Coming Attractions (16 page)

“I am not falling down drunk,” Otto
mumbled sloppily as Selena took his hand and led him gently out of the room,
pausing in the doorway to waggle her fingers in a wave. “Goodnight, Jeans.
Goodnight, Painter,” Otto added sleepily.

“Goodnight, Selena,” they chorused.
“Goodnight, Otto.”

“Goodnight, John-Boy, goodnight,
Ma, goodnight Elizabeth!” Otto wisecracked as he lumbered after Selena and out
of sight, leaving Levi and Cara alone.

“Painter?” Cara asked him.

“Who knows? Drink?” he offered, picking
up the red wine bottle.

“No thanks,” she said. “I’m a
little tiddly.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” he
asked in a tone that made her unsure whether he was being provocative.

She wanted him to be provocative,
she realized. She wanted him to tease her and torment her. She wanted him to
play with her. She’d gladly be the mouse to his cat tonight. Gladly submit to
any tantalizing games he might have in mind.

When she answered him, her voice
was husky with desire. “In a good way…” She smiled slow and sexy. “A very, very
good way.” She arched an eyebrow playfully and licked her lips, leaving him no
doubt as to what she was thinking.

He kept his cool, but she knew him
now, knew the tell-tale swallow, the rub of his thumb under his chin, the
darkening of his eyes. Her baiting had landed just where she had intended.

He took a step toward her and she
took his measure, reminded of how large and solid he was. How gorgeous. How
damned erotic.

He met her eyes—gray challenged
blue. The air between them effervesced.

“Truth or dare?” he asked softly,
almost menacing. She suddenly wondered if in luring him, she’d bitten off more
than she could chew.

“Truth or…?” she whispered.

“Dare. You didn’t have a turn,”
Levi pointed out, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

Her inner imp deserted her. Playing
the temptress didn’t come naturally and he was calling her bluff.

“I…I’d be too embarrassed to do a
dare the way Otto did,” she confessed with barely concealed panic.

He closed the space between them
and sat on the arm of her chair. Close enough that she could smell the bare
scent of his desire, close enough to touch. He watched her eyes. She swallowed.

He stroked her hair, half
incitement, half reassurance. “Even between just the two of us? A nice dare? A
sexy dare?” His words were more promise than question and she felt the hot
quiver of her primal response deep between her legs.

“Well…” She cleared her throat. Her
mouth was parched, her breath erratic. “Maybe a sexy dare.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Okay, you
have to pick someone in this room and—”

“Hang on! You’re the only other
person here!” she protested.

Levi gasped in pretend shock. “Oh,
so I am. I guess you’ll have to pick me.”

“And?”

“And take dictation.”

“Take?”

“Here’s a pen and paper.” He handed
her the empty notebook from the glass-topped coffee table. “You can write fast?
And your spelling’s okay?”

She frowned, perplexed. “I thought
you said—”

“Your spelling’s okay?” he
reiterated.

“I am a writer by profession, so, um,
duh.”

“Okay, perfect. So I need you to
write down everything I say.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Starting now?”

“Yes.”

She wrote the word “Yes” at the top
of the page and frowned at him, wondering what sort of dare he had cooked up
for her.

“Very good.”

She wrote, “Very good.”

“Tonight,” he said, “I want to peel
your clothes off. I want to unwrap you. And every place that I lay bare, I want
to kiss….”

Cara’s hand wobbled a little as she
copied down his words. Her breath had gone from irregular to sketchy. Her
heartbeat kicked up a notch and she had to moisten her lips. He watched the
small movements of her mouth.

“I will kiss and nibble and lick
your sexy body from your tangerine toenails to your earlobes and your
fingertips. Last of all, I will move my mouth to your navel and trail kisses
down your belly to your pussy. Getting hot, good little secretary mine?”

“Yes,” she rasped as she dragged
her pen over the page. There was something incredibly titillating about
listening to him tell her what he had in store for her. The frissons of
anticipation zinged through her veins. And then to write down his lusty words?
That was sheer torture. She didn’t want to concentrate on comma placement and
hyphenation. She wanted to think about the content of what he was saying. She
wanted to fixate on his darkly delicious intentions.

“Good. Because my mouth is going to
loiter between your legs. My tongue is going to explore every fold and hollow…”

“Wait, slow down. Loiter…legs…pretty
sure I spelled ‘unwrap’ wrong.” She was gasping, shaking, befuddled, and completely
under his wicked spell.

“I am going to fill my mouth with
the taste of your sex and then I am going to suck your clit until you come.
Understand?”

She had stopped writing. She wasn’t
even pretending to. Her hand was quaking. Her brain wouldn’t work properly. She
wanted everything he was spelling out. That and more. She wanted him inside
her. Now.

“Come here,” she commanded, and she
didn’t need to ask him twice.

Chapter
Thirteen

They had not discussed sleeping
arrangements, Cara realized as they curled up together on the rug in the study.
The crew were largely camped in tents outside in the field out the back and
Selena, Levi, and Otto had trailers closer to the house. Cara wondered whether
she and Levi would be spending the night together now that they had an audience
and now that he had got what he wanted—the changes to the movie and the biggest
clue to the treasure she could provide. Not to mention the pleasures of her
body on the hearth rug.

There was no hope, she thought. No
future for them. She couldn’t even count on this man to spend one whole night
with her, let alone a lifetime. And that was what she wanted, she realized. A
lifetime with Levi.

Oh, he controlled her body all
right, as though he were a marionette master and she was a doll, completely
under his influence. But he held her heart, and her soul, too. And that
particular path would lead her nowhere except to despair. Indeed, she could
feel the squeeze of misery lurking already, just waiting to pounce.

If only she had her motorcycle, she
thought. She would sneak out, climb aboard, and ride away from here. She’d just
let them all get on with the film and throw herself into some other project.
Try and forget about Levi and Alessandra and the Midnight Star and the rest of
the mess.

But she had no wheels and no real
will to leave Levi when there was even the slightest chance he might want her
in his bed tonight, for despite everything, she wanted him. Hell, despite
everything, she loved him. How pathetic was that?

Something deep inside her had
changed irrevocably. She wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but the signs
were unmistakable. Only once before in her adult life had Cara made any kind of
investment in another person. As a child, she had keenly felt the absence of
her father, and then as a teen, she had learned the pain of losing her
mother.
 
She should have learned from
those formative experiences, but when she had found herself pregnant, she had
been overcome with love for the new little being inside her and all rational
thought had gone out the window. Her heart had filled to the brim and
overflowed with warmth and devotion to the tiny life growing within her. And
look how all three of her loves had turned out.

She had decided after she lost the
baby that the only safe investment, the only benign passions were for
non-humans and inanimate objects—like a motorcycle. She’d kept Mia and her
family at arm’s length. She’d traveled so she couldn’t even get attached to her
studio flat.

But then Levi came along and suddenly,
she cared. She cared about
him
—loved
him and wanted him, but also found herself open and vulnerable to being hurt by
him. The fact that he was using her to reach his own financial ends was like a
chain, dragging her down, cutting into her skin, maiming her. His voice, his
touch, his sexy gray stare, all combined to make him doubly dangerous, because
as well as being a duplicitous fiend, he was also wholly irresistible.

****

Hand in hand, engulfed in the
scents of moss, pine, and roses, they crossed the dark lawn toward his trailer.
There were few lights left on and, apart from a subdued laugh, a whimpering dog,
and the soft strains of a 12-string, all was quiet. He unlocked the door and
gestured for her to precede him up the steps into the brightly lit interior.

Suddenly finding herself in his
very cramped, masculine space messed with her mind. Sure, it wasn’t his house
or his office—it was only his temporary accommodation while he supervised the
movie preparations—but there was no mistaking Levi’s unique, manly stamp on the
space. Instantly, all her senses were on alert.

First, she registered the musky
pure male baseline harmonizing with top notes of magnolia and mandarin. Her
mind was a montage of intimate memories where she was wrapped in the luscious scent
of him.

He was tidy, she thought, noticing
stacks of neatly ironed and folded clothing on the open shelves, but not a neat
freak. Papers, pens, and an empty coffee mug had been abandoned on the pull-out
table.

He’d left the radio on low, tuned
to the local easy listening station, winding up
“
I Only Have Eyes for You” and segueing into a slow Fleetwood Mac
number. Maybe he was lonely here. Maybe the radio kept him company.

“Drink?” he asked, tossing his wallet
and keys onto the table.

She shook her head, her eyes
zeroing in on the pewter framed photograph beside the bed. Long hair, white
teeth, big eyes. Two women, she registered. One very young, barely more than a
girl. One older. Related to one another, she decided. Related to Levi?

“It’s stuffy in here. I’ll open up
the skylight. We can lie on the bed and watch the night sky,” he offered.

Cara felt a little awkward while he
worked on the window. There was no room to move and she could barely decide
where to look. The trailer was crowded, intimate—and his. His sleek black alarm
clock, his battered leather duffle bag, his pile of paperbacks—Grisham,
Hawking, Heinlein—his toiletries. She felt intrusive and desperately curious in
equal measure. What was he working on at the table? What did the speech bubble
on his mug say? What did he think of the latest Grisham? Was gray his favorite
color or was its overrepresentation in his t-shirt collection coincidence? And,
of course,
who were the women in the
picture?

If she was in her own space, Cara
thought, she’d simply peel off her clothes and fall into bed. That morning when
she had happened across Selena and Levi cozying up on the veranda seemed eons
ago. A hell of a lot had happened since then.

“Make yourself at home,” said Levi,
stepping away from the skylight and switching off the main light, leaving the
room illuminated by two utilitarian bedside lamps.

Her exhaustion reared up and she
didn’t fight it. She quickly yanked off her clothes and climbed into bed on the
side furthest from the photograph. Not that she didn’t want a closer look, but
she figured he favored that side.

He watched her unashamedly. She
liked the feel of his eyes on her. She laughed when he pouted as she scooted
under the covers. He didn’t hesitate when she patted the space beside her. His
clothes quickly joined hers on the floor and they were lying in their familiar
position with his arm cradling her neck and her body curled against and around
him. Her tiredness melted away the instant he lay beside her. Their skin felt
glorious against one another. She thrilled at his breath against her hair, his
lashes on her cheek, his fingers skimming the downy flesh of her arm. Could she
really want him again? He seemed relaxed, ready for sleep. Maybe she could
entice him into some horseplay by baiting him with a dare as he had done for
her earlier.

“So, you never had a turn,” she
murmured.

“Turn?”

“Truth or dare?” she asked,
injecting her tone with enough challenge and sparkle to have him lifting his
head and meeting her eyes. He couldn’t miss the impish, taunting desire
awakening there.

“You’re insatiable, woman! It must
be three in the morning. Don’t you ever sleep?”

But despite his protests, she could
feel his manhood stirring at the thought.

“You have to have a turn,” she
countered. “It’s only fair.”

“Fair schmair. We both need some
sleep, wench!”

“Pleeeeeease,” she wheedled,
shifting herself so that plenty of warm naked skin rubbed against him, causing
his cock to harden and his breath to catch.

“Woman!” he protested
half-playfully, holding her still while maneuvering himself away from her. “Sleep.”

“Not until you’ve had your turn.”

“Okay, in the interest of common
sense and expediency, let me throw some cold water on your cunning plan. Truth.”

She pouted. “But that’s no fun!”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it.” She’d
take any crumb he threw her way, she realized. She just hoped he hadn’t figured
that out.

She searched her mind for a good
question, something revealing that he couldn’t wriggle out of with a fast or
fluffy response. If she was going to be dealt a truth hand, she could at least
make sure it was worthwhile. Her gaze fell on the bedside portrait. The women
must be important to him if they held pride of place where he saw them last
thing every night and first thing every morning. She might have felt a niggle
of envy if she hadn’t been in his bed beside him, in the flesh. Surely a
question about the picture would deliver a meaty answer. Besides, she was
deadly curious about them.

“Who are the women in the picture?”
she asked lightly, watching his response carefully.

His body stiffened as though he was
warding off an attack and almost immediately went slack in defeat. He closed
his eyes and let out a breath. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, as though
he was desperate to keep words or emotions inside. His hands slid away from her
and he rolled onto his back. The inches between them felt like a galaxy.

She had made a mistake, she
thought. She had targeted a topic way too close, too private. He didn’t want to
share. Who could blame him? She was just some woman he’d known for a few days. Certainly,
they’d slept together but their physical closeness didn’t necessarily mean he
was prepared to be emotionally intimate.

Cara felt tears well up in her eyes
and rolled over, planning to face away from him, so he wouldn’t see her tears.
She felt clumsy and intrusive. She’d managed to ruin what had been a lovely
night by pushing her own agenda too far, first insisting on another round of
Selena’s silly game and then bulldozing into sensitive territory she had no
business being in.

His hand stayed her before she
could turn all the way over. His fingers sought hers and he urged her to lie
beside him. With their hands clasped together, they lay side by side looking up
through the open skylight at the real midnight stars.

For a long time, he said nothing.
Her silent tears subsided as he comforted her with no more than the warmth of
his fingers around her own. Her breathing became slower. Her eyes drifted
closed.

“Remember I said I don’t ride
motorcycles anymore?” he finally whispered in the dark.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if
she was awake or dreaming his words. “I remember.” She sighed, giving his hand
a tiny squeeze.

She listened to him breathe. The
air came and went, deep and even. She thought he might have eased into sleep.

“Two years ago, I was riding an
Aprilia RSV1000R.”

She pictured a
sexy red and black machine with hot curves and pure grunt and she murmured an
appreciative sound.

“Yeah, it was a
blast to ride all right and I constantly fanged it at arrest-me-now speeds, believe
you me. But I didn’t get arrested. I wish I had.”

His tone finally
registered in Cara’s brain. There was a raspy, raw edge to his voice, a
tortured quality as though it physically hurt to push the words out. She
mentally cleared away the wisps of dreams and drew herself back to full
consciousness, careful not to move or change her breathing and, by doing so,
alert him to her sudden vigilance.

“Ever since she
started talking, my niece, Bronte, begged me to take her on the back of my
bike. When she was little, it was just a Z250—top speed, seventy-right miles an
hour on the flat.” He laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “I would
always smile and say I’d take her when she was fifteen. Fifteen seemed forever
away. But time rolled around and pretty soon, it was her fifteenth birthday.
Teenage girls can be tenacious when it comes to getting what they want and she
held me to my promise. I managed to string it out another couple of years, but
eventually, Bronte wore me down. My sister, Erin, her mom, said sure, if she wasn’t
safe with me, she wasn’t safe with anyone. You’ve probably guessed that she wasn’t
safe with me.” His voice was mechanical, a robotic monotone.

Cara struggled to
remain still and breathe calmly. She sensed that he was a hairsbreadth from
shutting down his confession, turning away from this unburdening, for she knew
deep in her bones that he had not spoken this story before and she knew equally
well that he needed to tell it. While her question had stemmed from
inquisitiveness, she now desperately wanted him to answer for his own
wellbeing. Toxic secrets bottled up only festered and ate away at the keeper. She
ought to know. They lost their power when you brought them out into the light.

She felt rather
than saw his left hand involuntarily trace the
scar crossing his
left cheekbone.

“We kitted Bronte
up in all the gear—lid, gloves, jacket—and Erin took a bunch of photos of her
beaming like a billion bucks through the helmet. I’d never seen her so happy.
She squealed as we took off and wrapped her arms tight around me, but she was a
natural pillion and within a couple of minutes, she had the feel for it. She
was hugging the curves right along with me, waving at kids we passed, and
laughing with the sheer joy of being on the bike.”