Just a Fan (44 page)

In spite of my high vantage point, I heard the faint sound of Don's booming voice as he yelled: 'And I'd better not see you here again, pal!'

Ready to collapse with gratitude, I grinned widely as Don's face turned up to look at the balcony. I waved happily, and shouted down: 'Thank you!'

I saw Don grin too. 'No problem, lady, no problem!' came his reply, and then he waved again and lumbered off down the road, back the way he came. I stared after him in admiration.

Somehow I was now completely assured that I wouldn't be seeing Clive around here again...

Connor was true to his word, and burst through the front door with suitcases flying at the start of the following week. I had barely enough time to greet him before he leapt at me, clasping me in a bone-breaking hug. Although he was nowhere near as muscular as that Don, he was certainly very wiry and well-toned, strong enough to squeeze the very breath out of me. Before I could even
start
telling him how nice it was to see him, he had smothered my words with insistent lips, barely letting me breathe.

'Connor - I - mmph!' I tried to say against his mouth, then happily gave up and flung my arms closer around his neck, full-heartedly kissing him back. God, I'd missed this...

Connor gave a low groan and growled something incomprehensible to the world in general, then abruptly ducked down. I yelped as his solid shoulder knocked against my stomach and his arm slipped firmly around the back of my knees, then he stood up smoothly, casually draping me over one shoulder.

'Aah! What're you doing?' I cried out, now seized by uncontrollable laughter. 'Put me down!'

'Aye, ah'll be puttin' ye down soon, wait and see!' he growled teasingly, as he strode across the room, suitcases forgotten. Still carrying me over one shoulder like the proverbial caveman, he climbed up the stairs in quick, flowing steps. By now I knew where I was being carried off to, and felt my pulse rise with anticipation. Men with their one-track minds...

Once the ordeal of the stairs was over, the short corridor passed by in a flash and then I was rather unceremoniously dumped onto the bed, left spread-eagled to stare up at Connor just before he came down, short black hair sticking up all over the place, brow already shining with perspiration.

'Whoa!' I had almost forgotten the weight of his body - which, despite being a bit heavy whenever he forgot to support himself on his elbows, was rather reassuring.

And his glowing, familiar heat, too - I had almost forgotten that as well.

And
his...oh, my...

'It's been a long fortnight, I can tell you,' Connor breathed, flinging my t-shirt across the room at the same time.

My mind was otherwise occupied. 'Very long...' I agreed breathlessly, eyes wide as if hypnotised.

'This was all I could think about on the plane home, you know...' he murmured, finally hitching me close against him with a decadent grin, mouth going down to run along my collarbone.

'Dirty man,' I chided him, my heartbeat so fast my limbs felt like jelly. His skin was lovely and smooth, slightly tanned from his recent trip. I smiled deliriously, hungrily drinking in his features and almost fainting with bliss at the same time; from the fierce way he was holding me to him, it was clear that Clive had been wrong and Connor had most certainly
not
been with any exotic girls during his stay on the island. Feeling myself melt irresistibly beneath him, I drew his head down for another heartfelt kiss.

'About the - wedding,' he gasped between kisses. 'We could - have it - at -'

'Later,' I told him impatiently, noticing he had slowed down considerably. 'Just shag me now and we'll talk afterwards.'

Surprised by my forwardness, but not appearing to have any objections, Connor happily shrugged. 'Suits me.'

One hour and a lot of incomprehensible vocalisation later, we lay weakly beside each other, still catching our breath with our hands clumsily clasped.

'Well...' I sighed, head resting sideways on his chest. 'I suppose we can talk now. What were you saying?'

'I have an idea for where we can have the wedding,' he told me, my head rising and falling with his breathing. 'There's a lovely, quiet little church somewhere near where my parents live - Gracie and her Malcolm got married there, and apparently it's quite nice.'

'Hmm...sounds good,' I replied. 'Just as long as there won't be any paparazzi coming to crash the party...'

Connor chuckled. 'Not there, there won't,' he answered. 'And for our honeymoon...I think I have a little idea.'

I tilted my head back to look at him. 'You have?'

He grinned, lacing his fingers through my hair. 'Aye,' he said. 'That island I stayed on was beautiful - I got talking to a guy from the production team and he said that on another island people sometimes came for honeymoons. So guess where we might be going soon...?'

I gasped. 'You mean...? I might get to go to your exotic little filming location after all?'

'More than that, Lilly,' he replied with a wink. 'You'll get to take your new husband along with you...'

Chapter 29

Change

Two months and four days later, the drab, familiar, everday working girl known to a small portion of the world's population as Miss Lillian Harwick completely ceased to exist. In her place, there rose a
very
happy, but still slightly bewildered woman named Mrs Lillian MacGowan.

I felt oddly light-headed and poetic about it - but I suppose I had every reason to, seeing as I had undergone such a colossal change of lifestyle. Not only was I now
married
- something which I would never have imagined possible about a year ago - but I was married to one of the world's most popular, sought-out actors, who by some freak chance was the very one I had pined over for so long. If that wasn't a miracle, then I didn't know what was...

The night before the big day, I had sat alone on my bed before I went to sleep, and I had thought for a long while about anything and everything. At the time, my soon-to-be-better-half had been benevolently kidnapped by his dear sister and his ecstatic mother, who were fussing and flapping over him in suprise and joy, apparently not giving him a moment to himself. I sat deep in thought, looking out of the stormy window that shed calm, dim blue light into the dark room. I felt strange, but in a very nice way; I was glad that I had time by myself now to accept the huge change that was coming. Marriage...whew. Julie had been so surprised when I had told her over the phone...she certainly hadn't been prepared for such news! It had still brought a smile to my face when the very few, very select wedding invitations had been sent out - I knew that Julie would be beside herself with excitement at the thought of attending a movie star's wedding...as well as that of her shy, once-forgotten friend.

By some apparently pre-arranged and certainly
very
ironic agreement between the flightly Scottish weather and whichever diety was looking in on my life, the day of my and Connor's wedding dawned dark and rainy. The pavements were slippery, the church grounds were flooded, and on the way out of the car I was positively
drenched
, no matter how quickly I opened my umbrella - but when the actual service began and I first set eyes on Connor (fidgeting with his tight shirt-cuffs), I forgot all about it. I even forgot about the frantic blow-drying my hair had undergone to get the rainwater out of it, which had consequently made it full of static. The effect of seeing Connor in a kilt was...well,
stunning
. When I stood up there alongside him before the (Scottish!) vicar, gazing up at his lovely, bashful smile and rather charmingly arranged curls (all grown back), I didn't even notice my tearful mother shaking her hankie about emotionally, nor little Ewan busily picking his nose behind Connor. All that held my attention was his clear blue eyes, which, to my surprise, reflected the same look I had; I realised and then, in a wonderful moment, accepted that he seemed to find me just as breathtaking as I did him.

A surprising, but very warming realisation...it was indeed the day for change.

As Connor had promised, it had been a quiet, friends-and-relatives-only wedding, even if afterwards he had obligingly posed for many photos with those who were meeting him for the first time. It didn't escape my notice that the vicar's gaze had lingered quite a bit on Connor, as if barely able to believe what he was seeing. If vicars went onto gossip sites - which I
strongly
disbelieved, for some reason - then there would be a lot of
very
juicy news for all of Connor's fans coming soon...but the news was sure to leak out through some of the other guests, anyway, so I didn't particularly care.

Quiet though the wedding was, it was still long, and involved quite a bit of talking, mingled with some customary dancing later on in the evening. When it ended at about eight, I was whisked away by Connor in a sleek car to the charming little place where we were to stay for a few nights. As he drove, I found my gaze gravitating admiringly to his formal attire. He looked more dashing than ever in his smart black jacket, white shirt and
very
fascinating kilt of muted scarlet tartan. On his lap there rested the ornate silver and fur-trimmed sporran (that I would have to investigate later), and on his feet he wore the traditional long white socks with dark shoes that laced up his calves. Connor caught me looking and grinned.

'
Awful
, 's it not?' he chuckled in a long-suffering way.

'I find it very attractive,' I replied earnestly. 'I really can't see why you hate it so much.'

I saw him pull a face. 'Hmph. Well, I'll be glad to get out of it, that's all I can say.'

I gave him a sweet smile. 'And I'm sure your dear wife would be glad to be a part of that, too.'

It was certainly exciting to be finally married. Every morning after the wedding seemed oddly brighter, even though the population of Glasgow might disagree, due to the fact that it had been raining almost without cease. But to me, at least, everything made me smile, and that was all that mattered.

What was even more exciting and wonderful was the long-awaited honeymoon. About a week after our wedding, we took a series of long and rather gruelling plane flights which, despite their sheer
length
, ended up to be very well worth it.

The following Tuesday found me - Mrs Lillian MacGowan (whee!) - trailing dream-like across the breathtaking beaches and along the beautiful white sands of the Fijian island Connor's contacts had helped him reserve for us. It was like a waking dream...the turqoise water, the palm trees and that silky white sand all seemed barely real, as if at any moment I was about to wake up and find myself back in my dreary apartment. I had only seen this kind of splendour in films and on pretty postcards -
never
in real life. But when the mosquitoes began to attack at sundown when the torches on the quay were lit and my arms and legs itched the next day like no one's business, I concluded that if there was a downside, then maybe this really was real.

The sun was bright, the sea was blue, and I clutched the railings of the boat we had hired, dizzy with exaltation as we drifted near the green, white-fringed island, the sunlight illuminating the water to a depth of a good few metres. Connor came behind me and kissed my cheek.

'Great, isn't it?' he said joyfully. 'I'm so glad to have a chance to actually
relax
in a place like this, and not have to get up at four in the morning each day to drag myself about in front of a camera...'

'Well, I'm afraid you might have to look sharp, because I brought
my
camera,' I told him with mock seriousness. Connor laughed.

'Oh, God, no!' He put on a exaggeratedly tortured air, and I cuffed him one playfully.

'Relax, I just want some holiday photos like anyone else,' I told him, walking across the dry wood of the front of the boat and rummaging in my fabric bag, extracting my trusty old digital camera. As I picked it up, running my fingers around its familiar edges, I paused, realising that this was the first time my old camera would be taking photos of my most beloved movie star.

'Allow me!' Connor swooped in and took it eagerly, backing away and frowning at the buttons. 'God, it's been ages since I've tried to work one of these wee jobbies...' He turned it over a few times, then found the "on" button. Holding my humble camera in his large, ever-steady hand, he grinned at me. 'Big smile!'

I managed a sort of bemused grin as he clicked away. Behind him, in the shelter of the boat's cabin, our esteemed driver blinked blankly at Connor, then went back to reading his newspaper, cigarette bobbing at his lips.

'Let's have one together,' I suggested, rather embarrassed at being photographed from all angles by my very eager new husband.

Connor grinned, then drew me close to his side, putting an arm around my shoulders and resting his smiling face against mine as he held the camera at arm's length. He took the photo, and then turned the camera around to see it displayed on the little screen. He gave a laugh. 'Why're you making that face?' he asked me.

'You have scratchy cheeks.'

Connor rubbed his fingers upon the stubble and shrugged. 'Shall we see what the water's like?' he said, his gaze falling upon the crystalline waves all around us. 'The guy said this place was good for taking a dip.'

Within seconds he had gotten rid of his light shirt and loose beige shorts, and was standing on the edge of the deck in his swimming trunks. I raised my eyebrows in silent appreciation. He was still in very good shape, and under the sunlight - which was bright and warm even though in the Northern hemisphere autumn was drawing near - he looked extremely impressive indeed.

'You coming?' he asked with a grin, then jumped lightly into the water. Even though his jump was very clean, he still managed to send a huge splash of water towards me, as an added incentive to get me out of my now-soaking wraparound skirt and vest top.

'Ugh...okay...' I muttered in reply as he resurfaced, his hair jet-black with moisture and sticking in wet ringlets to his scalp.

'Whoo! Hurry up, Lilly, the water's amazing!' he laughed, swimming a few strokes to prove his point. 'It's nice and warm, too...'

Timidly I shed my beach clothes and laid them out to dry, feeling a little self-conscious in my bikini. Was that a hint of an extra roll on my stomach there? I hoped the boat's driver was still engrossed in his newspaper -

'Come on, Lilly, what're you waiting for?' Connor said playfully, climbing back onto the boat, water dripping onto the spotless wooden planks. 'Come here...'

'Ooh - oh! What are you doing?' I yelped as he lifted me right off my feet. 'No, no, no -!'

'One!' counted Connor cheerfully, swinging me in his arms. 'Two! Three...!'

With shocking ease he casually tossed me overboard, barely giving me time to scream in outrage. I landed with an ungainly crash into the water, which I sank down through immediately. As I floated there a short way beneath the surface, stirring my arms and legs and feeling disorientated, I realised that the water was indeed quite nice and warm. And a lovely blue colour, too -

A stream of white bubbles abruptly burst into view a little distance from me, buffeting me to one side, as Connor smoothly dived down after me. He saw me, and grinned, reaching out to take my hand. I complied, and we both surfaced, laughing a little breathlessly.

'That was completely unnecessary,' I panted, shaking my head at him as I bobbed beside him.

'But hilariously fun,' finished Connor with an insolent smile, taking me in his arms. 'Shame I had my hands full - it would have made a nice photo.'

Thanks to some odd chance, it
did
make a nice photo.

"
Connor MacGowan and Lillian Harwick in Fiji
," proclaimed the newest article's title when I curiously went on Connor's laptop one evening before we went out for dinner. I frowned. The paparazzi had eyes everywhere; there was a photo of our boat, taken from the shore, with Connor and I in each other's arms upon it. I blushed at the sight of myself in a bikini on such a public site, but found myself also looking admiringly at Connor in his lovely sky-blue swimming trunks. The other five pictures along with it showed us kissing in close-up zoom, chatting, taking photos of ourselves, and also (surprise surprise) Connor laughing as he threw me overboard. So we weren't the only ones to be taking holiday photos, then...nevertheless, I couldn't help giggling at the sight of Connor's cheekily grinning face, and myself falling ungracefully into the sea with legs flailing.

I read the article with a lingering smile:

"
Scottish sex-god and star of
The Silent Island
(released this Tuesday) Connor MacGowan has been sighted off the coast of an island in Fiji, in the company of long-term girlfriend Lillian Harwick. The couple were seen swapping spit aboard a small rented boat and taking turns at pushing each other into the sea. Connor also had a camera with him to take their holiday snaps, and was modelling a sexy pair of blue swimming trunks for the occasion, which Miss Harwick reportedly seemed to appreciate.
"