by Maya Blake
She wasn’t sure whether he’d shrugged or not, but his voice held a distinct bite. ‘For someone who claims not to drink, I’m surprised you didn’t recognise the peculiar taste straight away.’
‘I wasn’t... I didn’t... I’ve never tasted vodka before. Or rum.’ She grimaced. ‘Does this mean I’ve lost my chance with you? I mean with the audition?’ she ventured, feeling her tongue slurring her speech.
God, how many times had she heard her mother sound like this? And how many times had Goldie’s spirits dropped with disappointment and pity?
Hard hazel eyes sliced into her. ‘Just as you claimed earlier, I too have to be elsewhere tomorrow. And since I can’t have a conversation with you now, in this state, I’ll have to see when my schedule opens up again.’
Her fingers curled around the lowered paper bag. ‘Just give it to me straight, Gael. Tell me whether I’ve blown it or not so we can say our goodbyes.’
‘What difference will it make?’
She licked her lips, desperation beginning to claw through her. ‘If I haven’t blown it completely I’d like the opportunity to fix it. I... I need this job. I need a job!’
His nostrils flared slightly. ‘And how would you propose to go about fixing it?’
She shook her head, then groaned. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me what I can do...how I can—?’
His pithy curse dried up her words.
Goldie knew then that she was digging herself deeper into the hole she’d unwittingly found herself in. It was too late. She’d messed up a shining opportunity. Through ignorance and gullibility.
She snorted, her insides shredding with disappointment and chagrin. How could she have fallen into the same trap she’d condemned her mother for for so many years?
‘What’s your address?’
‘My...address?’
‘My driver will deliver you home,’ he stated, his voice neither gentle nor harsh.
It was almost as if he’d become indifferent to her.
Goldie fought to dismiss the slight pang that thought brought and focused on a much more troubling problem.
‘I can’t go home,’ she muttered, the words filling her with even more distress.
‘Excuse me?’ His voice was filled with chilly cynicism.
She grimaced, her hand shaking as she lifted it to her numb cheek. ‘I can’t go home in this state.’
Gael’s gaze sharpened on her face. ‘Why not?’
Shame dredged deep inside her. ‘I... My mother is a recovering alcoholic. I can’t... She can’t see me like this.’
He regarded her for several charged seconds before his jaw clenched. ‘Dios mio.’
‘I know how this looks, okay?’ she pre-empted, before he could voice the condemnation bristling over his frame. ‘But I can’t do this to her! After everything she’s been through, I can’t—’
‘Calm yourself, Goldie. I was merely going to say I’m not blameless in all this. I should’ve suspected Heidi would try something like this. I shouldn’t have left you on your own for so long.’
She heaved in a breath and fought the clogging in her throat. ‘I... Thanks.’ She clenched her unhurt hand, ashamed at how low she felt. ‘I know you probably think I’m pathetic right now, but I’m responsible for my mother. If she sees me like this it’ll destroy her. In many ways I’ve been the adult for a long time. Every choice I make...she’s my number one priority.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Even when the choices you make aren’t sound?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not perfect. I make mistakes like everyone else. That doesn’t mean I should rub her nose in it. She has enough to deal with.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’
‘Let’s not enter another debate, hmm...?’
Her eyes widened when he shoved his door open. She stared around her, not sure when the car had stopped.
‘Where are we?’ she asked.
‘My hotel. Since you don’t want to go home, you can stay here tonight,’ he said.
A different emotion, separate from the ones she was already battling, fizzed through her. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘I’m staying in the presidential suite. Besides the master suite there are two more bedrooms. With locks. You’re invited to use either one of them. If you don’t feel safe enough with that, tell my driver where you’d like to go and he will deliver you to whatever destination you require,’ he stated in implacable tones.
The same instinct that had told her she could trust him enough to get into his limo after the mugging told her she could trust his offer. But suddenly Goldie wasn’t sure she could trust herself.
She’d let herself down spectacularly once tonight. Did she dare trust that she wouldn’t make another mistake on this surreal night?
But what alternative did she have that didn’t involve wandering the streets in an intoxicated state, with a bullseye on her back for every creep out there?
She swallowed hard and accepted that this was the best possible, safest choice on the table.
‘I accept your offer. Thank you.’
Twenty minutes later Goldie was in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, the double doors to the princess suite locked after a solicitous Gael had brought her a glass of water and turned down the bed.
Now, stripped to her underwear, Goldie sighed and drifted off to sleep among the dreamiest of pillows.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE WASN’T SURE what made her jerk awake. Perhaps it was the muted sounds of the city, when she was used to her quieter neighbourhood just outside Trenton, New Jersey. Whatever it was, once her racing heart slowed she became aware of another raging need. Thirst.
The glass Gael had left her with was empty, although she didn’t recall drinking the water. She grimaced at the hazy, alcohol-distorted memories and got out of bed. She hated it that she hadn’t made it home, but after what had happened Goldie knew this option was best. Her mother wouldn’t have been just disappointed, she would also have blamed herself. Didn’t studies show that alcoholism was sometimes hereditary? And Gloria blaming herself would only bring about one result—depression.
For the past few months her mother had been doing well. Goldie couldn’t stomach being the cause of any form of regression in her mother’s wellbeing.
Rising from the bed, she looked down at her scantily clad body. The thought of putting on that clingy dress again just to go and fetch a glass of water brought another grimace. Going to the adjoining bathroom, she shrugged into a dressing gown bearing a distinctive exclusive designer’s monogrammed label, belted it, and left the suite with the empty glass.
Her bare feet moved silently over marbled floors as she walked along the ornately decorated hallway and into the vast living room. Styled in white, gold and royal blue, the presidential suite was the last word in elegance, right down to the hand-scrolled stationery and the monogrammed cushions that graced the brocade sofas and antique claw-footed chairs. Also dotted around the room were gilt and mother-of-pearl framed mirrors, and expensive paintings reflected perfection and elegance at each turn.
On the far side of the living room, set back from a second grouping of blue and gold-striped settees, a black baby grand piano gleamed under the lamps left on to illuminate the space. Next to it was a tiny kitchenette, housing a fridge and a collection of expensive drinks.
It was there that Goldie went to fetch bottled water. And there she remained frozen after, having taken a large gulp, she heard the heated sound of Gael’s voice as he paced the private terrace outside.
She didn’t want to eavesdrop, and really she didn’t understand a word of the bullet-fast Spanish he spoke into the phone, but that didn’t matter. She saw his pacing grow hurried as the conversation gained intensity. His fingers spiked through his hair an
d Goldie’s breath caught as he swore beneath his breath.
She eyed the semi-dark living room.
Leaving the small alcove would reveal her presence. But staying where she was, witnessing what appeared to be an argument—although she wasn’t absolutely certain—would be a worse violation of his privacy.
Taking a deep breath, she slid her glass onto the counter and stepped out of the alcove. Just in time to hear him snarl before he ended the conversation.
Like a magnet, her gaze swung to him.
He stood frozen between the French doors, the phone tight in his grip, his eyes locked on her.
‘I don’t speak Spanish, so I didn’t understand any of what you were saying,’ she blurted.
One corner of his mouth twisted, although tightly packed anger still seethed from his tall, imposing frame. Moving forward into the room, he shut the door behind him and tossed his phone onto the counter without taking his eyes off her.
‘You don’t need linguistic understanding to know what’s going on.’
‘I guess not,’ Goldie replied, her skin jumping at the sparks still lurking in his eyes. She stared at him until the breath locked in her lungs. Then she dragged her gaze away. ‘Um...goodnight.’
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked, and his voice contained a bite. She couldn’t determine whether it was aimed at her or was residual from his phone call.
She stopped her retreat. Nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Then stay. Join me for a nightcap. Yours will be water, of course.’
For some reason she felt a little bit better that a trace of mockery was back in his voice. Retracing her steps to the counter, she picked up her half-empty glass and waited for him to pour an expensive-looking cognac before she joined him on the sofa.
She noted that he still wore his shirt and trousers from earlier, although a few more buttons had been undone on his shirt, giving her a glimpse of a firm, bronze contoured chest and a strong throat.
Averting her gaze from the arresting sight, she stared around, painstakingly counting the pieces of furniture in the room as a distraction tactic.
Fifteen.
Her eyes swung back to him.
Gael was watching her. He didn’t seem inclined to speak, appeared just content to sip his drink, preferring to keep his thoughts internal. Goldie licked her lips, knowing this wasn’t the time to pursue the business conversation they’d begun before her inadvertent trip into Liquor Land. When his stare got too much, she glanced around again, her gaze landing on a small ornate clock on top of an antique console table.
Two o’clock in the morning. ‘So, do you conduct all your business meetings in the early hours of the morning?’
His gaze shifted from her to the contents of his glass. ‘That wasn’t business. It was family,’ he said, confirming her earlier suspicion.
‘Family?’ she intoned faintly.
‘Sí.’ That crack of a smile was at his lips again. ‘You’re not the only one with maternal challenges.’
‘You were arguing with your mother?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You could say that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there’s a problem. Isn’t that why people argue?’ he snapped.
She frowned. ‘Well, yes, but...’
‘I don’t wish to talk about that, Goldie.’ His voice was a low, raw command.
Knowing how she felt about the subject of her own mother, she nodded. ‘Okay. What do you wish to talk about?’
‘You. Why acting?’ he asked, his voice cold and abrupt.
‘Because I’m good at it,’ she stated without arrogance.
His breath huffed in a short laugh. ‘Sí, that you are.’
He raised his glass in a toast that felt wrong. And not in the mocking way she was getting used to.
She stared at him, but couldn’t read his expression. ‘Gael—’
‘How many auditions have you given like the one you performed today?’ He cut across her.
‘This was my second. The first was for a workshop in the East Village a month ago.’
‘And the script? What play is it from?’ he pressed.
She hesitated, unsure where he was coming from. Unwilling to have her work mocked. ‘It’s my own work. I wrote it last year.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Goldie shrugged. ‘It’s a story about...resilience, dependency, trust. About two people who care for each other but can’t be together because of perceived insurmountable obstacles.’
He took a sip. Swallowed. His eyes locked on her. ‘What obstacles?’
She toyed with the ends of the gown’s belt. ‘Alcoholism. Infidelity...’ she murmured.
‘And the piece you performed today? Which of those two things did it deal with?’
‘Both. Her alcoholism. His infidelity. He wants to give up. She wants to stay and fight.’
He stiffened, his eyes slowly narrowing. ‘It sounds like they’re toxic together. Don’t you think they’re better off apart? As far from each other as they can get?’
‘Maybe they are—maybe they’re not. But surely it’s better to find a way through the conflict than to give up at the first hurdle? Stick it out for a while for the sake of the love that might be buried beneath all that? Surely they owe it to themselves to root through the toxicity and find it? Maybe that’s what will heal them?’
She forced her voice past the lump threatening to rise in her throat.
‘What if their so-called love is toxic too? And how long is “a while”? How much is enough when everyone around you has to bear the brunt of the toxicity?’ he demanded.
His voice had grown ragged, raw with a frustration and anger that she knew instinctively stemmed from that phone call.
‘I don’t have the answers. But I know I’d never give up something that important that easily,’ she said.
He stared at her, his gaze probing deep. Deeper.
‘Do it,’ he said, in a low, rumbling voice just a shade above a whisper.
Her breath caught. Strangled her. ‘Do...what?’
‘The piece. Perform it for me.’
Shock sent her rigid for a second. ‘Now?’
‘We’re both awake. We’re here. You asked me in the car what you could do. This is what you can do. Show me what I want to see.’
It was clear that Gael was still affected by whatever had happened during that phone call. Talking to his mother had disturbed him badly. Enough to make Goldie consider saying no...consider questioning his objectivity.
Because this no longer felt like business. This had become something else. Something emotional. Something hot and heavy and dangerous. Perhaps even deeply personal.
But, on the flipside, it was just what she needed. She needed her audience to be emotionally invested, not clinically detached. Even if he didn’t believe what she was selling, he would feel strongly about it somehow. And wasn’t that a good thing?
Reaching out, she offered him the glass in her hand. His gaze went from it to her face and back again before he took it. Set it to one side.
The moment his gaze returned to her face she spoke the first lines.
‘You won’t leave me. I won’t let you.’
‘Maybe it’s the best thing for me to leave.’
His raw, unexpected response made her heart race faster.
‘You think you love her, but you don’t.’
‘Perhaps I’m not capable of loving anyone. Not even myself.’
The words were spoken with a quiet, strong conviction that made her eyes widen. Made her certain she was glimpsing something Gael Aguilar might not want her to had circumstances been different. Had he not been caught up in whatever emotions held him prisoner right now.
‘I don’t bel
ieve that. Besides, I know you enough to tell you what is in your heart. I love you that much, Simon. Enough to forgive. Enough to take another chance on us. But for us to happen you need to stay. Please...take the chance.’
‘Even if staying is perpetuating the cycle? Destroying us and everyone else who comes into our orbit?’ he rasped, his eyes fixed firmly on her.
Tears prickled her own eyes.
Slowly she reached out and laid a hand on his. ‘We’ll find a way, but we’ll only find a way if we’re together. Don’t leave. Please...take the chance on us. I love you. Fight with me. Fight for us.’
The powerful exposing words, spoken from a place in her own personal pain—the pain of suffering a broken family—rumbled through the room, moved through her as she blinked and raised her gaze to Gael.
The look on his face made her breath catch. It was a mixture of pain, regret and frustration. There was also hunger. A visceral need for connection that lanced her from the short distance between them.
‘Dios mio, you’re good. So very good...’ he muttered, his tone gravel-gruff.
Between one second and the next the hand beneath hers moved, turned and captured hers. He drained his glass and tossed it aside. Then he used their meshed hold to drag her close.
Goldie ended up in his lap, the air knocked from her. Before she could take a needed breath Gael’s mouth was on hers. Hot and sizzling and cognac-laced.
He brought every emotion bubbling beneath the surface of his skin to the kiss.
Goldie had been kissed before, either through her work or through casual acquaintance dates that had never gone anywhere. No past experience came close to what she was feeling now as Gael’s lips devoured hers, slipped past her stunned senses to breach them deeper. Her hands curled into his shirt, fisted, held on tight as his tongue licked her lower lip, her upper lip, then charged inside, his intense savouring of her drawing fire through her veins, drenching her from head to toe in white-hot sensation. Need slammed hard into her, making her moan and strain closer to his tensile strength, to the heat of sleek muscles moving beneath the cotton shirt.
