by JC Grey
‘Well,’ she smiled brightly and topped off their glasses. ‘Tell me about your property. Stella says it’s the best-run in the state.’
It wasn’t hard to listen as he entertained her with stories about Rosmerta, making her laugh with the tale of a bull who’d once got loose and chased his housekeeper round the kitchen garden. He glossed over how tough it had been in the early years, but his eyebrows met over his dark eyes as he spoke of it, and she could imagine him building it into a going concern by sheer force of will.
‘So where to now?’ she asked him. ‘I can’t imagine you resting on your laurels.’
Mac laughed. ‘No chance of that. We still work sixteen-hour days in the cooler, dry months, just to do everything that needs to be done. But this year I’ll have a new foreman to handle the day-to-day stuff, giving me more time for . . . future planning.’
Intrigued, Blaze listened while he told her of his long-held dream to breed stock horses with bloodlines that could be traced back to the Waler horses that had featured in the last great cavalry charge in history, the Battle of Beersheba in 1917.
Before long, Blaze had completely forgotten her bad mood. He readily accepted an offer of seconds, and when he’d finished they took their glasses upstairs, where she showed him the shell of the top floor and wished she’d found the plans so he could see them. Instead she described what it would be like. Blaze was surprised that he was interested enough to make several intelligent suggestions, one of which was to fit half-height closets under the sloping roof of the bathroom, which Blaze intended to follow up with Rowdy.
It was close to eleven when he glanced at his watch and cursed. ‘If I’m going, I should go now,’ he said reluctantly. ‘The new foreman I mentioned is being introduced to the hands first thing tomorrow.’
‘You don’t owe me an explanation.’ Blaze shrugged.
‘Maybe, but I’m giving you one anyway. I don’t want to leave. Ask me to stay.’ His voice lowered as he tilted his head towards hers, blocking out the meagre light from the bare bulb in the construction zone.
Blaze closed her eyes and sank into the long, drugging kiss. When he lifted his mouth, his eyes burned and he was breathing heavily. She wobbled a little as she took a step back. Unable to speak, she shook her head, and his response surprised her.
‘Maybe it’s as well. What I want to do to you can’t be rushed.’ His voice was low and raspy. ‘And what I said before stands; I’m not out to create gossip but I won’t hide from it, either.’
Her eyes searched his face. ‘So what do you want?’
‘That dinner date.’
Blaze didn’t understand why he’d want to subject himself to it, but she wanted another night with him and if it took a dinner in public to get it, she would do it come what may. Maybe it would be okay; after all, she and Stella had managed to have lunch minus interruptions the other day – although that was thanks to her sunglasses and floppy hat, which would not make an appearance on an evening date.
‘All right.’
‘Friday,’ he said. ‘And to hold us until then . . .’ He gave her another blast of that skilful mouth before wrenching himself away. ‘Lock up tight.’
She stood there in the dark listening to his boots on the stairs, the faint sound of his voice saying something to Paddy, who must have finally returned, and the slam of the door closing. And she wondered if all the other disasters in her life were about to be eclipsed by the force of nature that was Macauley Black.
Chapter Nine
Blaze cursed and thumped the pillow beneath her head. The cotton was excellent quality, the pillow soft and scented and the room comfortably cool. But sleep was elusive and it had nothing to do with the guest bedroom she had taken over while Rowdy was working on the improvements above.
Her skin felt hot and prickly and extra-sensitive, her breasts tingled, and her core burned. It was all Macauley Black’s fault that she was aching like this. He’d given in far too easily last night. He probably knew it would punish her as much as it did him. But however much she wanted him, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of throwing herself at him. If he wanted her, he was going to have to work at it.
Even though it was still dark, she was thinking of giving up on sleep when her mobile rang and Jaxon’s name flashed on the display. Well, he was as good a diversion as any.
‘Honey, I know it’s early, but you’re going to want to hear this. Natalie’s torn tendons in her leg.’
‘That’s terrible. Natalie who?’
‘Portman and it’s great!’ Jax said, his voice rising with excitement. ‘Greater than great. Natalie’s had to pull out and every actress with a grain of ambition is going after it, but they’re holding out for . . . guess who?’
‘Um, is this about the Siren movie?’ Blaze felt a small thrill inside her, and quickly quashed it as she thought of Natalie’s disappointment.
‘Is it the . . .? Blaze, of course it’s the fucking Siren movie! It’s all anyone can talk about. This role has awards written all over it. Everyone was talking about it at the Oscars. Didn’t you read the screenplay I sent you?’
‘Ah, I think I looked at it.’ She had, at the title page and the synopsis. And then she’d put it aside, knowing the time just wasn’t right for her. By now, the screenplay was probably buried beneath plans and estimates in the study.
Jaxon started to sound irritated. ‘Well, I suggest you read it now, like, this morning, evening, whatever the hell time of day it is in Kingsland.’
‘Queensland.’
‘Whatever. You get up to speed with that screenplay because they want you. They insist on you. Apparently, you’ve got a fan in Bill Forster over at Silver Linings Entertainment, and he’s pushed for you. But they know they’ve got a hit on their hands, and if you don’t snap it up, some other hungry young actress is going to be all over this.’
‘But Jax, the timing . . .’
‘Listen, Blaze.’ He was serious now, and she sat down on the bed to concentrate. ‘Everyone gets their chance. This is yours. Believe me, I know these things. And if you don’t take it with both hands, there may not be another. Get it?’
All trace of the smooth, charming agent had disappeared. Blaze had never heard him quite this forceful.
‘When would I be needed on set?’
‘April through June, with reshoots and dubbing in August if necessary.’
‘April . . . that’s only a month away, Jax.’
‘They may not need you till later in April.’ He paused. ‘So, do you want to do this?’
If they’d needed her in the New Year, she’d have said yes. She hadn’t read the screenplay yet, but she’d heard about the movie, described as Tess of the d’Urbervilles meets the Deep South, and everyone said it was the best script around. And now that she had first call on the lead role, she was hesitating.
‘Where is it shooting?’ She played for time while her brain tried desperately to come up with the right decision.
‘The director’s still to choose between a couple of locations, but the main cast and crew will probably be based out of Savannah. Blaze, I need to know.’
‘I need to go over the screenplay, Jax. Can you stall them for a couple of days? No more than three, I promise.’
‘Blaze, if I tell them you’re a serious contender, I might be able to get thirty-six hours, but that’s a max.’
‘All right.’ She was a quick reader. ‘Thirty-six hours.’
For endless moments after Jaxon rang off, she sat on the bed wondering why the best opportunities came at the worst times. But there was no time to waste sitting around thinking about it. She had a script to read, a decision to make, and if she took the job, she needed the commitment to see it through.
After letting Paddy out of the kitchen where he now slept at night, she made a strong pot of coffee, found the screenplay and settled in for a long session on the battered leather couch in the study.
She came up for air a couple of hours later when Rowd
y arrived, made a fresh pot of coffee, then shut the door and left him to it. For more than three hours she read through it, hooked, and as she became more deeply enmeshed in the story, she could see in her mind’s eye the southern small-town setting where pregnant-out-of-wedlock Serene finds herself at odds with her narrow-minded nineteenth-century community and inspired by the idea of racial equality as Civil War looms.
It was riveting stuff, even within the confines of the sparse screenplay. By the time Blaze took another break, just after midday, she was on to the last stretch. She really didn’t want to stop, but the air in the study was hot and stifling and she was beginning to feel faint from hunger.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a long, cool drink, made a sandwich and went to sit on the back veranda where Rowdy was just finishing his lunch. They chatted for a few moments about progress upstairs, but she was distracted, and he soon disappeared upstairs.
Blaze’s mind was consumed with Serene. She ate half her sandwich and took the rest of it into the study with her where it sat untouched while she finished the read-through. She had to put the fan on to keep conditions bearable, but after another hour she was so caught up in the story, it could have begun snowing outside and she wouldn’t have paid the slightest attention.
The penultimate scene left her breathless, the final scene made her rage. When Rowdy knocked on the door mid-afternoon to tell her he was going into town to pick up supplies and that the heat was making Paddy act strange, she nodded impatiently, anxious for him to leave. Then she got a bottle of chilled water from the fridge and rolled it against her forehead as she started a second read-through.
But she already knew her decision: she had to make this film.
It was so simple to screw with people, perhaps too simple.
More challenge would have increased the satisfaction, but there was a certain enjoyment in other people’s sheer carelessness. Take Sweet Springs for example. Nights were out for breaking and entering because of that stupid dog, which had taken up sentry in the kitchen after a face-to-face encounter that could have proven nasty for one of them. And mostly days were too risky because the bitch and the drunk, sometimes the kid, too, were around.
But often late in the day if the workmen had left, the whore was running errands in town and the dog wasn’t in sight, there’d be a good hour or two for a bit of fun. Plenty of time for sneaking around, seeing what was what, moving a few things around, hiding or keeping others.
The front door was solid now, but it had been too easy to steal the kid’s keys. And he hadn’t fessed up, naughty boy. He just took care to arrive when the whore or the drunk were there to let him in.
Mostly, the paperwork in the bitch’s study was the target. But a couple of days ago there’d been that expensive-looking nail gun. Nice piece of equipment. A day later a replacement nail gun, also expensive, according to the sticker on the handle, appeared, and the invoice for it was prominent on the desk in the study. Yeah, the bitch was paying for it and that was good. It was tempting to take the replacement, too, but that could tip someone’s hand. Right now, flying beneath their radar, was the way to go.
But not for too long.
The itch had appeared again, the need, and it was building. And the nail gun lark had given rise to a few ideas, like death by power tool. What better way for a drunken handyman to meet his end?
Every head in the restaurant turned their way when Blaze, with Mac’s reassuring hand on the small of her back, walked ahead of him into the Sea Shanty restaurant, perched above a long swathe of beach north of Meriwether. He had made good on his threat of a real date, and Blaze had had little option but to go along with him, especially when he’d accused her of being chicken.
Fortunately, she was armed to the teeth. Her halter-neck cocktail dress in deep mauve was elegant and restrained, the silk alternately skimming and hugging her curves as she moved. In the deep scoop of the neckline, a heavy piece of beaten silver hung on a chain, the complexity of the piece contrasting with the simplicity of the dress and plain silver ear studs revealed by the sleek chignon against her neck.
A bra was impossible with the brevity of the dress’s bodice. Luckily, she didn’t need one for support but the faint outline of her nipples hadn’t gone unnoticed when Mac picked her up. In fact, he’d taken one look as she appeared on the veranda, promptly snatched her house key from her to unlock the door she’d just locked, bustled her inside, and with his mouth hot on hers had undone the halter to have a good look at what lay beneath. They had only made it out to dinner on the unspoken understanding that later he wouldn’t be leaving her to toss and turn alone in bed.
Blaze had dined at the restaurant once, years before. It was small, exclusive and very good. But there was no chance of a discreet arrival and departure, although when the waiter took them to a corner table partially screened by an arrangement of tropical greenery, it was clear that Mac had had the foresight and consideration to request whatever privacy was available.
Still, she was conscious of every male pair of eyes in the place landing somewhere between her throat and waist on their journey to the table, and she responded with a flirtatious flick of her lashes and a sultry half-smile that had one middle-aged matron giving her husband a sound kick under the table. The hungry-eyed women who were licking their lips at the sight of Mac, handsome and urbane in dress pants and jacket, she ignored.
‘Be good,’ Mac murmured to her when the waiter left with their drinks order.
‘Are you sure about that?’ She sent a sultry look his way, her bare toes stroking his ankle as she met his hot black eyes.
‘I’m not sure about anything when I’m around you,’ he said, his smooth tone belying his words. If anything he looked amused. ‘A fact I’m sure you enjoy.’
‘I don’t see you being put off balance by a mere woman, Macauley Black. It would be beneath you.’
‘You’re all I envisage beneath me.’
‘Who’s being bad now? And perhaps I prefer to be on top,’ she whispered, just loud enough for the waiter to hear and turn scarlet. She smiled up at him as he placed her glass of white wine in front of her with a shaking hand, spilling a few drops. Flustered, he left Mac to pour his own beer, and rushed off to get a cloth.
‘See what you’ve done,’ Mac said.
An older, more experienced waiter came to wipe up the spill and hand them their menus.
‘Oysters?’ Blaze asked Mac after a brief perusal.
His eyes skewered hers. ‘Overkill. We’re about to combust as it is.’
Blaze deliberately kept their conversation in the same light vein. She played the game of flirtation like an expert, and for whatever reason, Mac allowed her to set the tone of their date while making it clear he knew exactly what she was up to. Effortlessly, he extracted from her accounts of Hollywood’s more ridiculous moments without ever prying or judging, and shared equally amusing tales from the paddocks and stables.
‘Do you have family around here?’ she asked, not knowing if his parents were still alive. Since returning to Queensland, she’d wondered if their paths had crossed before, and then dismissed the idea. She suspected that even a much younger Mac would have been hard to forget.
‘As in the wife and five kids I keep stashed out of sight?’ he replied, a smile playing about his lips.
‘I meant parents, sisters . . . brothers.’
He looked down, swirling the wine in his glass. ‘My mother died when I was young, and Dad a couple of years ago. I keep in touch with my step-mother, Barbara, although we’re not close. No siblings, unless you count Barb’s kids from her first marriage, which I don’t.’
From the tone of his voice, the topic of family was as difficult for Mac as it was for her so she let it go. Some things were best left dead and buried.
Finally, after Mac had ordered black coffee for himself and a liqueur for Blaze, it was she who tired of the superficiality and took their conversation deeper.
‘Have you ever been married?’
He sat back in his chair and smiled. ‘No. You?’
She shook her head. ‘Marriage and movies are rarely a match made in heaven.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Anyone looking for perfection in a relationship is going to be disappointed; doesn’t matter if you’re a movie star or a mechanic.’
‘Not perfection, more . . . unity of purpose. Two big careers in one marriage can easily turn it into a power struggle.’
‘It would be hard on a guy’s ego when he knows every other man in the room –’ He paused while the waiter delivered their order and refreshed their water glasses. ‘. . . when every other man on the planet wants to take his woman to bed.’
‘It doesn’t seem to worry you.’ Blaze gestured around the restaurant with her glass.
‘Maybe my ego is healthier than other men’s.’
‘I don’t doubt that, but this is one date in a reasonably discreet setting. You have no idea of the pressures Hollywood adds to the mix.’
‘Any paparazzo who gets in my face may live to regret it.’
Blaze gave a husky laugh. ‘Ah, but that’s just what you have to beware. One of their sneaky tricks is to provoke a confrontation. Shots of a scuffle will sell for a lot more than of someone walking down the street.’
‘I didn’t say anything about a scuffle. There are other ways.’
Blaze studied him as he sipped calmly at his coffee. He didn’t look like a subtle guy, at least not to the uneducated eye. But then she hadn’t anticipated anything except a fast and furious fuck when he’d taken her to bed and instead . . .
‘What are you thinking? Your eyes have gone all unfocused,’ Mac murmured. He drained his coffee cup, put it down and picked up her hand. ‘Actually, hold that thought.’ He signalled for the bill. ‘Save it for when we have some privacy.’
