California Man - The Author's Cut Edition (21 page)

He shivered and realized he was still wearing his damp swim trunks. He needed to change. When he headed back to the house, his thoughts turned to Gina. Damn Paul to hell and back. What had he been thinking to bring her here?

Paul was alone in the living room when Quinn returned.

"Where's Gina?" he demanded.

"Doing whatever women do before they go to bed, I suppose." Paul rubbed at his jaw. "I didn't intend on bringing her, Quinn. But when she found out you were here..."

Quinn studied Paul's face for a long moment. "Just tell me you're not sleeping with her."

"Nope. Not that it would be any of your damn business if I was." His mouth curved into a smile. "It's you she wants. Me? I'm a means to that end."

Quinn poured himself a drink, one for Paul. "Then it's business. She's angling for a part in your next project."

Paul took the offered drink, then made a finger-gun with his right hand. "Got it in one."

"And you want her?"

"She sells tickets—and she's not the worst actor in the world. You know how it works."

Yes he did. And Emily was right. His world was totally at odds with hers—one power play after another. Everybody using everyone else to get what they wanted. All in the name of business. He couldn't wait to leave it behind. "Yeah. I know how it works." He took another drink and put his glass on the coffee table. "Which is why I'm going to get a room in town."

"You don't have to do that."

"No, I don't. But neither do I want to lie awake all night wondering if Gina's going to show up in my bed."

"You've got to be the only guy in the universe who sees that as a negative." Paul paused. "This Emily. Got to you, huh."

Quinn said nothing, just left to pack a bag. When he came back, Paul was still alone, nursing his drink. "How long are you planning to stay?" he asked.

"Leaving Monday for New York. Look, Quinn—" Paul stood as he spoke.

"Forget it. It's okay. I'll see you tomorrow at Emily's play." And with that, he was gone

* * *

"You did it, James. You really did it! I'm so proud of you I could burst." Emily was hugging James, and although he was happy at her praise, he wriggled to free himself from her grasp. Lynn stood beside him, beaming.

"I was good. Damn good," he crowed, fingering his first-place ribbon as if it were spun gold rather than cheap satin.

Emily smiled at his mild curse. He sounded like Quinn. She didn't know that very man was coming up behind them until he spoke.

"That you were, James. And you're going to be even better next time out." He clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and grinned. "Well done. That was one hell of a race you ran. When I ran my first, I only managed a second. But I can tell you one thing. No other race will be as sweet in victory."

Emily had turned at the sound of Quinn's voice. It was the first time today that they'd been together. While she sat in the stands cheering with Grace and Lynn, he'd been on the field. The minute she'd turned to him, his eyes fixed on her face. Both of them were awkwardly silent.

Lynn said, "How about something cold to drink? I don't know about you two, but I'm doing a slow bake in this sun." Lynn fanned her chest with her T-shirt and put her arm around James. She gave him yet another proud squeeze. "How about you, track star, want some lemonade?"

James grinned and nodded.

"I have to pass, Lynn," Emmi said. "I think I'll try to catch the next ferry to the island." Now that James's race was over, Emily's thoughts were on her play. She wanted to be at the hall early, in case there were last-minute problems. She also wanted to get away from Quinn.

"Quinn, lemonade?" Lynn asked.

He started to say no but caught the hopeful look on James's face and decided it was too early to leave him. Besides, Emily didn't seem to expect him to go back with her. He'd never seen her so cool, so composed. Again he had the feeling he'd been cut adrift.

"Sounds good. Besides, I can't resist basking a while longer in James's glory. I'll see you later, Emily. The play starts at eight, right?"

"Right."

"Shall I pick you up, or would you prefer to go in your own car?" His eyes waited for her answer.

"I'll, uh, take my own car. It will be better that way."

Better for whom, he wondered. But if that's how she wanted to play it... "See you there then. And if I don't get a chance to say it before first curtain, break a leg."

"Ditto from me, Em." Lynn gave her a hug. "Sorry I won't be there to see your triumph."

Emily smiled her goodbyes and watched the three of them head for the lemonade. Quinn's arm was draped over James's shoulder, and the boy was talking a mile a minute. She was still standing in the same spot when Quinn looked back at her—too far away for her to read his eyes. He gave her a casual wave and returned his attention to James.

A lump formed in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. Tears of happiness for James's victory or tears of pain at her coming loss? She brushed them from her cheeks. Either way they were damp, useless things. She turned to go.

* * *

By seven o'clock the community hall was a madhouse. Emily could almost see the ragged nerves of the cast and crew, jumping and sparking behind the closed curtain. There were bad jokes everyone laughed at, world-class jitters, a few tears, and a lot of bravado. But most of all there was a united determination to put on a good show. It was exhilarating. There was little or nothing for Emily to do except help with makeup and listen to last-minute complaints about lines in the second act. She was in turn scared, elated, frenzied, and resigned. She'd never felt more creatively alive. Her play, her baby, was about to be born.

As curtain time approached, a hush fell over backstage. The cast could hear the house filling up and it quieted them. Emily looked up at her balloon and said a final prayer to whatever saint was in charge of theater sets. She resisted the temptation to look out at the audience to see if Quinn had arrived yet. Besides, Betsy Mason, her timid Christine, was doing enough looking for both of them.

"I can't believe it! It's not possible. Granger. Emily. Come here. Look who's in the audience." Betsy's voice rose to such a pitch that Granger shushed her, putting a firm finger to his own mouth.

"Keep it down. This is a small hall. They'll hear you—and come away from the curtain."

The threat of plague couldn't have pulled Betsy from that curtain. "That's Gina Manzoni! It is. It truly is. Oh, my God, I'll die if I have to act in front of her. Just die!" Betsy sagged against the curtain as Granger came up behind her. Emily watched them both with a sinking heart.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Granger muttered. "I'll just be damned. Who's the blond guy with her?"

"Paul Severns," Emily sighed in answer without bothering to look. Might as well get it over with.

"The director? The one who won an Oscar a couple of years back?" Granger sounded shell-shocked.

"The same," Emily answered.

"Oh, my God." Granger moved in for a closer look.

It seemed "oh, my God" was the response of choice by everyone on sight of the shining Hollywood couple. As more of the cast joined them at the curtain, the expression took on the aspect of a mantra. The most disturbing thing was that by simply showing up, Gina and Paul had turned the happily determined cast of players back into a disparate, worried group of ferry workers, store clerks, and homemakers. Emily was powerless to change that... or was she?

Quietly, she got off the stool she was on and joined the throng at the curtain. She hoped her voice would carry over the continuing chorus of oh-my-Gods.

"Paul Severns started in amateur theater. Did you know that? He adores it. Goes all the time."

"He does?" Granger asked.

"Says the best talent in the world is in amateur theater. When he heard about the opening tonight, he couldn't wait to come. Gina too." Emily nearly lost it on that one.

"How do you know so much?" Betsy sounded skeptical.

"He told me. I had a drink with them last night. They're friends of Quinn Ramsay. You remember. The man who came to the dress rehearsal with me?" She prodded their memories. "I guess Quinn told them how good everyone was, so they decided to come."

The group was silent until Granger, after taking one last look out the curtain break, looked at his watch and started to speak.

"Well then, people, it looks like we have something to prove." He gave a firm look to the nervous group and smiled. Emily could see them straighten under his gaze.

"Right," they chorused. Emily let out the air in her lungs. It was going to be all right.

"Let's take our places, shall we?" Granger continued. "It's four minutes to curtain."

As the group left, Emily stole a quick glance at the audience. Her eyes found Quinn instantly. He was standing to take off his jacket. She lapped him up. He was so tall, so... beautiful. How would it be without him? Hard, was the answer, very, very hard. She closed the curtain and for a moment clung to its pleats. The fabric lent no strength, and she moved to the side of the stage. For the next couple of hours, she hoped that seeing her words come to life would help her forget her heart was dying.

* * *

Quinn settled back in his seat and eyed the curtain, wondering what Emily was doing back there. All he'd done since last night was wonder about her. Tonight he'd find out what spooked her. She was the most skittery woman he'd ever known. What she needed, he thought, was some wins. Some real wins. Quinn knew from experience that winning was the greatest confidence builder there was. It was difficult to survive emotionally on losses. Trouble was, some people were so hard on themselves they didn't recognize the wins when they came along. He hoped Emily wasn't one of them.

He loved her, wanted her with an intensity that rocked him. She was a fire in his heart and in his bed, and he was determined to keep her in both.

Quinn rolled the short program in his hand and tapped it restlessly against his knee. Damn the woman. She was driving him crazy, but one thing was certain, she wasn't going to kiss him off as easily as she thought. No way.

"Nervous?" Paul asked.

"A little. Emily is probably a wreck back there. I'm nervous for her."

"You need not worry,
carino,
this is not your... Broadway." Gina's tone was acid. She was sitting on the other side of Paul. Quinn had been careful to keep him between them.

"It is to Emily, Gina," he answered, not bothering to look at her. "And if you think so little of it, why did you come?"

Gina turned to Paul with a full, carefully developed smile. "Because it was important to Paul. What other reason could there be?" One olive-skinned hand stroked his arm.

Paul gave her a cool stare. "You're such a good actress, my sweet. Why is it I don't believe you?"

At that moment the curtain came up, and all Quinn could think about was Emily's red balloon. Would everything go right for her? Already rigid with tension, he knew he would stay that way until the play was over. It was the same feeling he'd had watching James race today. A tight, nervous expectancy edged with an alarming impotence. He had discovered something today. Being a concerned spectator took real stamina. He wasn't sure he liked it.

* * *

By intermission, Quinn's program was in tatters. By the end of the play it was pulp. When Christine stepped into the shining red balloon and said her final lines, the pulp hit the floor, and he was on his feet along with the rest of the audience, an audience generous with applause and shouted praise. It was Paul who spoke first.

"She's talented, Quinn. Extremely so."

Quinn couldn't stop his grin from widening at Paul's praise. "Save those kind words for her. You'll make her day. Coming from you, they'll make her whole year!"

"I mean every one of them. Can we go backstage?"

"I'd like to see anyone try to stop us. Come on." Quinn stepped into the narrow aisle.

"I go to the car. In case you are interested." Gina's tone was sarcastic as she stood to leave.

Quinn looked into Gina's stunningly beautiful face, spoiled now by an unappealing pout. By God, the woman was jealous, he realized. He suddenly felt a shot of pity for her. "You could come with us. It would please the cast," he suggested.

The invitation surprised her, and the pout evaporated, replaced by uncertainty.

"Paul?" She looked up with a question in her eyes.

"It would be a professional courtesy, Gina," he answered. "Why don't you light up that incredible face of yours with a
real
smile and come with us?" He offered her his arm, and Gina gave him a low, seductive laugh.

"Vero?
That might be difficult,
carino
," she cooed, then surprised the two men by looping her arms through theirs and smiling brightly. "Let us do it then. You two to the talented Emily. Me to lavish praise on the cast. I may be what you in America call a sore loser," she glanced up at Quinn, "but I do know how to act the star."

Chapter 11

Emily was in a state of stunned excitement, caught somewhere between relief that the play was over and a sort of elation paralysis. She sat sphinxlike as the backstage jubilation rolled toward her. Granger's voice came through first.