did here?” She took a daring step closer and laid a hand on his arm despite the fear her fingers would go up in flames if she touched him.

His eyes flew to her hand, and he visibly swallowed. “Only about nine times. But why not throw in one more and make it an even ten?” He grinned and tried to laugh off her sincere gratefulness, but she heard a tremor in his voice. She hoped she wasn’t hearing things. That gave another boost to her confidence, so she didn’t remove her hand.

“Okay,” she said with a smile. “Thank you.
Again.
”

For a long moment their eyes met, and she felt something click between them. Not sure if his reaction was her imagination again, she wondered if she was brazen enough to try anything else besides touching his arm to test out her theory. That idea was squashed by Missy’s sudden return.

“Sandra, I’ve got bad news,” she announced.

Her hand dropped and she spun around. “Bad news?”

“That was Mrs. Rapagna on the phone. She can’t watch Hannah tonight.”

“You’re kidding. Why not?”

“She broke her leg.”

“Oh, no!” Her shoulders slumped as her mind raced to come up with other options. “That’s a pretty good excuse, then. But what am I going to do about parent-teacher night?”

“You go,” Missy offered. “You run things and create all the lesson plans. You should be here.”

Sandra shook her head. “No, that’s not going to work. You better go. You teach here. The parents should meet you.”

Ben cleared his throat, and they both turned his way. Up until then, Sandra’s mind had been so wrapped up in her school she had forgotten that the man whose bones she’d wanted to jump a mere two minutes ago was even standing there.

“I’m available to watch Hannah for you,” he said.

She and Missy exchanged surprised looks before she uttered, “What?”

He dug his hands into his pockets, which she was beginning to realize he did a lot when he was nervous, and cleared his throat again. “I said I’ll watch Hannah for you,” he repeated, his voice more bold.

What was the world coming to? Ben Capshaw was offering to babysit her daughter. She tried to measure how seriously to take him, and as a result, almost pinched herself. He seemed pretty darn serious.

Her mouth opened as she searched for the right words. “I don’t know…” she hedged. “I don’t think I can let you do it. You’ve helped me out so much already.”

“Sandals, it’s no biggie. I want to help. I can do it.”

She bit her lip. “Well, do you have any references?”

He chuckled.

She wasn’t really joking, and as soon as he realized that, he turned defensive. “Oh, come on!” he spluttered. “You did a criminal background check on me, what more do you want?”

What more did she want? Certification in CPR would be a nice start. Unfortunately, as much as she liked and was attracted to Ben, the jury was still out on his child-rearing skills. He was being helpful by offering to watch her daughter, but he didn’t have a clue as to what was involved. How could he? He was a single, childless movie star, and her house did not resemble in any way, shape, or form the Plaza Hotel. He’d be bored in two minutes flat.

“Relax,” he told her. “Look, if anything happens to Hannah, I can basically kiss my career good-bye.”

She glowered at him. “That’s not designed to make me feel better, I hope.”

“I’m joking. Honest. I’ll be the best babysitter you’ve ever had—extra trustworthy. You can count on that. I even played a priest once…I think.”

“You think?”

“It was either a priest or a boxer. Either way, I wore a heavy robe.”

“Your credentials are sinking by the minute.”

He walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her bones to string beans. He stood so close and smelled so nice, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. She had to resist the urge to rip off his shirt and wallow in his fresh, soapy scent.

“Look, we’ll be fine,” he pressed, snapping her out of her lust-like state. “I’m not some stranger. Hannah knows me. She also happens to know the golden rule.”

Sandra didn’t want to ask—
knew
she wouldn’t like the answer—but couldn’t resist. “What exactly is the golden rule?”

“The one who owns the gold rules.” He grinned.

She batted him away. “I’ll stay home,” she told Missy.

He laughed out loud. “I’m sorry. I promised you I wouldn’t joke around anymore. You’re just too easy. We’ll be fine. Really. I know how to use a phone, which means I can call for help if need be. Come on,” he coaxed, giving her a sexy, persuasive grin. “Let me help you.”

She thought it over. Despite his joking around, Ben did give her a sense of comfort about the whole situation. After all, he had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and eager to help her since she’d gotten to know him better. She’d never get that kind of an offer from Steve in her lifetime, that’s for sure. Hannah seemed to like him a lot. And, let’s face it, she liked him a lot, too.

“Well, okay,” she said, giving him a small smile. “Thanks again, Ben. It’ll just be for a few hours. It’s nice to know I have someone like you I can trust and count on.”

And to her surprise, she realized she meant every single word.

…

What am I doing here?

That was the million-dollar question Ben asked himself several times over as he drove to Sandra’s house. It had to have been a fluke, him agreeing to this. His usual spasm of the mouth. He was a movie star, a celebrity. He did charity fund-raisers and presentations at film award galas, was paid thousands of dollars to act—not play dress-up with a four-year-old for free. He didn’t
do
babysitting.

So why am I standing outside her door with a bag of chocolate pudding in my hands?

Because he was a sap, that’s why. It wasn’t any fluke at all. Wanting to help Sandra was becoming a kind of Superman gut instinct. He responded to it and couldn’t control it—even if he should.

What could he say? He liked this woman. There was a kinship between them he couldn’t quite explain, maybe because he saw through her calm and collected frostiness and he didn’t have to act when he was with her. He really liked the woman and, despite everything telling him to stay clear of her because he had the power to hurt her and her daughter if they grew too attached to him, he couldn’t go unaffected by her problems. He had to help her.

Ben closed his eyes, swearing softly, and knocked on her door. After a long moment, the door pulled open. He sucked in his breath when he saw Sandra standing before him and fumbled with the bag he was holding. He’d dated many attractive women, had love scenes in movies with women men would step over their own mothers for, but he’d never seen a woman look as breathtakingly beautiful as Sandra did in that instant. With her blond hair hanging in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her face and cool blue eyes, she was a vision—no, a princess. Yes, she looked like a princess with her flawless ivory skin and sexy come-hither smile—and the fact that she wore a tiara on her head.

“Is that for me?” she asked, pointing.

He lowered the bag, shaking his head vigorously.

She looked taken aback. “Ben, what’s the matter with you?” she asked, prying the bag from his hands. She smiled, reaching in and taking out the container of pudding snacks. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! Hannah loves this stuff.”

He let out his breath and followed her inside. Nice going. Two seconds in the door and he could barely hide the fact that he wanted her. This was how he was supposed to keep her at arm’s length? He was going to have to come up with a better game plan than that if he wanted to stay in control. For his pride’s sake, he hoped Sandra wouldn’t linger around too much longer, or he was going to have to phone Houston with a serious problem.

“Mommy, you can’t wear my tiara to school,” Hannah said, gazing up at her with her hands on her hips.

“Tiara?” Sandra reached up and felt around her head, blushing when she found the plastic jeweled crown. “Why didn’t you tell me I had this thing on?” she asked, pointing those gorgeous blue eyes at him. “I totally forgot.”

“Oh. Uh, I didn’t notice,” he lied, hoping to put an end to their conversation before he needed a cold shower. He focused his attention on Hannah. “Hey, honey. What do you have planned for us tonight?”
Please don’t say Barbies. Please don’t say Barbies.