Second Act

by Herkness, Nancy

  Because when he wasn’t working, he couldn’t stop thinking about the hours they’d spent together.

  He scoffed at himself over all the elaborate plans he’d made for yesterday, borrowing Gavin’s helicopter and mansion on the beach. Yes, he’d wanted to show her what resources he had at his fingertips now, even if they belonged to someone else. In some ways, not having to own what he needed was even more impressive. Why he thought Jess would care about any of that, he wasn’t sure. He’d just needed to prove something—to himself, not her, it seemed.

  But then he’d seen her on that dog bed, and his past had risen up to shake him by the throat.

  He couldn’t complain about the outcome. They had always been good in bed together, and he’d felt the old spark of attraction flare to life again almost from the moment he’d slammed into her in the alley. She must have felt the same magnetic pull between their bodies, but it shocked him a little that she’d given in to it. She wasn’t the sort to engage in sex for its own sake. With her it had meant there was something more going on. Which was why he hadn’t expected her to banish him from her life again when they said good-bye.

  At the time, though, his attention had been only on the way every curve and texture of her body, every sound and scent of her, had fanned his desire higher. He knew where to touch her and she knew where to touch him . . . and when. It had been not comfortable—because that was far too bland a word for the explosion between them—but maybe effortless, with no friction but the kind they required to climax. Their bodies melded together without thought.

  His cock stirred at the memory. Not a good thing when he could be called back on set at any time. He rubbed a hand over his face to clear away the images of Jess under him and over him and cradled between his legs in the bathtub.

  He took another sip of coffee to find it had cooled to an unpleasant lukewarm temperature. Walking to the kitchen, he dumped it down the drain and poured another steaming mug. He remained standing with his hip against the counter while he stared out the trailer window at the empty city sidewalk that could be anywhere in the world.

  Maybe that’s why he couldn’t banish Jess from his mind. Shooting on multiple locations always left him feeling disoriented. The lines between Hugh Baker and Julian Best blurred as he spent more and more time in character. Jess offered an anchor to reality. Always had, even back in the old days.

  Of course, then he’d gotten sucked into the world of Hollywood make-believe and wanted her to join him there, because it had cast its bedazzling spell over him. The truth was that he’d known on some level that he was selling out, and he took out his guilt over that on Jess.

  Yeah, he’d been a real asshole, but he thought he needed a woman who would be an accessory to his glorious rise to stardom, someone who would charm the directors and the studio executives. Of course, Jessica could do that in her own inimitable way, but he wanted her to be like everyone else in Hollywood—glitzy, worldly, and, truth be told, always playing an angle.

  He was relieved when someone banged on his door. All this introspection was depressing and something he’d learned to avoid. “It’s open,” he called.

  Bryan’s long-suffering assistant, Timoney, came up the steps. “We’re done for the night, so you can go back to the hotel.”

  “What about the duck boat scene in the harbor? Are we shooting it tomorrow night?” The weather was forecast to be even colder then, so he wasn’t enthusiastic about the postponement.

  “The scene’s been scratched. Bryan doesn’t like shooting in Boston. Bad angles, bad weather, bad permits.” She shrugged at the artistic whims of her boss. “He’s decided to rewrite those scenes for New York. We’re headed back there tomorrow. I assume your assistant will arrange your transportation. And you’ll have at least the morning off, because the writers need time to rework the script.”

  “Poor bastards. Bryan will have them up all night.” And then he’d have to learn the new script as quickly as possible. He just hoped they kept most of the same lines. Despite all that, his pulse quickened at the prospect of being back in the same city as Jessica.

  “He’s already ordered in four urns of coffee for them,” Timoney said.

  “Do I need to try to talk him out of this?” Hugh had sometimes used the leverage of his stardom to persuade Bryan out of hasty decisions that would cause major problems for the film.

  “Nah, I think it’s for the best,” Timoney said. “No one liked that duck boat scene, anyway. It was just there because we couldn’t get permits to film on the bridge like in the book. We can probably get a bridge in New York.”

  Hugh winced inwardly. That meant a whole new set of stunts, many of which he would do himself as a point of pride and authenticity. Despite his daily workouts with his trainer, at this point in the schedule, his body was beginning to feel the strain of being a super spy who had no fear of death or injury. “Then I will leave the writers to mainline coffee.”

  The door swung open again, and Meryl glided up the steps, wearing a ski jacket over the ruined blue evening gown that was her costume for the night. “Oh, I guess you heard. Back to the Big Apple.”

  “Good. I don’t have to notify you,” Timoney said, checking off something on her clipboard before she plodded back down the steps and closed the door.

  “Since we have tomorrow morning off,” Meryl said, her voice a low purr, “I thought we might do some sightseeing. I’ve never been to Boston before. Will you show me the sights?”

  If he’d been uninterested in Meryl’s advances before, he found them downright distasteful now. Not her fault, though. “My apologies, but I need to get some extra sleep. Makeup complained about the circles under my eyes this morning.”

  “Ah, that just adds to the dangerous edge of Julian Best,” Meryl said, tracing his cheekbone lightly with her fingertip. “All those ghosts haunting him.”

  He forced himself not to jerk away from her touch. “Chris O’Toole grew up in Boston. He’d be happy to tour the city with you.” Chris played the villain’s evil but conflicted sidekick in the movie.

  “Really?” Meryl was too subtle to pout, but he caught the fleeting look of frustration that crossed her face. “I didn’t know that about Chris. He’ll make a downright fascinating tour guide.” She flicked a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder. “I hear he’s gotten the lead in that psychological thriller Bryan’s making next.”

  “You sound surprised,” Hugh said.

  She made a wry face. “He’s not exactly leading man material, is he?”

  “Chris is very talented, and that’s what matters to Bryan.”

  “You can’t really believe that,” she said. “It takes a lot more than talent to succeed in this business.”

  “He’s got discipline and drive, too,” Hugh said.

  “But he’s not tough,” she said. “Not like the two of us.”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of Meryl’s club.

  “I’ll see you in New York,” Hugh said, giving her a little bow of dismissal.

  “I meant that as a compliment, baby,” she said, standing on tiptoe to brush her lips against his cheek before she made her exit, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Without conscious thought, he swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand, as though Jessica would be able to see some residue from Meryl’s kiss.

  What made his gesture even more ridiculous was that Jessica might not want to see him at all.

  Chapter 9

  Jessica had spent the whole workday waffling back and forth about whether she should cancel her date with Pete on Saturday. If she did, his expensive hockey tickets would be wasted. If she went to the game, he would believe that she was interested in him as more than a fellow sports fan.

  Now she strode along the slushy sidewalk toward her house with the debate still raging. She’d hoped the exercise and the cold would clear her mind, but so far, the circle continued. She decided that she would make a decision before she arrived at her house . . . and then s
tick to it.

  As she walked up the steps to her front door, she decided to go to the hockey game. Maybe more contact with Pete would start to banish her memories of Hugh.

  In truth, she hadn’t thought that Hugh would have such an impact on her, even given their recent intimacies. After all the misery and trauma of the end of their relationship, she should have been wiser about letting him get anywhere near her. Maybe if she conjured up some of the hurtful things he’d said and done, she would remember the real Hugh.

  She’d spent so much time trying to forget those awful incidents that it took some effort to open her personal Pandora’s box. When she did, the flood of emotion made her press her hand to her midsection as the pain hit her. A collage of limousine interiors whirled through her brain with Hugh sitting beside her in his tux or some other carefully chosen outfit as he told her what she’d said wrong at the ceremony or the party or whatever they’d just been to. He’d called it coaching and smiled about it. She, who had once thought of herself as an outgoing, friendly person, had become increasingly mute.

  His criticism had hit her hard, because the old Hugh had been her greatest cheerleader. When she agonized over a mistake she’d made at the animal hospital, he would point out all the reasons she couldn’t have known what to do or how someone else had put her in a difficult position. He had shown her how to forgive herself, a gift she treasured.

  She shook her head as a fresh wave of longing hit her. That part hadn’t been what she needed to remember.

  Pulling herself out of the past, she tried the door. One of the three locks was actually secured, which was progress, she supposed. “Hello, Aidan,” she called as she peeled off her gloves and shrugged out of her coat.

  “Oh, hell!” said a voice that was not Aidan’s. “What time is it?”

  “It can’t be . . .” She dropped her coat on the floor and practically ran into the living room.

  There Hugh was, standing on a ladder beside her brother, his left wrist raised to check his watch while he held a trowel in the other hand. Plaster dust whitened his hair, red T-shirt, and jeans. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” he said, giving her an apologetic look. “Let me just finish repairing this crack and I’ll get out.”

  “What on earth are you doing here in the first place?” Dismay—and an uncontrollable thrill of excitement—made her voice sharper than she wanted. How could she shove him out of her mind if he kept showing up in living, breathing full color?

  “I texted him for advice,” Aidan explained. “He said he had the day off from shooting so he’d show me how to properly repair the plaster.” He looked from one to the other of them. “Is that a problem?”

  “But I thought you were in Boston,” Jessica said, wishing her ex-fiancé didn’t look just as good in dirty jeans as he did in a tailored suit. That was one of the things that made Hugh so in demand as an actor: he could make any role seem intense and sexy, even a handyman.

  “Our esteemed director took a dislike to Boston and moved us back here. The writers stayed up all night tearing the script apart to set the scenes in New York.” Hugh shrugged, sending up a little puff of white dust. “They’re still hard at work, so I had some free time. Doing something constructive with my hands was an appealing alternative to sitting around waiting. I meant to be gone before you got home.”

  “Why does it matter if you’re here?” Aidan asked.

  “Because we’re not engaged anymore,” Jessica said. “So he shouldn’t be working on my house.” But she remembered that Hugh would often tackle a home improvement project to unwind from a difficult day at work on a movie set. He said it allowed him to use a different part of his brain. Maybe he really had planned to leave before she saw him there.

  “I don’t see what difference it makes,” Aidan said. “He’s good at this. Besides, it will increase the resale value of your house if you can say that the famous Hugh Baker plastered the walls.” He grinned, but neither of his listeners laughed.

  “Let me finish this up and then I’ll clear out.” Hugh turned back to smooth wet plaster over a crack that the wallpaper had covered up.

  “Chill, sis,” Aidan said, climbing down his ladder. “Your wall is going to look a lot better because he came over. This kind of repair takes skill and experience.”

  Jessica tried to quell the riot of her emotions, but it was impossible not to watch the ripple and flex of Hugh’s back muscles as he swept the trowel across the wall. She forced herself to return to the hall to hang up her fallen jacket. She closed the closet door and stood facing it as she took several deep, controlled breaths.

  “I’m done.” Hugh’s resonant voice came from close behind her, and she spun around. He ran his fingers through his hair, creating dark lines through the dust that clung to it. “I shouldn’t have come, but I needed to do something real. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “I overreacted,” she said, noticing the shadows clouding his turquoise eyes. “You were just being helpful. I ought to be grateful, as Aidan pointed out.”

  “No, you told me good-bye, and I should have respected that.” He gave her a rueful grimace. “I’m a slow learner when it comes to you, Jess.” He half turned away before shaking his head and facing her again. He squared his shoulders and fixed her with a direct gaze. “I’ve been thinking about our past a lot in the last couple of days. I owe you an apology for how I treated you eight years ago.”

  She held up her hand to stop him, but he continued. “I’m the one who destroyed our relationship.” He shoved his hands into his front pockets and looked down for a moment while Jessica tried to think of some way to halt the deluge of unwelcome apology.

  Hugh lifted his head again before she could speak. “I was so focused on succeeding in Hollywood that the minute I got a toehold, I hurled myself up the cliff face like a desperate man.”

  She had known that, even then, had sensed the desperation that had him in its grip. She had tried every way she knew to reach past that, searched for the right words to break through to the person she loved, but he was a man possessed, his gaze turned away from her and locked on the brass ring.

  “But I left behind the person who was most important to me. You,” Hugh continued. “Even worse, I hurt you. I can’t forgive myself for that.”

  “No more, please,” she said, her heart twisting in her chest. She didn’t want a contrite Hugh. She’d tried to tear him out of her heart eight years ago because she couldn’t bear the pain he’d inflicted on her. This remorseful Hugh would find his way back in all too easily. Then he’d revert to being a movie star and leave her bleeding on the floor again.

  “Jess, I wish I could go back and unsay all the terrible words I threw at you. All I can do is assure you that they weren’t true and I didn’t believe them even then. I should have apologized when it would have meant something.”

  “It means something now,” Jessica said. “More than you can imagine.” She still carried the scars from some of the ways he’d made her feel wrong. It helped to know that maybe she wasn’t.

  “I wish . . .” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and made a tiny gesture of futility. “I know too much time has gone by.” His mouth twisted into a travesty of a smile. “The one thing I could repair was your wall.”

  “You’ve repaired some other things, too,” Jessica said, her voice wavering slightly.

  He pressed a kiss on her forehead, his lips warm and gentle. “You were always a better person than I am.” Then he was out the front door in three strides.

  Jessica touched her forehead, still feeling the brush of his mouth on her skin.

  Hugh accepted the bottle of imported beer from Gavin Miller and went back to staring out the window into his friend’s Manhattan garden. “I shouldn’t have gone there without her permission,” he said.

  “Probably not,” Gavin said agreeably from somewhere behind him.

  Hugh took a swig of the beer and watched a pigeon pecking at the flagstone terrace two floors below him.
“I fully intended to be gone before Jess got home.”

  “Yet you stayed. I wonder what that could mean.” Gavin’s tone was sardonic.

  “It meant that I wanted to finish the job.” Hugh pivoted to see his friend sprawled on the leather sectional sofa, his long legs crossed at the ankles as he drank his own beer. “I wanted to give her something that I couldn’t just buy.” He lifted the bottle and his other hand. “To get my hands dirty.”

  “Well, according to our housekeeper, you also did a fine job of getting your clothes dirty,” Gavin said.

  Hugh chuckled. “Ludmilla practically ripped my filthy clothes off my body so she could wash them right away.”

  “Gavin—Hugh! I didn’t know you were here,” Gavin’s wife, Allie, smiled as she walked into the room, her bright red ponytail swinging with every step. “I hope you’ve come back to stay with us.”

  “Hugh’s just like a college kid.” Gavin tilted his head back to look up at his wife. “He only comes to our house to drink our liquor and do his laundry before he departs again.”

  People often commented that Hugh and Gavin could be brothers, and they indeed shared the same dark hair, height, and build. But Hugh knew it wasn’t their features that struck people as similar; it was the stark, almost harsh angles that cast shadows on their faces. They’d both grown up without love in their younger lives, and it showed in the depths of their eyes and the set of their jaws. Yet when Gavin’s gaze rested on his wife, all the lines and edges of his countenance seemed to blur with tenderness.

  Allie sent a smile across the room toward Hugh. “Your laundry will just add to the value of our house if we ever decide to sell it.”

  “It doesn’t have quite the cachet of ‘George Washington slept here,’ I’m afraid,” Hugh said.

  “Well, I’d rather have you than boring old George,” Allie said. “I wish I could hang around and talk, but I have a patient to see.”