So, where did that leave her?
Up the proverbial creek without a paddle…
“I don’t think Missy approved of my being here,” Cammie admitted after several tense moments. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“Want a drink?” Ty asked.
“Umm…no, thanks.” Cammie was slightly surprised, since Ty had been a virtual teetotaler since she’d arrived, and he’d never offered her a drink past that first night.
“I need one,” he stated flatly, as if expecting her disapproval.
“Go ahead.”
“Thanks. I’m glad I have your permission.”
Cammie slid him a look. “Ouch. Why are you mad at me?”
His answer was a long sigh, and when he returned to take the seat across from her, a newly uncapped beer in his hands, she realized he looked completely done in.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head, then ran a hand around the back of his neck in a peculiarly sensual movement that caused Cammie’s eyes to follow his movements hungrily. She didn’t know what to do with Ty. How long to stay. What to say. With each passing minute she felt more and more like the “uninvited” that she was, and yet she couldn’t get up the gumption to leave. She wanted something more.
“I guess I just realized how little I wanted to be involved with Missy,” he said heavily.
Since Missy had spent the last hour chattering away and offering innuendoes that she and Ty were seeing each other hot and heavy, and Ty had spent the same amount of time not refuting her, but gazing at her in a way that called her a liar, Cammie could have guessed that their relationship whatever it had been—was long over.
Missy had finally worn down and stopped talking, unable to sustain the fiction without some kind of help from Ty. Cammie had felt a bit sorry for her, but deep inside, a selfish piece of herself was just plain glad Missy wasn’t her competition.
Which was insane, since she, Cammie, had no intention of throwing her career away to follow around a man who wasn’t much more than a hermit these days!
Did she?
“I didn’t get the impression that Missy wanted it to be over,” Cammie murmured.
“No, I think she would have liked to continue.”
“But you don’t—want to continue?”
Ty slid her a look that sent a shiver through her veins. “No,” he agreed. “Although I can’t say I feel the same about you.”
Cammie glanced away, afraid to read more into his words than he implied. As if regretting his own revelation, Ty immediately got to his feet, patrolling the confined space of the room and looking tense.
“Let’s go to dinner,” he suggested.
“Sure.” She was relieved, having no wish to tread into areas she wasn’t ready for.
But half an hour later, while they sat across from each other at a little bistro overlooking the bay, a candle on the table casting uncertain shadows on their faces as the sun dipped below the horizon, Cammie asked herself if she was proof against this sudden intimacy. For two weeks they’d led companionable but separate lives, Ty disappearing to his loft while Cammie spent the time strolling around the town of Bayrock, wiling away hour after hour. It was as if they were both in a dream, a holding pattern, a cocoon, and neither of them wanted the real world to intrude.
Cammie had called Susannah from the Goosedown Inn to report in, and though she’d been cagey about her whereabouts, Susannah hadn’t pushed. She only cared whether Cammie was going ahead with the role in Rock Bottom.
“I don’t know,” Cammie admitted truthfully.
“But you’re working on finding Tyler Stovall, right?” Susannah asked, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
“I—yes.”
“Listen, my dear, everyone’s talking about it. The inner circles have got him down for the part.”
“What?” Cammie was incensed. “That’s a little premature!”
“Well, you know…it was courtesy of his father. Samuel Stovall’s word is truth. But it’s just buzz at this point,” Susannah went on to assure her. “Nothing in the papers.”
“Good! Because if Ty saw something, that would just finish it, once and for all.”
There was a pregnant pause. “You’ve found him, haven’t you?”
“Susannah, don’t ask me anything. I’m trying, but I don’t think he’s ready to dip a toe in the cold waters of Hollywood just yet. I couldn’t even ask him.”
“My dear, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime for you and him!”
“I’m so sick of that phrase,” Cammie said with uncharacteristic bitterness. “There’s more in life, you know. I just don’t know what I want, and I can’t talk any longer. Just know I’m okay, and I’ll get back to you when I can…”
She’d hung up, then rushed back to the cabin, expecting her guilt to be written across her face. But Ty, who’d been wheeling and dealing with someone over one of his properties, had been absent when she returned, and by the time he showed up, a smile on his face over the signing of the property, Cammie had been fairly composed. Still, she felt like Mata Hari, spying on him and planning his downfall, so to speak. And yes, she wanted to work with him on the project, but as she’d learned over subsequent days, he was no closer to moving back to L.A. than he’d been ten years ago.
But even all of that just filled a small corner of her brain. Most of her mind contained images of Ty’s lovemaking and the memory of her own response. She played it over and over again like a favored reel of film, remembering every touch, every sigh, every soft scent. She was ridiculous, letting her world spiral down to those few moments.
But she’d lived on them totally for the past two weeks, only waking from her self-imposed sleep when she encountered Missy and the realization that Ty had a life here in Bayrock before Cammie Merrill ever dropped on his doorstep.
A life she couldn’t change for him.
“Tell me how you did it,” she said now, running a nervous finger over the stem of her wineglass. Ty had ordered another beer, then changed his mind and asked for scotch, then refused to even touch the drink. Consequently, the ice cubes were melting, turning the mellow amber fluid a few shades lighter. Cammie focused on the drink because she couldn’t face Ty’s discerning eyes.
“How I did what?” he asked.
“Manage to disappear so completely. When I think what it would take to drop out of my whole life, I can’t even imagine it.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t all that difficult.”
“Do you have fake identification?” She gave him a serious look.
“Yes,” he said, as if she were incredibly dense.
“How?”
“It’s easy enough if you know where to look. Los Angeles is full of hustlers. You can get a California driver’s license for less than fifty dollars.”
“Is that what you did?” Cammie drew her wineglass to her lips, meeting his gaze. His own eyes followed the rim of the glass as it reached her mouth, disconcerting her all the more.
He nodded. “Before I took off. The man helping me knew who I was. He thought it was a riot.” To Cammie’s look of confusion, he added, “The guy thought I wanted the ID so I could lead a secret life. You know, where no one knows who I am and I can do whatever I want.”
“Well, yes, of course. In effect, that’s what you did, isn’t it?”
That stopped him a moment. “I guess you’re right. Only that guy thought I was going to be Tyler Stovall by day and Jerry Mercer by night, if you get what I mean. I could slum it. Drugs, sex, whatever. Not something you can get away with as a celebrity.”
“Oh.” Cammie’s own little bit of fame was enough to let her know how difficult being a celebrity could be. There was no privacy, no room for a “secret” life.
“Anyway, I have a friend who’s helped me—my investment man.”
“The one whose house was broken into?”
“Yep.” Scowling at the memory, Ty finally picked up his drink, swallowing half of it do
wn at once. Cammie watched this with a certain amount of disapproval, unaware that she’d revealed her true feelings until Ty demanded, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t want me drinking?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Whatever you choose to do, it’s your life,” Cammie said, hoping she didn’t sound as priggish as her words sounded to her own ears. “I’m just a visitor here.”
He set the glass down, eyeing her so intently that Cammie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “That’s right,” he told her, and she could have sworn she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice
“So, then what?” she asked doggedly, seeking to keep their conversation on track. “You just opened an account at a bank. Isn’t that illegal, or something?”
“Probably.” He was completely unconcerned. “I don’t know. Bruce sent me a cashier’s check made out to Jerry Mercer. I am Jerry Mercer as much as I’m Tyler Stovall. In fact, I’m more Jerry than Ty.”
“Bruce is your friend?”
Ty could have kicked himself. He was telling her far more than he’d ever said to anyone before. His recklessness appalled him. It was as if he wanted to be found out, for God’s sake! But that was a lie.
“Yes,” he answered shortly. “Any more questions?”
“What about a driver’s license? I mean, how long is your ID good for? You can’t use it to get a new one, can you?”
“You think too much.”
“Well, I just know it would be hard.”
“I’ve gotten new ID, okay?”
Cammie sipped her wine, wishing the waiter would come by and take their order. “How?”
Ty swore softly beneath his breath. “What, are you writing a book?”
“I’m just asking, that’s all,” she murmured.
His hand suddenly shot out and clasped her wrist. Cammie fought back a gasp of surprise. “What are you really doing here?” he asked. “It’s not just to reconnect, is it? You’re on some mission.”
She shook her head, trying to deny even while she knew she was essentially lying. There was an element of betrayal in her visit, no matter how many ways she tried to cover it up.
“Cammie…” His voice lowered, and she suddenly remembered a scene from one of his films where he was trying to persuade the female lead to trust him. He was playing that scene right now—only this time it was for real.
“Look. Ty, I can see why you’re so paranoid. You’ve got reason to worry. You’re still an object of speculation for lots of people. But I would never turn you in,” she declared emphatically, meeting his suspicious gaze. “That’s up to you. I just want a little time with you, that’s all.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, feeling trapped. It was an effort not to squirm in her chair. “I don’t know.”
“You told me you loved me,” he reminded her, and Cammie’s cheeks flushed scarlet.
“I was under the influence of my own loneliness,” she said stiffly.
“Do you say that to every man?”
He was baiting her because he needed to know the truth, and his intuitive nature told him she was holding something back. But it still hurt. Terribly.
“I haven’t slept with anyone since my husband,” she told him, lips taut. “Maybe I’m just needy.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, releasing his grip on her wrist. He felt like a heel. He was a heel!
“Forget it.”
The waiter came at that moment. “You order,” Cammie said, feeling drained. Ty grimaced, then asked for the special: baked salmon with dill sauce and lemon slices, a Northwest specialty.
“My last relationship with a woman in L.A. was with Gayle. She committed suicide,” he said out of the blue, and Cammie’s eyes widened in shock. “You probably didn’t know about it. The whole thing was hushed up by my father.” His mouth twisted. “She was merely a footnote in the L.A. Times.”
“Ty…” she whispered in distress.
“She threw herself out a window in New Orleans.” He looked up at her with eyes so dark and gray, they looked bottomless with hurt and pain. “That’s why I left.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Oh, Ty…” Cammie breathed.
“I couldn’t stay in L.A. anymore. I couldn’t stand it. And there’s more,” he admitted after a long, silent moment. He picked up his drink and finished it.
“More?” Cammie asked with trepidation.
“She was pregnant.”
Cammie’s head reeled. Now she knew what had been bothering him that night she’d stopped by his house. Now she knew why he’d been out of his head with misery and alcohol. Ten years after the fact, he still hadn’t completely recovered.
“And there’s more…” he whispered again.
She couldn’t even ask him. She was fairly certain she didn’t want to know.
And as if he’d realized he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it further, Tyler drew a harsh breath and sat back in his chair, his jaw tightening in resolve. With a slow shake of his head, he stopped whatever confession still hung, unresolved and unspoken. “That’s why I left,” he finished shortly.
Cammie slipped her hands across the table. Reaching for his, she clasped them tightly, silently offering all the love and support she possessed. Tyler looked down at their entwined hands. To her intense surprise he leaned down and kissed her fingers. When he lifted his head, her heart was beating like a drum, her pulse hammering inside her veins, her chest heaving as if she’d run a marathon.
“Make love to me,” he said.
Cammie hesitated, thrilled and a little stunned. Before she could answer, the waiter came with their food and Cammie was obliged to drop his hands.
They ate in tense silence. Cammie wasn’t certain what she was going to do. She felt light-headed, giddy and free. She wanted him and he wanted her. What more could she ask for?
Love, the tiny portion of her rational mind that still functioned reminded her. Love.
Tyler loves me, she answered back silently. He’s always loved me.
Not the way you want…
Her meal was fabulous, but she barely remembered it: melt-in-one’s-mouth flakes of salmon with creamy dill sauce dripping over each bite; soft, dry wine; slices of carrots and tiny bits of broccoli drizzled in butter. Outside the window, the bay was gorgeous: black water and shimmering lights waving streams of illumination extending across the bay. A sense of wildness and freedom and being at the most beautiful edges of the world.
But Cammie only saw Ty. She remembered his touch, the sweet insistence of his tongue, the glaze of passion in his eyes.
I’m done for, she thought as Ty paid for their meal and she walked up the street beside him like an automaton. He could ask anything of her, anything at all, and she couldn’t deny him. Was that love or infatuation? She almost wished it were the latter, because then she could recover. But she knew how she felt and it was deep and impossible to ignore.
At the cabin, the atmosphere grew even more stifling, if that were possible, with Cammie fighting for each breath. Ty was remarkably quiet and had been since his revelations about his ex-lover. She understood his disillusionment and pain now, though his rejection of everything to do with Los Angeles and Hollywood still seemed a bit over the top. It was almost as if he’d needed an excuse to throw it all away, and Gayle’s suicide while she’d been carrying his child had been more than enough.
“Could I have a cup of coffee?” she asked, stalling. As much as she wanted Ty—and there was no denying her feelings just based on the way her body felt drawn taut as a guitar string—she couldn’t quite bring herself to just jump into a sexual relationship with him. Apart from all the obvious drawbacks—the biggest being the fact that they lived in two different parts of the world and neither was willing to give up their life for the other—Cammie hadn’t made love to any man before or after Paul, save Ty himself. And that time with Ty, well…she’d r
esponded to some aching need within him and thrown caution to the winds. At that moment she hadn’t really cared about her own future; she’d given in simply to assuage the terrible pain of the man she loved.
Now, however, it was a whole new proposition. Ty was ready, willing, and able, and if she embarked on a sexual exploration with him, there was no one to blame but herself and her own carnal needs.
Still, as Ty set the coffee maker to dripping, she recognized that the dialogue going through her head was all academic. If he asked again, she would say yes.
He handed her a cup and Cammie cradled it within shaking palms. Her injured finger was black beneath its nail and she gazed down at it ruefully. “It still looks terrible.”
“It will for a while,” Ty conceded.
“But your magic did work. I haven’t felt any pain since.”
One eyebrow lifted. “My magic?”
For some reason, that reminded her of those moments on his bed, their bodies writhing together, and Ty’s intimate perusal of her body…
“Your surgical magic, if you can call it that,” Cammie stated jerkily. “Aren’t you—having any coffee?” she asked when he didn’t pour another cup for himself.
“No, and I’m having a hell of a time staying away from another drink.”
“If it’s because of me, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off as a nag! Do what you want.”
“Oh, it’s because of you,” he agreed.
“It’s your—your life, Ty!” she stammered. “I can’t change it! Goodness, I’m surprised you even listen to me.”
“I don’t.” He was terse.
“But you just said—”
“I said you’re the reason I want another drink,” he clarified, sighing deeply and running his hands through his thick hair. The movement separated his shirt from his jeans and she caught a glimpse of a flat, muscular abdomen with dark hair arrowing down to below his belt.
Someday Soon Page 19
