by Maggie Cox
‘All right. Why don’t you pull up a chair?’
The book in her hand, Freya did just that. With a soft sigh she opened the slim volume and flicked idly through the pages. Pages that already appeared well thumbed and scrutinised.
‘I love the story because it’s about a woman who was only too human—even when to the eyes of the world she was a frightening success. Then she made a mistake…a mistake that came about because she wanted ultimately to do good…not bad. And she was doubly punished for it…both by outside forces and herself.’ Sweeping her hand through her long hair, Freya lifted her gaze to Nash. ‘I know what Nikita must have felt like when she lost the one thing she felt she was good at…the passion that had driven her life for so long. And I know what it feels like to lose the respect and support of friends and colleagues because they’ve judged that you’ve made a wrong decision…a “bad” decision. I know intimately how that feels.’
‘So you really want to go for this part?’ Inside Nash’s stomach was a curiously hollow ache. He had judged her too…he couldn’t forget that.
‘More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything else…yes. When we get back home, will you arrange it?’
‘Of course…that’s a promise.’
‘So…’ Closing the book, Freya met his gaze. ‘What shall we do today?’
‘Do you want to get out of here? Go some place for lunch, perhaps?’
‘Can we do that?’
Now passion was replaced by hope, and Nash realised how difficult it must have been for her, feeling as though she was a prisoner in her own home—unable to accomplish even the simplest outing to the shops or an appointment, too afraid to go anywhere in case she was pursued by an insatiable story-hungry press. People who were generally looking to present her in an even worse light than they had already…
‘As a matter of fact, we can. I’ve got some friends in town who run a small bistro. They’re good people, and I think I can safely say they won’t be ringing up the local newspaper as soon as you set foot in the place.’
‘But what about the other customers? I don’t want to feel as though I’m some exhibit in a freak show!’
‘That won’t happen. It’s a very small bistro…just two or three tables. Celine and Denis will agree to close it to other customers for an hour or two while we’re there.’
Freya visibly relaxed. ‘Okay. So we’ll have lunch there. In the meantime, I think I’ll take advantage of the pool and do a few laps.’
Rising to her feet, she was about to turn and leave when Nash lightly grabbed her hand.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine. If you’re referring to last night, you can relax. I’m not one of those temperamental women who sulk when things haven’t gone her way. We’re both here for very good professional reasons…let’s not forget that. We don’t want to sully our time together with any personal awkwardness that will make it difficult to work together, do we? Can I have my hand back now? I want to go and change.’
‘I just want you to know that I didn’t take what happened last night lightly.’ His voice was a little gruff, and Nash recognised his own awkwardness at being unable to adequately explain his feelings…to make Freya realise he was sincere.
‘You don’t have to explain.’
She tugged on the hand he held, and reluctantly Nash freed it.
‘I think I do.’
His words almost made Freya stumble. She’d been torturing herself with the idea that he’d made love with her purely out of physical attraction alone, and she hated the way that made her feel somehow unworthy of any deeper regard than that. Now, finding herself the intense focus of his penetrating azure gaze, she prayed he wasn’t going to explain away what had happened with some trite excuse that would make her feel even worse.
‘You’re an enchanting woman, Freya. Much more enchanting than I think you realise. And I’m not just talking about the beautiful actress here…I’m talking about the woman behind the roles she plays…the real you.’
Her breath hitched a little as Freya slowly let it out, silently hoping, praying, that the deeply touching words were sincere.
‘I woke up this morning with your scent all over my body and I didn’t want to shower it off…I swear to God.’ His hand lifted to lightly touch her hip in the thin cotton dress.
Freya felt as if she’d received an electrical charge so strong it had rendered her limbs as weak as a newborn lamb’s. She found herself fervently hoping he would continue to touch her like that…to tease her and perhaps seduce her as he’d done last night. It wouldn’t take long for her to be ready for him. The thought turned her cheeks scarlet.
Just then a light, tantalising breeze smelling of sweet herbs and Mediterranean sunshine stirred a lock of his sand-gold hair and lifted it away from a brow that denoted strength and passion in equal portions. To her intense surprise, Freya glimpsed what she believed to be a provocative suggestion of vulnerability, and her heart squeezed at the sight.
‘Could you handle me wanting to know the real man behind the public relations expert, Nash?’ she asked softly, all her senses begging her to touch him too—to reacquaint herself with the reassuring iron strength beneath that silken golden flesh of his. His hand stilled for a long moment against her hip, then he slowly withdrew it. Freya held her breath, believing he was going to deflect her attention yet again.
‘The “real” man?’ His wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Forgive me if I’m a little rusty at knowing who that is.’
‘You can trust me.’ Now it was her turn to catch his hand and hold it. Bending a little towards him, she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the fine golden hairs crossing the back of his palm and gave him a cheeky grin. ‘I promise I won’t break your heart if you tell me all your secrets.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ Before she could glean what he had in mind, Nash had turned his hand to grip hers, and with a firm hard pull he’d tipped her straight into his lap. ‘What if I don’t believe you?’ he suggested seriously, his warm breath drifting over her mouth.
Astounded by the very idea that she might be possessed of the power to ever accomplish such a thing— Freya automatically closed her eyelids as Nash tauntingly touched his lips to hers and kissed her—all disagreement and hurt forgotten as she surrendered to the captivating moment instead…
Celine and Denis seemed enchanted by Freya from the moment they saw her. They were not the kind of couple who were easily impressed by celebrity or success either. In their late fifties, they had raised a large family and run a lucrative eatery for many years now, and were known to take people as they found them. But Nash could see that as soon as Freya started to chat unselfconsciously with them—about the restaurant, their family, and their much-loved historical town—she immediately endeared herself to the couple.
Watching her—seeing her laugh and smile and be so complimentary about the admittedly great food they were served—Nash realised she had a gift for bringing out the best in people. The warmth of her nature couldn’t be faked—no matter how good an actress she was—and again he thought it was criminal how low she had been brought by her ex. But she had come on in leaps and bounds over the past couple of days, he considered, and now, with the promise of that all-important audition for a much-wanted film part, Nash saw no reason why her life shouldn’t be entering a new, much more positive phase.
As for himself, he was finding it extremely difficult to be as detached as he should be where she was concerned. Even more so since they’d made love. With every smile that came his way, every provocative grin, Freya was threatening to break down every damn barrier he’d ever erected. Now he was jealous whenever her attention was diverted by anything else…and that included even scenery as well as other people. It disturbed him to realise how involved he was becoming. Up until now Nash had never let emotions dictate where relationships were concerned, and that was the way he liked it. It was a way of being he understood…a way to have most of the pleasure and a
lmost none of the pain. Now Freya was pushing buttons in him that he hadn’t even known he had, and there seemed to be no let-up.
‘You look like you have a lot on your mind today.’
Her glance was slightly quizzical as she faced him across the bright red and white gingham tablecloth, and he noticed that the sun had brought out two or three very appealing freckles on her nose. His attention further diverted by her pretty mouth, he felt heat swirl like a small but lethal cyclone inside him.
‘You could be right.’ He nodded slowly.
‘Are you regretting taking me on?’ she enquired lightly, but she wasn’t quick enough to hide the doubt that crept into her eyes.
‘Where did that idea come from?’
‘Well…you’ve brought me here, to your own private little hideaway, and you can’t even go where you really want to go because you’ve got to think of me. That can’t be much fun.’
Remembering that smouldering kiss they’d shared beside the pool this morning, followed by the blood-stirring sight of her in a scarlet swimsuit, and then vividly bringing to mind the way those endlessly long legs of hers had been wrapped round him only just last night, Nash seriously wondered if there was anything else that could possibly have given him more pleasure…or been more ‘fun’.
‘I take my work seriously, Freya. It’s my job to think of you twenty-four-seven while we’re here together.’
It was his job to think of her? Already sensitive to the way words could hurt, Freya sensed something inside her die at Nash’s coolly voiced answer. She could hardly believe he’d described their relationship in such a detached and unemotional way. If she’d been in any doubt before that her sleeping with him had meant anything, then she had just had those doubts thoroughly confirmed. She was just another job to him—nothing else—no matter how enchanting he professed her to be. She’d be purely crazy to hope for more from him. Trouble was…she guessed it was already too late to tell that to her heart.
‘How admirable that you’re so dedicated!’ she said sarcastically, her stomach wrapped in a vice of hurt. ‘My uncle certainly chose the right man for the job when he picked you to help me, Nash!’
‘Hell!’ His riveting blue eyes glittered with frustration as he threw his linen napkin down on the table.
‘Yes… I’ve been there too… Shall we go now?’
‘Sure…if that’s what you want.’
‘I do.’
‘I’ll tell our hosts that you said au revoir.’
Turning away from her, Nash got to his feet and went to find the couple before leaving. As she waited at a side door that led out into the narrow alleyway, next to a bright, eye-catching watercolour of the bistro with its blue and yellow striped awning, Freya tried not to let emotion overwhelm her. She told herself all she had to do was hang onto her composure and remember that ultimately Nash was in her life to help her gain some positive publicity to rebuild her career—not to have a personal relationship with her. Their having sex—she wouldn’t call it making love now, after what he had said—was just something that had happened, some natural animal instinct that had arisen between them spontaneously because of their enforced closeness, and probably a one-time only deal. Her main focus now should be getting herself into a good enough frame of mind to go for that precious audition—and Freya was determined she would win the part too. There was no doubt in her mind that it was the opportunity of a lifetime.
‘Ready?’
Suddenly Nash was at her side, opening the door for her and placing a guiding hand beneath her elbow. Freya wished she couldn’t so easily detect the heat and disturbing masculine scent of his body, because it made it so hard to stick to her new resolve to be cool and distant with him. But when she glanced at his too-compelling profile she saw by the rigidity in his lean, carved jaw that he appeared equally resolved to be aloof with her. Already low, her heart sank even further. She’d believed they’d been making such headway in their relationship, but now she could see she must have been wrong about that.
They started to walk down the quiet street. Most of the little shops with their typically French signs were now closed for the traditional lunchtime break, and they walked with notable space between them, careful not to touch, as though they were indeed work colleagues instead of one-time lovers…
‘Freya!’ The sound of her name on a stranger’s lips pierced the air, and before she realised her mistake Freya had spun round to see where the shout had come from.
Suddenly she was surrounded by flashing camera bulbs, the lights almost blinding her with their white-hot glare, making her raise her hands to shield her face from their almost violent intrusion, feeling dizzy and disorientated.
A strong arm gripped her by the waist and Nash started to lead her away from the gathering throng, shouting furiously behind him, ‘Give her a break, can’t you?’ followed by what Freya imagined must be the same sentence in fluent, equally furious French.
‘I thought you said we could trust your friends?’ she burst out bitterly as they hurried over the uneven path, her sense of betrayal stinging worse than a cut from a blade.
‘This isn’t Celine or Denis’s doing…I’d swear an oath on it!’ Nash’s arm gripped her even more tightly round the waist.
Suddenly they were jostled viciously from behind. Lashing out to protect Freya from the frenzy of invading bodies, Nash was caught up in a tussle with two thuggish-looking photographers. Without his support she lost her balance and pitched helplessly forward onto the pavement. Her hands went out just in time to save herself, but she still landed hard on her knees. The impact seemed to knock all the breath from her lungs, and for what seemed like interminable moments she lay there on the cold, damp concrete, her heartbeat going wild and her knees burning with fiery pain. Behind her Nash let out a torrent of enraged invective, then he was urging her slowly and carefully to her feet as she heard the paparazzi start to head en masse in a joint sprint back the way they’d come.
Freya couldn’t stop shaking. Her white dress was covered in dirt and stained on the hem with the blood that was oozing from her cut knees. Her smooth palms were also embedded with grit from the road.
‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’ Nash demanded urgently, his blue eyes hard with concern and his face grey as his hand curled tightly and possessively around her bare arm.
‘I don’t think so. Please…’ Freya begged, knowing that tears were dangerously close. ‘Just take me home.’
He’d taken her back to the farmhouse, tenderly cleaned the blood from her cut knees and put dressings on them, then given her some brandy to help her get over the shock. He could hardly believe what had happened.
As soon as he’d got Freya to go and lie down for a while he was immediately on the phone to Fleet Street in London and to press offices in Paris and Lyon to try and discover who had sent out the order to pursue her. Heads would roll…he was determined about that. The look on her stunned face when Nash had picked her up from the pavement would probably be engraved on his soul for ever. It had been a stunned reflection of immense hurt and confusion at being betrayed yet again by the human race. Not that Nash considered some members of the paparazzi anywhere near human after what had happened today. With the uncontrollable way they had behaved—like some bloodthirsty, unintelligent rabble—it was a wonder that Freya hadn’t been hurt even worse!
Now he knew they probably couldn’t remain where they were. If the press had found out their general location already, then they would more than likely already know the whereabouts of the farmhouse…isolated though it might be. No. It was time to get back to London. His heart acknowledged his deep regret about that, but then sheer pragmatism took over and he realised that he could protect her better there. Nash would be insisting that Freya stayed with him at his apartment on their return. There was no way he was going to let her go home on her own and face a similar rabble unprotected. Already he felt more than responsible for her suffering injury…
She’d packed her bags as Nash had
instructed last night, sad on two counts. Firstly that he hadn’t sought to comfort her in the way she ached for and still seemed to be keeping her at a distance, and secondly because she wished they could stay longer. The sunshine had been such a balm after the depressingly rainy skies of London, and she wasn’t in a hurry to relinquish it. The beautiful rustic farmhouse and the lush surrounding valley had indeed represented a kind of haven. But yesterday a serpent had entered her paradise in the form of invading paparazzi, and if they tracked her down to the farmhouse they would give her no peace.
Now Freya’s only consolation on returning to the UK was the prospect of attending the audition. The thought rang curiously hollow for a moment but she refused to pursue the reason why.
Arriving in the kitchen for breakfast, she immediately settled her gaze upon the stack of newspapers piled on the tabletop. On the other side of the room some coffee was brewing in the canary-yellow percolator, sending out a delicious hunger-inducing aroma, but there was no sign of Nash. Wincing a little at the pain, and trying to ignore the aching stiffness in her legs and forearms—the result of yesterday’s fall—Freya picked up the top newspaper and scanned the headlines. She saw the photograph of her and Nash before she could comprehend the accompanying words. Distress was clearly evident on her shocked face, but it was Nash’s heart-stopping visage that riveted her even more. The photograph had captured him with his arm tightly circled round her waist, and he looked both possessive and fierce. All the moisture seemed to dry up inside her mouth.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ he asked behind her, in that smoky bar-room voice of his.
She spun round, her heart bumping against her ribs at the sight of him in faded jeans and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back to expose his tanned forearms.
