by Jules Wake
‘Because.’ Carrie clenched her fist under her thigh. Angela was supposed to be with her on this.
‘I think you’re doing him a massive disservice.’
‘What? Richard?’ Carrie’s voice rose.
‘Yes. He’s been nothing but lovely to you.’ Angela’s knee jigged up and down. A sure sign she was about to say something she wasn’t comfortable with saying. ‘I’m sorry, but you should be ashamed of yourself.’
Ouch. That was strong, especially from her sister.
‘He put a lot of thought into every one of those dates he took you on, organising things to make you happy. That doesn’t sound like a diversion to me. And he’s been very kind to me and Jade.’
‘He’s sucking up.’
‘Really?’ Sarcasm didn’t become Angela, it made her way too scary. Relentless. ‘Why?’ She ticked off her bent fingers. ‘Why would he want to impress me and Jade? Why would he want to impress you, if he was amusing himself? If you ask me …’
Which Carrie hadn’t, but she didn’t have much choice in the matter any more.
‘And don’t give me that look. He’s done nothing but try to please you. A private beach. Wine-tasting. Being driven in a Ferrari. Champagne on the terrace on the waterfront in the harbour.’
Carrie stuck out her tongue at her sister’s bloody annoying logic. Really, really annoying – doubly so because the old bag nailed it on every sodding count.
‘When you put it all together …’
Carrie glared but Angela kept talking,
‘He sounds wonderful and ‘some might say’ smitten. A very decent man, rather than your average movie star but then I wouldn’t know, him being the only movie star I know and my brother-in-law to boot.’
‘Do you know, I absolutely hate it when you’re a little bit smug and satisfied.’
‘What? When I’m right?’ Angela beamed and jumped up to perch on Carrie’s sunbed. ‘I am, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, you bloody are and I’ve been a complete and utter shit and I’m going to have to apologise.’
‘Hmm, yes, you have been rude to him.’
Carrie bit her lip. Angela was the fairest and most honest person she knew. If Angela thought she’d been rude, there was no doubt about it, she needed to make a proper apology.
‘I will apologise to him, for misjudging his motives, but it doesn’t change anything.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No, it might sound romantic but Richard and I are heading in opposite directions in life. It’s never going to happen. Imagine hooking up with him again. I might as well throw myself out of a plane.’
‘When you put it like that, it does sound rather terrifying.’
‘But we can be friends and we can part on good terms. Besides,’ she winked at Angela, ‘Jade would bloody kill me if I jeopardised going to the party, even though I worry she’s going to be very disappointed. It’s going to be full of people who won’t give us the time of day, they’ll be very up themselves and horribly shallow.’
‘Don’t worry. Seeing the reality of celebrity life might provide a very valuable lesson.’
Damn. Even after cooling off with another swim, she still couldn’t sit still. Richard had every right to be pissed off about last night. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to spring into action and speak to him. Texting seemed inadequate. An apology, she’d always believed, should be delivered face to face and not shirked by ducking behind a telephone call or an email.
He was filming today in Port Grimaud. She remembered him mentioning it. It would be helpful if she knew when and where. And how did you apologise in grand enough style to ensure that the man who had everything would sit up and take notice?
Sending a ransom note made out of cut-up newspaper headlines, telling him that if he valued the other half of his only pair of shoes, which would meet a gruesome end if he didn’t meet her in exactly five minutes in the park outside their flat, had worked once before.
She smiled at the memory of him hopping along the path through the shrubbery in the park to meet her on their favourite kissing bench. But that had been a stupid row about washing up, which hadn’t mattered that much.
It was one thing kidnapping a shoe, not as easy to spirit away a whole movie star.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
She couldn’t have done it without Phil. Luckily his schedule included picking up Richard that afternoon and a little blackmail, namely getting Angela to promise to withhold all future food rations, ensured his cooperation.
Carrie had the engine idling at the foot of the steps, a pillowcase and an ice-cream scoop at the ready. She hadn’t been able to get hold of any handcuffs, no thanks to Phil, who’d flatly refused to set foot in the local sex shop. He had his reputation to think of.
Precise planning for every eventuality had ensured that Richard, expecting to be picked up by Phil, had been diverted to a new pick-up point.
Her phone beeped.
The package is en route. ETA five minutes and counting.
She grinned as she read his postscript.
Should the mission go tits up, this is a black op, I will deny all knowledge and this message will destroy itself in ten seconds.
She didn’t feel the least bit nervous, not in the slightest. No, her biggest concern centred on the dumb fact that she hadn’t been able to get hold of a toy gun. Thanks to his extensive experience in action spy-thrillers, Richard might guess that he wasn’t being held up by a real gun, but she hoped he wouldn’t realise it was the opposite end of an ice-cream scoop.
She scanned the top of the harbour wall, pleased with her disguise. Hidden under a black baseball cap, Jade’s sunglasses and wearing a black vest and black jeans, she looked suitably anonymous. Her heart quickened. He’d arrived, up on top of the harbour wall facing the road, where he expected Phil to glide up in a car.
Grabbing her props, Carrie crept up the steps, hoping there weren’t too many people about. The last thing she needed was some have-a-go hero tackling her mid-way through her covert apology operation.
Offering up a very quick prayer that she hoped didn’t give him a heart attack, she stuck the ice-cream scoop in the centre of his back and said in her lowest, sultriest French accent, ‘Monsieur, if you value both shoes, whatever you do, don’t turn around.’
Richard stiffened for a second, his head dipping as if to check his shoes, before letting out a startled bark of laughter.
‘Madame, I’m at your mercy. I’m rather attached to these shoes, although of course I do own more than one pair these days.’
‘Excellent. I will say zis once and only once.’
‘Sorry, can you say that again? I didn’t quite catch it.’
Carrie prodded him the back again, unable to stifle a giggle. ‘At my mercy, remember.’
‘Ah oui, Madame.’
‘Don’t turn around. Walk very slowly and move towards the top of the steps.’
His shoulders shook as he walked forward and Carrie smiled. She might be able to carry this off after all.
He stopped and she almost bumped into him.
‘Of course, you do realise I’m a trained assassin. I have skills, you know. If I choose to, I could disarm you with one move, break your arm, dislocate your jaw and sever your femoral artery. You might bleed to death in less than sixty seconds.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’ Carrie grinned and pushed him forward, towards the steps leading down to the stone jetty. At the bottom, free from the danger of falling down the stone stairs and breaking his neck, she pulled the pillowcase out of her back pocket. They made it look so damn easy in the movies. She could have done with an extra pair of hands. She stuffed the handle of the ice-cream scoop in her mouth, holding it between her teeth, and with both hands brought the pillowcase over Richard’s head. He didn’t make it easy for her and as she fumbled the damn scoop fell to the floor with bang and a clatter. ‘I think you might have dropped your weapon.’
‘I have back-up,’ sh
e lied, managing to bob down and pick up and ram it down the back of her jeans, where it dug into her bottom, proving that this secret squirrel business was no walk in the park.
‘Would it help if we pretended my hands were tied?’ asked Richard.
‘You’re not taking this seriously enough.’ She nudged him in the back.
‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound the least bit contrite and she could imagine, under the makeshift mask, he was laughing.
‘This way.’ She stepped to the side of him and tucked a hand through his arm to guide him along.
When they reached the water’s edge, she stalled for a minute before bundling him into the waiting speedboat.
‘Please don’t hurt me.’ Richard’s high-pitched falsetto made her laugh. She nudged him in the ribs.
‘Quiet.’
‘I’ll go quietly,’ he squeaked. ‘You’re not going to have your wicked way with me are you?’
‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll toss you overboard and leave the body where no one will ever find it.’
‘Promises, promises.’ His voice deepened and she could picture the suggestive expression on his face. ‘I can be tossed on board if you like.’
She screwed her face up, desperately trying not to laugh out loud.
‘Quiet, prisoner.’
‘Aye aye, captain. I say, you’re not a pirate are you?’
‘Sit still and be quiet, otherwise my associates will have to start removing shoes.’
‘You have associates? Now I’m scared.’
‘Yes, big bad, scary associates of a hairy-pirate persuasion.’
With a shake of her head, she turned her back on him, confident that he was quite safe perched in the middle of the seat in the stern of the boat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this silly and carefree.
But, she needed to concentrate on driving this thing. The rental guy had impressed upon her a few cardinal rules and although she’d driven her dad’s boat in her teens, it had been a small dinghy with an outboard motor. This Formula 1 machine didn’t compare to her Ford Fiesta experience. She turned her back on him.
With a determined push of the throttle, she rammed the boat into gear and roared away from the jetty side, leaving a wash of water spilling over the stone walkways. The vibration of the engine thrummed through her hands on the steering wheel. Within seconds they were clear of the harbour and she pushed the throttle back to full speed, aiming across the bay away from the yachting lane and let the boat bounce and lift, speeding away from the shore, skimming along the waves.
Fine spray danced like a halo around the boat, landing on sun-warmed limbs as her hair streamed along behind her. The combination of the cool mist on hot skin made her body tingle with exhilaration. She threw back her head, enjoying the speed, standing tall and proud at the helm, like a Valkyrie heading into battle.
The sun, refracting from the waves, dazzled and twinkled turning the water in the air iridescent, like a shimmering rainbow.
A hand slipped around her waist and she jumped.
‘Oops, Mrs Maddox.’ A voice growled at her ear, his lips almost whispering across her skin, sending a shiver through her. ‘I think the prisoner escaped.’
He wrapped both arms around her, standing pressed against her, his chin resting on her shoulder, his stubbled cheek rasping against her sensitive neck, kicking her heartbeat up a notch.
She swallowed, almost floored by the hot flood of desire shooting through her.
‘T-the prisoner needs to behave,’ she spluttered, unable to think of anything but the slow build of heat radiating from inside. She wanted to clamp her thighs together and cross her arms across her inappropriately raised nipples. ‘I need to concentrate on driving this thing.’ She looked back at him.
‘I’ll stand here and enjoy the ride, then.’ The blue eyes danced, full of innuendo.
With a challenge like that, she couldn’t resist ramping up the speed and turning the wheel in a sharp turn, tearing up the water. She’d spent enough time out on a windsurf board as a teenager to know the parameters on the water and steered a path away from other craft.
Richard’s hands slid upwards, stroking her arms on the steering wheel. ‘What if the prisoner gets hungry?’ His hands skimmed across her skin in silken promise. ‘Have you any plans to feed him?’ His sultry voice shimmered with danger, turning her insides into mush and she hung onto the steering wheel as her knees threatened to give way.
Steeling herself, she gripped the wheel harder. Who was in charge here?
She tossed a look over her shoulder at him, suggestive and flirtatious. ‘The prisoner will have to wait and see.’
Flipping her hair back, she turned, on the lookout for a couple of landmarks that Phil had showed her earlier.
Richard caught a hank of hair, coiling his finger through a curl, his hand catching her neck. Trying to ignore him she tilted her head, unable to avoid the gentle caress as his finger drilled gently into the sensitive hairline at the back of her neck. He gave up on the hair, stroking the back of her neck, exploring the smooth surface with insistent, roving fingers. With unerring precision they slid around to the column of her throat before sliding up to her cheek and the blade of his hand slipping over her lips and back along her cheekbone in a beguiling rhythm.
Bewitched, she kissed his hand and her hips swayed, mimicking the movement.
With a sudden, desperate gasp, she heaved air into her lungs and straightened.
‘Stop.’ Her breath hissed out. ‘I need to concentrate.’ The drugging kisses had dazed her and she needed to focus. With relief she spotted the church Phil had told her to look out for, perched high on the hillside, and as she guided the boat towards the shore, it lined up with the crooked tree on the top of the cliff. Phil had told her that these were the landmarks for a sheltered inlet and, sure enough, there it was. She slowed the engine right down and they drifted into the rocky creek.
She killed the engine, immediately aware of the chainsaw buzz of thousands of cicadas hiding in the pale-lemon, dry- grass meadows above the cliff sides.
Lowering the anchor, with a clean splash, she tried to ease forward but Richard had other ideas. If she turned around she’d be pressed right up against him. She closed her eyes, hoping that he might do the decent thing and step back. Give her some space. Let her get her emotions under control.
Of course he had no intention of doing so.
Her body burned at his touch, his groin tucked in behind her bottom. She wiped her hands down the side of her dress and stared hard at the bell tower of the little white church on the hill. He wasn’t going to move and she needed to do this.
‘I owe you an apology.’
‘You do.’ He didn’t move or loosen his hold.
Not being able to see his expression made her nervous. She had no idea what his reaction would be and couldn’t see his face. She took a deep breath.
‘You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?’ she asked, closing her eyes with an inward sigh when he didn’t answer.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘For what?’ His prompt, along with another sweep of his hands down her arms, made her even more aware of him.
Nope, he was going to make her lay it on the line and, if she were honest, if she were him, she would have done exactly the same.
‘Richard, I’ve enjoyed spending this time with you and it was wrong of me to insinuate that your motives were less honourable than they were.’
‘And?’ He turned her to face him, his eyes hard and uncompromising. The tiger had been there all along.
He moved back and sat down, leaving her standing above him, alone, spotlit on stage, with a private audience. Despite his relaxed pose, one arm lying the length of the back of the seat and his legs crossed, one foot tapped up and down.
She twisted her hand in the folds of her dress.
‘I was being a coward.’
He straightened, the foot dropping to the floor. ‘Why?’
‘Because … the memories are too much. It’s all too much. It would be easy to slip backwards. I can’t afford to fall in love with you.’ She stared out over the bay, her eyes blurred, before adding in a quiet voice. ‘Not again.’
‘That’s more like the Carrie I remember.’ His smile softened with sadness but he didn’t flinch or look away. She brought her gaze back to his face as he said, ‘Brutally honest to a fault.’
‘I have to be. This doesn’t change anything.’ She had to be tough with him. Make sure he understood.
‘Okay.’ His face was impassive.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m serious, Richard. In another few weeks, you’ll have moved on, gone on to your next project. But,’ she took a breath, so deep her lungs almost gave up on her, ‘we can still enjoy the last week. As friends. We were great friends. We still like each other, but it … can’t be more than that.’ She straightened, rather proud of herself. That had come out rather well. Every last damn lying word.
‘Okay.’ He nodded, his eyes hooded. ‘That sounds sensible.’
She waited, hoping he’d say more. Her fingers clenched, hidden behind her legs. Richard’s easy acquiescence made her want to push him over the side.
‘That’s it? Okay.’
‘Yes.’ His head moved this way and that, as if he were looking for something. ‘Is that food?’ He spotted the bag tucked under her seat.
She nodded and dropped her hands to her sides. That was it? She frowned. The end of the discussion?
Surely he’d say something else.
‘Mmm, these smell good.’ He rummaged through the contents of the bag and as if the last half hour had never happened, his face creased into smiles, like a carefree young boy. ‘Do I smell bacon?’
Incredulous, she watched as he pulled open the picnic bag to reveal several foil-wrapped parcels.
‘Oh wow, these smell amazing. Please tell me … bacon butties.’
Carrie rolled her eyes and wondered if she should push him overboard now. Bloody man. And how flipping contrary was she?
‘They’re bacon butties Angela-style, or rather, Riviera- style.’
