Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  She nodded. “Of course. I’ve used some of her looks for reference when doing films and camera work.”

  “My grandfather killed himself six months after that day,” I told her somberly.

  “Suicide?” she echoed.

  “He left behind a note saying he would never un-see the way her eyes stared at him in death because he’d stood there and watched her murder.”

  “He didn’t know!” Zoey said fiercely.

  “No,” I said, cupping the back of her head and bringing her into my chest. “He didn’t. No one realized until it was too late.”

  Her arms hugged me tight, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was the first time she was offering comfort, not just allowing me to give it.

  After a few minutes, she eased back, lifting her eyes to mine. “They’re making a movie about this?”

  A sound of agreement vibrated my throat. “They’ve tried in the past, but my parents always managed to block it.”

  “Can’t they block it again?”

  “Not this time.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “The studio producing it wants me to be involved. They say they want to be accurate, not just sensational.” A rude noise erupted from me. “In the same breath, they offered to create a role for me—a detective investigating the case.”

  “It’s okay to say no,” she said, astoundingly astute.

  “That’s not what everyone else is saying.”

  “Your agent? The movie execs?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she made a face. “Screw them.”

  I chuckled.

  “I’m serious!” She flung out her arms. “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to do. They shouldn’t even ask you to relive such a painful memory!”

  The passion in her voice made me feel like she was talking about more than just this movie. “Technically, it’s not my memory. But it is my mother’s.”

  Zoey hesitated, then asked, “Is that why she takes the same kind of pills I do?”

  I nodded.

  “No wonder you’re so good with trauma,” she murmured, speaking to herself.

  “What trauma do you have, angel?”

  Her head shot up. Fear flashed in her eyes like lightning. She retreated from me faster than the speed of light.

  “Hey, you know what?” I hurried to say, pretending to glance at the clock on the microwave. “If we don’t head out, we’re going to be late.”

  “I have to get my bag,” she announced, rushing out of the room.

  I stared after her, wondering when she was finally going to trust me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Nick’s voice stopped me from rushing out of the house, fleeing toward my car. Stopping like I was caught fleeing the scene of a crime, I turned back. “To work.”

  “We’ll go out through the garage. They’re waiting for us.”

  They? Shaking my head, I turned him down. “My car is out front.” I stepped outside, stopping cold. “Where’s my car?”

  “It’s in the garage, away from prying eyes.”

  I sniffed. “I thought this was private property.”

  “That doesn’t mean we should be careless.”

  Making a face, I came back inside and waited while he locked the front door and set the alarm.

  “Come on,” he murmured, putting his hand at the small of my back.

  Electricity sizzled my nerve endings, skittering along my spine. He guided me this way a lot. It was just a harmless touch.

  But for a person who avoided physical touch with anyone, it didn’t seem harmless.

  “This way.” His voice was quiet, sort of cajoling. Or maybe just the sudden intimacy I felt made it seem that way. This was bad for me. Staying here wasn’t a good idea.

  Sidestepping his touch, I hurried along in front of him even though I had no idea where we were going. At the bottom of a wide, iron-trimmed staircase, I rushed on.

  “Woah,” Nick swore, grabbing my hand and pulling me back around. My hair swung around me like a curtain as I clutched the bag at my shoulder. “Wrong way.”

  “This is a big house,” I muttered, embarrassed.

  “You should have let me give you a tour.”

  “It was late last night.” I countered. “Besides, I won’t be here long enough to need to know my way around.”

  Without a word, he pulled open the door leading into a “garage” that looked more like a showroom. Sucking in a breath, I stared at him.

  “I like cars,” he said, shrugging off my awe.

  “I’ve only ever seen you drive the Range Rover.”

  “You don’t like the Rover?”

  Waving my hand in apology, I hurried to say, “No, no. I like it fine.” It dawned on me I was apologizing for no reason. Backtracking, I said, “Like it matters. It’s your car.”

  Laughing beneath his breath, he hit a button, and one of the doors began to slide up soundlessly. A large black SUV was waiting, engine running and windows so dark it was impossible to see inside.

  “I can just take my car if you tell me where you put it.”

  “Driving your car out of the gate of my property? I know you’re smarter than that,” he drawled, tapping on the side of my head with a finger.

  I smacked it away. “You’ve already done enough for me.”

  “We’re going to the same place.”

  I stewed for a minute, then relented. “Whatever,” I muttered as he started toward the giant ride. A shining red sports car caught my attention, and I paused beside it. “Why you wouldn’t want that to drive this is beyond me,” I grumbled. “Ah!” I exclaimed seconds later when I ran right into his back, bouncing off and nearly falling on my butt. “What are you doing?”

  One minute he was walking and the next he was a statue!

  “You like the Viper, do you?”

  My mind went blank. “The Viper?”

  He gestured with his chin.

  My lips formed an O, and I pointed to it. “That’s a Viper?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I like its shiny red color.” And the black racing stripe was hot. (I didn’t tell him that part. His ego was giant enough.)

  His teeth flashed with his laughter. Lifting a finger, he started walking backward. “Hang on.”

  I watched him jog toward the SUV as a window rolled down to meet him. He said a few words, gestured toward the garage, then jogged off. Snatching a pair of keys out of a box on the wall, he tossed them up into the air, catching them easily.

  “Come on.” The lights blinked on the Viper when he clicked the remote in his hand.

  “No. I—”

  Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he towed me around to the passenger side. “In you go,” he instructed.

  I couldn’t help but notice the way he put his hand on the side of the roof while he stuffed me inside. Making sure I didn’t hit my head.

  The garage door in front of the sports car slid up, and he climbed behind the wheel. He looked commanding and big in the driver’s seat, but not cramped. If anything, the black leather interior seemed to wrap around his body like a caress.

  Teeth sinking into my lower lip, I averted my eyes to everything but him.

  The sound of the engine purring to life vibrated my chest, the power injecting right into my body.

  “We should just ride with them,” I said, reaching for the handle. “Your driver already came to pick us up.”

  The automatic locks clicked, keeping me in the car.

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t worry about them. They’re following us in.”

  My hand fell from the handle. “They are? How come?”

  “Should I ask the bodyguards to sit in the trunk?” he teased.

  “Bodyguards,” I echoed. Worry expelled the thoughts of not looking at him. “Did something happen? Did someone threaten you?”

  When he leaned across the already close quarters, his nose became level with mine. “Why? Are you worrying about me?”

  “
Of course not!” I said, moving back. Then, because I actually was, I said, “You’ve never had bodyguards on set before... Something must have happened.”

  “Ahh.” He understood. “You think they’re for me.”

  “Well, who else would they be for?”

  Keeping his stare level on me, he raised an eyebrow.

  Slowly, it dawned. Incredulous, I pointed at myself.

  He nodded.

  “Uh-uh!” I disagreed. “No way!”

  “Put your seatbelt on,” he instructed, ignoring my staunch denials.

  “Nick!” I bellowed. “Why would you sic bodyguards on me?”

  “The press is harassing you. Your apartment was vandalized. You can’t even go to lunch without being mobbed. If I hadn’t been there the other night, you might not even have been able to drive yourself home.”

  “I’m not your problem,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re right. You aren’t a problem.”

  Collapsing into the buttery soft seat, I turned away. “Nick...”

  Clearly, he didn’t understand that I was exhausted and overwhelmed. If he had, he would have stayed in his seat. Instead, he leaned closer, practically hanging over my lap.

  “I told you to put this on.” He scolded me, but in a gentle tone. His arm brushed against me as he pulled the strap across my chest. Holding my breath and turning my face away, I waited for the belt to click into place.

  When it did, I let out a shuddering sigh, thinking I was safe.

  I was anything but.

  Instead of pulling back like I prayed to God he would, Nick’s fingers slid beneath the strap, brushing against my collarbone. Jolting from the touch, I gripped the sides of the seat tight. “It’s twisted,” he whispered, leaning even closer to adjust the strap.

  I was damn near hyperventilating when he finally pulled away.

  The dark SUV backed up, making room for him to pull the sports car out into the driveway, and we sat waiting for the garage doors to close. In the rearview mirror, I could see the men ready to follow.

  “Hey.” He beckoned. When I looked up, he tugged the end of my hair. “Just let them shadow you for a few days, okay? I’m worried.”

  “Why would you be worried?” I blurted out, forgetting to conceal my thoughts as I fell into his mossy stare.

  “Because I care,” he said simply, rocking my world.

  I started to stutter, but he just smiled wide.

  “Hold on.” He warned.

  Before I could ask why, the Viper launched forward.

  She taunted me with her cleverness. I could almost hear her laughing. Right under my nose. She’d been right under my nose all these years.

  She knew our sequel wasn’t finished; our movie wasn’t over. If it was, why hide? Why play cat and mouse games?

  I found you. You thought I wouldn’t, but here I am.

  Still, something wasn’t right. She wasn’t right.

  We couldn’t finish this sequel until I knew for sure. Once I did, I could set things right again, and the show could go on.

  Hovering in the darkness, peering through a small opening, anticipation coursed through me.

  Watching.

  Planning.

  Waiting.

  I’m coming. This time you won’t get away.

  “Resuming in five!” the director hollered.

  “Where the hell is Callie?” I muttered, glancing around. “Did she go to France to get the damn coffee?”

  Zoey giggled, drawing my eyes and making me forget about coffee. The corner of my mouth lifting, I hitched my chin at her. “You think this is funny?”

  Her fingers clasped my chin. “Hold still.”

  She was close. So close the scent of her skin filled my senses. “You smell like me,” I whispered.

  The sponge she was using paused, and her brown gaze shot to mine. “W-what?”

  “The soap you use.” I amended. “It’s the same one I do.”

  She was so close I felt her indrawn breath, felt the nerves skittering along her skin. Turning toward her makeup kit, she said, “I ran out this morning, and that one was in the shower...”

  I felt her retreating. I didn’t want that. I wanted her to move in the opposite direction of retreat. Circling her wrist, I tugged her around.

  Her eyes fell to where I held her and then up.

  “I like it,” I said low. “Use it anytime you want.”

  Her pulse beat rapidly against my fingers, almost to the point that I wanted to look down at her vein. It excited me to know I could affect her this way, that I wasn’t the only one whose heart went wild when we were close.

  “I’m sorry!” Callie exclaimed, interrupting the moment we were lost in. “They were out of coffee, and I had to wait—ah!”

  Her foot caught in one of the many cords on the floor, and she pitched forward. The chair I was in scraped back with an earsplitting sound as I lurched up, wrapping myself around Zoey and spinning.

  Callie crashed into my back, the lid popping off the cup and coffee exploding all over me. Zoey’s hands gripped my forearms, hugging me close as she hunched in on herself.

  The hot liquid made my back sting and burn, but I didn’t let her go.

  “You okay?” I asked, still folded around her from behind. “Did you get burned?”

  She turned her face to glance at me from the corner of her eye. Confusion made her blink. “What?”

  Gently, I asked her again, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Nick!” Callie fretted, grabbing my arm and pulling me around. “Oh my God, Nick! Are you burned? Hurry, get this off!”

  Straightening away from Zoey and shaking off my stellar assistant’s help, I peeled the drenched shirt off my body.

  “Nick!” Jessica gasped, appearing. “Your back is beet red! Let me see.” Her hands felt cool against my back, offering a little relief from the stinging.

  “I’m fine,” I said, pulling away. “It’s not serious.”

  Jessica tugged the ruined shirt from my grip and spun on Callie. “You have got to be the world’s worst assistant! What the hell were you thinking? What would you have done if Nick had been scarred?”

  “I-I...” Callie shrank back, tears swimming in her eyes.

  “That’s enough, Jessica.”

  “He’s a huge celebrity. He’s the sexiest man alive, for Christ’s sake! He can’t have scars. Scars are not sexy!”

  Even though I was turned away, I felt Zoey’s silent reaction to my costar’s thoughtless words. I knew Zoey had scars. Lots of them.

  “Enough!” I roared. Everyone on set looked at me.

  “I don’t know how you treat your assistant, but you aren’t allowed to treat mine like this.” I turned to Callie, who was swiping rapidly at the falling tears, trying to be discreet about it. “It was an accident. I’m fine. No harm done.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She started toward me.

  I held out my hand, stopping her. “How about you just get me another coffee?”

  “I’m not fired?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  The director was standing close by, watching the unfolding events. “I’m going to wardrobe to get a new shirt.”

  “Of course.” He agreed. Then gesturing to the spilled coffee, he told someone, “Clean this up!”

  Callie excused herself, carefully stepping over every cord, and Jessica shot lasers from her eyes as she went.

  “Hey,” I said, grasping Jess’s arm. “It’s fine. Don’t give her a hard time.”

  She made a face. “I don’t know why you put up with her.”

  “Your lipstick is smudged.”

  Horror overcame her features, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Carson!” she yelled, rushing off.

  Using the shirt, I mopped up some coffee that was dripping down my arm, then started toward wardrobe.

  A small hand curled around the space just above my elbow, not strong enough to pull me back, but it didn’t nee
d to be.

  By the way my body hummed, I knew who it was the second we came into contact.

  Stopping, I turned back, but not enough so her hold on me would be dislodged. I didn’t say anything, just waited for her.

  “I can wipe off your back,” she offered, pulling her hand away. “There’s still coffee all over you.”

  I nodded.

  Pulling open the bottom drawer of her large kit, Zoey produced a pack of wipes. Pulling a few free, she motioned for me to turn around.

  I flinched when she first made contact.

  Her hand grasped the side of my waist. “Does it hurt?” She worried.

  “It’s cold,” I complained.

  Her light laugh floated over my shoulder. “Don’t be a baby.”

  Falling silent, I held myself still as she gently wiped away the mess. Occasionally, the pads of her fingertips would brush against my skin, and I had to school myself to not react.

  Leaning over my shoulder, she said. “Are you sure you aren’t burned?”

  Shaking my head, I answered, “Does it look burned?”

  “I don’t think so.” The words were followed by a caress over a patch of still-stinging skin. “It’s red right here.”

  My jaw clenched, and I lowered my chin because I was worried people might catch a glimpse of that smolder. “I’m fine.” My voice was raspy.

  Her fingers paused. “I think I got it all,” she said, pulling away.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Nick?”

  My patience was wearing so thin. My name on her lips... Her fingers on my bare skin... “Yeah?”

  “That should have spilled on me.”

  That drew me around to look into her eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  Damn it all to hell. This woman was going to steal my heart.

  I think I needed to see a doctor. My heart wouldn’t beat regularly. Breathing was no longer involuntary.

  What is wrong with me?

  Sneaking a glance at Nick’s retreating shirtless back, I knew. The ailment affecting my heart and lungs was him.

  “Zoey!” Carson hollered from across the set. “I need your number fifty. Mine broke.”

  Digging around in my makeup kit, I found the lipstick he needed.

  “I’m back, without making a mess again,” Callie announced, making me glance up. Looking around, she asked, “Where’s Nick?”