Star Struck (26 page)

He drew his arm back and suddenly sent the little stone flying with a flick of his wrist, the loose sleeves of his T-shirt flipping down with the movement and flapping like crows' wings. ‘But you still gave up drinking,' I said.

‘Yes. Got a hold of myself, pulled it all back from the brink.' He made a self-deprecating face. ‘There you go. That's me.'

‘So why are you so …?'

‘So, what?' He gazed upwards as though the sky had spoken.

‘So … cold. As though you'd break if anyone touched you.'

‘Only way I can cope, Skye. By never,
never
letting anything touch me enough to cause trouble. It doesn't always work, of course.' His voice broke, rolling over the name, ‘Liss and I … Lissa isn't … She and I were … and then Geth …' He stopped talking, bit his lip until his mouth twisted. ‘I wanted him on
Skies
.' A little laugh and a shake of his head and he seemed to pull it all back in, any sign that he felt anything other than a mild annoyance. ‘He had a bit-part in
North
and he was the best bloody action-actor I'd seen, so I recruited him. Oh, just about everyone warned me, but I thought, second chances, you know the kind of thing. What we are both living, Skye. A second chance.'

Now his hands went into his pockets, his shoulders came up in a prolonged shrug. ‘I fired Geth from the show, and I hate myself for the fact that only
part
of the reason was because he's so often drunk that he's completely unreliable.'

My breathing hurt again. ‘You fired him.'

‘Yeah. He didn't “quit his contract”, we just let that out to save face. His, ours, I'm not sure even now.'

‘What's the other part?'

‘Sorry?'

‘If his drinking is only part of it?'

Jack raised his shoulders again. ‘He uses women. I saw it and I hated it, but it's not exactly a sacking offence, is it, being a womaniser? If it were, I don't think there'd be an actor left on screen, but I used the drinking as my excuse and I shouldn't have done it.'

‘Are you a womaniser, too? Is that why they call you the Iceman? Love 'em and leave 'em, is that you, Jack?'

The shoulders rose a little more. ‘Liss got as close as anyone to getting under the wire but … even her, when she left me … I felt nothing. Like I don't know how to feel anything real any more. My heart, as they say, remains unengaged.' He trailed a finger over his stubbled chin, scratching thoughtfully. ‘Until now.'

‘Jack …'

‘Look …' His shoulders relaxed and he touched my face now, ‘we're allowed to make mistakes. Life is one great big learning curve, there's no manual, no instructions. We do the best we can and learn from the things that turn out to have been a steaming pile of shit. Okay?' His fingers pinned a wayward strand of my hair back from my eyes. ‘What you were doesn't matter. It's what you
are
, what I see, that counts.'

‘And what do you see?' I looked into his eyes, held his gaze. It was so dark it stopped my breath in my throat.

‘I see someone I desperately want.' His breathing changed, turned ragged around the edges. ‘Sorry. Inappropriate thoughts there. Try to pretend you haven't noticed.'

‘Maybe I don't want to.'

His eyes went nova. ‘Skye, you don't know what I'm like. I won't be any good for you; I told you I'm a liar and a jerk.'

I was still looking into his face, saw his eyes flicker. ‘You said yourself, life is a learning curve, Jack.'

A cautious hand touched the skin at the base of my throat with one finger. Its touch set my pulse thundering under my flesh, like my body was a prison it wanted to escape, but I kept my eyes on his, saw his pupils widen with desire, become twin black suns, heard both our breathing rates rise and match. ‘Skye.' It was all he said, just my name, but it held such longing that the word almost warped under the weight of it. ‘Skye.'

He leaned forward to let his tongue trace my lips, and my mouth lifted to meet his. I felt as though I'd been released from a cage whose glass walls had been invisible, but which had held me, nonetheless. How I had been was no longer important, all that mattered here was who I was now. And this was the real me now. The person Skye Threppel had been was dead and buried;
this
was who I was, crashing to the surface, drawn by Jack's fingers against my skin, his lips on mine.

I reached my hands between us so that I could lift his T-shirt over his head, strip him of his writer's disguise, and run my hands over the scattered hair across his chest, hearing the deep growl that built in his throat as I did it. When I touched his scars, finally letting my finger follow that line that led from his nipple to dip under the corded waist of his pyjamas, the growl rose and exploded from his mouth into mine. Suddenly he was on top of me and I could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled-spring effect as he held himself up, the weight of his spare frame along my body and the heat of him. My ridiculously undisciplined hair coiled under his touch as he dragged it back from my face, kissing my scar where it broke the skin around my eye, moving his mouth down until he met the other scars, where he hesitated for a second. ‘Skye?' Just my name, again.

I returned the favour. ‘Jack,' hearing the catch and sob of need in my throat. Pulled down the bodice of the dress so that it flapped like a red velvet tongue against my breasts, lower, until it lapped at my body, passing over my hips like a kiss. ‘
Yes
.'

His hair traced the scars as he moved over me, losing the rest of his clothes to the scrubby brushland around the gulley. He looked me in the eyes and smiled. ‘Think I just gave up smoking,' he said and moved forward, fingers leading the way, until I was gasping, all my nerve endings flaming into nebulae.

‘Oh. God. Jack.' Each word held enough meaning for an entire script. And then his skin was against my skin, each stroke was a move nearer freedom for me. He gave me back my self-respect, my pride and then, eventually, he gave me himself. Utterly unreserved, he threw up his head and blew my name into the breeze on a falling note, until he was gasping and reaching for breath and I was a boneless mass, a new person underneath him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The tension went, exploding into silver filaments, dragged from the base of his spine to leave him bone-heavy. Beneath him, Skye was still trembling, the raised edges of the extra skin layers that marked her body feeling soft and dry against his chest.

He wanted to speak. Wanted to say something profound, something about having found himself. The ice melting. But he couldn't utter a word, couldn't even make a sentence line up inside his head, because his brain still felt as if it had liquidised and was, even now, pooling inside his skull. Even the jealousy he'd briefly entertained towards Geth couldn't stage a comeback with all these good feelings pounding away through his bloodstream.
She doesn't want Geth. She wants me. And, for once, I think I can feel it and return it.

It was like coming out in the land of the living after years in the underworld – everything was suddenly bright and real. He understood all those songs about love and loss as magically as if someone had taught him a new language; the air seemed warmer and the sky a brighter shade of blue. Life was sharper and it was all because of this lovely woman, now drowsing in his arms with occasional shudders still rippling inside her.

He touched her hair, her mouth, and she looked up at him with a slow smile that, against all logic and laws of biology, made him stiffen again.

‘Hey.' That was all she said. Just acknowledging his desire with one word and a little shuffle of her hips until he thought he was going to die of perfection.
This is it. I'm human again.
Moving, feeling that pull and tug of her, the silent friction that built towards the ultimate release.

And then remembering. All the things he
hadn't
told her. What was she going to say when she found out about those? Would she think he'd had sex with her under false pretences?
Will she hate me?
His rhythm slowed and broke. Skye made a small noise, slightly disappointed, but he knew it was for the best as he pulled back and coiled his body away from her, ashamed. Feeling the colour leaching from life again, feeling the ice settling in his blood.

I told her I was no good for her. I'm no good for anyone. Kill the feelings. I'm better off this way.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jack handled the Audi TT like a pro, swinging it across the desert to reach the trackway which led to the road. Neither of us spoke, hadn't spoken since we'd breathed one another's names into the rising dawn, as if we were ashamed or trying to forget. I looked across at him behind the wheel. Focused, dark, totally sure of everything, his movements were precise and his eyes never left the track for a moment, not even to acknowledge mine in a glance of shared guilt. The only non-driverly thing he did was to hook two fingers into the thong round his neck for a moment, to roll the leather against his skin, and then we were off again, bouncing along towards the motel. I almost couldn't believe this was the same man who'd lain with me in that dusty little trench, stroking my scars, smiling down at me with a new, softer expression that almost completely dispelled the stress lines around his eyes. The man who'd touched me so expertly, whose kiss had injected fire into my veins and whose body … I felt the echo of an internal shiver … was so bloody
amazing
.

‘Jack.' I needed to break the stony silence. ‘Are you okay?' He grunted and twisted the wheel to steer the Audi around some low-lying rocks. ‘Only, I'm starting to be scared.'

That
got a look. ‘Scared? What of?'

‘You. That you're regretting telling me all that stuff back there. You must have been keeping it quiet for a reason.'

‘Not wanting you to know what a bastard I am isn't a big enough reason?'

I gave a half-laugh. ‘Come on! The great Jay Whitaker? They'd forgive you just about anything.'

‘No. No they won't. Trust me, Skye, I haven't told you
half
of it.'

‘Then …?' I waved a hand to indicate the air between us. ‘Why all this?'

‘Hey. Moody silence is what I
do
.' Still dark. ‘I'm a writer, remember?' Then he reached down and pulled hard, the little car slid into an expert turn, spinning 360 degrees with wheels locked. ‘Yeah. I'm a fucked-up drunken mess of a writer.' The engine died. ‘And whatever you're thinking, don't. Okay, so we had a … moment back there. And it was great, don't get me wrong;
you
were great, there's absolutely nothing wrong with your body. At all.' He turned and I was taken aback by the expression in his eyes. He was
furious
. ‘But look. This isn't going to be the start of something big, okay? Like I said, I'm no good for you, I shouldn't have started it but I did, and I'm sorry. I just don't want you to think … I don't do relationships. I tried, with Liss … kept it going for a while but even then I wasn't really
there
. Sex, yeah, I can do that fine, no problem there. But. Nothing else.' He fired up the engine again and gunned it savagely until the tyres began to scream. ‘Nothing.' He pushed the lever into ‘Drive' and the car shot forward so suddenly that I banged my head against the side window and my vision blurred for a moment.

‘You're right,' I said, after a moment. ‘You are a bastard.'

‘Yes. I know.'

‘Why?'

The car rocked over the rutted track. ‘Maybe there isn't a reason. Maybe it's just who I am. Perhaps I like hurting people, letting them get close and then telling them it was all a big joke, ha bloody ha, no compassion here, no understanding, no …' He seemed to bite the word off to stop it coming, but I heard it echo through the empty space.

‘No love? Never? So, you're some kind of masochist who puts himself in the way of emotion but refuses to give an inch for it? That's just sad, Jack. It's not brave, it's not worthy; it's running away.'

He hiccupped a breath. Might have been a laugh, might have been a sob. ‘Yes, Skye. I know,' he said, very quietly, turning his head to look at me. ‘I know.'

‘So why are you so angry?'

He gritted his teeth and turned back to the road. ‘It's not you I'm angry at.' His hands were so tight on the wheel that the plastic was groaning. ‘It's me.'

I shut up after that.

We arrived back at the motel to find that an impromptu shanty-town had sprung up around the burned-out remains. Locals from the town had brought tents and blankets and most convention-goers had spent their last night camping out rather than leaving. It was as though the whole experience had bonded
Fallen Skies
' fans into one solid unit that they were reluctant to break.

‘Jeez, am I glad to see you!' Gary, my interrogator and all-round security organiser, came running up almost before we'd got out of the car. ‘We got problems.'

‘You'd better believe it,' Jack muttered. ‘What's going on?'

Gary turned to me. He looked haggard, completely shot. ‘Getting that guy out before the place went up? That was some work, lady, you oughtta get a medal or something.'

‘How about my quiz prize back?'

He shrugged. ‘Dunno if they'd go for that.'

‘I was joking.' A flat look and he turned back to Jack. ‘We need you.'

‘What, got a writing emergency? Someone need a script, stat?' A little of the bitter sadness my heart was full of had seeped into my voice. ‘A sudden call for mouth-to-mouth monologues?'

Gary ignored me. ‘Gethryn's on the roof, threatening to jump. Wants to talk to you. You better get over there pronto.'

‘
Shit!
' Jack closed his eyes for a second. ‘Okay. Has he been drinking?'

A quick look in my direction. ‘What do you think?'

‘Anything else?'

‘Not so far as we know. But it's not looking good, Jay.'

‘
Fuck
. Do we have press?'

‘Some lads from
SFX
mag, a few that bussed in from the town to cover the explosion and everyone's got camera-phones. It could be all over the networks in an hour.'

Jack leaned forward, hands on thighs, and let his head drop, then he came back up, impatiently hooking his hair back. ‘Right. Gary, get the boys out there to move everyone away. Tell them it's a matter of security, tell them … tell them this is promo work for Geth's new movie. Tell them he's … tell them we're shooting a commercial. Shit, tell them anything, just get everyone out of there.'

‘Sure, boss.' Gary pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt.

‘Oh, and if someone could find me a packet of cigarettes, I will be forever grateful.' Jack set off across the yard, then stopped. Turned and looked back over his shoulder to where I was hovering, hooking the velvet skirt up over my arm and wincing as my bruised and bloodied feet picked their way over debris. ‘I'm going to need you, too.'

‘Me? Why?' The partially ruined motel building stood like a broken tooth. I could see a shadowy shape moving against the sky as Gethryn paced across the rooftop. ‘I should go and …'

‘Skye.' Jack's voice was disturbingly calm but with an undertone that made it impossible to walk away from. ‘If I go up there alone, Geth will jump. No question. Now, he likes you, you just might be able to give him a reason not to go off that roof, all right?'

‘No pressure, then.'

A quick smile that barely touched his eyes. ‘Yeah.' He turned and started walking towards the damaged building.

‘Do you really think he's going to jump?'

Jack didn't break stride. ‘Yep.'

‘But
why
? And why does he want to talk to you?'

Jack spun round. ‘Okay. This is really not the time. We've got a suicidal drunk on the roof over there, and if we don't do something fast this is going to blow. There'll already be stuff online, the national press can't be far away, everyone over
there
 –' he pointed at the collection of shambling figures and makeshift tents beyond the car park – ‘will be Tweeting and Facebooking fit to bust, and if I can't bring it all down …' he gave a wide shrug, ‘then none of us might ever work again. Yes?'

I gave a half-snigger that owed more to shock than humour. ‘And you're in your pyjamas.'

An answering smile. ‘Yep. So things really can't get any worse, can they? Come on.'

As he led the way around the apocalyptic ruins of the motel I wondered about his switch. Down in that gulley he'd been kind and gentle. He'd touched my scars, kissed them and, okay, even given the fact that he'd been about to have sex with me, he hadn't needed to do that. And now it was like he'd turned that part of his personality off and let the whole Iceman thing come to the fore.

There was something underneath all this. Something so bad that he'd turned this emotional block into his coping mechanism. It was how he dealt with his life; he'd simply switched everything off so that nothing could hurt him. And he didn't know how to turn it back on. My heart squeezed itself tight around the realisation, and the sympathy I felt for this strong, gorgeous, complicated man became something solid and real.

I watched his back view as he strode ahead of me, his feet kicking up little demons in the sand, his shoulders hunched as though his memories were a solid weight upon him. As I followed, I wondered what those memories were, what he was carrying that made denying all emotion the best option, and felt a sudden chill prick between my shoulder blades.

Gethryn was sitting on the edge of the roof around the far side of the main building. It was four storeys high and it made me feel sick just looking up.

When he saw Jack he stood unsteadily and waved the bottle he was drinking from. ‘Well, hello there, Mr Show-Runner! And Skye – whatcha doin' with him, Skye? He's a bastard.'

Even given that he was clearly drunk, and the precarious position he was in, he still looked wonderful. The desert breeze lifted his hair from his shoulders and tossed it carelessly, his unshaven and slightly sunken cheeks were made-up with a dusting of sand and a highlight of sun, and even his torn shirt looked artful and designed.

‘We've got to get up there,' Jack hissed to me. ‘If you go up the staircase, I'll go round the back and up the fire escape. Try and get round behind him. Maybe if there's two of us we can distract him for long enough to persuade him down.'

‘I'll try.' I hitched up my skirts again and made for the inside of the motel, hearing Geth's shout of, ‘Oh, you leavin', girl? Doncha want to hear what he's done?'

I'd have cried, if I'd had enough moisture in me. The beautiful, golden Gethryn was threatening to kill himself, the sexy, intense Jack was cold-shouldering me, I'd been up for what felt like forever with no sleep, unless unconsciousness counted, and Felix hated me. Maybe I'd have done better staying locked in my little house on the York ring road and ogling my next-door neighbour. It might lack the whole sleeping-with-a-famous-man thing, but it also lacked the glass-cut feet and suicide scenario.

Inside, the motel was blackened from the fire that had swept through from the diner. The outer walls looked sturdy enough, and no-one would have let me go in if the place was in danger of falling down, would they?
Would they?
Maybe Jack just saw it as a good way of getting rid of me, having fifty tonnes of motel land on my head. And why did I get the feeling that there was more to this than Gethryn being fired from the show and wanting revenge?

I found the stairs, and kept going up until, on the topmost corridor, I found the Fire Exit door standing open to a flight of rickety steps which led, when I followed them, to the roof. I arrived about fifty feet behind Gethryn, terrified to speak in case I startled him. He was still perched on the slightly raised edge of the flat roof, still holding a bottle, and still wearing most of Lucas James's dress-uniform from last night's ball.

‘Geth?' I whispered. ‘What's going on?'

He heard and turned his head. ‘Whoa, party time,
bach
.' He stood up and spun round, giving me a few giddy moments when he swayed close to the edge, then came over and handed me the bottle. ‘Have a drink. Celebrate.'

‘Celebrate what?'

But he ignored me and pulled another bottle from behind what looked like a cooling duct. ‘So, has he told you?'

I was so thirsty I took a swig from the bottle he'd put in my hand. It was warm, but liquid was liquid. ‘What about?'

‘But why would he?' Gethryn appeared to be conducting a one-man conversation and my input was being disregarded. ‘I mean, what are you to him,
bach
? Some tidy piece of skirt, ready to part your legs for the Iceman? What, hoping that you're going to be the one to save him, to make him realise that he feels something for you?' The bottle waved again, recklessly. ‘Dream on, girlie. You wouldn't be the first one to go that way. Or the hundredth either. That man puts it into anything that'll wriggle for him. Don't you, Ice? What, you thought I wouldn't see you? Told your little girlie to keep me talking, chat chat chat, give you a chance to creep around and come poppin' up at me from nowhere, like some fucking Jack-in-a-box? Yeah, in a box, boy, where you belong.'