The Promise of Change (21 page)

It dawned on him, “And you saw our relationship as a potential repeat performance.” He frowned again.

“What I thought was . . . I don’t know what I thought. My reaction was idiotic. I was just trying to protect my heart. I couldn’t take another life-altering disappointment, and I couldn’t face the potential for an exposé on our failed relationship if it didn’t work out.”

She stood up, touched her hand to his face. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret hurting you . . . regret the lost time . . . time that we’ll never get back . . .” She sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek.

He captured the tear with his thumb. “Okay. I’m sorry I dredged it up.” He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her to his chest, holding her there for a few more sniffles. He tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, a soft whisper of a touch.

What began as a tender kiss, blossomed into something very different. Ardent. Intense. “I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he groaned against her lips, as he pulled her into the perfumed shadows.

This was it. The day Sarah had been dreading. The day she’d have to watch Alex kiss Brooke in the pivotal scene in the library; the scene where Christen acknowledges his feelings for Amelia. Another parallel, however faintly drawn, between the fictional relationship and the real life relationship: the library. And to think some people find libraries boring.

After the events of the past week, all the passionate nights they’d spent together, it was going to be torture. Part of her wanted to avoid the scene, but the other part of her, the part that won, wanted to be there, to ensure that Brooke didn’t take advantage of the situation.

It was clear she’d had her eye on Alex from the beginning, and despite his rebuffs, her advances grew more calculated by the day.

Sarah sat in her customary seat next to Michael, although lately she’d surreptitiously put a little more space between them. She tried to act nonchalant as Michael called ‘action.’

The scene began with Cat confronting Christen about his feelings for Amelia, encouraging him to tell her. He argued that he had no such feelings, and he didn’t know what she was talking about. Unbeknownst to them both, Amelia was curled up in a chair, where she tried to hide when she heard them enter the library, clearly having an argument. She doesn’t know the argument is about her, until she hears her name.

Cat:
“Oh, Christen, it’s as plain as the nose on your aristocratic face. Admit it. You’re in love with Amelia.”

Christen:
“I most certainly am not. What nonsense. Besides, she positively detests me.”

Cat, with a smile:
“Why would you say that? You’re very loveable–when you want to be.”

Christen:
“Are you blind? We can barely speak two civil words to one another—”

Cat:
“I spent a long, cold night in the woods with her, remember?”

Christen winces at the memory.

Cat:
“Trust me, she doesn’t detest you. In truth, I think it is quite the opposite.” She walks over and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Tell her . . . soon.”
Cat exits the library.

Amelia remains frozen in her chair, hoping that Christen will follow, leaving her to make her escape. Unfortunately, she hiccups, a nervous reaction she’s had since a little girl.

Christen, voice severe: “Who’s there? Show yourself this instant.”

Amelia hiccups again then, hesitantly reveals her presence, her eyes wide with shock and embarrassment.

Christen, steps back in shock: “Amelia.”

Amelia hiccups again: “Christen . . . I’m so sorry (hiccup) . . . it wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop (hiccup). . . I’ll just be going . . . ” In a rare moment of chagrin, she attempts to walk past him.

Christen, grabbing her shoulders, stopping her, looks into her face only inches from her mouth: “How much did you hear?”

Amelia: “Everything. (hiccup) I heard everything.” Hiccup.

Christen, in frustration: “Confound it. Could you please stop hiccupping?”

Amelia: “Sorry.” (Hiccup)

Christen, first in exasperation: “Oh, blast.” Then murmurs: “Perhaps I can cure those.” He takes her face in his hands and lowers his lips to hers. They kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he pulls her closer.

Sarah’s hands gripped the arms of the chair so tight she expected to hear a snap–either the chair or her hand breaking. Hasn’t this gone on long enough? She wanted to yell ‘cut!’ Alex still kissed Brooke. What the hell was Michael waiting for anyway?

“Cut! Print.”

Thank God
.
She could breathe again. She hoped that was the only take, but of course she knew better than that. Michael liked to get shots from a variety of angles.

“Okay, let’s shoot the scene from Amelia’s perspective.” Michael turned to Sarah. “I think that went well, but we’ll get a few more takes so the editor has several to choose from.”

Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. Out loud.

“Sarah, you okay?” Michael asked with concern.

Sarah could feel Alex’s eyes on her.

“Yes. It’s just a headache.” She grimaced.

“Maybe you should take something and go lie down. These lights can be brutal,” Michael said indicating the lights surrounding the set.

“No,” came her emphatic response. As much as she hated watching it, she hated not watching even more. “I’ll be fine. Maybe I just need some caffeine.”

“Could someone get Sarah a diet coke?”

With a tequila chaser, she thought. “Thanks,” she said lamely.

She scanned the room for Alex, finding him in the makeup chair. She longed to tell the make-up artist to erase the amused expression from his face.

“Ooh. I hated watching you kiss her today. The green-eyed monster almost tore through my chest to rip out Brooke’s throat.”

Sarah’s evening pursuits had changed drastically in the past week. Instead of just reading a romance novel, she lived her very own romance with Alex joining her every night after the house fell quiet. He’d even moved some of his personal items to her room, while still maintaining a plausible presence in his own.

They both agreed they should keep this to themselves, at least until the filming was completed, afraid that their relationship might provoke discord among the cast and crew.

She could think of one cast member she’d like to provoke. But the movie was more important than her immature desire to rub this in Brooke’s face.

She’d told Ann and Becca, but swore them to secrecy. She could have sworn she’d heard Ann’s shriek of elation all the way across the Atlantic.

Alex stayed with her until morning now, waiting until she gave him the all clear, via text message, before he’d quietly exit her room and saunter nonchalantly down the stairs.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t enjoy it one bit. Her kisses are too wet.” He shuddered.

“Maybe that’s because she drools,” Sarah said snidely.

He chuckled. “Sarah, you’ve nothing to worry about. What can I do to calm the green-eyed monster before she rears her ugly head again?”

“Take me to bed and tell me you love me.”

“Since we’re already in bed, how about I tell you how much I love you.”

“That will do . . . for now.” She snuggled closer, her face buried in his neck, breathing his wonderful spicy, citrusy scent.

“‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way because I don’t know of any other way of loving but this,

in which there is no I or you,

so intimate that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.’”

His voice was husky with emotion.

His recitation left her breathless. She buried her face in his chest so he couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. “That was beautiful,” she breathed. “Did you write that?”

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her. “No, I only recite great lines, I don’t write them. It’s from a sonnet by Pablo Neruda, the Nobel prize-winning poet.”

“Is there more?” she asked eagerly. She never tired of listening to his silken voice.

He chuckled again. “Greedy girl. Is there no end to your thirst for words?”

She blushed. He looked down into her face, brushing her reddened cheek with the back of his hand. “Let me see,” he said, thoughtful for a moment. “Ah, this one is perfect:

‘I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.’” As he spoke the words, he acted upon them, tenderly kissing her lips, her throat, her hair.

Nuzzling her neck, he continued. “‘Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest.’” He lifted her palm to his lips.

She shuddered at his caress.

“‘. . . hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails.’” His lips brushed each fingertip, and his voice grew huskier with each word. “‘. . . I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.’” He tasted her shoulder, nibbling gently, sending shivers up her neck, raising goose flesh on her skin.

With one smooth motion, he tossed the blankets aside, revealing their naked bodies, making her gasp in shock.

“‘I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body.’” His teeth grazed down her body to her quivering stomach.

Her breathing grew ragged.

“‘. . . the sovereign nose of your arrogant face.’” He glided back up to kiss her nose.

“‘I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes.’” He pressed a butterfly kiss to each eyelid.

“‘And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.’”

He gently rolled her onto her back, his eyes black with desire, and captured her mouth in a kiss both so tender and fierce she thought it would consume her.

Sitting at a delicate writing desk in one of the manor’s many rooms, Sarah responded to an e-mail from Ann, contemplating how to answer her question about what Brooke was like.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but ‘she is a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.’ Despite her frequent declaration that she just adores Jane Austen, she wouldn’t get an allusion to her if it came up and slapped her on the back of her vapid little head. Uh oh. Speak of the devil . . .

“Oh, Sarah. I thought you might be Alex. Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t seen him. Did you check the library?”

She made a little face before saying, “Thanks.”

She couldn’t understand their fascination with the collection of essays, novels, and poetry the well-stocked library offered.

Sarah returned to her e-mail, finishing with a rundown of the schedule over the next week. If all went as planned, the crew would wrap up the shoot here and return to London soon. However, she would be returning to London tomorrow. Elizabeth, her agent, was stopping over on her way to Hong Kong to meet with her about another two-book deal. She sighed, as if that were a bad thing.

She hated leaving Alex, especially with Brooke on the prowl. Even with her previous experience with infidelity, it wasn’t that she didn’t trust Alex. She didn’t trust Brooke. She reminded herself it was only for one night. She’d return on the early morning train the following day and stay for the remainder of the shoot.

She looked forward to the end of the filming. She was tired of sneaking around with Alex like they were having some sort of torrid affair. The pretense was wearing on her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t already slipped. It was hard to believe her love for him wasn’t tattooed on her face for all to see.

She closed her laptop before returning to the library in search of her script to review it before tomorrow’s shoot, particularly since she wasn’t going to be here. Would there be any kissing tomorrow? Speaking of kissing, if she got lucky, she might run into Alex and corner him for a little make-out session before dinner.

Opening the library door, Sarah froze. Brooke stood close to Alex, face lifted to his. He held her wrists up in front of his chest. Sarah gasped.

“Sarah.” He dropped Brooke’s wrists, pushing her away from him. “It’s not what you think. . . ” He grimaced at the trite expression.

“I know—”

“I was trying to remove her unwelcome hands from my chest—” The anguish was plain on his face.

Sarah glared at Brooke, gritting her teeth to hold back the unladylike string of expletives that threatened to erupt.

“Now I know why you’re producing this claptrap.” Brooke returned Sarah’s astonished look with one of smug satisfaction.

“What?” Sarah looked at Alex, confused. “What did she just say? What did she mean?” It finally dawned on her. She was more shocked by the revelation that Alex was apparently producing the movie, than by Brooke’s blatant attempt to seduce him. “I thought Michael was the producer . . .” Her voice trailed off. She already knew the answer. “Alex?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“All this time, I thought I’d succeeded on my own merits . . . someone had read my book and genuinely loved it enough to make it into a movie . . . and all along it was you,” she said as if to herself. “I should have known. The coincidences were so obvious.” She shook her head.

“Bloody hell. Sarah, can you just forget your damnable pride for one minute.” He strode over to her, his hands raised as if to grab her shoulders.

“My pride?” She took a step back. “This isn’t about my pride.” She smacked his hand aside as he tried to reach for her again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Was this supposed to be another of your surprises? In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t like surprises.”

“Sarah. I’m sorry. I’d planned to tell you . . .”

“Does everyone else know?” She could feel angry, humiliated tears filling her eyes, blurring her vision. “I feel like such a fool.” The tears rolled down her cheeks, temporarily clearing her vision.

“No,” he said softly. “No one else knew, except . . . Michael . . .” He turned to glare at Brooke, understanding mounting. “A little pillow-talk, Brooke?”

She at least had the grace to blush.

“Please leave,” he said to her, his voice barely audible. She turned on her heel and left, giving Sarah a baleful look as she stalked out the door.

“Sarah.” Alex’s hands were on her shoulders. “Look at me, please.”

Sarah stubbornly shook her head, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I need to leave.”

“Is that your solution to everything—run?”

“Don’t worry Alex, I’m not going to run off again,” she said with a little sarcasm. “Give me a little more credit than that. I just need to get some air . . . preferably alone.” He dropped his hands, and, stumbling out of the library, tears blurring her vision, she all but ran out the front door into the cool summer evening.

Alone in her room later that night, she saw with clarity how perfectly the pieces fit. The fact that he was cast as Christen–I mean let’s face it, she thought, what were the odds of Alex being cast out of the blue, perfect or not?

As producer, he could cast himself. The deference Michael paid him on the set; his involvement in almost every aspect of the production, including his regular viewing of the dailies, even when he wasn’t in the scenes. Although she was a novice to the move industry, she was surprised she hadn’t seen it before. She was surprised everyone didn’t see it.

She was going to London as planned. Maybe a little separation would do them both good . . . give them some time to think. Besides she wasn’t sure she trusted herself around Brooke without wringing her swan-like little neck.

Cried-out and exhausted, she turned in early, trying not to think about how cold and lonely the bed was without Alex.

He screwed up. He knew that. But damn it, if she wasn’t so stubborn, so determined to do everything on her own, maybe this wouldn’t have gotten blown out of proportion.

Of course it didn’t help that Brooke had been the one to reveal it. He sighed, sat on the edge of the bed. It only added to Sarah’s humiliation. He wanted to belt Brooke, and he wasn’t too happy with Michael at the moment either.

He stood, paced his room, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He should have told her. Of course he should have. If he’d told her weeks ago, maybe she’d have been miffed at first, but after he’d explained to her why, they’d had a good laugh over it and moved on.

He stopped in front of the window and looked out at the black night. He wondered if she were still out there. He didn’t like the thought of her out there at night alone.

Should he go to her? Apologize? Apologize, yes, but go to her, no. She said she wanted to be alone. If she wanted to speak to him, she would have let him know.

Tomorrow he would grovel. Perhaps crawling on his knees would be in order. After what promised to be a long, lonely, sleepless night.