The Price of Fame

by Anne Oliver

  ‘With your game’s success, a publisher’s bound to snap it up.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to publish it. Maybe it’s more of a hobby. Like your underwear.’

  ‘Lingerie.’ She smiled. ‘How did you get involved in computers?’

  ‘When I was thirteen, the school ran a contest to design the school’s website. I don’t want to sound as if I’m blowing my own trumpet, but a teacher saw my potential and arranged for me to work in an office off the staff room outside of lesson times.’

  ‘Darling, you can blow your trumpet any time you like.’ She did that erotic thing with her finger again, except this time she didn’t stop at his belt.

  Eyes fused with hers, he gripped her hand and pressed it against his burgeoning erection. ‘The prize was a computer.’

  ‘And naturally you won.’

  ‘Naturally.’ He set his glass on the desk so he could run his other hand along the tops of her full breasts. ‘I love when you wear this sarong …’

  ‘I know.’ Her voice was a husky purr, tempting him to unwind it and—’But … I think I smell our dinner burning.’

  ‘Damn.’ It wasn’t the only thing burning.

  She stepped back, laughter mingling with the heat in her eyes. ‘I’m so looking forward to it.’

  He was too, and it wasn’t dinner he was thinking about. But then, she already knew that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY ate on the balcony with tea lights flickering in red glasses and fluorescent purple fairy lights strung along the balcony. The flames from the kerosene torches on the beach soared in the distance, the songs from the evening’s Meke drifted on the air.

  The fish was delicious, the wine chilled and fruity, the company perfect. Charlotte stirred sugar into her after-dinner coffee. The tropics would soon be a world away and, as much as she loved it here, her home was amongst the vineyards and close trusted friends. She craved the familiar and comfortable. Nic didn’t fit into her cosy picture.

  With his islander shirt and golden tan and idyllic lifestyle, Nic belonged in this place he’d made his home. Who could fail to be lured by the South Pacific’s magic?

  ‘You love it here, don’t you?’ she said, picking up her cup.

  He leaned back on his chair, arms behind his head, an ankle resting on one bronzed thigh. ‘I love the freedom and lifestyle. I can leave the windows open, come and go as I please. Sleep when I want or work all night. No one bothers me here.’

  She noticed something dark flicker in the depths of his eyes at his mention of the last. ‘You enjoy your solitude?’

  ‘Sure I do.’ His lips were set in a smile but his facial muscles tensed in a subtly different way.

  She sipped slowly, watching him over her cup. When he was around people he was charming and attentive, romance was his forte. But when it came to anything deeper there was a barrier he wasn’t ready or willing to lower.

  She wanted to know why. She needed to know that there wasn’t something inherently wrong with her that men didn’t want to get involved. Or was she being overly sensitive? Because Nic couldn’t have been more explicit about where they stood relationship-wise on their first night together here.

  ‘You don’t want a special someone to share your life?’

  Any pretence at a smile he’d had, faded. ‘I thought I made that clear.’ He pushed off his chair and walked to the railing where the evening breeze fluttered his hair and a bamboo wind chime.

  She remained seated but followed him with her gaze. Given a choice, how could anyone not want the comfort of loved ones around them? Seeing his solitude had made it so clear to her how much she missed her family. How much she wanted that feeling of connection and closeness again in the future. ‘Ever?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ve been through all that.’

  She heard the warning tone but she couldn’t let it go. ‘That’s just sad.’ She saw the tension stiffen his shoulders and said softly, ‘Was your family life so b—?’

  ‘That’s enough.’ He swung to face her. His eyes were dark, impenetrable.

  ‘No. You know about mine. Why are you so defensive? Why do—?’

  ‘It was only Mum and me, okay? When she bothered to come home.’ He looked stunned, as if he hadn’t intended to spill that information.

  ‘Oh …’ She trailed off, unable to imagine such a scenario and unsure how to respond. ‘Working …?’

  His mouth was a flat line, his jaw tight as a fist. ‘Yeah, she worked, she worked damn hard. Then spent it playing poker and who knows what else, forgetting she had a son waiting at home for her.’

  Charlotte wanted to hug the little boy he’d been, to comfort the man he was now, but she knew those were the last things he’d want from her, so she remained where she was. ‘That must have been difficult.’

  Nic shrugged. Then sighed. Charlotte was right. He’d fought to keep his past where it belonged but those defences were crumbling, the memories flashing back as if it were yesterday. He wanted to bury his face in her neck until it passed.

  With Charlotte he found himself sharing things he’d never told anyone. ‘I learned to cope. Even when she was alive, I was travelling solo. I guess at the very least you could say she taught me independence.’

  ‘Were you living at home when she died?’ Her tone was tentative.

  ‘Technically, yes, but it was more the other way around—she was living with me. I hit the big time with my computer games when I was still in my teens. Money was no longer the problem.’

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with sadness, clouds on a soft rainy morning. ‘Oh, the poor thing. Was she ill for a long time?’

  He stared at her a beat before he realised she didn’t get him at all. ‘Save your sympathies—she wasn’t sick a day in her life. She came out of the pub one day and stepped in front of a bus. Too busy counting her winnings—or more likely her losses—to pay attention to road rules.’

  She blinked, obviously shocked. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. I can’t honestly say I missed her because I never saw her. From as far back as I remember, her life’s routine never changed. Gone first thing in the morning, back at midnight.’

  ‘Even when you were a kid?’

  His mother was one thing but the dark days of his childhood were not up for discussion. He looked away, focused on the empty blackness of the sea and found it entirely appropriate. ‘As I said, it taught me to rely on myself, by myself.’

  He turned back to see her eyes still soft and sad, and, clenching his fists at his sides, he fought the mad impulse to reach out to her. Mad because she was trying to replace that loss with herself. She was a family girl looking for a family; something he couldn’t give her. ‘I don’t know how to be any other way, babe.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because you’ve never tried.’ She stood up and walked over to him, laid a hand on his arm. ‘Maybe that’s why you created the fantasy world,’ she murmured. ‘To compensate for what’s lacking in your life.’

  His lungs constricted at her perceptive insight into his innermost self. ‘My life’s just fine, thanks.’

  She leaned back against the railing so that she could look him dead in the eye. ‘What happened with … Angelica, was it?’

  ‘How the hell …?’

  She flicked a hand. ‘Tenika might have mentioned her name. And the word “bad”. In the same sentence.’

  ‘God, a man can’t leave two women together for less than a minute—’

  ‘Nic. She cares about you. And you may not want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway so you’ll just have to deal with it. So do I.’

  Her eyes were wide and clear, her voice strong and determined yet at the same time filled with an offer of comfort, or at the very least a willingness to listen, whether he wanted to accept it or not. And he realised she’d risked his displeasure or worse. Because she cared. Something warm and unfamiliar slid through him. She deserved something of him in return.

  ‘Remember that first morning h
ere I accused you of spying in my garden?’ He looked away, out to sea. ‘You can blame Angelica for my paranoia.’ Even the name still sent a shudder down his spine. ‘The woman had beauty and brains. Enough intelligence to steal my work and enough audacity to pass it off as hers.’

  ‘Oh, Nic, that’s appalling.’

  ‘Make no mistake, I got it back through the courts.’

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘At a conference in the States. She was a computer programmer from Sydney.’

  ‘You were lovers?’

  He glared at her. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I wondered only because I can’t imagine anyone doing that to someone they cared about.’

  ‘That’s just it, she never did—care, that is. It was all about the games, and how she could use me. That’s when I decided to take another name and write my Utopian trilogy. Nic Russo no longer exists in online gaming.’ Pulling out his mobile, he rang through to Reception.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Arranging for your luggage to be brought up and checking you out.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You’re staying here with me tonight.’

  Moments later, in his bedroom, his fingers rushed to peel the sarong from her body as he’d been itching to do all evening. But as he looked into her eyes, the need for speed was replaced by a new demand that was no less urgent. The need not only to claim, but to possess.

  Passion rose as haste slowed. Time to absorb the drift of silky skin against his palms, the warmth of her breath mingling with his own, her lush curves that melted against him like sun-warmed honey. Just a woman, but the sensations shivered through him like quicksilver over smooth onyx.

  Charmed.

  The glow from the fairy lights outside his window bathed her in the mysteriously alluring shades of indigo and magenta, making him willing to forget why he’d never had a woman in this room since Angelica.

  Her eyes were clear as still water, reaching inside him and touching the secret places in his heart that no woman had ever come close to. Understanding, accepting.

  ‘Charlotte …’ His murmur was low and heartfelt as he skimmed his hands over the slope of her breast, the flare of her hips. It wasn’t for ever, but for tonight—one last night—he would take everything she offered.

  Charlotte didn’t want Nic to take her to the airport. Saying goodbye to this magical island was hard enough, saying goodbye to Nic, effectively ending their time together, all but impossible.

  So she slid out of his bed before dawn, dressed quickly in the dimness, then rang for a taxi downstairs and slipped back to the resort’s reception area a two-minute walk away. She’d send him an email or text to let him know she’d arrived home safely. And that would be the end of it.

  A few hours later, in the airline’s business lounge at Tullamarine, ten minutes before her flight to Adelaide was due to board, she tapped in Suzette’s number on her mobile. ‘Hi, Suz, I’m back. Or in Melbourne at least.’

  ‘Well, it’s about time.’ Charlotte heard the smile in her best friend’s voice. ‘You did tell me not to call so I didn’t.’

  ‘And I appreciate it.’

  ‘I know you needed the time to think about everything, but I thought about you while I froze through two of the coldest weeks this winter. Those golden beaches and hot tropical nights. Please tell me you had a wild romantic fling with some gorgeous guy and you’ve forgotten all about that creep who didn’t deserve you.’

  Charlotte knew Suzette wasn’t entirely serious because the Charlotte Suzette knew would never have done such a thing. ‘Uh-huh.’

  There was a stunned pause. ‘What? What? Fill me in now,’ she demanded. ‘What’s his name and what does he do?’

  ‘Nic Russo.’ Just saying his name made her heart skip a beat. ‘He writes computer games; the interactive, out-of-this-world kind. If you look up Utopian Twilight you’ll see what I mean—amazing. He’s amazing and—’ She realised she was talking too fast, gushing in fact, and pressed those wayward lips together.

  ‘And …? Where’s he from? Are you seeing him again?’

  ‘He …’ Reality check, Charlotte. He doesn’t want what I want. There’s nothing for us. A band tightened around her chest and her eyes blurred suspiciously. ‘No, I’m not seeing him again. It was a fling, Suz. That wild romantic fling thing.’

  ‘Yeah, but …’

  ‘It’s over. Finished. Isn’t that what you told me to do? Forget the creep and enjoy myself and come back a different woman? I took your advice.’ And would live with the consequences. ‘I’ll be home by tonight if you want to come round. I’ve got an idea for a fashion show to raise funds for a Fijian school I visited.’ And I could sure use the company. But she didn’t say it because it would make losing Nic more real when he’d never been hers to lose.

  ‘Love to, Charlie, but I’m still in the Riverland at the bridal fashion seminar. I’ll be back soon. I’ll let you know as soon as. In the meantime, email me some details on the show. I’d love to be involved.’

  ‘Okay.’ Charlotte caught the downbeat tone in her own voice and forced a smile, suddenly desperate to end this call before she spilled her guts. ‘Catch up with you then.’

  As Charlotte disconnected a young woman in a business skirt and white blouse rose from a nearby seat and approached with a smile. Charlotte recognised her instantly from Adelaide’s social events. Great, the press; just what she didn’t need.

  ‘Ms Dumont, welcome back. I was sorry to hear about your recent split with Mr Edwards. What—?’

  ‘Our lives took different directions.’ Charlotte concentrated on sliding her phone into her bag. ‘Changed priorities. That’s all I have to say on the matter.’

  ‘How did you enjoy Fiji?’

  ‘It was great, thanks.’

  Bright blue eyes gleamed with speculation. ‘What are your plans now?’

  ‘I really don’t have … Wait …’ Maybe she could use the press to her advantage for a change. ‘I intend hosting a charity event soon, to raise money for a Fijian school. I’ll be making an announcement to the Adelaide press soon.’

  ‘Any particular reason for your ch—?’

  ‘That’s all for now.’ Gathering her luggage together, she began walking. ‘I have a flight to catch.’

  Nic frowned at his black computer screen while he fiddled with a miniature paper dragonfly on his desk. Charlotte had left without a word. Walked out of his life without a backward glance. Hadn’t even left a note—just the imprint of her head on the pillow and her lingering fragrance. He sent the dragonfly soaring across the room.

  So what was wrong with that scene? Why did his morning seem heavy with cloud when the sun was shining cheerfully on the palms outside his window? After all, wasn’t he habitually guilty of the same casual morning-after behaviour?

  It was wrong because he’d not been the one with the final say.

  So he told himself he’d taken a long-overdue break. He’d enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman, now it was time to get back to work. He clicked keys, waited impatiently for his world to load. The screen lit up, the familiar scene appeared and he was home. In control. Supreme Commander of his Universe.

  Scene: maroon sky, blood-red moon, splinters of obsidian thrusting skyward. Onyx One, chained to the sheer cliff. Screaming wind blowing up from the volcano’s fiery furnace below. Reena to the rescue on a winged amethyst creature, hair flying behind her, golden sword held high in one hand …

  Charlotte.

  Swearing, he shoved at the desk, his chair rolling back over the parquetry floor. He ploughed his hands through his hair and ordered himself to cool it. But all he could see was Charlotte in his bed, her beautiful body spread across his sheets like liquid gold, her gaze intense, her hands all over him wielding her signature brand of charm.

  And last night he’d let his mouth run away with his common sense and told her things about himself he’d never told anyone.

  Work, he reminded him
self, pushing all erotic thoughts and bad judgements and trust issues away. He had a program to write and by God he was going to do it.

  His determination paid off and he worked solidly for the rest of the day and well into the night, only rolling into bed for a couple of hours’ sleep before doing it all again.

  Late in the afternoon on the following day, he rewarded himself with a swim, then sat in the shady surrounds to catch up with the real world in the day’s local newspaper.

  But on page three, his own face stared back at him, beside a large graphic that could have been plucked from one of his games. The caption read, Dom Silverman: The Secret World of Nic Russo? Included in the article was a small photo of him and Charlotte on board a yacht and speculation about their relationship.

  He didn’t bother to read it. Betrayal stabbed at him, its black stain spreading like sin in front of his eyes as he wrenched upright and snatched up his mobile.

  When her phone rang and Charlotte saw Nic’s number, her heart stopped, then began pounding. How many times in the last twenty-four hours had she started to ring him before reminding herself Nic didn’t want anything more meaningful than what they’d had?

  Then remembering how she’d left him without a word, she pressed the connect button with a mix of excitement and apprehension. ‘Hello, Nic. Did you get my text—?’

  ‘Why, Charlotte?’ The words weren’t what she’d expected, nor were they spoken in that sexy tone she’d grown so accustomed to hearing; they were tight and remote and filled with such cold anger a chill shivered down her spine.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her hands started to tremble; she pressed her free hand against her heart. ‘I thought it was the best way, under the cir—’

  ‘Was it for the money? Your inheritance not what you expected?’ His sarcastic tone tore at her sudden fragility.

  ‘What are you talking about?’