The Sweetest Taboo (16 page)

“This isn’t some trendy art house idea.” He attacked the ice cream with a vengeance, jabbing his spoon repeatedly into the same crevice. “Didn’t we agree on that early on? That we’re writing for the big screen? Which means, duh, we need action?”

Cali really hated to pull out the big guns but it was the discussion they’d had the first day of their screenwriting class that had gotten them here in the first place.

Each class member had been asked by the professor to name the one screenwriter or screenplay that most impacted his or her decision to study the craft. The discussion that followed had sealed the fate she now shared with Will.

And so she prodded him with a gentle reminder. “Christopher McQuarrie.
The
Usual Suspects.
Nineteen-ninety-five Academy Award for Best Writing of a Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen.”

Will shook his head, glanced up at her from beneath his long lashes, unable to hold back a twist of a smile. “The sucker was brilliant. Totally brilliant.”

Yes!
Now they were getting somewhere. “The movie or the writer?”

“Both. Same thing. And you know that’s what I want to do,” he said, abandoning the spoon he’d been stabbing hard down into the bowl.

“Well it’s not going to happen if you don’t do for our Jason Coker what Christopher McQuarrie did with Keyser Soze.”

Will’s smile froze, then faded. “And you don’t think that’s what I’m doing.”

“I

know
that’s not what you’re doing,” she said quickly before she stopped to think about Will’s feelings, or anything but the honesty of her answer.

A look of defeat clouded his expression. “So, what do I do? Start at the beginning? Analyze this beast one element at a time and see what I’m missing?”

Cali spoke hurriedly again, same reason, same possible regrets. Hoping he didn’t come totally unglued when he heard her off-the-wall proposal, one that had started as a niggling itch last night. “You know, I have an idea. I really can’t say why I think this makes sense, just that it does.”

“Well, what? Speak up, woman.”

She placed her hands palms down against the table on either side of the huge crystal bowl, wishing she had a better surface into which she could wrap her fingers and hold on. “This is totally out of left field, I know, but why don’t we give a rundown of our idea to Sebastian and see what he has to say.”

Will blinked, frowned, frowned harder. “Sebastian? Gallo? Why do you think he’d have any valuable input?”

“Something.” She shrugged, toying with her spoon, pulling it slowly through the ice cream mountain in an effort to dig a deep enough trench to use for her grave. She had a feeling she was going to need it. “I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

“Well, yeah, then. I can see how that would make sense,” Will huffed, pushing up from his crossed feet to stand. He began to pace in short jagged turns.

Cali pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them in a tight hug and leaned back against the futon. “Before you got to Paddington’s tonight? Erin and I were telling Sebastian about The Daring Duo. You know, the couple in
that
booth?”

“Yeah.” Will snorted, shoving an agitated hand back over his hair. “The ones you and Erin are always talking about.”

Cali frowned at that. “Actually, they’re not the only ones we talk about and, no, it’s not a stellar quality we share. More like a big fat personality flaw. But there are just some people who tend to rev up the ol’ curiosity, ya know? And so we make up stories.”

“I see,” he said with a roll of his eyes to go with the rest of his high-handedness.

Uh-uh. She wasn’t going to put up with this crap. Not from him. Not ever from him. “Oh, get over yourself already, Will. I’ve heard what you’ve said about more than a few of our fellow students, not to mention a professor or two.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He remained frowning but it was almost an expression of being taken aback. And his tone had softened. “So, what’s this deal about Sebastian. What do you know about him anyway?”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Okay, she’d yelled and he hadn’t run off—or anything worse. This was a good thing. “Not much, really. Erin’s only been seeing him a few days, though he’s lived in her building since she moved in.”

“Hmm. I wondered what the connection was,” he said and finally stopped pacing.

“She didn’t pick him up in the bar or off the street if that’s what you’re asking.”

Though, Cali decided, choosing Sebastian as a Man To Do made it nothing but a matter of semantics. “It just wasn’t the right time for them to get together. Not until recently.”

She held her breath, waiting for Will to comment on the coincidence that the two of them had finally gotten together at the very same time. The very same day, in fact, though no way was she going to tell him about the Man To Do article, or how Erin’s decision to go after Sebastian had impacted Cali’s determination to explore her chemistry with Will.

But he didn’t say anything so she continued to fill the silence. “I’m not sure I know what else to say. He picked right up where we stalled out, making up a story about who they might be and how they got together. It was so cool.”

Hands at his hips, Will stood on the other side of the table and stared down. “And because of that you want him to advise us on our idea? Don’t you think that’s stretching it a bit, Cali?”

Her idea had merit; she knew it did. She was not going to let his ego knock it down. “You know, Will, just because he’s not in our class or an expert doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have good instincts about the story.”

“
I
have good instincts about the story. And
I’m
your study and project partner. Not Sebastian Gallo.”

Argh!
Save her from hardheaded men. This one in particular. “I know who you are, Will. And I know Sebastian has nothing to do with our project. It’s just that we’ve been so wrapped up in what we’re doing I’m afraid tunnel vision is setting in. And I don’t see how a fresh pair of eyes could hurt anything. It’s not taking away from any of the work you’ve done, or we’ve done, it’s just…”

“It’s just that forest for the trees thing, isn’t it?” he asked, circling around to drop onto the futon. He lay back, one knee up, a forearm thrown over his forehead even while he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Cali swiveled around where she sat on the braided rug covering the hardwood floor. She leaned an elbow on the futon mattress and propped her head in her hand. He looked so exhausted, and it had to be about more than the screenplay. He had just lost his job, after all.

She had no idea if he was worried about money but she suspected the blow had hit him harder than he intended to let her know, even if the strike was more to his ego than his wallet. She wished she could kiss it and make it all better. Instead she did the next best thing, resting her hand on his chest and rubbing tiny circles with her fingertips.

He moved his hand to cover hers and sighed. “You’re probably right. We’ve been working on this without a break for two months and I’m getting ragged.” He turned his head and looked, really looked, into her eyes. “How are you?”

Now that you’re here? I don’t think I’ve ever been so good.
She smiled.

“Exhaustion is my life. But I’ll live.”

He toyed with one of her curls. “I didn’t thank you for putting in a good word with Erin.”

Cali beamed. “I hardly put in a word at all. She jumped on you like…well, like I’ve been jumping on you the last couple of days.”
Like I could jump on you now,
she thought, even though all she wanted to do was jump into his arms and wrap him up tight.

“And what’s stopping you now?” he asked, his tender smile negating the lecherous waggle of both brows.

And that was all it took. She climbed up next to him and snuggled into his body. When he wrapped himself around her and pulled her close, breathing deeply as he drifted off to sleep, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

8

She’d found him.

He hadn’t been clever enough or quick enough; he hadn’t even been aware
enough of where he was to duck. He had, in fact, seen her coming and all he’d done was
sit behind the wheel of his car and watch as she’d walked his way.

The night had been pitch-black. The hour as late as it got. He’d been parked
down the block from the building he’d seen her enter. Not the building his partner still
covered from the other side. Not the building where they’d find the dealer scum they’d
been after for weeks.

Raleigh couldn’t believe it but he was so incredibly fucked right now. His career,
his life, hell, even his mind. And it was too late to see if he couldn’t get this right the
second time around.

There wasn’t going to be a second time.

This was it.

She walked toward him.

What the hell had he been thinking, blowing off the job he was paid to do? And all
because of a distraction that he should have seen coming. That he was trained to see
coming. That was coming right toward him.

Now it was too late.

She was here and he was done for. Fried up like battered frog legs to taste just
like chicken. Yum, yum…

Crap. Pure and total crap.

Sebastian shoved away from his desk and headed for his bedroom window. His chair rolled backward across the room to bounce off his highboy dresser, sending Redrum skittering and scratching across the hardwood floor.

What in the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t even string together a sentence that didn’t sound like…pulp. Garbage. Bird-cage liner. Camp-fire fuel.

Raleigh wasn’t the only one with a career in the toilet. Sebastian might as well pay back his advance and stake out a prime street corner, a successful panhandler’s first plan of action. One he knew well.

It was early Saturday morning, not yet dawn. The city was silent without the workday noise to which he usually climbed into bed. The air was cool, crisp and clean but for the bite of diesel from the trucks down the street in the
Houston Chronicle
loading dock. He stared at the police cruiser rolling by seven stories below.

What the hell had he been thinking, telling Erin the things he had about his life in lock-up. He could only hope she hadn’t believed a word he’d said, that she’d blown it all off as bunk he’d made up for her entertainment. A safety net of sorts so she could pretend she hadn’t let a virtual stranger go down on her in the middle of the bar.

He sure as hell didn’t want her coming to the ridiculous conclusion that he’d purposely pointed out the one and only chink in his armor, enabling her in finding a way in. He didn’t want her to find a way in. No matter that, in too many ways, she was already there, working to dismantle his tightly held independence. Working to convince him that he didn’t have the grasp he claimed on his gentler emotions.

He figured she’d feel better about herself if he fed her a story to chew on. He sure didn’t want her feeling bad about any of what they’d done. He wanted her to feel good. Damn good. As good as he was feeling. And that was saying a lot because he was supposed to be an expert at turning a cold shoulder and walking away. From involvement. From caring. From concern for another’s emotions as well as from his own.

Those were the tenets that had gotten him through his teenage years and had carried him into adulthood. Why would he be so asinine as to open himself up, to invite a woman into his private life after all this time? Yet, in ways and levels he couldn’t put into words, he had. And she’d accepted, both the invitation and the man he was.

He’d deny it all—the invitation, the emotional lapse—if she asked. He’d go on to tell her he’d been exercising his right to dramatic license. The story definitely fell into the realm of far-fetched.
That
much he figured she’d buy.

Shifting a hip onto the window, he swung his legs through to stand on the tiny fire escape ledge. The sky was awash in the first strokes of indigo and soon, very soon he’d need to turn in. The hour he now went to bed was the same hour he’d been rousted out for longer than he cared to remember.

Before spilling his guts to Erin, he’d never told another person about those years. Hell, the only person he’d even talked to at any length during that nonexistent time in his life had been Richie Kira. Richie, who’d been the closest thing Sebastian had ever had to a friend.

The sixty-year-old inmate had worked in the detention center’s library, helping the kids confined to the facility with research and reading and any other information their instructor assigned them to find. Richie had sensed Sebastian’s innate curiosity, a young boy’s thirst for knowledge dying to be quenched.

The older man had introduced him to the vastly amazing worlds found on the shelves, between the pages of the books Richie had tended like a gardener would tend a prizewinning rose bed. Or like a farmer would tend the fields of corn and wheat that provided his livelihood. The comparison wasn’t that far off the mark.

Books were Richie’s connection with a life outside prison he hadn’t seen in over forty years. But he read, and he remembered, and he told it all to Sebastian. Stories of war and women. Of football games and fights with neighborhood gangs. Of fast cars and loud music and how to kiss a girl so she never forgot your name.

He’d been the father Sebastian had never had, the mentor he’d needed, one who had advised him on the ways of the world without couching his words from a parent’s perspective. He hadn’t couched his words at all, but had instead let fly with advice straight off the street.

Advice from the prison yard, too.

Sebastian had gotten real good at watching his back and cutting his losses. He’d just never expected to have to watch his front.

Richie might’ve taught lessons in female anatomy and birth control but never in dealing with the female mind. Or explained the way a woman’s eyes had of sparkling like a beckoning finger right before landing a gut-slamming punch.

Three hours ago Sebastian had walked Erin to her front door. She’d wanted him to come in. He’d wanted to do just that, to walk into her loft and drag her off to bed. And so he’d told her goodbye there in the hallway and walked to the elevator, feeling both the heat and the uncertainty of her gaze on his back all the way.