Dazzled (32 page)

I sat through that fucking movie, hating every minute of it.

I was amused and embarrassed when the sex scene came on, and mum watched it through her fingers.

“That’s not something I ever wanted to see,” she whispered. “I saw enough of your backside when you were a baby!”

“Didn’t mean anything,” I muttered.

Although that wasn’t strictly true: at the time, Lilia and I had been together. That was one of the things that had made filming that scene so hard. Probably what had made
me
so hard that day. Now, the thought left me cold.

I wondered what Hyde had meant about a sequel. As far as I knew, Laura Dorien hadn’t written a second book, although that didn’t mean much in
Hollywood.
Fuck!
I realized I’d better get Melody or Rhonda to check my contract – I might have signed up for a sequel without knowing it. That would just be my fucking luck.

I was glad mum’s house purchase was going through. If the studio sued the pants off me for breach of contract – refusing do a sequel – she’d be protected.

The theater lights came back on and I was only vaguely aware of the applause. Mum was crying and hugging me, and people were standing up wanting to shake my hand, but I was looking for Clare. I couldn’t see her through the crowds of people who surrounded me.

Lilia caught my eye, and gave me a small, hopeful smile.

Shit. She just didn’t give up.

The premiere party was being held in the Palm Court of the Langham Hotel, near Regent’s Park. You know, palm trees, piano and harpist, Gothic charm that film studios loved. Whatever.

Everyone wanted to stop and talk and smile – except I still couldn’t see Clare.

After an hour of smiling and being polite – and avoiding Lilia at every turn – I’d had enough. Even mum, who loved a good party, had already left, complaining that her new shoes hurt her feet.

I craned my neck, trying to find anyone that looked green, well, wearing green. Luckily, I spotted Polly and strolled over.
Wow. Orange was not her color.

She was pasted, and when she wrapped her arms around me and started crying and warbling on about pretty babies and cherubs, I smiled my first real smile for hours.

“Pol, put a lid on the waterworks! Have you seen, Clare?”

“She went home, but I’ll keep you company.”

“Home?”

Clare had gone. Again.

Shit.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. I got my arse out of there and grabbed the first taxi I could find.

It took ten minutes to get to Clare’s house. Ten damn minutes too long.

I thumped on the door and rang the bell.

Clare

Mum and dad were out at Aunt Paula’s party, so I had the house to myself.

I was glad of that, because I wanted to wallow. Preferably with chocolate. I got lucky when I found a Black Forest gateau that mum had bought to celebrate with Prue, and proceeded to stuff my face. I ate well over half of it. A generous half. The kind of half that a miserable sod might call three-quarters. Whatever. I felt full and nauseous. All I needed now was a sappy love story on the TV, and I was all set for a classic wallow in the time honored tradition.

The evening had been a complete and utter nightmare. From the moment Lilia had arrived, everything had gone wrong. And then she’d dragged him off to her lair, and when he came out again his shirt and tie were undone, and he had lipstick on his cheek. It was soooo obvious what they’d been doing. Especially when she followed him out, a smug smile pasted across her ugly trout pout.

She’d told me she’d get him back – it looked as though she was right. I really didn’t think he would have succumbed that quickly. I hated being proved wrong.

So I was as irritated as all hell when some bastard rang the bell
and
knocked on the door.

The last person I expected to see was Miles waiting on the other side, looking ridiculously beautiful and debonair in his tailor-made tux.

I, on the other hand, had changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. One of his. Oh, and I had crumbs down my cleavage.

The cold air rushed in as I stood in the hallway, my mouth open more widely than the front door.

“You left,” he said.

“You were busy.”

He frowned. “Can I come in?”

“If you want.”

I let the door hang open, then turned my back and headed into the warmth of the cozy living room.

I heard him close the front door and follow me inside. It had been a long time since we’d been in this house together.

He stood awkwardly while I gestured for him to come in, my eyes fixed on the TV.

After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the living room door shut and hovered near one of the armchairs. We were alone together at last.

“I missed you,” he said, softly.

And I didn’t know if he meant tonight, or the last few days.

I folded my arms tightly in front of me and tried to smile.

“Yeah, me, too.”

He rubbed his head as if it ached, and took a step toward me.

I backed away, knowing that I’d crumble if I let him touch me. And I
couldn’t
go back to living like that.

He looked hurt and bewildered as I moved to the other side of the room, and slumped down onto the couch.

“You didn’t wear your bracelet,” he said, quietly.

“What?”

The pain in his voice tore my eyes away from the TV screen that I was pretending to watch.

“The bracelet I gave you – you’re not wearing it.”

“Oh…”

I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Clare, I know I’ve been an idiot…”

“Yeah, you have. But that’s okay, I’m used to it.”

I was letting him off the hook, and he knew it. He gave a small smile.

“Around you I just seem to open my mouth to change feet,” he agreed.

There was an awkward silence. We’d
never
been uncomfortable sharing the same space, but everything had changed.

“So,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, “how’ve you been?”

“Bloody hell, Miles! You make it sound like you haven’t seen me for a year. I saw you a couple of hours ago.”

“Feels longer.”

True.

When I didn’t respond, he sighed heavily and went to lean against the wall by the window, staring at the wintry street outside.

I fiddled nervously with the hem of my… his… my t-shirt.

I didn’t want him here.

Except I did. And I didn’t.

“Why did you leave like that?” he said, his voice soft and a little husky.

So fucking clueless!

I felt a spike of anger. “You don’t get it, do you?”

He shrugged helplessly.

“No, I don’t. Not really.”

In that moment, I realized we were never going to square this circle. There was no point prolonging the agony.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I just… I think you should go now.”

I hated saying the words and Miles looked stunned, but a tiny germ of self-preservation was forcing its way to the surface.

“What? Now? But…” his words ended abruptly, and he rubbed the back of his neck in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Please, Clare, I’m trying here.”

I held back a sigh.

“I know. It’s just… better if you go.”

His expression morphed into one of anger.

“Why did you even bother coming tonight if you don’t want to talk to me?”

Fury, long held back, flared inside me, and I pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Because
your
mum and
my
mum nagged me until I said I would.”

“You weren’t going to come at all?”

“No.”

He shook his head, tiredly. “I don’t get it.”

“I know you don’t.”

“Then please give me a fucking clue!” he shouted.

“I’m sick of it!” I yelled back. “All of it! I’m sick of being in the way! I’m sick of being second best!”

I could see from his face that he
still
didn’t understand. Frustrated, angry, and on the verge of tears, I stood up and headed for the door.

He blocked my way.

“Christ, Clare, I’m fucking begging you now. Please don’t. Talk to me!”

I shook my head, my eyes stinging and my throat aching too much to reply.

I reached out for the door handle and started to open it, but Miles was quicker. He slammed it shut, trapping me in the room.

“Let me go,” I sniffed.

“No. If you go, I’m going with you.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I’ve got a headache.”

“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to come?”

No.

“Mostly, yes.”

His eyes narrowed but I think he knew that if pushed me now, he’d get the opposite reaction from the one he wanted.

“Let’s both get out of here,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Find a pub and just… have a couple of drinks. Okay?”

“I don’t feel like going out again.”

He tugged his hair in frustration and swore softly.

“Look,” I said sighing, giving in grudgingly, “dad’s got some beer in the fridge if you want a drink.”

He smiled uncertainly. “Okay. Sounds good. Thanks.”

I pulled myself away from him, grabbed two cans of lager from the kitchen, and handed one to him.

He sank down into an armchair and popped the tab.

Suddenly, he stood up again.

“Fuck this!” he said, and came to sit next to me on the couch.

I looked at him in surprise. There was a determined look on his face.

“Clare, I’m not with Lilia, no matter what you think you saw.”

My heart started to pound.

“You had lipstick on your face.”

“Yeah, she kissed my cheek. That’s all. She said she wanted to apologize.”

“Did she?”

“Sort of. Not really. Mostly, she was trying to make excuses for what happened.”

He rubbed his eyebrow with his index finger.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he said. “She’s history. She means nothing to me. But you…” he hesitated… “You’re my best friend. I miss you. You mean more to me than all that shit. I miss you so much.”

He stared into my eyes and slowly his expression changed. I watched as his gaze dropped to my mouth, and he licked his lips.

I swear I was holding my breath, feeling the electric pull of the tension mounting between us.

And then he leaned over and kissed me.

His lips were soft and gentle, the kiss so tender and loving, it took my breath away.

I sat there, unmoving, as if a taxidermist had managed to yank out my guts and stuff me in the last ten seconds.

He pulled back slightly as I remained frozen.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I thought… I guess I was wrong. Sorry.”

He started to move away, and that’s when I launched myself at him.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, and then we were all lips and tongues and teeth, panting and breathing hard as we caught up on years of sexual frustration – certainly on my side.

His mouth was hot and wet against my neck and I moaned like a maiden aunt at a Chippendales party.

He wrapped his arms around my hips and dragged me onto his lap, and I could feel how hard he was beneath me.

Bloody hell! That felt gooood!

“I want to make love to you,” he snarled against my throat, his fingers digging into my waist. “Right now, Clare. Right fucking now!”

“Upstairs!” I gasped.

He stood up quickly, even though I was still in his arms.
Jeez, I was definitely going to send a thank you card to Hilda the Nazi fitness trainer, because Miles could hoist me around like a delicate elf, instead of my 140 pound, five foot nothing carcass.