Malibu Betrayals (8 page)

She met his eyes, then looked at the waves rolling in and ending in a frothy layer of bubbles at their toes. “Since we said, ‘I do.’ His mother couldn’t stand me or the fact he’d married a writer when he was surrounded by beautiful Hollywood actresses.”

“And here I thought she didn’t like actors.”

“Not for me, no, but for her son. I’m sorry about that. You didn’t deserve her wrath. That
was
for me.”

“Really? Because if I remember the tabloids correctly”—he curled his fingers into quotation marks—“Playboy hot rod Gage Cutler killed photo journalist superstar Ethan Evans.”

She swallowed with a wince, then quickly took another bite.

He didn’t need a confirmation of his sins. “Is that why you stayed away from me after he died?”

Sam hesitated, her troubled brown eyes wavering. “Yes. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Gage.”

The pain in his chest spread to his gut, and the few bites he’d taken sat like a stone in his stomach. Wiping his hands with a napkin, he nodded once, then looked on down the beach.

He gritted his teeth. His career, his misdeeds, would always haunt him. They would always lead judge and jury to condemn. It didn’t matter what changes he’d made or would make. His mistakes were a brick wall, ten feet thick, and no one was willing to open a door and let him walk through, much less leave it behind. But Hollywood was a funny monster. He’d still get the best movies, still received the highest awards. The industry loved a screwed-up super star, but what he wanted was for them to love
him
.

Continuing down this particular road could only hurt him more. He tried to swallow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam paused. “Tell you what?”

“The Evanses.”

“Why would I bother you with that?” She shrugged.

“So I could help.”

“Aww, Gage. I couldn’t expect that from you. You aren’t my boyfriend, and we aren’t dating.” She put her hand out. “I’m not being mean. I’m just clarifying where we are. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to fix my problems. ”

Irritation burned his throat like sour whiskey. “That’s fine, but we are friends.”

She grinned. “We are friends. But don’t worry, I can handle it. They’re my problem. Besides, it’s just words. Harmless.”

“Words are not harmless.”

Something passed over Sam’s face, but she shuttered the emotion and continued eating.

Gage lay back on the blanket with his hands behind his head and sighed. He loved the ocean, the fresh air, and the sounds of the crashing waves. With his eyes closed and the setting sun warm on his skin, he could disappear into his senses. No disappointments, no one to disappoint. No reason to want or be wanted.

He glanced at her. She was right. They weren’t dating, but that was simply semantics. He’d help her anyway he could. He cared, goddamn it. “How’d you get into screenwriting?”

“It’s in my blood. We’ve a distant relative, Thomas Dekker, from back in the late 1500s who was a theater writer.” Preening, she said with a wink, “You could say I was born for it.” Laughing, she lay down on her side. “Seriously, though, I’ve always told stories, written them down. I was a movie addict growing up. My mom would bribe me with them to get good grades and do my chores. It worked. After college, my dad introduced me to Martin, and that was it. He taught me so much.”

Gage nodded. “As he does. I don’t know what I’d do without him myself.” Martin was a mentor to so many in Malibu. Gage understood Sam’s reverence for the man, because he shared it too.

Rolling to face him, she lay with her head propped up on one hand, and slid her other down his forearm until she found his hand on his abdomen.

Turning his over, he laced his fingers through hers. Their entwined hands raised and lowered with his breath. Exactly what he craved. A connection that rode the tides of life without letting go.

The heat of her hand remained on his for less than a second before she drew away and sat up, as if remembering something. The loss of warmth first chilled him, but then he saw it as a challenge. He gripped his hands together to keep from reaching out to her—for now.

But there was no way in hell he’d ride this wave out alone. She might not see it yet, but she was coming with him.

Chapter Eight

The evening sequence flowed seamlessly. The timing, the pacing, and the performance of the actors, a director’s dream. Gage acted with an unexpected edginess that worked perfectly for the scene they’d been after.

Sam glanced at the screenplay. With no reason for her to hang around the rest of the day, no more polishing necessary, no more dialogue to doctor, she stood. Why was she still there? She didn’t want to touch the answer to that question. If the rest of the manuscript proved this brilliant, she’d seriously question their decision to have her on set.
You know why Gage wants you here and why you want to stay
.

Sam squared her shoulders. Maybe she did, but she was there for another reason as well. Dialogue and pacing killed many manuscripts. Having a master saved a lot of money in the long run. She was that master.

She was necessary, and it felt damned good.

Screen timing could make or break a sequence, and she had a knack for figuring out just the right combinations of dialogue and subtext. Her extra work had been paying off, too. She pulled in a breath with a nod.

The crew called for a break, and she went in search of Martin. No matter how many excuses she gave for hanging around, none of them held a kernel of the real truth, and frankly, there was no reason for her to stay any longer tonight. As she skirted in and out of all the different mountains of equipment, she stopped to watch Gage chatting with the crew.

She smiled. The man was a magnet. Everyone smiled, completely engaged with him. Dani stared in rapt attention, taking a few pics with her phone and then leaning in to hear better, next to a camera man who did the same. Sam couldn’t blame her.

“He’s something, isn’t he?”

Without thinking, Sam breathed, “He is.”
Shit!
She spun around. “I mean—”

Martin put his hand up to stop her. “Don’t make me call you a liar. I will.” The man still radiated his presence, as she imagined he had in his prime. He stepped up beside her and watched as she had. “It’s time.”

She didn’t want to ask. “Time?” Not wanting to give him the chance to expound, she rushed on, “time for me to go home? Good, that’s what I thought, too. As a matter of fact, I was just coming to find you to say good night. I—”

“Nice try.” He turned toward her, and placing his hand at her lower back, maneuvered her over toward two director’s chairs. “Sit.”

She complied with sagging shoulders.
Fuhhhh!

“When are you going to move on? I see you spending time with Gage.” He put his hand up when she opened her mouth to argue. “I swear, if you deny it, I will call you out in front of every person here.”

“I’m not denying anything.” She laughed. “We’re friends. I think he’s an incredible actor.”

He studied her a moment and then moved on to her great relief. “I talked to your father yesterday.”

Okay, she wasn’t relieved at all. “You what?” An ache formed between her brows. Now that had her attention. She was very close with her parents and two siblings. So close she hadn’t wanted to burden them with her pathetic drama—any of it. Instead, she’d just cried off from family dinners with the excuse of being too busy with the film.
Damn. I bet Dad called
.

“You haven’t been home, and you haven’t been going out. You can’t count working with Gage. Hell, you dance around the poor man like he’d shock you if you got too close.”

Sam puffed up her chest and sputtered. Little did Martin know it was simply a symptom of wanting to jump Gage’s bones, and she wanted to keep it that way. “I do not—this is silly. You can all quit worrying about me. Between you, Raquel, and my parents, I swear. I admire Gage, his work. It still amazes me that I can create a story, but the true art is bringing it to life. He does that.”

“Well, that’s something, then. I always knew you had good taste.”

Martin and her father had been close friends for years. It was lovely, but at times felt as though she had two dads. “I should, you made sure it was similar to yours.” She paused. “You know, I’m actually doing really well. I may not share every moment of my life. But I’ve been doing things. Important things. I’m writing, I’ve decided to get out to the water regularly, slowly making changes in the condo.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Quit worrying.”

The intensity of his eyes lightened, the deep creases at the corners softening. “Can’t help it.”

“You don’t need—”

The old man growled. Actually growled.

Sam sat back in her chair and chuckled. “Look, I’m fine. Tell my dad I’m fine. Better yet, I’ll go tell him myself this weekend. I just—”

He stood. He bent and kissed Sam on the top of her head. “I’m glad you’re okay. Keep at it. You never know, maybe you and Gage.”

She shook her head and smiled. “Don’t start. You know my rule.”

He put his hands up. “Okay, okay, just throwing out ideas.” Clearing his voice, he called the crew back to work.

Sam stepped away, out into the cool night air, and called her dad. She hadn’t meant for them to worry. For Pete’s sake, she called every Sunday, but apparently that hadn’t been good enough. He’d called Martin! Geesh. She felt twelve years old again.

Her dad’s voice answered strong and steady on the line—just like him.

Minutes ticked by and Sam enjoyed every one. They talked longer than she’d expected. Some of the crew had trickled out and off the set when her mom’s voice eventually carried across the line. “Honey, say you’ll come to dinner Sunday.”

A noise behind her made her turn around, and she found Gage walking up to her with his hands shoved into his front pockets. An idea took shape. A brilliant one, if she did say so herself. “Mom.”

“Don’t ‘mom’ me. I already know you’ll have time. Your father spoke with Martin—”

She made a silly face at Gage. “Mom, can I bring a friend?” Her mother had been a huge fan since he’d started out, and Sam was going to have great fun exposing him to her mother the fan-girl. The silence on the other end worried her. “Mom?”

“A friend?”

“Yeah, Gage Cutler. We’ve been working a lot together, and I know you’re a huge—”

“Gage Cutler? In my house?” Her mother’s scream carried over the line and straight to Gage’s ego.

Sam rolled her eyes as he puffed out his chest. It was all very simple. She’d bring Gage home for dinner, and her family, including Martin, would get off her back. No more, no less.

“Bring me to what?” He smiled down at her with those damn intriguing eyes.

Turning slightly, she said into the phone. “Mom, I gotta go.”

She tucked her phone into the pocket of her slacks, turning back to face him. “So, yeah. That was my mom. I have to go to dinner Sunday.”

“And.”

She tucked her shirt more firmly inside her waistband and then smoothed down the front. “I was wondering if you’d come with me?” She put her hand up, rushing on. “We wouldn’t have to stay long. I know you’re busy—”

He took an immediate step toward her and then tucked his arms behind his back. “Sam, I’d love to.” His eyes shone bright, and he sported a grin that could compete against any she’d seen in his many photo ops. The air rushed right out of her lungs.

The man was so much, all the time. His genuine acceptance of going to her family’s home made her want to climb him like a flag pole to stake her claim and run in the opposite direction all at the same time.

Before he totally lost his head, she warned. “No funny business. We’re friends, but I don’t need my mom making too much of this. If we aren’t careful, she’ll have an officiant scheduled before dinner’s over.”

He overplayed a feigned look of disappointment, slapping his hand over his chest. “You don’t trust me? What did I ever do to you?”

She eyed him. “Plenty, and I liked it, but my parents never need to know.”

He gathered her up against him. “I like when you talk dirty to me.”

Slapping him on the arm, she pulled away with a laugh. “Oh my God. Whatever.” She put some distance between them. It was the only way she could think. “This will give my family something to ease their worry. They’ve had a rough time of it this past year. I don’t want them to worry anymore.”

He turned toward her. “Look, you don’t want anyone to know we’re kind of seeing each other. I get it. But don’t you think when it comes to your family, the best thing you can do is let them see you moving forward? Then they’ll all lay off.”

But if her parents saw her making friends, working—not hiding—it would go a long way toward giving them some peace. Ethan’s suicide hadn’t only been hard for her.

He had a point, but there needed to be rules. She put her hand out. “Before you agree…”

Mischief danced in his eyes. “I already did.” He couldn’t help but smile; he was so damned pleased with himself.

“There need to be rules.”

That sobered him up a bit. “Like?”

“We are not dating. We’re friends, coworkers.” She ticked each item off on her fingers. “There will be no insinuations, no innuendos, no cleverly colored phrases indicating we’ve been together.”

His brow furrowed. “Sam, this is your dad we’re talking about. The last thing I want to do is put the idea of me sleeping with his daughter in his head.”

She grinned. “Good point. Okay.”

“Yeah?” A grin spread ear to ear across his face.

“We can drive together, but we’ll pull directly into my parents’ garage and close the door. My mom won’t tell anyone; she won’t want to do anything to keep you from coming.”

He wiggled his brows.

“You think you’re so clever.” She rolled her eyes.

Gage laughed, and with his hands on her shoulders, steered her back into the house. “Yes, I do.”

Once inside and back in her secluded corner, he turned her around to face him and walked her back against a worktable with slow, purposeful steps. “I’m going to meet your parents.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know, but I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm.”

Well, the joke was on him. Her family never shut up. He’d be exhausted by the night’s end and beg to never go back. She stuck her tongue out at him, but pressed her lips against his to shut him up instead. His hands closed around her hips, pulling her closer to him, and she reveled in the fact he couldn’t get enough of her, either. She mumbled against his lips, teasing. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

The cold metal of a table against her back caught her attention. The voices of the crew mingling outside before heading home could be heard through the closed door. She slanted him a look. “What are you doing?”

Gage crowded her. “You still have to show me.” He ducked his head and breathed in against her neck, then dragged his lips past her pulse and up to her lips. Bending her back over the top of the table, all she could do was hold on or lose her footing.

Her stomach exploded into a fury of tiny flutters, and she spoke against his mouth. “Wait.”

He pulled back slightly, but his lips still tickled hers with each word he uttered in precise bullets. “I. Don’t. Want. To.”

“Take me home, to my home.”

His tongue, sliding down the side of her neck, sent goose bumps erupting along her skin. He stilled. “You want me to take you to your house?”

She knew what he was thinking. The home she’d shared with Ethan. But she was taking it back, making it hers. Having him in it—and she meant
having
him—would do the trick. “Yes, we need to go wash the filth of our encounter with Margaret Evans off of our skin.”

He hesitated. She didn’t blame him if he’d changed his mind about their situation. He had something to lose, too. “I don’t know. If anyone sees us—”

“I live in a condo full of retirees who are in bed by seven at night. I rarely, if ever, see anyone. We’ll be careful.” A warm sensation spread through her core when he pressed his body tight against hers. His heat, the pounding of his heart, could be felt through the layers of fabric that separated them.

He growled low in his throat. “Come on.”

She was taking control of her own life, damn it. Living, feeling, and experiencing pleasure in her home, her space, on her terms.

They made it back to her place in record time, slamming the door closed with a well-aimed shove of Sam’s foot. She shoved at his jacket, but he held her too close to make any head way, and he pulled at her shirt, but she was too engrossed in loosening the belt and buttons of his jeans.

She growled, a playful but frustrated sound, and stilled his hands. “Me first.”

Pushing his jacket off of his shoulders, she let him work on dropping it to the floor as she unleashed his belt and whipped it out with a resounding ziiiiip. Grabbing the front of his jeans, she struggled with his zipper, her hands shaking. Finally, she shoved the denim over his hips, dragging his briefs down with them, and he was left standing in her kitchen in his full naked glory. Her mouth went dry, opposite the forecast of her panties, and she slid her hands over his chest and then down the ridges of his hard abs. “Sweet Jesus, you are too much.”

She swallowed as he removed her top and bra and then pulled her up against his chest. The heat of him was waking her body like a cold splash of water. She was tired of hiding. It was time to take charge of not only her life, but her pleasure, too. She all but dragged him to her shower. Turning the knob for the water warm, she slid up his body.

Never in her whole relationship with Ethan would she ever have touched him quite like this, taking control, making demands. She couldn’t have pinned his arms back like she was with Gage. She couldn’t have groaned her pleasure like she did with Gage to let him know how much she wanted him. Ethan would have told her to stop embarrassing herself, where Gage encouraged her to do more, say more, and feel so much more.

Gage picked her up, and she wrapped her thighs around his waist. He stepped into the shower, their tongues skimming along one another, slick and sweet. The hot water ran along their skin in rivulets, and Sam lowered her legs until she stood in front of him, his length trapped between her thighs and pressed against her core. She pulled back just a bit, then pushed forward, shuddering at the feel of him sliding against her.