Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

  Charley could be a candidate for that role too—but as far as she knew, his experiences didn’t parallel hers as much as Zach’s did.

  Yet if she trusted Zach with her story . . . if she took a leap of faith . . . would she be sorry later?

  Maybe.

  Call her cynical, but after being burned by dispensing trust too freely on the early road to stardom, her self-defense skills were well honed.

  Zach waited while her internal debate raged. He didn’t push. Didn’t cajole. Didn’t try to argue his case.

  He was leaving the choice up to her.

  And she had to make it now.

  Keeping his posture relaxed, Zach watched the play of emotions on Katherine’s face.

  The verdict was still out on her decision about whether to accept his offer.

  Understandable.

  If even half of the stories about Hollywood backbiting, undercutting, and ruthless ambition were true, she’d be more than justified in questioning the wisdom of opening up to a man with whom she’d spent a mere handful of hours.

  Yet all at once, the tension in her features melted away. “If you can spare a few minutes, I wouldn’t mind company. After going twelve rounds with Simon, I’m a bit battered and shaky.”

  That analogy didn’t sit well—and it added yet another question to his growing list.

  For the moment, though, he back-burnered that concern. “I have nothing on my agenda for the afternoon other than tending to a beef tenderloin in a little while. We can always resume our conversation after that if we run out of time.”

  Hoping he wasn’t making a major tactical error, he gave in to the urge to twine his fingers with hers.

  Despite her sudden, sharp intake of breath, she didn’t pull away as he led her toward the log.

  The temptation to hang on to her hand was strong—but pushing his luck would be foolish. Instead, he released it as soon as they were seated. But he stayed close, leaving no more than a few inches between them.

  Angling toward her, he addressed the concern that had risen to the top of his list. “I’ll admit I have dozens of questions I’d like to ask, but I’m not going to pry. There is one I’d appreciate an answer to, though. You used a boxing analogy for the visit from your agent—and from what I overheard, I got the impression he’s the forceful type. He didn’t use any . . . physical . . . pressure to try to convince you to fall in line, did he?”

  Her startled expression, followed by a short burst of laughter, eased his mind on that score.

  “Simon, get physical? Perish the thought. He might damage one of his designer shirts or jackets.” Then her humor faded. “His methods are all psychological—a much more sophisticated . . . and effective . . . approach to pressuring someone to bend to your will. He’s a master manipulator.”

  Zach narrowed his eyes. “You pay this guy, right? He works for you?”

  “In theory. But certain Hollywood agents—including Simon—have God complexes. They believe they’ve saved you from the hell of anonymity and are primarily responsible for your success. They use this misguided conviction to create guilt and self-doubt in susceptible clients, many of whom have fragile egos. Yours truly included.”

  Katherine Parker had self-esteem issues?

  Not from what he’d read online.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone with a fragile ego.”

  She called up a sad smile and drew a curved line in the sand with the toe of her shoe. “I’m an actress, remember? We’re experts at putting up a convincing front. But Simon knows my story, as well as my dreams and insecurities and fears. He long ago learned my hot buttons.”

  “Why do you stay with him?”

  “He has excellent connections and knows how to line up jobs. I didn’t begin to get decent parts until I signed with him. If you read my career history, you know I’ve had a role on a TV series for several years. He got me that gig, which is the role that gave me financial security . . . and is opening the door to bigger opportunities.”

  “Like the one he’s dangling in front of you now.”

  “Yes.” She stretched her legs out in front of her and hunched forward. “How much of that did you hear?”

  “Very little—but I got the feeling it was a major movie.”

  “It is.”

  “I also got the impression you’re dragging your feet about signing.”

  “I am.”

  Hoping she wouldn’t bolt, he tiptoed into what could be restricted territory. “It can be hard to think straight in the midst of grief.”

  At her blank look, his spirits took an uptick. Apparently her relationship with Jason Grey hadn’t been as serious as the articles had implied.

  “Oh.” The confusion on her face cleared. “You mean Jason?”

  “The stories I read said the two of you were a couple.”

  She shook her head. “Not true. Our relationship was a stunt Simon dreamed up to get us both more media attention. Jason was his client too. He thought spicing up our images would generate more press, and a romance fit the bill. I went along with the plan under pressure, but I never liked the whole setup. Jason had a number of serious issues—including a drug problem—and I was about to back out of the arrangement. In fact, Jason, Simon, and I had an argument about it at the wrap party.” She swallowed. “Six hours later, Jason was dead.”

  “And you were in the spotlight because the two of you were linked—leading to insinuations about your potential connection to drugs.”

  “Yes. Talk about irony. I wouldn’t touch drugs for a million dollars.”

  Reassuring to know she’d never succumbed to one of the vices rampant among the Hollywood set—and in society in general.

  “But you were cleared.”

  “By law enforcement. Speculation continues to flourish in the gossip rags, however. That’s one of the reasons Simon wants me to accept the role in this picture ASAP. He thinks it will shift attention away from the negative situation with Jason and get me a more positive spin in the media.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I agree his argument has merit, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Careful, Zach. Let her set the pace or she’ll close up tight as a threatened sea anemone.

  “You have other concerns?”

  Her throat worked, and when she turned toward him there was a sheen over her blue irises. “This has to stay between us.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  Her respiration grew shallow, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating, and a few tiny beads of sweat popped out above her upper lip. “I’ve never told this to anyone, but I’m . . . I’m not certain anymore about . . . that the dream I’ve spent my life pursuing is . . . that it’s the right one.”

  The admission came out so soft and shaky, he had to lean close to catch the words before the wind snatched them away.

  Ignoring the keep-your-distance warning strobing across his brain, he took her hand again. Locked gazes with her. “I’ve been there, Katherine. I know what you’re going through.”

  “That’s why I-I told you. I don’t think anyone else would understand—especially Simon. I want time to think, but show business doesn’t work that w-way. Deals don’t stay on the table long. As he reminded me, the clock is ticking. If I do sign on for this movie, though, I’ll be plunged back into all the craziness. That isn’t . . . it’s not . . .” She sucked in a ragged breath. “That wasn’t the kind of life I wanted when I set my sights on an acting career.”

  “What did you want?”

  “Affirmation and security.”

  Based on her swift response, it was obvious she’d given the question a lot of thought.

  But her reply raised other questions.

  He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “You seem very certain about your motivation.”

  “I am.” She watched a sandpiper scuttle along the surf line, dodging waves. “It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that growing up dirt-poor can
have a lasting impact on your life.” Dipping her chin, she scuffed out the smiley-face line she’d toed into the sand earlier.

  “Define dirt-poor.”

  “I was always hungry. Our apartment was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. All my clothes came from thrift shops—and my classmates took great delight in ridiculing them.” A flash of remembered pain echoed in her eyes.

  His heart hurt for her. “Kids can be cruel.”

  “Yeah—and I wasn’t their only target. They also made fun of my mom’s job. She had dyslexia and never finished high school, so she spent her life cleaning office buildings. I know she loved me, but with her evening and weekend work schedule, I didn’t see much of her. It was hard, exhausting physical labor—yet her wages were barely sufficient to provide us with the bare necessities.”

  “Like milk.” Now her comment last week made sense.

  “Yeah. Among other things.”

  “I take it your dad wasn’t in the picture.” He waded carefully into what could be murky waters.

  Her features hardened. “He was for a while—but he drank too much and couldn’t hold a job. Mom supported us. He walked out when I was ten. We didn’t miss him.”

  Given her terse reply, it was no wonder she hadn’t mentioned the man during their conversation at The Perfect Blend.

  He didn’t press for more details.

  “Tell me how you got interested in acting.”

  The tension around her mouth diminished a fraction. “I discovered theater in middle school, realized early on I had natural talent—and decided acting would be my ticket to improving my lot.”

  “An ambitious goal, considering how difficult it is to succeed in that profession.”

  “I know—but I was convinced I could do it. I worked hard to get a scholarship to college, earned my degree, and moved to LA. My goal was to win the adulation of millions and prove to the world I was somebody.” She sent him a sidelong glance. “Shallow, wasn’t it?”

  “Not in light of your background.”

  “Thanks for saying that—but it was shallow.” She watched the sandpiper dash away from an encroaching wave. “I’ve learned that the sort of adulation you get in Hollywood is empty and fleeting. Without substance. And I don’t like the flashy, ostentatious lifestyle.”

  “Doesn’t that go with the territory?” He was no expert on Hollywood, but most show business folks appeared to be all about drama and flamboyance on and off stage.

  “I didn’t think it had to. There are a few stars who manage to stay under the radar in their personal lives, mostly by avoiding controversy and scandal.”

  “Unless those land on your doorstep.”

  “Yeah.” She exhaled. “The tragedy with Jason changed everything—although to be honest, I was beginning to lose control of my privacy anyway. I live in a small, unpretentious condo, and I’ve had more than a few overzealous fans and media types finagle their way through our minimum security. It’s been much worse since Jason died.” A slight shiver rippled through her.

  “Why don’t you move to a more secure place?”

  “According to the gossip magazines, I’m cheap. But the truth is, I never had any desire to live in a mansion. All I wanted to do was acquire a sizeable nest egg so I’d never again have to worry about going to bed hungry or wearing secondhand clothes. Thankfully, I’ve achieved that. The TV series is lucrative, and I’ve saved most of my salary.”

  “In other words, you have options. You could walk away tomorrow if you wanted to and not have to worry about money.”

  “Yes—in theory.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “But after almost twenty years of single-minded effort to get an offer like the one Simon came here to discuss, throwing it away seems wrong.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Did you feel the same way?”

  “In the beginning—but after losing Josh, my perspective changed. The luster on my career began to fade, and the dream of opening a coffee shop kept getting stronger. In the end, it wasn’t difficult to walk away. I’d grown tired of deal brokering and power plays. The day I resigned felt more like a beginning than an ending.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you tired of acting?”

  “No—but I enjoy stage work more. And being in front of the camera is only a small piece of a career in Hollywood. I’m not liking the other parts . . . especially the lack of privacy. I hate having to hide behind a disguise in public.” She waved a hand over herself. “I hate having to keep looking over my shoulder to see if paparazzi are lurking in the shadows. I hate having my life dissected in the media.”

  Her situation was far more complicated than his had been. There’d been no paparazzi camped on his doorstep.

  He cranked up the analytical side of his brain. “Would it be easier to break your decisions into smaller chunks? The movie appears to be the highest priority for now.”

  “It is.”

  “Does the project interest you?”

  “Yes. I’ve always wanted to work with the costar, and the director is stellar—but I’m not thrilled with parts of the script.”

  He listened as she explained her reservations.

  “I applaud you for sticking to your principles.”

  She sighed. “You’re the only one who does. Under duress, Simon agreed to take my concerns forward—but he thinks I should fold if they balk. As he pointed out, dozens of actresses would be more than happy to prance around naked and spew vulgar language to star in a picture like this.”

  “That’s one of the problems with movies these days—and why I avoid most of them.”

  “Sad to say, you’re in the minority.”

  “I know. As an actress, you are too. That’s one more trait we have in common.” He let her mull over his comment as he gave his watch a discreet scan.

  Of course she noticed.

  Tugging her hand out of his, she stood. “You have to get home and take care of that tenderloin.”

  Yeah. He did.

  But he didn’t want to.

  Too bad he hadn’t kept it for another day.

  He pushed himself to his feet. “I’d rather stay here with you—but if my smoke alarm goes off, I’ll be hosting the Hope Harbor fire department for happy hour.”

  That earned him the ghost of a smile. “And charred tenderloin will be on the dinner menu.” She waved a hand toward the path. “Go ahead. I’m going to walk for a while.” She started to turn away.

  “Katherine . . .” He touched her arm again, and she angled back toward him. “For what it’s worth, when I was deciding what to do about my own future, I didn’t rush the process.”

  “I wish I had that luxury.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

  “The movie decision may have a short deadline, but your career plans are a different story.”

  “Not necessarily. Simon is convinced if I pass this offer up, very few others will come in. He claims no sane actress would hesitate to accept the role, and directors will walk a wide circle around me in the future.”

  Could that be true?

  Not in the world of mergers and acquisitions where he’d spent his corporate years, but show business was a different animal. It was impossible to know whether her agent was being candid or blowing smoke in an effort to pressure her into a decision.

  And he wasn’t about to offer advice that could be all wrong.

  “I don’t know enough about Hollywood to evaluate the truth of that. I wish I did.”

  “I don’t expect anyone else to take on responsibility for my dilemma. I’ll work through it. Go ahead.” Again, she motioned toward the bluff.

  Yet she didn’t walk away.

  Nor did he want her to. Not after all she’d shared. Somehow he had to communicate how much her willingness to trust him with her secrets—and doubts—meant to him.

  How much she was beginning to mean to him.

  And he knew exactly how to do that.

  It was a risk, yes—but with the air between them sparking
like fireworks on the Fourth of July, it was worth taking.

  Pulse accelerating, he erased the distance between them, until he was so close she had to tip her head back to see his face.

  Wow.

  At this proximity, a man could drown in the blue depths of those expressive eyes.

  Slowly, he lifted his hand. Stroked his knuckles across her soft cheek.

  Her breathing hitched, and a pulse began to throb in the hollow of her throat—but she didn’t back off.

  Inch by unhurried inch he bent down, signaling his intent, giving her every opportunity to change her mind and back away.

  She didn’t budge.

  So he touched his lips to hers.

  They were soft, lush . . . and far more receptive—and responsive—than he’d expected.

  In a heartbeat, the simple kiss he’d intended as a gentle affirmation of his affection became much more.

  And unless his instincts were failing him, it was generating megawatts of electricity on both sides.

  How long it continued, he had no idea. The world around them faded away, the distant thunder of the waves breaking against the sea stacks and the caw of the gulls overhead nothing more than a faint soundtrack for their embrace.

  In the end, he was the one who eased away. Not because he wanted to, but because he wanted much more—and even a man with well-honed willpower had his limits.

  Katherine stared at him, eyes wide and slightly glazed, clinging to his arms as if she needed support—and balance.

  He could relate.

  “That was”—she swallowed—“unexpected.”

  “I hope not unwanted.” Unless he’d read her signals all wrong, there was no danger of that.

  “No—but it feels . . . premature.”

  “Not to me. I care about you—and I think we have potential.”

  “No.” With a vehement shake of her head, she stepped back. Wrapped her arms around her middle. “That would complicate everything.”

  “Or simplify it.”

  She studied him. “What do you mean?”

  Excellent question.

  Trying to influence her decisions by hinting at promises that might be difficult to keep would be wrong. Despite the connection between them, it was too soon to let her make choices about her life and career based on instincts or intuition.