Octo BEAR fest (Renaissance Shifters #1)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

G wen turned the shower on as soon as she went in the bathroom, mostly because she didn't want Bill to think she was standing there gazing at herself in the mirror and thinking about the big gentle man in the main room. She looked ridiculous, anyway, with melted frosting dripped on her shirt and a thin glaze gleaming on her face. And her eyeliner had run when she'd laughed until she'd cried, which meant the new brand she'd picked up was cheap and needed to be thrown out.

That was a good thing to discover before she went on stage and sweated for two hours, actually. She cleaned her face with a makeup wipe—honestly, she'd had those in the car, but she hadn't thought of them, which would have been embarrassing if the whole thing hadn't been so funny. Once the worst of it, makeup and frosting alike, was gone, she stripped and got in the shower for the second time that morning, because getting sandwiched by cinnamon rolls was the kind of thing a person needed a complete do-over for.

Poor Bill's face had been priceless when he'd smooshed them all over her, too. She giggled again, hoping the shower muffled the sound, and scrubbed so she didn't give into the temptation to stand there in the hot water thinking about how he'd blushed at her no-hands suggestion in the car. The shower head had a good pulse setting. She had a few excellent ideas as to what to do with it while thinking about how she'd put her own hands to good use while Bill couldn't use his at all, buuuuuut that was entertainment for when he wasn't in the other room waiting for her. It only took a few minutes to get clean, and when she got out of the shower, wrapping her hair in one towel so she could dry off with the other, she realized he'd been right.

She also realized she hadn't brought any clothes to change into into the bathroom with her, so she went into the main room, wrapped in towels, to say, "You were right," as she went to her suitcase to find something to wear. "The cinnamon and orange-sandalwood do smell amazing together."

"I. Oh. Sorry. Um." Bill stood abruptly and turned his back on her, his ears turning red. "Yes, they do. Sorry, I thought you'd be dressed."

"I forgot my clothes. You don't have to turn around," Gwen said, amused. "I didn't mean to make things awkward."

"As if coating you with cream cheese frosting didn't already do that."

Gwen grinned as she rooted through her suitcase. "Hey, I know people who would pay good money for that kind of thing."

Bill flashed her a look over his shoulder. His ears were still red, but he asked, "Are you one of them?"

"Now why would I pay for it when I've got a big tall handsome guy who'll do it for free?" Gwen shot him a sideways grin, and swore his ears got even hotter. "No, okay, for real, I'm not so much into food sex. It's really sticky and prone to getting goop in places I don't want goop to be. You?"

"I can honestly say I've never even considered it," Bill replied faintly. "I take it you have. Unless you're guessing."

"Nope, not guessing, tried chocolate sauce and honey a couple of times, definitely not my thing. The cleanup is horrible, and I smelled like chocolate for two days. I smelled like honey, too, but that wasn't as annoying."

Bill mumbled something and sat back down on the couch, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Gwen found a t-shirt that wasn't made entirely of wrinkles and tugged the towel off her head so she could pull the shirt on over the towel she wore wrapped under her armpits, then re-wrapped it at her waist. "What'd you say?"

"That you're out of my league."

A zing went through Gwen and she stopped looking for jeans, instead turning toward Bill. "Why on earth would you say that? You're kind, funny, and gorgeous."

"Also large and vanilla."

"Hey." Gwen went around the bed to sit on the corner closest to Bill and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Do you know anything at all about actual vanilla?"

He raised his eyes, obviously startled. "It's boring?"

Gwen shook her head, smiling. "Vanilla is one of the world's most exotic flavors. It's the only edible orchid flower, and real vanilla is so expensive because the orchids have to be hand-pollinated. It's been in high demand for over five hundred years for the delicacy of its flavor and scent, for food and perfumes. We only think it's common because we have access to imitation vanilla and practically no sense of what it takes to acquire the real stuff. There's a reason it's the most popular ice cream, big man. There's nothing in the whole world like vanilla."

Bill's eyebrows furrowed and a funny little smile came over his face. "Why do you even know that?"

"I had to do a report on a common food for my teacher when I was a teenager," Gwen said with a grin. "I thought vanilla would be easy. It turned out I was wrong. I learned so much about it. I won't bore you with any more details, but let me leave you with the fact that it was Queen Elizabeth the First who popularized it in Europe after it was brought back to her as a gift from the New World."

"I had no idea."

"Well, I did, so don't try to tell me how boring you are by claiming to be vanilla. The way I see it that means you're probably full of subtlety and depth." She reached out toward him without thinking, and to her surprise, he met her touch with his own fingertips.

It felt like an actual electric spark jolted through her at that light touch. It stung through her whole body, hardening her nipples and making Gwen very aware she hadn't put a bra on, and pooling heat between her thighs. A little breath escaped her, and even more to her surprise, Bill curled his fingers, catching hers with his and drawing her toward him just the littlest bit. She went willingly, a few awkward steps at the odd angle they were connected at, and then thumping to her knees in front of him. He brushed his fingers up her arm, ghost-light, and framed her face with that same barely-there touch before bringing his mouth to hers.

Their lips barely brushed in the most tentative question before he closed the distance again with more certainty. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee, and his beard was long enough to not scruff, though it tickled a little, making her laugh. She felt his smile against her mouth in return. "The beard's got to go?"

"Jury's out. Kiss me again while I think about it."

Bill chuckled and slid his hands to her waist, pulling her up. Effortlessly pulling her up, and lifting her into his lap once he had a solid grip. The towel wrapped around her waist wasn't meant to stand up to that kind of treatment, and fell loose to her hips, one thigh exposed where the ends of the towel opened, the other hidden beneath its pooled cloth. There was just enough of it that she wasn't suddenly mostly naked in Bill's lap—the cloth crumpled and covered the relevant bits, but only barely—and Bill, in a very gentlemanly fashion, neatly tucked it around her so she was in less danger of exposing everything.

She still felt incredibly undressed and meltingly hot with it, sitting across his lap like that. His hands came back to her waist, fingers partially on her t-shirt, partially against her skin. He was so warm , and so big, and so confident. She whispered, "Thank you," and he grinned ruefully from up close.

"Not that I didn't like the towel's idea of getting out of the way, but I think that should be your decision, not a towel's." He lifted his hands to her face again, framing her cheeks carefully, and murmured, "I think you said something about another kiss?"

"I did, yeah."

"Lemme work on that, then." He nuzzled at her mouth, making her breathe a laugh, and his lips touched hers, gentle, exploratory, and then as she answered eagerly, with greater hunger and command, until Gwen thought she could drown in that kiss. She slid her hands over his shoulders, into his hair, and he groaned, a soft delicious sound before moving his hands to the small of her back and tugging her closer. He was so big, but they fit together so well, and he made her laugh. Casting caution to the wind suddenly seemed like a great idea.

Gwen took his hand and slipped it under her shirt in invitation. Bill groaned again, sliding his fingers upward until he cupped her breast, big fingers playing lightly with her nipple and making her shiver and arch with appreciation. Then he groaned from the bottom of his soul and moved his hand back down, mumbling, "Wait. Wait." Both of his hands went to her hips, over the damp towel, and he set her back a few inches as he caught his breath. "I'm sorry. I don't want to stop, but there's something I want to—think I need to—tell you before we go any farther."

Incredible disappointment crashed through Gwen, so powerful it made her flush a deep ruddy red she could feel it burn all the way past her collarbones. She slumped, eyes closed, and shook her head. This had happened more times than she could count, and it never stopped sucking. "I know what you're going to say."

"I— what ?" Bill sounded so completely astounded that Gwen made herself open her eyes to meet his thunderstruck expression. "You do? How ?"

"It happens all the fucking time." Gwen climbed out of his lap, knotting the towel around her waist again and returning to the edge of the bed to sit despondently. "'Gwen, you're great, I really like you, but look, I think you should probably know that I've had a crush on you since I was nine. This is my dream come true. You're the stuff of my fantasies.' I mean, at least you have the decency to say it now instead of after we've gone to bed together. Most guys don't do it until they've woken up with Rita."

Bill, his voice utterly bewildered, said, "Rita?"

"You know," Gwen said miserably. "Rita Hayworth. Everybody wanted to go to bed with Gilda, that's what she said. Her most famous character. They were always disappointed when they woke up with Rita."

"I…Rita Hayworth…wasn't she incredibly beautiful? What kind of idiot…never mind. What are you talking about? What—are you…Rita Hayworth?" Bill sat up, adjusting his jeans, then spread his hands in confusion. "I mean…are you famous? I already know you're famous! You're Gwen Booker! What are you talking about?"

A whole new sinking sensation opened in Gwen's chest and drained through her in an awful chill. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. What am I missing here? Who am I supposed to be thinking you are?"

Gwen closed her eyes. For once in her life, she'd found somebody who really wasn't haunted by her history, maybe, and here she was, revealing it all to him. After a minute, instead of answering out loud, she got up and found her phone, did an image search, and handed it to him.

That let her watch the whole process of realization march across his face. Confusion again at first, at the pictures of a pretty little girl, then a pretty young woman with pale blue eyes and hair so fair it was nearly white. She smiled, that kid did. Such a big wide smile for the cameras. Gwen still had that same smile, but it played differently slashed with deep red lipstick instead of soft pink.

Same with the big blue eyes. The color was unmistakable, but with the harsh eyeliner she usually wore, the look was completely different from what the studios had called the 'Paul Newman Effect' when they'd first discovered her. People could drown in those eyes, clear as the sea. Fall all the way into them. Gwen watched Bill glance from the pictures to her, specifically at her eyes, and then she saw understanding and realization start to drop into place. "You're Emma Hart. From the…" He faltered, then shook his head. "I don't remember the show. There were a bunch of you. The New Kidz Club, something like that, I remember that. It was supposed to be a rival to…I forget what the mouse kids were called, too."

"Yeah." Gwen sat back down, putting her face in her hands. "I'm Emma Hart. Or I was. Gwen Booker is my real name, but they didn't think it was cute enough."

"You were…" Bill paused again, clearly trying to collect his thoughts. "You were really famous. You were the most successful of them, weren't you?"

"That depends on how you define success." Gwen found she couldn't stay still after all, and rose to get underwear and her jeans, which she snaked on under the towel before dropping it and looking for socks. "Did I get the lead role in Starting School ? Yeah."

Beneath that, Bill said, "That's it, that was the show," but it wasn't an interruption, just him placing her history. Gwen came over to get her phone and walked away again, still unable to stop moving. "Did I get my own show after that? Yeah. And then a bunch of movies for the network, and a couple real ones, and a record deal, because hoo boy, my dad, he sure could manage a tweenage-to-teenager's career. I skyrocketed. I was the next big thing, but I was terrified. And when I said I didn't want to do the record, Dad said I had to because I'd signed the contract. So I did the worst job I possibly could, and the day the album released, my dad and all the money I'd earned since I was nine years old disappeared."

She'd been living with that story for almost fifteen years. It almost surprised her that she could still be so angry about it. "Nobody cared," she said to the window, or the wall, or anybody but the big kind man in the room, the one who hadn't known who she was until she blew it by telling him. "Not one person I'd grown up with, none of the other parents, definitely not the studio heads, they didn't care. They told me I could still be big, all I had to do was sign on the dotted line. Yeah, because that worked out so well for me. I spent almost my entire childhood in the spotlight and I had nothing except a bunch of lunatic fans who thought I was their dream girl to show for it. I told the studios to fuck off and walked away. That worked out great, too, mind you, because what the hell did I know about dealing with the real world after growing up on set?"

"I am so sorry." Bill's voice was gentle, still not an interruption.

The way he said it helped, somehow. Maybe just because she felt listened to. Gwen turned back to him, finding his expression a strange combination of crestfallen and fiercely protective. It almost made her smile. "It's not your fault."

"No. But I'm sorry. So what did you do?"

Gwen exhaled and went to sit in the chair across from him. "I cut off all my hair and dyed what was left black and started wearing different clothes and makeup. And joined a rock band when I realized I hated not making music as much as I'd hated being famous on somebody else's terms. You really didn't know?"

"I really didn't. I can see it now, especially because you're not wearing makeup, but you grew up." Bill smiled crookedly. "I wouldn't have guessed that cute baby face would turn into those razor cheekbones. But I never would have even imagined it. Can I ask you something?"

"If it's, 'did he ever turn up again with my money?' the answer is no. I haven't seen him since I was eighteen. I hope he went and got a new identity and then got killed in a car wreck so he didn't have a chance to spend any of it."

Bill nodded without a hint of judgment. "That's what I was going to ask, yeah." He hesitated. "Your mom?"

"Aaaah, my mom wanted to be famous. She would take me to local auditions when I was little. That's about all I remember about her. She died of a drug overdose when I was five."

Bill, involuntarily, said, "Jesus," and despite herself, Gwen let go a short laugh.

"I know, right? I got the whole child star tragic backstory, didn't I? It was actually a medical error, my Dad sued the hospital and moved us to Hollywood with the money, but I only ever heard him say it that way, that she died of a drug overdose. I didn't even know what had really happened until I looked it up when I was an adult. So now you know the whole sordid truth about Gwen Booker."

"I sincerely doubt that." Bill sounded so earnest it made Gwen smile again, which didn't happen often when she talked about her past. He went on, "I mean, I'm glad you told me, because it would have been embarrassing to have a tabloid cover our wedding or something and only find out then, but for what it's worth, I don't want to go to bed with Gilda. I really like Gwen."

Gwen closed her eyes, basking in the warmth the quiet words surrounded her with. "That's one of the nicest things anybody's ever said to me." Then she opened her eyes again, smiling. "Wedding, though?"

"You started it with the cinnamon roll," Bill said calmly. "'How did you and Daddy meet?' You don't think I'm the kind of guy who goes around having children out of wedlock, do you?"

A real laugh rolled through Gwen this time, even though it was quiet. "I don't think people who use the term 'wedlock' in this day and age do that, no."

"There we go, then. Now, look, I don't know if you've actually got flyers to put up, but it's past eleven now and if we're going to paper the city in advertisements, you'd better go put on your superhero disguise so we can head out."

"It works, doesn't it? The dark eyeliner and the red lipstick? I look like somebody else. Enough of the time, anyway."

"You look like a rock star," Bill murmured, and Gwen, unexpectedly happy, went to put on her makeup.