by Bella Andre
Page 7
Author: Bella Andre
“How about this?” he said in a voice that was far too reasonable for her comfort. “When I’m with you, I’ll be a director. Or a producer. Even a lowly screenwriter, if it makes you happy. ”
She shouldn’t have laughed at the laundry list of titles, but how could she not? And it was true, Smith Sullivan was much more than just an actor.
Still, that didn’t change anything.
“How about I clarify my position?” She mirrored his reasonable tone perfectly. “I don’t date anyone in the business. ”
There, that should do it. How could he possibly argue with that?
But when he didn’t look the least bit daunted, her stomach clenched. She told herself it wasn’t due to need, or desire, or the sparks that kept leaping and growing between them.
“I’m also a brother. ” He moved closer. “A son. ” Closer still, so close that she could almost feel his breath on her upturned face. “A friend. ” She was mesmerized by the color of his eyes, so dark now that the blue was almost black. “And I hope to be a father one day, too. ”
She couldn’t keep the breath from whooshing out of her lungs as he hit her right in the center of her softest spot. She could have defended herself against cocky or sexy or confident.
But how could she protect herself against family?
“Why me?” She wasn’t asking to fish for compliments. She truly was confused. “You could have any woman on set. Any woman on the street. Any woman anywhere. ”
“You’re smart. Beautiful. Great at your job. Devoted to your sister. You have a knack for solving puzzles and I like you, Valentina. ” He paused before adding, “I want you, too. Very, very much. ”
His honesty floored her. But so did the knowledge that at least a dozen actors had likely said similar things to her mother in the years since her father had died. And every time her mother had given in, what had it left her with except an increasingly broken spirit. . . and heart?
Valentina told herself she was being just as honest as she said, “You can’t have me. ”
Because she knew that if she was stupid enough to actually go out with Smith, that if she was even stupider about letting herself fall for him, she would only be setting herself up for complete and utter emotional destruction.
Case in point: Smith and Tatiana would be filming a love scene together in a few weeks. It was going to be hard enough to watch her sister bare herself to the cameras like that. But if Valentina were foolish enough to let Smith into her bed and her heart during filming, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how difficult—how impossible—it would be to sit quietly in the background and watch Smith kiss, touch, caress another woman. Especially when she still hadn’t been able to forget how it had felt to be in his arms for those few minutes when they’d talked about their families in front of the fire in his living room.
A shiver ran through her as she took a step away from the window, and from Smith. When she felt there was enough distance between them for her head to remain clear, she said, “We’re going to be working together for the next few months. I don’t want to make things hard on anyone on set, especially my sister, if she thinks you or I have a problem with each other. ” She wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t trying to be a challenge he couldn’t resist as she asked, “Can’t we just be friends?”
At last, she could feel his frustration rumble through the trailer, no longer, it seemed, the perfectly-in-control man he usually was.
Oh, why did witnessing that brief loss of control have to make him even more appealing? And why did she want to see it again, only next time while they were talking less. . . and kissing more?
“Of course we’ll be friends,” he said in a soft voice that caressed her just as well as any touch of his hand would have. “We already are. ”
Her pleasure at that statement came swift and warm through her veins. So, unfortunately, did the instant disappointment that he’d given up so easily. Of course it was what she wanted. And yet, evidently a part of her had been hoping for more.
Only, it turned out that both her pleasure and disappointment were to be short-lived as he held her prisoner with his dark gaze. “But just because I’m your friend doesn’t mean I’ve stopped wanting you, too. ”
Even worse, she thought as he made an exit as good as anything he’d won an Oscar for, it didn’t make her stop wanting him.
And as Valentina sank down into her office chair, she realized—too late—the extent of her mistake.
She should have grabbed seduction, desire, with both hands.
Seduction would just have been her body. Desire would simply have been two people making each other feel good in bed. She could easily have written off a roll in the hay.
But friendship involved her heart.
As she buried her head in her hands, all she could think was, Why couldn’t I have been smart and just slept with him?
Chapter Six
As filming kicked into high gear, the hours on the set grew longer for everyone. There weren’t action scenes to choreograph and memorize. There weren’t digital effects to render. Nor were there hours in makeup or costume.
But there was emotion.
So much emotion from Smith and Tatiana as they played two characters who loved and lost, then learned how to love again, that just watching them act out their parts over the past week had been leaving Valentina drained and empty at the end of the day.
How, she wondered for the hundredth time, did they do it?
And yet, a part of her envied them that freedom to yell and laugh and cry and love all in the course of a workday. Because for all her hard work on set, Tatiana always shook off the harsh emotions within minutes of the director saying “Cut,” as if her day had been akin to a cleansing therapy session.
These past weeks, Valentina had been turning more and more to her own secret project as a way to deal with the emotions churning around and around inside her. Tatiana was the only person who knew that Valentina was working on a screenplay about a female writer who woke up one day and found herself actually living out the story she was writing…including falling in love with the fictional hero she had created.
Tatiana had been trying for months now to convince her to send it out to some of their contacts. But even though Valentina knew this was a logical next step in the Hollywood career of someone who loved the stories but not the limelight, she’d also known her script wasn’t quite ready. Amazingly, it was after going through Smith’s screenplay backward and forward with Tatiana at least a dozen times that Valentina finally realized where the holes were in her own work. And she knew that the changes she’d been making were good ones. Really good ones. Because she’d been lucky enough to learn from Smith what it took to make a truly emotional, impactful film.
And as she sat with the crew and watched Smith play his part of the harshly powerful yet disturbed and guilty businessman, her heart squeezed tight in her chest. When the movie was released in theaters, the audience would see every single one of his emotions in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, and the lines on his forehead. And they would know without a doubt that the girl on the street he’d pushed down and stepped on, had haunted him more and more with every day that passed.
Again and again, he’d gone back to Union Square, to the corner to watch for her, to wait for her. More than once as he’d been standing in the middle of the rushing crowds, a call had come in on his cell phone from a brother. A sister. His mother. But he’d never picked up those calls.
Just as the young woman had never come back that way again.
As the months had passed, the man’s shoulders had stayed just as broad, his face just as handsome, his company more profitable than ever. But he’d grown more and more hollow, with more one-night stands, and wilder parties with acquaintances and colleagues that meant nothing. In the hours that were left between women who didn’t matter and work that seemed to matter just as littl
e, he drove himself even further into the ground with five a. m. runs and midnight swims.
But still, he couldn’t forget the girl’s eyes.
Or what she’d screamed at him before she ran.
Until, finally, he found her working at a coffee shop. He saw the pink streaks in her hair first, darker now than they’d been so many months ago, and then the face that was even prettier than he’d remembered.
A play of emotions moved across the businessman’s face. Relief. Hope. Along with immovable, unstoppable intent.
She was helping a customer, and unlike the day he’d crashed into her on the street when she’d been so pale, her skin glowed and her hair shone. For a moment, the man’s mouth began to move into a smile. The first real one he’d worn in a very, very long time.
That was when the girl moved, shifting away from the register. . . and he saw her belly.
Her extremely pregnant belly.
Now he was the pale one as all color leached from his tanned skin. He had to grip the back of a chair to keep his balance, and more than one customer shot him a concerned look as he stopped cold in the middle of the coffee shop.
All it took was an instant to calculate that she’d already been pregnant when he’d knocked her down. . . and his foot had landed hard on her stomach.
Bile rose in his throat at what he might have done to her, to the life she carried, that day.
His own hands went to his middle as his eyes squeezed shut for a split second. She could have lost her baby because of him.
There were so many things he had to make up to so many people. But for now, she was his only focus.
He would make this up to her.
He would protect her and the baby.
And he would make sure she never hurt again.
He was just moving toward her when she laughed at something a co-worker said. Again, he was hit hard, this time higher than his stomach.
Straight in the heart.
Her eyes met his just then, and as their gazes locked, her glowing skin paled. The cup in her hand was forgotten as she backed away from him, cardboard slipping from her hands as steamed milk hit the floor and splattered all over her shoes and pants.
It was as if the warm splash of liquid brought her back to life. With a brisk smile that never even came close to reaching her eyes, she brushed off the concern of her co-workers, who were checking to make sure she hadn’t been burned, and picked up a nearby mop to clean up the mess she’d made.
The businessman walked toward her and stood silently behind the counter, watching as she calmly finished mopping up, then put away her cleaning supplies. Her hands were steady as she washed them in the sink.
At last, she turned to him, her chin up, her beautiful eyes shuttered. “What can I get you today, sir?”
For months, he’d thought of her as frail. Now, he realized just how strong she really was, partly because of the set of her mouth as she waited for his response, partly because of how well she carried the child inside of her.
He would help both of them. No matter what.
“I’d like to talk to you. ”
Her mouth tightened, that flash of fury he’d remembered so well coming back into her eyes as she replied, “The special roast this month is from Jamaica, if you’d like to try that. ”
He nodded. “Fine. ” But even as relief began to loosen her shoulders, he said, “I’ll wait here until your next break. ”
Barely veiled irritation informed her movements for the next thirty minutes. She sighed as she untied her apron. Her long cotton top floated over her belly now, making her look even younger.
She knew the man was waiting for her, but she had no intention of dealing with him. Even if a part of her was curious about why he wanted to talk to her. And especially because he was even better looking now than he’d been that awful day when he’d pushed her down on the sidewalk and actually stepped on her.
She didn’t owe him anything.
She turned and disappeared into the cramped back area where the employee lockers were. The last thing she expected was for the man to push in through the door a moment later.
