Someday Soon

by Janelle Taylor

  “So, what did you want to show me?” she asked, pushing her worries aside.

  “Well, I was thinking about how you got that injury,” he said. Reaching for her hand, he gazed down at her fingers. “You were looking at my script.”

  “I really didn’t see any of it,” she told him again. “A few words and then I panicked and slammed the drawer on my hand.”

  “I remember,” he said sardonically.

  “It’s your private property. I understand. Really.”

  “No. I shouldn’t have gotten so protective about it. It’s just that I never intended anyone to see it.”

  Her attention was riveted to the warm touch of his hand holding hers. He could distract her so easily, and right now, she did not want to be distracted. “No one?” Ty nodded, and Cammie asked, “So, why write it at all?”

  “Call it a catharsis. I don’t know. Some things happened that I didn’t handle very well, and oh, I don’t know…” He sighed. “Therapists say if you write it all down, it doesn’t seem so terrible.”

  “Therapists?”

  He smiled. “I’ve never been to one personally, but hell, everyone else in the business has! I don’t know how many times some ‘date’ I was with started in on what her therapist had said. With the hours I’ve put in, listening, I’ve probably got a degree!”

  He sounded so disgruntled that Cammie laughed. The music of her laughter caught his attention, and suddenly he pulled her into his arms, kissing her ravenously on her face and neck. Cammie giggled louder, scrunching up her shoulders. “You’re tickling me!”

  “Good,” he growled against the skin of her neck.

  “Stop it!” She squirmed and gasped, her aqua eyes full of mirth. “I mean it.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I’ll scream!”

  “Go right ahead,” Ty invited, his own eyes full of a lazy humor that made Cammie catch her breath, the tenor of the moment changing from playful to desirous. He picked up the change in mood immediately, his gaze dropping to the pink crescent of her mouth. “Go right ahead,” he invited again, his voice deepening to a husky drawl.

  “You were going to show me your screenplay,” she reminded him.

  “Was I?”

  “You know you were.”

  “It can wait.” His gaze dropped lower, to where her heart beat at the base of her throat. Gently, he touched a finger to that pulse point. “I thought you were going to scream,” he reminded her softly.

  “I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to anymore.” Her voice was a thready whisper.

  “What do you want, then?”

  Her lips twitched. “If you don’t know by now, you’re not paying close enough attention.”

  Their eyes met, his, narrowed between thick lashes, a bright beam of silver with hunger flashing in their depths, hers, a soft, slumbrous aqua, full of deep emotion. With a groan, Ty captured her lips with his, the force of his body pushing her toward the office couch. When the backs of her knees encountered the cushions, she slipped down with a thunk and a gasp.

  “Not fair,” she declared, pretending outrage.

  Ty’s grin was devilish. “Yeah, well, tough.” He sank down beside her, one hand clasping her outer thigh and twisting her until she faced him, their knees touching. That same hand started a bold foray across and up her leg. Automatically, she stopped his hand with hers.

  “You’re heading toward dangerous territory,” she warned softly.

  “Really. How dangerous?”

  “Things have changed since you left L.A.”

  “How do you mean?” But he wasn’t really listening. His teeth had clamped gently on her earlobe and he was biting and nibbling. It nearly blew Cammie’s concentration, but she enjoyed their playful bantering, something she’d never experienced with Paul or any other man. Everyone was just so serious all the time. It was as if people in general had forgotten how to have fun.

  “There’s such a thing as asking before you touch,” she told him haughtily. “Sexual harassment is a serious offense.”

  “Sexual harassment?” His voice was laced with humor. “I haven’t been gone that long!”

  “How do you know this is what I want?” Cammie argued. “You could be misreading the signals.”

  He pulled back to look at her. “Y’think?”

  “For all you know, you could really be invading my space!” Cammie’s laughing eyes spoiled her argument.

  “Maybe I should do a test,” Ty suggested.

  “What kind of test?”

  “I’ll make some little move, and we’ll see from your response whether it’s good, bad, or indifferent.”

  “What kind of little move?” Cammie asked suspiciously. She was sure this wasn’t going to last very long at all, since every touch, every whisper, and every slanted glance of desire sent her fluttering pulse into overdrive.

  “Let me show you.”

  Ty situated himself next to her until only their knees were still touching. His arms lay across the top of the couch, his body as lazy as a jungle cat in repose. She shot him a sideways look, then averted her eyes. He was flat out irresistible, and a part of her, while enjoying the game, felt a quiver of fear that this could matter so much to her. What would happen when it ended? Would she be able to cope with the loss? Was she that strong?

  “What is it?” he asked suddenly, reading her swiftly changing expression.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “You looked so—sad, for a moment.”

  “I have this bad habit of reading the future and not liking what I see.”

  His gaze searched her face. “Our future?”

  “Something like that.”

  He reached out and cupped her chin, his thumb rubbing sensuously against her lower lip. “I don’t want this to change,” he whispered urgently.

  “Neither do I. But it can’t stay like this forever, can it?” Her voice broke, revealing her feelings.

  For an answer, or maybe because there was no satisfactory answer to her question, Ty leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth fusing with hers, his arms squeezing her tightly as if he were afraid to ever let her go.

  I love you, she thought, aching inside, but this time she kept her tongue silent and instead wound her own arms around him.

  They kissed over and over again, then Ty’s fingers found the buttons of her shirt, pulling it apart so that cool air swept across the skin of her abdomen and shoulders. Unsnapping the clasp of her bra, Ty’s hands freed her breasts, which slid into his welcoming palms. His thumb rubbed the bud of her nipple and she moaned her desire involuntarily.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ ” he murmured achingly, and Cammie’s silent laughter was captured by his marauding mouth.

  By the time they uncoiled their tangled limbs, it was well past midnight. Moonlight streamed through the circular window above Ty’s desk, bathing them both in a soft, bluish glow.

  “It’s getting warmer,” Cammie murmured. “Time’s going by. It’s May, and soon it’ll be June.”

  “You’re going somewhere with this, I can tell.” His voice still sounded husky with the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

  “I don’t want to leave,” she admitted.

  “Then don’t.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I only know that it feels like you’ve been a part of my life forever, and I can’t imagine giving you up now.”

  She gazed at him through the darkness, lifted her hand to his cheek and rubbed adoringly down his bearded contours. “The first time we made love here, you said it felt like we’d made love before.”

  “Mmmhmmm.” He collected her fingers and delicately sucked on their tips.

  “Stop that, or I won’t be able to continue,” she murmured gently, pulling back her hand and touching her curving lips lightly to his. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “I need to shave off this beard,” he said suddenly. “I’m sick of it, and I don’t think I need it to hide
anymore. If they find me, they find me. I’m not leaving Bayrock.”

  “Listen!” Cammie commanded, refusing to be deterred when she was ready to confess.

  Her tone amused him. His teeth flashed white in the semidarkness and he sketched a salute.

  “Ty…?”

  “Yes?”

  “That first time? It wasn’t the first time we made love,” she admitted in a rush.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was another time. Back in Los Angeles. I was glad you didn’t remember. But now I can’t stand keeping the truth from you. It feels wrong! Like I’m a liar, or something, so I just want to let you know and damn the consequences.”

  Her rush of words left him speechless for a moment. “What in the world are you talking about?” he finally said on a half-laugh.

  “There was a night—at your house—before you left?”

  “I’m not getting this. Are you joking?”

  “No.” Cammie drew a breath, then launched further in her tale. “I came to see you one night, to talk about our parents. I wanted your dad to go see my mother because she was so unhappy. But you were drunk. Out of it. You were…”

  “I was?” he prompted. She’d gotten his attention now, and he was stock-still, frozen, waiting for some kind of explanation. She was almost sorry she’d begun this confession.

  “You were—in your bedroom. On your bed. You were, well, you were naked.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know. Right before you left, I think. You kissed me and you were so—I don’t know!—vulnerable, and I had a terrible crush on you since we were kids, and I just let it happen!”

  “Let what happen?” he asked slowly, though she’d already told him. He just needed to hear it again, as if that would make it more real.

  “We made love. I made love to you, and it just happened, and then you called me Gayle. I deserved it. I know I did, but I just ran out of there. When I thought about talking to you about it, it was too late. You’d gone, and I hoped you didn’t remember, which you didn’t.”

  Silence met this last pathetic confession, and Cammie waited in tense anticipation for God knew what. At length he asked incredulously, “It was you?”

  She nodded, figuring he’d found some glimmer of remembrance somewhere deep in his memory.

  “At my house.”

  “Yes.”

  “When I was drunk and you came over to—” He sucked in a sharp breath, jerking a bit.

  “What?”

  “That must have been the night I learned of Gayle’s suicide,” he said wonderingly. “I thought I dreamed it. I knew she was dead, but it felt like she was there and that we were making love.” A second later, he demanded, “You’re serious. This is for real.”

  “I wouldn’t make it up.”

  He stared at her, and Cammie had no way of knowing what he was thinking. “Good God,” he muttered after a moment, as if his brain couldn’t put it together.

  “I came to see you to reconnect, like I said, but a part of me wanted something more,” she forced herself to add, though it was likely to kill her. “I’ve never quite forgotten that night,” she added lightly. “It’s haunted me, and when the opportunity arose to search you out, I guess I had some selfish motives of my own.”

  “The opportunity?”

  For a heartbeat Cammie considered blurting out everything: Samuel, the script, her chance to co-star with him, the Connellys and Summer Solstice…But those reasons weren’t truly important to her; they never had been, and they never would be. She’d wanted to see Ty again for herself, and it felt wonderful to get that off her chest, no matter what he thought of her now.

  “The opportunity that your father gave me when he told me where you lived.”

  “So, you really didn’t come at my father’s request.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Her voice rang with truth, and Ty apparently heard it, for he shook his head and said, “You amaze me. I was so certain there was an ulterior motive.”

  Licking her lips, Cammie murmured, “I told you. I just wanted to be with you again.”

  “Well, yes. But you never told me this!”

  “Somehow, I didn’t think I could just blurt it out. You weren’t all that excited to have me here in the first place, and then to suddenly say, ‘Hey, Ty. Remember the last time we saw each other? Was it good for you?’ ”

  He broke up on that one, laughing out loud and easing Cammie’s tension. “I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. But after making love…” He trailed off. “It just feels right!”

  “Do you mean it?”

  He nodded. “Why? What did you think I’d do?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Accuse you of sexual harassment, or worse?” He shook his head. “It sounds like I was a willing participant.”

  “Well, you were. Obviously.” Cammie blushed.

  “Obviously,” he agreed, grinning.

  “You just didn’t have all the facts until now.”

  “Wow…”

  “Yes, wow. I feel strange telling you this.”

  “No, I remember vaguely. So, that was you, huh?” he murmured, as if he couldn’t get over it. A moment later, he shifted gears. “And then I just left. My God. And you’ve held this in all these years.”

  “I didn’t know where you were,” she said, “and even if I had, I’m not certain I would have told you. It’s difficult telling you now.”

  “Cammie…”

  Crushing her close, he dispelled any lingering doubts she possessed about telling him the truth about that night and her feelings. Because she couldn’t help herself, Cammie whispered, “I love you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s how I feel.”

  “Shhh…” He was overcome by emotion; she could sense it from his trembling body. “Let’s just take one day at a time,” he said, pulling her close, burying his face against the skin at her throat, his breath hot. “I’ve been marking time for ten years, and now things are happening so fast.”

  “I don’t mean to scare you,” she said.

  “I’m not scared. I’m just not sure where to go from here.”

  “Neither am I,” she admitted.

  Moments passed. Long moments where both of them were lost to their own thoughts. Finally, Ty said gruffly, “Come on, let’s go to bed. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

  “I’m with you.”

  Guiding her to her feet, Ty half led, half carried her downstairs and to the bedroom. At the bottom rung, Cammie stopped short.

  “You were going to show me your screenplay,” she remembered belatedly.

  “Tomorrow,” he assured her. “And we’ll take care of this beard then, too. For tonight, though, we’ve got a lot of things to think about.”

  “All right.”

  Exhausted, Cammie tumbled into the bed beside him, curling up to his warmth and his incredible acceptance of her story. She’d expected far worse, just based on the fact that she hadn’t been honest right from the start, but it appeared Ty had overlooked that transgression, even understood it. She thanked her lucky stars for such an unexpected gift.

  His arm lay heavy and possessive around her shoulder; her cheek rested on his hair-dusted chest. For the first time since she’d embarked on this journey, she had hope for the future. If they could jump this hurdle, couldn’t they find someway to make the separate paths they were traveling converge?

  I love you, she thought again with pure joy, squeezing closer against his hard contours. He squeezed back, and, for now, that was enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Setting down the last page of the script, Cammie mouthed a silent “Wow” to the empty room. She straightened the papers and set them on the kitchen counter, full of awe and a certain amount of trepidation at the tale she’d just read.

  Ty was a gifted writer. Perhaps he’d inherited his talent from his mother, Nanette. Maybe he’d even taken a class or two, although she suspected there hadn’t be
en time in his pre-Bayrock life, and there was certainly no one around here whose forte was screenwriting.

  The most likely answer was that he’d read enough screenplays to know the mechanics and was gifted and diligent enough to actually create the work. But even beyond the writing itself was the story—a tale that was definitely autobiographical in nature. If it wasn’t Ty’s own story—the tale of a man’s stormy relationship with his famous father—then it was so close to the truth as to brush the bone.

  And there’s more…

  Ty’s words came back to her with a vengeance. If she could believe everything in this screenplay, then Ty’s relationship with Gayle was a lot more complicated than he’d let on. In the script, the protagonist’s girlfriend was pregnant and committed suicide, but there was a question of paternity.

  The hero’s father was accused.

  That can’t be true. Samuel can’t have been sexually involved with Ty’s lover? That can’t be true! Cammie thought desperately, afraid deep in the core of herself that it was. It explained so much.

  But it was impossible! Ty must have taken some literary license here. She couldn’t believe that Samuel had been sleeping with Gayle.

  Yet…yet…

  Cammie inhaled a long, slow breath, exhaling slowly until her lungs ached from the starvation of oxygen. Her next breath was a sharp gasp. Something, something, had sent Tyler tearing away from Hollywood. And it had to be something so terrible and vital that it would engender complete and total exile—something as awful as the scenario in this script.

  Should she ask him about it? It was so highly personal that she didn’t dare, yet he’d let her see his work even though he’d never intended it to be read by any eyes other than his own. That must mean something. Some kind of trust gained. After all, he’d been flat out furious when she’d glimpsed part of it that first time, so for him to hand over the whole manuscript now and let her read it must mean something monumental. In any event, it certainly was a huge step on the road to trust.

  Which only made her feel worse about her own deception. Maybe she should tell him what his father had asked of her, what the Connellys had asked of her, what Paul and Susannah had asked of her…Maybe if she explained that Rock Bottom was merely a tool she’d never intended to use.