The Price of Fame

by Anne Oliver

  He withdrew a little and raised his head to look at her. Then plunged deep and slow and true, filling her. Fulfilling her.

  Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched him. The afternoon sun danced through the leaves and stroked his face with bronze. Luxuriant black lashes framed his eyes; hues of amber gleamed in the ebony irises. Once again she was the prey and she couldn’t look away. Powerful, penetrating, persuasive, he drew her inside him until she no longer existed outside his aura. And the deep, dark places in her soul brimmed and overflowed with the emotion she was coming to realise only he could wring from her.

  The days passed too swiftly. Nic took Charlotte on a yachting expedition to a nearby island where they enjoyed seafood and champagne on board, then went snorkelling in the aquamarine shallows and lazed on the golden beach. There were a couple of occasions when she felt the paparazzi’s presence but they didn’t approach and she didn’t let it bother her. She loved the open-air farmers’ markets alive with aromatic spices, greens of every description, pineapples, taro and yams.

  They attended the resort’s traditional lovo and kava ceremony. A whole pig, wrapped in palm leaves and surrounded with taro and breadfruit, was cooked in an earth oven filled with hot volcanic rocks. They enjoyed every sunset together. Whether it was sipping cocktails from one of the resort’s restaurants, or making love on the private strip of beach near his house or enjoying a barbecue on board a schooner, Nic made every occasion unique.

  She discovered new things about him. He liked having his ear lobes rubbed but vehemently refused to submit to the silk scarf blindfold she’d teased him with. There was a scar over his left hip from a surfing accident.

  He sent fresh frangipanis to her room every day, took her on a midnight picnic, organised a candle-lit massage for the two of them on the beach and made love to her as if she were the only woman in the world, tenderly and fiercely and everything in between.

  He couldn’t have done much work unless he was a freak of nature and didn’t require sleep. But he didn’t sleep with her. Each night he returned to his house on the hill. She believed it was his way of maintaining that one-step-back rule he had.

  He’d been straight with her from the start—part-time tour guide with benefits—giving her no reason to build a fantasy future around them. But it didn’t stop her from lying awake at night by herself and imagining.

  She wasn’t a good muse after all. Nic leaned back in his chair, scowling at his computer screens. Stupid o’clock in the morning and nothing he tried was working. Every time he thought he knew where the game was heading, he hit a dead end. Charlotte—Reena, he corrected himself—his game’s new heroine, blocked Onyx One’s movements at every turn. Tugging at Onyx with her bewitching eyes and throwing him off balance. Charlotte’s eyes.

  Ridiculous. He forced the notion away, re-evaluated his last idea, then deleted it. He’d hit a snag, that was all. Just because his hero refused to cooperate and the plot wasn’t panning out the way it should, didn’t mean Charlotte had anything to do with it.

  Or did it?

  He swung his chair around and stared through the open doors where starlight painted the palms with silver. Maybe he should make the dark-haired Reena a blonde. Or a fiery redhead. Even a silver-haired temptress. But then, why allow his obsession with a woman to dictate the most important thing in his life—his work?

  He’d end this thing with Charlotte now, and reclaim his creativity, which had mysteriously dried up. Shoving a hand through his hair, he glared at his screens. His modus operandi with women had been the same for years. Enjoy the fun and romance of it all but never let them too close. Never allow himself to forget Angelica and the lesson he’d learned. Work was his life, he didn’t need anything or anyone.

  But for the first time in for ever, his cyber world wasn’t doing it for him. He wanted to spend what was left of Charlotte’s time here with her. Preferably in bed.

  He assured himself that, like all good endings, their final goodbye should be a satisfying resolution. Then he’d be able to put it behind him and get on with what mattered in his life.

  And what the hell was it about his predictable life that mattered so damn much? On an oath, he shut down his computer and paced to the window to stare at the black-roofed bures. White ribbons streaked the dark sea beyond, its gentle omnipresent sound soothing.

  It wasn’t only Charlotte’s sensuality that had him burning and reaching for her over and over again. Beneath the hot-blooded goddess she had a vulnerability that tugged at his heart and made him want to protect her while at the same time coax her out of that shell he’d glimpsed when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  With Charlotte there was empathy—for himself and for others, both in her words and her actions. She had a wicked sense of humour he suspected she rarely allowed others to see. Deep down she was a private person, and, more, she recognised and respected that facet of his own personality.

  Charlotte had made him realise that not all women were like Angelica, out to get whatever they could. He’d found a woman he not only enjoyed physically and socially, but one he could trust enough to allow a glimpse into his world, and tonight was his last chance to invite her into his home.

  The next morning, instead of the usual bouquet of frangipani Charlotte had come to expect, a single white orchid arrived in a vase along with a gilt-edged envelope.

  Her whole body turned to stone. Flynn had sent her a single white rose the morning after he’d ended their engagement. There’d been a little envelope and, inside, a card that said, ‘Thanks for the memories.’

  Palms sweating so hard she thought she’d drop the vase, she carried it outside to the table on the balcony and sat down. She stared at it for a long moment, a giant fist clenched around her heart. No matter what the message said, this was a timely reminder that her holiday fling with Nic was almost over.

  She was still staring at it when Nic’s special knock sounded on the door. Bracing herself, she went to open it.

  He looked as fresh as the morning’s orchid. As sexy as midnight on black silk sheets. ‘Hi.’ She gave him a smile and struggled to keep her voice free and easy while that fist tightened around her heart. ‘Come on in. I’m nearly ready.’

  He waited until she’d shut the door before kissing her thoroughly. She clung to him a moment before reminding herself she’d be gone in twenty-four hours, and deliberately stepped away first.

  She swung away from the gorgeous sight of his well-honed body and walked to the balcony. ‘The orchid’s beautiful, thank you.’

  ‘I saw it by the back door and thought of you.’

  ‘You grow orchids?’ She turned back to study him, head to one side. ‘You just don’t look the domestic gardening type.’

  ‘Malakai does most of the work, actually.’ He jiggled his brows. ‘Want to come up and see my collection?’

  A grin tugged at her mouth. ‘Don’t you mean Malakai’s collection?’

  ‘Whatever gets you there,’ he said with an answering grin.

  Surprise lifted her brows. ‘To your house?’

  Still grinning, he walked towards her. ‘So you haven’t read the note yet.’

  ‘I haven’t got around to it.’ She hugged her arms, then recognised her insecure action and reached for the unopened envelope on the table. ‘Actually, I was thinking of giving the market a miss this morning. I need some time … To pack.’ She stared at the table, preferring the orchid’s beauty to the look she’d see in his eyes. The look that made her as helpless as a butterfly under glass.

  ‘Fine.’ He was suddenly there beside her, smelling of his familiar spicy cologne. He touched the side of her face. ‘It’s fine if that’s true. But I know you better than you think. Something’s changed.’

  ‘Nothing’s changed.’

  ‘We’ve always been up front with each other, Charlotte. At least, I have.’

  She bit down on her lip before deciding maybe it was time to give a little. After all, what did it matter now? ‘It’s weir
d, the timing—Flynn left me a white rose and a note when we … when he chose his career in politics over me.’

  He studied her through narrowed eyes. ‘Why did he have to choose? Why couldn’t he have both?’

  ‘Because I was an embarrassment to him. A liability for any potential politician.’

  His brows lowered and his voice was hard as nails when he said, ‘Then he’s an idiot and you’re better off without him.’

  ‘Forget him. I have. The whole thing’s a reminder to me that I’m leaving tomorrow.’ And you said it yourself, there is no ‘us’.

  ‘So … have you got plans for when you get home?’

  ‘I have tickets for the opera at the Festival Theatre to look forward to. It’s “Carmen”, my favourite.’ Even if she’d more than likely bump into the press, who’d ask her all about the break-up.

  But over the past couple of weeks her confidence had lifted. She’d not even felt out of her depth when the guy on the beach had approached her. Just a brief friendly exchange. Nothing to be alarmed about. She realised maybe she could—no, she would—face the public without the old insecurities.

  ‘Tickets?’ he was saying, dragging her back to the present. ‘As in more than one?’

  ‘Flynn was supposed to go with me. I bought them months ago. Do you like opera?’

  ‘Never been.’

  She nodded. ‘It’s not for everyone.’

  His jaw tightened and she knew she’d offended him. That he thought she thought he wasn’t cultured enough. Whatever the heck that meant.

  She smiled to dispel an awkward moment and told him, ‘It wasn’t Dad’s cup of tea either. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him there.’ She slid the envelope back and forth between her fingers. ‘You’ll be glad to get back to work, I bet. You’ve been neglecting it to entertain me.’

  ‘It’s been worth every moment.’

  His eyes seemed to melt into hers and for an instant something dangerously like hope rose up inside her. Futile hope.

  Then he swiped the envelope from her hand and screwed it up. ‘Bad idea, this,’ he said, tossing it into the waste-paper basket. ‘So I’ll just say it instead. I want you to join me for a popular Fijian meal tonight. And I’m going to cook.’ He grabbed her hand and began tugging her to the door. ‘Which is why we’re going to the market.’

  She tried to grab her bag on the fly. ‘Hang on …’

  He stopped and his eyes searched hers. ‘Unless you really do want to be alone?’

  No. She saw something in his brown-eyed gaze that had her heart stuttering. She picked up her bag and a hat. ‘I’ll pack this afternoon.’

  Nic’s waterfront home was airy and spacious, with white marbled floors and panoramic views of the coastline. They’d barely set foot in the modern kitchen—vibrant red with stainless-steel appliances—when Nic’s housekeeper appeared in the doorway with a wide flat basket of fresh-picked vegetables under one arm.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Nic smiled at the middle-aged woman. ‘Tenika, I’d like you to meet Charlotte. Tenika’s agreed to let me loose in the kitchen this evening.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Bula. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tenika.’

  ‘Bula vinaka.’ Tenika’s deep voice seemed to resonate through her ample body, her eyes livened with interest as they flicked between the two of them.

  Nic’s mobile rang at that moment and he excused himself and moved away to answer it.

  ‘So how long have you worked for Nic?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Seven years. When he come here, he give me and my husband work. Very kind man.’ She set her basket on the black granite counter top, nimble fingers picking off the few wilted leaves. ‘You like Fiji?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘You come back again. Nic alone too much after that bad one gone.’ She tossed the discarded leaves into the sink, the action as eloquent as any words.

  ‘Bad one?’ Charlotte’s curiosity soared.

  ‘Angelica,’ Tenika muttered. ‘Bad.’

  Charlotte was dying to ask more but Nic was already ending his call.

  Tenika lifted a couple of ripe mangoes from the bottom of her basket and turned on the tap. ‘Ni mataka, you go back to Australia?’

  ‘Tomorrow, yes.’

  ‘You and he had a friendly visit here, io?’

  Nic exchanged an intimate glance with Charlotte that told her exactly how friendly her visit had been.

  Charlotte was so caught up with watching Nic and controlling the sudden heat rushing up her neck, she barely noticed Tenika walk to the door.

  ‘You come back again soon,’ she said, smiling at the pair of them. ‘I go now. Enjoy kakana together. Moce.’

  ‘Moce. Goodnight.’ Charlotte and Nic spoke in unison.

  ‘Friendly, huh?’ Charlotte said, slinging an arm around his neck as soon as they were alone. ‘I assume kakana means a meal and not hot sex?’

  Grinning, Nic gave her a casual kiss, then moved to the fridge and began taking out ingredients. A large fillet of fish, a plate of chopped cherry tomatoes and onions, a bowl of coconut milk. ‘With Tenika, I wouldn’t be too sure. Fijian women are born matchmakers.’

  Best to leave that one alone. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘You can slice this lime if you want.’ He set it in front of her with a knife.

  Charlotte settled herself on a bar stool across from him. ‘What are you cooking?’

  ‘Fish in coconut milk. A special Fijian dish.’ He sliced the fish into steaks. ‘This is paka paka—fresh snapper.’

  He set the pieces sizzling in a pan, then arranged the spinach and ginger leaves Tenika had picked on aluminium foil on a shallow dish and added the tomatoes and onion. The sharp, piquant aromas filled the kitchen.

  ‘Taste this.’ He dipped a spoon in the coconut milk and held it out. ‘Freshly squeezed.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ She licked the thick substance from her lips while Nic placed the seared fish on the bed of leaves. ‘That is rich, rich, rich.’

  ‘Now we pour it over and add your lime.’

  While Charlotte arranged the slices, she imagined how it could be—the intimacy of being a couple and sharing the ups and downs of their day while they cooked the evening meal together.

  But Nic wasn’t that man and her heart faltered. What was she doing, thinking those thoughts? He was never going to offer any woman commitment. Was the woman called Angelica the reason?

  ‘We seal the foil and let it bake while we drink cocktails and I give you the grand tour … What is it?’

  She pulled herself back and realised he was watching her, a groove between his brows.

  ‘Just thinking how much I’m going to miss …’ you ‘… being here.’

  ‘That’s good to hear because it means I’ve been successful in my job as tour guide.’ He rinsed his hands, then pulled two cocktail glasses brimming with something red and blue and exotic from the fridge.

  ‘That looks interesting.’

  ‘I like to experiment. I call this one Fijian Sky.’

  She took the proffered glass, then walked to the balcony, held the glass up against the vermilion-streaked sunset. ‘Perfect.’ Nic followed and she turned, clinked her glass to his. ‘To a tour guide extraordinaire and magical cocktail maker.’

  He nodded. ‘To muses.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She let the potent alcoholic flavour work its way down her throat. ‘Speaking of muses, are you going to show me your work?’

  ‘I’ve not been very productive of late.’

  ‘My fault. But I’m not going to apologise.’ Since he didn’t offer any further information, or offer to show her around, she prompted, ‘You have an office somewhere, I assume?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  When he didn’t move, she leaned closer, dragged a finger down his chest to his belt and stared up at him. ‘You’ve seen mine, it’s only fair you show me yours.’

  An answering smile touched his lips and his eyes turned molten. ‘Fair enough.’ He ru
bbed his lips over hers before leading the way through the spacious living area.

  The sound of water was everywhere, from the fountain to the salt-water infinity pool to an indoor garden in one corner with miniature waterfall.

  Charlotte admired the Fijian décor throughout, raked ceilings and mahogany louvred panels open to allow air circulation, casual furniture around locally inspired carved tables. ‘This is a beautiful home. Did you have a hand in designing it?’

  ‘I had an interior designer come in and renovate,’ he said as they climbed the stairs. ‘It was pretty run-down when I bought it.’ He flicked a switch and the room was filled with a cool ethereal glow.

  ‘Wow.’ She stared at the vast yet cluttered work space. A jumble of cables and computer paraphernalia took up half the room. Fantasy posters of alien landscapes covered every available wall surface. Metallic statues of mystical unearthly creatures with gleaming eyes of amber and blood-red stared at her from an array of bookshelves. A living vine of some sort grew in a pot by the window and wound its way across the ceiling.

  ‘Dom Silverman,’ she murmured, studying the multitude of awards above his computer. ‘Your pseudonym?’

  She noticed he hesitated at her mention of Silverman. Without comment, he switched on a computer and several screens lit up to form an almost 3-D landscape, alive with creatures and humans.

  She leaned closer, eyes narrowed. ‘Who’s that girl?’

  Damn. Nic had no idea how she’d persuaded him to show her his office, his work, so easily. His alter ego, Dom Silverman. Yes, he did—with one finger and a hot look, it seemed she could make him forget everything, including caution. ‘That’s Reena.’

  Charlotte peered closer. ‘She looks like me …’

  ‘Now that you mention it, she does. How about that?’ He clicked a button and Reena wrapped herself in a silvery cloak and promptly disappeared.

  ‘Well, bye bye, Reena,’ Charlotte murmured and sipped from her glass, still watching the screens. ‘So what’s happening in Reena’s world at the moment?’

  ‘Nothing much lately. I’ve been playing around with some ideas for turning the games into a book when I’ve finished.’ He gestured to the laptop he’d been working on for the past several evenings after seeing Charlotte to her bure. ‘I’ve been working on computer games for eighteen years. I’m thinking maybe it’s time for a change.’