Coming Attractions (8 page)

His hands around her wrists were
sudden and vise-like, and he pulled her back to him firmly but gently. Her
shoulder blades met his breastbone, her derriere pushed against his crotch.
Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter still against his
hard, hot body, threading kisses along the back of her neck and licking the
sensitive skin behind her ear.

Cara shivered, knowing she should
object, protest, struggle, or even scream the freaking house down. But, if she
were truthful, his demanding masculinity actually turned her on. He was letting
her know with his body how badly he wanted her. She was a hundred percent certain
that if she genuinely wanted out, he would respect her wishes.

Right now, drawn hard against the commanding
sinewy animal that was Levi, escape wasn’t even on the agenda—all her wishes
were scaldingly carnal.

Their breath had synchronized into
a grating, ravenous rhythm. She could feel his powerful heartbeat reverberating
through her own body, a counterpoint to her own racing pulse. His mouth was
moist fire against her fevered skin. Their pheromones were almost tangible,
like invisible ropes of scent and sex, binding them ever more tightly to one
another.

“Or,” he murmured as he nuzzled her
ear, “we could do some kissing first and deal with the conversation later.”

Boldly, as though punctuating his
suggestion, he slid his hands up her rib cage and settled them on her breasts,
toying methodically with her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra,
practically daring her to resist. Her traitorous buds peaked instantly under
his erotic ministrations. She felt his satisfied exhalation against her nape,
couldn’t miss the throb and surge of his manhood against her rear as her
breasts grew heavy and swollen, and her nipples stiffened further and strained
toward his touch.

Still, she vacillated.

“You, me, stranded alone on an
erotic movie set…” he murmured. “Are we really going to waste an opportunity
like this?”

His words penetrated the last of Cara’s
defences. How many times had she run from intimacy? How many chances for
closeness had she dismissed out of fear? How many cravings for nearness and
connection had she trashed, simply because she was afraid of being hurt?

It was plain to her in that moment
that her mother’s abandonment had deeply wounded her, made her wary of linking
with others, shaken her ability to trust.

With sudden clarity, she knew that
her contempt for home and hearth was no more than her way of avoiding risk. If
she had no home, no possessions to care for, no loved ones, then nothing
important could be taken from her. The ragged wound from the theft of her
precious bike only underscored her rationale. Love meant danger. Caring meant
peril. And intimacy? That was practically a guarantee of hell to pay.

Did she really want to keep living
aloof and apart? Was loneliness and alienation really a fair price to pay for
safety?

Perhaps Levi was right. Fate had
thrown them into this unique situation together. It truly was a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they were facing. Here and now, she had a chance
to abandon her usual MO of running away and, instead, allow herself to enjoy
this man’s nearness—to touch and feel and trust and connect in a way that was
normally beyond her, even if she could only manage it for this one night. For
the first time, in this oasis of time and place, she glimpsed the possibility
that she could be open and yet safe in his arms. Surely, just for tonight, they
could step outside of life’s normal constraints and enjoy the pleasures she knew
they could bring each other. The notion was magnetic, tempting, seductive…

“No consequences,” he whispered, as
though reading her thoughts.

Surrender.

 
Like a parched flower, every
tendril of her very humanity yearned to yield to Levi.

“Cara?” Her name on his lips was
her undoing. All at once, it was a release, an enchantment and a promise.

In that moment, all her
reservations fell away and her sigh was the sound of a woman coming home at
last. In that instant, Cara stopped thinking and gave herself over to feeling.
She wanted him. Wanted to feel him, skin to skin. Wanted to draw him inside
her. Wanted to take him to that place with her where time stopped and hearts
joined and bodies sang and, for a moment, at least, everything was perfect.

She swivelled around and met his
steady, gray-green eyes. She saw the faintest spark of victory when he read the
capitulation in her gaze. She didn’t care.

So, when he plundered her mouth,
his hand tangled in her hair, his body promising to claim hers, his very soul
seeking completion with her own, she did not pull away, she did not fight her
vulnerability to him. And when he drew her toward the stairs, she followed him
willingly. How could she resist one more night alone with Levi?

Chapter
Eight

The room was like a dark faerie
glade, all forest murals and garlands and faerie lights. It smelled like pine, wild
flowers, and sex. Lying sated in Levi’s arms, Cara took delight in their
surroundings.

“Mom used to read us faerie tales,”
she said. “Not the nice, sanitized, Disney-fied things we feed children these
days. She used to read us the nasty, unvarnished stories. Bitter, twisted, and
breathtakingly gory. We loved them. The book may still be in the study
downstairs.”

“Well, if you find it, you’re welcome
to take it. I know I bought the house and contents, but I was focused on stuff
like the Bechstein grand and the vintage Buick Roadster in the garage.
Certainly not your childhood bedtime story books.”

“Thanks, I may just go hunting for
it later. When we sold the place, I was tied up on location in the middle of
the Pacific. I left it to Mia to take what she thought we would want. I’m not
much for owning a whole lot of material possessions and I’ve never been overly
sentimental. But the story book would be nice.”

Hell,
next I’ll find myself owning a breadmaker, a shih tzu, and a 60-foot yacht.

“Maybe you can scare your own kids
silly with the stories one day.”

His offhanded words were like a
cold finger snaking down her spine and he couldn’t help but feel her shudder.

“Cold?” he asked, pulling the
bedclothes more tightly around her and embracing her more snugly. But no amount
of blankets or body heat would ever warm that particular chill in her spirit.
How could she have forgotten, even for a few hours, the pain that followed love
as inorexably as night chased day. What had possessed her to chance her
wellbeing on a round of the bad boogie with Levi?

Sleeping with him before they
talked had been a mistake, she realized. Come to think of it, sleeping with him
at all was insane. They needed to sort out their differences about the movie.
She had to be calm, stay objective, apply to the conversation the same logic
and rationalism she had brought to writing the screenplay. Flying off the
handle was not going to get her anywhere. Distracting herself with sex—no
matter how glorious—would be similarly unproductive. She needed to hear him
out. If she could grasp his arguments, it would only be one small step to
finding some alternative way to accommodate his needs. Some way that didn’t
involve twisting the truth of the film. Some way that didn’t men desecrating
her mother’s memory.

Knowledge was power. She resolved
to keep the adage front of mind. It would be her new mantra. His firm hands
rubbing her back saw the axiom shimmer like a mirage. His lips pressing gently
against her cheek saw the words drift in and out of focus. Man, but he was
compelling. When his fingers eased from her back to her buttocks and dipped
erotically between her legs, she forgot everything and surrendered to him
completely, again.

****

He found her in the dark study,
curled up in one of the wingback chairs, snuggled up with the cat and cradling
a book, the page lit by the flames of the fire she had rekindled. Hell, she was
stunning. She’d freshened up and dressed in her jeans and a sun-bleached aqua
tee. Her feet were bare and he spent a second taking in the delicate bone
structure and coral-toned polish, the lines of her elegant toes and graceful
arches. He could develop a fetish for toes, he thought—Cara’s toes. Where her
arms were tanned, her feet were pale against the leather of the armchair, a
testament to a life in motorcycle boots, he assumed.

Her gold hair spilled in a mutiny
of curls over her shoulders, shielding her face from his view and also masking
the pages of the book open in her lap. The faerie tale book she had mentioned,
perhaps? Whatever she was reading had engrossed her so much, she didn’t seem to
notice he was there.

She looked small and defenseless
against the great swath of dark leather, he thought, and she looked beautiful,
ethereal with the firelight limning her golden hair and moonlight illuminating
her creamy skin.

He walked to the sideboard and
deliberately clinked a couple of glasses. She glanced up, startled. He observed
a frown lingering at her brow.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, pouring
them each a drink and placing the tumblers on the glass table top, then pulling
up another of the heavy chairs and settling himself against the cool cushions.

After the mind-blowing hours they
had just shared entwined on the king-sized bed in the exotic and erotic forest
room playing out delicious satyr/wood nymph fantasies for many luxurious and
leisurely hours, he wanted nothing more than to be near her. He longed to
stroke her skin and explore her mouth, to drink in the unique womanly scent of
her, to press himself against and into her again and again. She was like some
tantalizing magic potion that quenched his thirst for the space of a heartbeat
then left him desperately parched for more.

It was all he could do not to scoop
her up in his arms and nestle her on his lap. But her posture was closed and
defensive. Her eyes were fortified, and the “keep back” vibe she emitted was
practically palpable. He settled for the brush of her hand against his own as
he passed her a finger of whiskey in a crystal glass.

“Thank you. I had to get up. My
head wouldn’t stop going round and round,” she confessed.

He saw something in her gaze, then
some chink of vulnerability. He needed to capitalize on her mood, he thought.
He needed to use her moment of weakness to leverage the outcome he required. The
film needed sex and, right now, if he demanded her agreement, he sensed she
would submit.

She was tired, out-of-sorts, and
sated. It was late. She’d gulped down the whiskey. Her mind was elsewhere, perhaps
in the book she was reading. She would be putty in his hands. If he pushed his
hand right now, he could complete the box office smash he needed to achieve and
he’d have the cash to make his troubles disappear.

Cara had thawed over dinner, her
glacial bearing softening and liquefying, and she had opened up to him wholly
in the bedroom like some exotic hothouse bloom, eagerly flowering beneath his
masterful hands and tongue. Whenever they made love, it was as though they were
both powerless to withhold anything from one another—their passion was
absolute, their commitment to each brilliant moment together was total.

And now she was open and
unprotected, alone in the darkness, his to manipulate. He readied the steel
blade of his ruthlessness, hardened his resolve to force the project his way,
took aim at the soft spot in her heart, and…took himself completely aback when
he retreated without pressing his advantage.

For a split second, white-hot rage
flared. He seared with utter self-loathing. What kind of a man was he to back
away from an action that was unquestionably necessary? What kind of a human
being was he to draw out the pain he knew he needed to inflict? A fast, clean
strike would have hurt her, certainly. But dragging out the inevitable was
nothing short of cruel. And he was not a cruel man. Least of all to a
vulnerable woman he had come to care for. So, what the hell had just happened?

The smolder of self-loathing became
a low, disgusted burn. He shouldn’t be sitting here dancing around the movie
issue with Cara. Time was short. He had to move fast. He should be ruthlessly
exploiting every resource at his disposal to force his will upon her, for the
sake of his family and the wretched position he had put them in. He owed a
monumental debt and, while in a thousand lifetimes he could never make things
right, he had vowed to do everything in his power to take the edge off the
damage he had so irresponsibly caused.

In order to pay his debt, he needed
the movie’s box office takings to blow the lights out. And, for that to happen,
he needed more sex in the script.

The path was totally clear. There
was no room for deviation and no time to waste. So, why was he allowing Cara to
distract him from his sworn obligation? Why was he wavering when he needed to
win?

Before he could ponder his
uncharacteristic actions further, she softly closed the book in her lap and met
his eyes. He suddenly knew that despite the hours of delicious respite they had
just shared, their earlier argument still lay between them like a coiled snake,
a living thing full of venom and danger.

Abruptly, she was not the soft,
pliable waif he had painted her. Her jaw was set, her eyes glittered, her brow
furrowed. He would swear she hadn’t changed position, but suddenly she seemed
taller, more regal in the firelight, as though she’d cloaked herself in some
sort of magic armor. He actually shivered in the face of her queenly bearing.

He put down his whiskey.

“We need to talk about the movie.
The truth. We need to find a way to make this work,” she said.

He picked up the conversational
opening she offered and decided to see where it led.

“Look, I’m sorry about before. I
was insensitive. I just opened my mouth and blurted out that stuff about
changing the film without really giving you any context.”

She stiffened reflexively. Then he
watched her regulate herself and force her body to relax. “I’m not sure that
whatever context you provide will make any difference. But, go ahead. I’m
listening.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the note of strain winding
through it. He had to admire her self-control. In this moment, he had a real
sense of her strength. The same strength, resilience, and persistence she must
have shown in the face of unravelling the facts of her mother’s betrayal.

For, it was a betrayal, he thought.
How could a woman Cara swore was warm of heart and maternally devoted discard
her children in favor of some legendary treasure? Family was paramount. Blood
was supreme. You didn’t turn your back on your kin for anything, in his book.
Least of all a chest full of trinkets or an old scrap of parchment.

But wasn’t he doing the same thing,
allowing a passing fancy, a temporary dalliance, to divert him from his
familial obligation? In that moment, he knew he was as repulsive and
dishonorable as Alessandra had been.

Though he saw Alessandra as a
monster, in the film, Cara had managed a balanced portrayal of her parent.
Somehow, she had made Alessandra’s character likeable and human, made her
decision seem reasonable, if not idyllic. The audience was not left hating Alessandra
for her selfish decision to seek the treasure. But, in that moment, Levi hated Alessandra.

Maybe his reluctance to move in for
the kill was simply an unwillingness to tar himself with the same brush.

Looking at Cara, edgy and worn and
tortured beneath her serene veneer, Levi loathed Alessandra with every shred of
his being. Every time he saw the flicker of hope flare in Cara’s eyes, he
wanted to punch something. Alessandra had been an egotistical, frigid,
avaricious bitch. He would never forgive her for leaving Cara the hideous
legacy of feeling inadequate. He would never forgive her for turning her back
on the woman he—

His mind shut down the instant the
thought tried to push its way to the surface. He had no room in his life for
anything other than a short-term playmate, and even the temporary interlude was
proving a liability.

While Cara was driven to get the
movie done her way, he had his own screaming agenda that would not wait. He
could not afford to be deflected, he reminded himself. Failure was not an
option. Right now, there was no time for detours or errors. He had to get the
movie done his way right now. Or there would be blood on his hands. Literally.

It was time to clue Cara in. At
least in part. He had to make her understand why he needed to adjust some
aspects of the film. He needed to convince her to agree to his proposed
changes. Fast.

And if he wasn’t man enough to play
a brutal hand, then he’d just have to accomplish victory some other way.
Because there was no choice, he reminded himself. He needed to win. Anything
else was not an option.

“You said that I only care about
money. In a way, that’s true. I’m not ashamed of that,” he told her.

“No wonder you like the movie. You
identify with my mother,” she ground out softly. “Money is a powerful
motivator. I know that better than most.”

The accusation stung, but he knew
she was merely lashing out because she felt threatened. She was reacting like a
cornered animal, and he was only wounded because of the component of truth in
what she said.

He needed to help her understand
she was not powerless or trapped. If he could defuse her defensiveness a
little, she might not react with such hostility. And until he made her feel
safe and empowered, she would be too tied up in her fight or flight response to
really listen to anything he said. That wasn’t going to happen in the pre-dawn
study with emotions running high.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,”
she said. She bit her lip, clearly wishing she had kept her temper under
control.

He shrugged. “Forget it.”

But he stood then, and walked away.
He should have felt satisfied that he had left her deflated, all out of fire
and ammunition, too.

****