by Romy Sommer
“There’s a third option.” She turned to the manager. “You have a back door?”
He nodded. “The staff entrance through the kitchen. It comes out into an alley. But any car turning in there is sure to be spotted by the crowd outside.”
She pulled her phone out of her purse and hit speed dial. “Frank, we need help. Can you meet us on the Old Bridge in fifteen minutes?”
She nodded and put the phone away. “He can make it in twenty.” She looked at Christian. “Two people leaving the staff entrance are less likely to attract attention than a car. Are you willing to risk it?”
He glanced towards the main entrance. They could hear the raised, shrill voices from there. “Risk is my middle name.”
The manager led them down a narrow corridor that smelled of fried onions and garlic, then through a bustling, crowded kitchen.
“No one sees anything,” the manager shouted in local dialect to the staff who’d stopped what they were doing to gawk. “Back to work!”
The noise and bustle resumed, and the manager let them out through a back door into the alley. In spite of the cold, the reek of decaying rubbish hung in the air.
“I am so sorry,” the manager said again, before pulling the metal door closed behind them.
Christian looked at her and laughed. “Welcome to my glamorous life.”
They walked to the end of the alley. Ahead of them, the river glittered silver in the moonlight. Tessa peeked around the corner, towards the crowd huddled outside the restaurant’s main entrance, heedless of the snow falling softly but steadily all around them. No one looked their way.
Her heart picked up its beat as adrenalin coursed through her. She’d never done anything like this before. The thrill was strangely invigorating.
“We turn right, then about a hundred metres further on the left there’s a flight of stairs down to the walkway along the river. It’ll most likely be deserted at this time of night,” she whispered.
Christian nodded. Then they stepped out into the main road and turned right, walking at an unhurried pace. There was no cry of alert, no footsteps chasing after them. They found the stairs and descended to the level of the river. The walkway was indeed deserted.
Christian breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
She shrugged, trying to appear composed even as her pulse still raced with adrenalin. She prayed the falling snow would obscure their footprints.
“It’s my job to keep you happy, isn’t it?” No way was she going to admit that sneaking out had been fun.
Nevertheless, he laughed softly, sounding pleased, as if he’d won some sort of victory over her. “So where do we go now?”
“Frank will meet us on the bridge.” She gestured to the shadowy stone arches ahead.
They walked slowly along the river’s edge in silence, their breath creating wispy clouds in the frosty night air. From downriver music floated on the icy breeze that wrapped around them, a soft, romantic ballad. In spite of the cold, it was a perfect night, like something out of an old black-and-white movie.
When they reached the bridge, they climbed another flight of stone stairs. There was no sign of Frank yet, so they walked half way across to lean on the stone parapet and wait.
A near-empty taxi boat passed beneath them, gliding through the darkness, and the cathedral bells began to peel in the distance, solemnly announcing midnight. She hadn’t realised it was so late. The evening had flown by.
“This city is magical,” Christian said, staring across the water to the illuminated façade of the magnificent Gothic cathedral. The cathedral where, on Valentine’s Day, she’d be walking down the aisle.
Stefan was due back in a few days. How was she going to explain to him that she hadn’t made time to collect his ring?
She could have sent Anna to collect the ring any time this last week. Should have. She didn’t know why she hadn’t.
Perhaps because if she had the ring she would have no excuse not to wear it. And if she wore it…
How was she going to explain to Christian that she had a fiancé who might want more than two minutes of her time? Or that in three weeks she was getting married? Why that even bothered her, she had no idea.
“This is a winter wonderland, and we have it all to ourselves.” Christian’s voice rang deep and resonant in the still night air, an actor’s voice, trained to seduce.
He stood close enough that she could feel his solid warmth, and smell the musky scent of his aftershave. She wanted to lean into him, to bury herself in his warmth and his smell.
She commanded her body not to be seduced by either sound or scent, and looked out over the river. Anywhere but at him. “You should see this city before Christmas, with the market stalls lined up on the river bank and carol singers everywhere. Or in the summer, when there’s music and dancing and beer.” She smiled. “Lots of beer.”
“I’ll have to come back in the summer. I can see why you don’t want to leave.”
She breathed in deeply, relishing the sting of the icy air as it filled her lungs, crisp and clean. Perhaps it was all the wine she’d drunk. Or perhaps it was the way his warmth seemed to draw her in, but she wanted to be as honest with him as he had been with her tonight. “Yes I love it, but you were right.”
“Of course I am. About what in particular?”
“I haven’t left Westerwald because I’m afraid.” Holidays in Greece or Spain didn’t count. She’d never been away from her homeland for more than a few weeks.
But Stefan was a diplomat. He could be posted abroad for months or even years at a time. She wanted to go, she wanted to see the world, yet at the mere thought of leaving the frightened knot in her stomach stretched tight.
She’d never discussed her fear with Stefan. Or with Fredrik.
Christian leaned his elbow on the parapet beside her, moving even closer, into her personal space. She fought the urge to shift away.
“Afraid of what?”
Afraid that if she left she wouldn’t come back. Afraid that without her security net, she’d crash and burn, as her mother had. “I can’t leave my father.”
“What does your father have to do with anything? You’re a grown woman.”
She drew in another deep breath of the steadying chill air. Its bite seared her throat. It was on a night much like this that her mother had left. It had been snowing and the ground was white. Tessa remembered padding out after her mother, dressed in nothing but her pyjamas, the ones with the pink rabbits on them, and her thick bed socks, crying to know where her mother was going.
Amalie had stood on the street corner, that same one where Christian had done his flying leap into her car a little over a week ago, and she’d blown Tessa a kiss. Then she’d picked up her suitcases and turned the corner, passing out of sight.
It was the only memory she had left of her mother and it wasn’t a happy one.
It had only been the two of them ever since, the workaholic father and the lonely child. If she left, he would be truly alone. And what would she have?
So she would create a new family, for the both of them, and she would never be lonely again. And one day, hopefully soon, when she had children of her own, she would cuddle them lots. She would make up for every hug she’d never had.
She shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice sounded oddly calm for the amount of emotion coursing through her. “My mother didn’t die. She left us. This country was too small for her. We were too small for her. She had big dreams and she wanted to fly. So she flew. And she never came back.”
“And in return you clipped your wings, too afraid to fly.”
She didn’t need Christian to state the obvious. Just as she’d never needed some therapist to tell her that she’d played it safe ever since. She stayed home and didn’t make waves because she was afraid of the fall-out, of tarnishing the family name and her own reputation, of disappointing her father. Of losing what little security she had left. And what was wrong with wanting to avoid a
ll that?
“My father needs me,” she said.
“You can’t live your life to please someone else. What is it you want to do with your life?”
Until recently, she’d had a very clear idea of what she wanted for her life. She’d had it all mapped out. The perfect husband, the perfect house, the perfect family. An extension of the life she lived now, all neatly tied up with a big fat bow.
She was mere weeks away from achieving everything she wanted. So why did it feel so hollow? Why did she wake in the night in a cold sweat, feeling trapped and wanting to break free? She didn’t even know what she wanted to break free from or where she wanted to go.
Tessa dug her frozen hands into the pockets of her camel cashmere swing coat, but it didn’t help. She’d left her gloves in the car. But the cold seemed to be coming from the inside out. She took her hands out of her pockets and blew on them.
“That’s the difference between you and me,” she said. “I don’t think only about myself.”
Christian took her hands in his. He wore no gloves either, but his hands radiated heat. “You’re cold as ice.” He massaged her numb fingers. Slowly life crept back into them.
And feeling. More feeling than she could cope with. She shut her eyes and blocked out the onslaught of emotion.
When she opened her eyes, she wished she hadn’t. Christian’s penetrating gaze was focused on her, and the understanding in their depths nearly undid her. Why did he have to look at her like that, as if he was trying to see inside her? Why couldn’t he be like other people and keep his distance?
She knew what people called her behind her back. The Ice Queen. But didn’t they know… ice was brittle. The slightest heat, the slightest pressure, and it cracked.
Her father was a strong man, a proud man, but they were so very much alike. Only she knew just how deep the scars of that long-ago winter’s night ran. Only she knew that another crack like that and the ice that held them together would shatter.
“Where is your mother now?” Christian asked.
“Buried somewhere in California, I believe. Her dreams didn’t quite turn out the way she hoped. She chased an illusion and when it failed her, she turned to drugs. She died of an overdose when I was fifteen.”
That was what happened when you thought only about yourself. You earned disgrace and dishonour. Amalie had lost her family, her friends, her social position and her wealth – and for what? An acting career that had never materialised.
That was not a mistake Teresa would ever make. Dreams were an illusion. Honour and family loyalty were all that mattered.
“I’m sorry,” Christian said.
She tossed her hair back. “I’m not. That’s what happens when you chase your own immediate gratification. She got what she deserved.”
She pulled her hands out of Christian’s. They were no longer frozen. But without Christian’s touch the numbness returned. She welcomed it.
It was better to be frozen than to feel.
Chapter 9
“You look like hell. Anyone else tell you that yet today?” Dominic popped the top off a beer bottle and handed it to Christian.
It was after lunch and they were stretched out on the sofas in Christian’s trailer waiting to be called to set for their big duel scene. Christian would do his own stunts, and Dom would stand in for the movie’s arch villain, a classically trained British actor who fenced but baulked at their more rough-and-tumble style of sword-fighting.
“Only you. Everyone else tells me I’m gorgeous.”
“It’s my pleasure. That’s what friends are for.”
Christian swigged from the bottle. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” More accurately, he hadn’t been sleeping at all.
Every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed of long pale legs wrapped around him, and the only way to take the edge off the thrum in his blood so he could sleep was to hit the gym.
He wasn’t sure when this had changed from being a punishment for her to being a torment for him.
Perhaps it had been trusting her with more of himself than he’d shown anyone in years. Or that moment beside the river when he’d caught a glimpse of vulnerability beneath her perfect façade.
Or perhaps it had been every day since, when she’d acted as if that night had never happened. She’d gone back to being distant and professional. He’d gone back to being a pain-in-the-ass movie star.
“Can I ask you something – do you think I’m a good actor?”
Dominic opened another bottle for himself and took a long swig. “As long as I’m working on your pictures, you’re the best.”
“I’m being serious. The studio wants to sign me up for another project. Want to guess what it is?”
Dominic rubbed his chin as he pretended to think. “Blockbuster superhero movie part twenty-seven?”
“Bingo! As if that hasn’t been done before.” Christian sighed. “Don’t you sometimes feel as if we’re just making the same movie over and over again?”
His friend shrugged. “They are all the same, but what does it matter? The box office loves you, the studios love you. We’re living well off these movies.”
“But five years from now, the fans won’t even remember the name of this movie.”
“Five years from now I won’t even remember the name of this movie.”
“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all?”
“Sure.” Dominic set his feet up on the coffee table. “What’s got into you?”
“Nothing.”
“How long has it been since you got laid?”
So long Christian had to think hard to remember. Certainly not since he’d met Teresa, in spite of the dates he’d asked her to set up for him. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could make love to one woman while thinking of another. And Teresa had taken to occupying way more time in his thoughts than he was willing to give.
Dominic laughed at his hesitation. “Good on Nina for making you work for it. You’re getting way too used to clicking your fingers and having everyone come running.”
“Not Nina.” Christian clamped his mouth shut, but not before Dom’s eyebrows shot upwards.
“Ah, the Ice Queen?”
Christian scowled. He didn’t want to feel this way about Teresa. She was one of Them.
Of course, he’d known it from the night they met. That air of superiority she wore like an invisible cloak, the lack of feeling. She belonged to that same set of upper-crust snobs who’d chased his mother out of Westerwald for no other reason than that she’d been an outsider, not one of them.
But even now it didn’t take more than a thought to conjure up the vision of that white-blonde hair spread loose and tousled across his pillow and Teresa smiling up at him. Not her usual cool, controlled smile, but that secret one he’d glimpsed so briefly, a look simmering with heat and desire.
He shoved the image away and took a long swig. He needed the alcohol almost as much as Dom did. Most of the time he appreciated his old friend treating him as he always had rather than as a big star. Today wasn’t one of those days.
Dom hadn’t taken it easy on him because the cameras were rolling, and he’d inflicted more than a few aches and pains during their morning fight sequence. Several hours of gruelling action, for the sake of a few minutes of screen time.
Christian swore and shifted in his seat. Even with the adrenalin still pumping, he ached all over. “Besides, she’s not my type.”
“All women are your type.”
“She never lets herself be real.”
“Yeah, and you’re a good one to talk!”
“She’s one of those bloody aristocrats, looking down her nose at everyone, like some sort of princess.”
If that magazine article was right, she’d been well on her way to being one too. She would have been perfect in the part. She already walked as if she owned the world, head high, shoulders back, not giving a damn what anyone thought of her.
“That’s your mother’s prejudice tal
king. You can take the boy out of Los Pajaros, but you can’t take Los Pajaros out of the boy. Do you have any more excuses?” Dominic took a swig from his beer.
Christian glared at him, but Dominic only laughed. “Have you considered you’re just mad cause she didn’t fall into your lap, and you’re not used to anyone saying no to you these days?”
Had he really become the ultimate cliché, wanting what he couldn’t have? Christian shrugged. “She didn’t say ‘no’ because I didn’t ask.”
“I never knew you to back down from a challenge.” Dom leaned forward, elbows on his knees and a twinkle in his eyes. “So ask! Just think – once you’ve had her, you can go back to getting some sleep.”
“It’s not that simple. The woman must be made of marble. None of the usual tricks work on her.” Either that or he really was losing his touch.
No matter what he did, Teresa remained aloof and out of reach. He’d tried charm. He’d tried arrogance. He’d tried ignoring her and playing hard to get. He’d even tried being friendly. But she still shied away from the slightest casual touch and lingering eye contact didn’t work on her either. Teresa barely blinked.
Usually he would have given up by now. No woman was worth the effort, and especially one of her kind. Yet Teresa Adler seemed to have a hold on him. Every day he spent with her, the desire in him burned more fiercely.
With an irrational intensity, he wanted to knock her down from that pedestal she lived on. He wanted to devastate her perfectly coiffed hair and melt the glacier and watch her feel real emotions for just once in her life.
Dominic was right. No one said “no” to Christian Taylor. No one but this uptight Ice Princess, who was so tightly wound she really needed to get laid. And he was more than happy to oblige.
But she was immovable. Impassive. Unreachable.
Dominic swigged from his beer bottle and grinned. They’d known each other long enough that he could read Christian’s moods. “Have I taught you nothing? Take the seduction into her corner. What is she interested in and what does she like to do?”
