by Jennifer Rae
But not her. She wanted to know why he didn’t believe in love and why he thought sex was just sex. And she wanted to know why he didn’t want to kiss her. But she wasn’t going to ask. He wasn’t interested so neither was she.
She caught him turning to face her out of the corner of her eye and made an effort to keep her eyes on the road signs at the crossroad ahead of her. No Entry. Stop.
‘I don’t like games, Faith. I don’t like lies. I prefer things to be a lot...simpler.’
‘Sex isn’t simple. I’ve told you that. It gets complicated.’
‘Only if you let it.’
Faith felt sick. Sick that for a moment she’d thought he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Sick that she’d got it wrong and all her professionalism was now out of the window. Sick that she’d lost any power she’d ever had in this relationship.
‘Maybe your problem with my show isn’t about the sex. Maybe it’s you. Have you ever thought of that?’ Humiliation was giving way to anger. Faith gripped the wheel harder as her foot accidentally slipped onto the accelerator, gunning the engine into a roar.
‘This isn’t about me—it’s about you and the fact that no advertisers want to support this stupid sex show of yours.’
‘My show isn’t stupid. What’s stupid is your attitude. You have a problem with intimacy—that’s why you have a problem with my show. You’re just a scared little boy running from the lightning in a storm. Afraid you’ll get hit. Afraid my show is convincing people that love exists when you want to convince everyone that it doesn’t.’
‘You want to know why I’m canning your show, Faith? Because you’re too close. You get too involved. You want so much for love to be the answer you miss everything else. You miss the fact that sometimes people don’t like you. Sometimes they just want to get laid.’
Faith held back the pathetic whimper that was in danger of falling from her lips. That was it. Exactly. She remembered the mistake she’d made vividly. Mr Turner was older and had seemed so lovely. Calm and patient and he’d made her feel as if she was special. He’d told her she was talented. She’d believed him. Trusted him. She’d wanted to have sex with him to show him that she cared for him.
But then everyone had found out and he hadn’t defended her. He’d let everyone call her names and laugh. He’d let them kick her out. He hadn’t said anything to her parents and she’d had to bear the brunt of their humiliation. Her father hadn’t spoken to her for twelve months. Her brothers still called her the Turner’s Tart whenever they saw her. The first article she ever wrote after she left school was about proving that sex could be about more than just sex. But Cash was right. Mr Turner had just wanted to get laid. And she’d been there. She could have been anyone. Faith concentrated on her breathing and stared into the sun, willing the tears back into her eyes.
Cash was still talking, oblivious to the wound he’d gouged open with his words. ‘Getting rid of your show has nothing to do with me or what I feel. It’s got to do with ratings and advertising dollars. End of story.’
Faith took a deep breath. Her heart was heavy but her mind was buzzing with heat and mortification. ‘I feel sorry for you, Cash. You care more about making money than making good TV and you don’t believe in love, which means you’ll never feel the high of losing yourself completely to someone or the low of being betrayed by someone you love.’
‘How do you know what I’ve felt?’ His voice was a growl. A dangerously low one. A warning that skittered down her spine but she was too angry and too embarrassed to heed it.
‘I know exactly what you feel. Nothing. You’re one of those men who are happy to take but never want to give. A selfish man who thinks he can determine how people think and how they feel just because that’s what you want.’ Faith wasn’t running on logic now—she was trying to find as many words as she could to throw at him. Something to make him yell back. Something to make him feel something because as he sat there cool and calm she felt humiliated. Exposed. Left out. And that emotion fired her temper even higher.
A wailing country tune started to sing through the speakers and Faith reached for the knob of the old radio in the dash.
‘And I hate country music!’ she said with finality, hearing a small but albeit satisfying click as the radio turned off. With her heart pounding and her palms sweaty, she hoped she’d won. She hoped he knew she didn’t care.
‘You don’t hold the monopoly on being hurt, Faith. We’ve all been there. It’s just that some of us learn to close the book and move on while you just want to keep searching for answers you’ll never find.’
‘Yes, I want answers! I want to know why. That’s why I do this—I want to know why.’
‘Why what?’
‘Why...why...’
Faith’s heartbeat was still high and her nails dug into her palms as she curled them around the steering wheel. Her heart hurt and her eyes stung.
‘I want to know why you can’t admit that you like me.’
‘You want me to blow smoke and tell you I like you? Is that what this is about? Do you want me to lie and say that I wanted to kiss you back there? I don’t do lies, Faith.’
‘You’re an awful man, Cash.’
‘Why? Because I don’t like you? Why do you care if I like you or not? Not everyone is going to like you, Faith. You need to deal with that.’
‘No, because you pretended to give me a go. You made out you were willing to listen and prepared to learn but you weren’t. You have a closed mind and a closed heart and that makes you a soulless person. A person who is incapable of being loved. No one could ever love you, Cash. You have a black empty soul and if you had your heart broken once—you deserved it.’
Faith stilled and so did Cash. She could feel his elbow freeze on the console next to her. Something about his complete silence made her mind seize. She’d hit him. She’d finally made him feel something. She’d wanted that—she’d needed him to feel something so she wasn’t the only idiot who exposed themselves today, but it wasn’t relief she felt course through her. It was something else. Guilt. Pain. There was an old scar there; she could feel it and she’d slit it open. She’d become the bully who pushed and pushed until someone else lay bleeding and crying in the dirt.
Cash took a deep breath then let it out. He turned to look out of the window.
‘Maybe I did deserve it,’ he said quietly.
Faith wanted to say something, apologise, ask him who had broken his heart, but she didn’t. She was confused and hurt and wracked with guilt all at once and the emotions that she’d longed for him to feel now climbed up her throat and clung on, suffocating her with their fierce grip.
‘I think it’s best we leave this for now.’ Cash reached for the door.
‘No.’ The familiar burning of having to fight clawed at her insides. She wasn’t going to lose. Not again. Not this time. ‘You said I had a week to prove to you that sex wasn’t just sex. A week. And you’re going to give me a week.’ She kept her eyes on his. She wasn’t turning away, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how her stomach felt as his eyes hit hers. She’d seen those eyes soft and loving. She knew he’d felt something when they’d kissed, but obviously he didn’t want to feel it and she wasn’t going to beg.
He looked away first, nodding. ‘All right. A week.’
Cash was lucky to get the door shut before Faith put her foot down as far as it would go and made old Red roar as loud as his thirty-odd-year-old engine possibly could.
NINE
Cash squeezed the top of his nose between his finger and his thumb. Today had been a disaster. The meeting with Grant didn’t go well. His budget had been slashed again, and Grant didn’t like his ideas for the new breakfast format. He wanted to stick to their original plan of syndicating US shows. Which meant less local content. Which meant fewer viewers, fewer advertising dollars
and ultimately an even tighter budget. He had two weeks to come up with something. Two weeks before Gordon Grant was back in town and expecting the new schedules.
‘Here are the ratings you asked for.’ Lesley knocked on his office door and tipped the papers onto the corner of his desk before walking back to the door.
‘Oh, and Faith is waiting for you in the boardroom.’
Cash felt his whole body still. The blood stopped rushing through his veins for a few seconds before it pumped back with a rush.
‘Right, thanks, Les.’
He’d been avoiding thinking about Faith for two whole days now. And for at least a few hours he’d succeeded. But the rest of the time his stomach twisted in anticipation. It was just a kiss, he told himself. A simple kiss. He’d kissed plenty of women before. It meant nothing. Most of the time he’d forgotten about it before he’d finished his morning coffee. But Faith’s kiss was a little more unforgettable. The way she teased and taunted. The way she pulled back, then the way she bit his lip. A shaft of something hot and furious shot right into his groin. He swore at the screen and pushed some paper around.
He didn’t want Faith. He didn’t like Faith. He’d told her that and she’d reacted the way he’d thought she would. She’d got upset. She’d thought it meant more than it did. But it didn’t. It didn’t mean anything. And neither did her words. He wasn’t scared; he just didn’t want anything. She had no idea. Maybe his soul was black, but it was trusting people that had done that. Work never hurt. When he was working he was in control. He determined what people wanted to watch and he decided what shows were going to air. At work there was no emotion, no past hurt and no blue eyes burning into him, accusing him, making him feel lower than a snake’s belly.
What he needed to do was to sort out the mess he was in and get on with his job. It was pure lust that came over them in that cage. And on Patricia’s lawn. Nothing else. Just sex, as he’d been telling her. And if he gave in to his lust that was all it would be—just sex. And Faith wouldn’t be able to accept that. Giving in to temptation with Faith wouldn’t be worth the fallout—not when his first priority had to be getting the station back on track. That was the only way he could leave and get back to the US. Back where he belonged. Not here with old memories stirring him up and a dark-haired temptress making him want to do things he knew deep down he shouldn’t do.
With a sigh he lifted himself out of the chair. He wanted to get today’s meeting with Faith over with. Once he saw her in the cold light of day he was sure his feelings of lust would dissipate. Then he could get on with convincing her to drop her show and take on something else. Maybe not the weather. Maybe she’d like a spot on the rejigged breakfast programme. She’d make a great morning presenter. Perky, happy, funny. Cute accent and even cuter arse. Perfect.
‘Good morning.’ Her voice poured over him like warm coffee. He strode to the chair at the head of the table, shaking off the warmth as if it were particles of ice.
‘Morning, Faith. What have you got for me this week?’ He didn’t look up; he stared at the folder he’d set down in front of him and started writing something on. He wasn’t sure what.
‘I want to do a show on the top seven sexual fantasies for women. We did an online survey and I’d like to hire some actors to act them out, interview some experts and find out why women are so hot for them.’
Cash swallowed hard. ‘And who are you suggesting we get to advertise during the programme?’
Faith’s smile faltered. ‘Sorry?’
Her blue eyes were dark again and she had on another revealing top. He could see the hot-pink bra she had on underneath her black shirt. He made a mental note to ask Lesley if there was a uniform policy here. A high-cut-uniform policy.
‘Advertise. We need advertising dollars to stay on air. Which of our leading advertisers will want to lend their name to the breaks of a show that involves whipping and gagging?’
Her smile disappeared and her breasts started to rise and fall as her breathing got heavier. He moved his eyes back up to hers.
‘Advertising’s not my problem.’
‘Correct. It’s mine. Which means the concept is no good. Think of something else.’ Cash stood to go. His body was hard and his voice was becoming gruffer than he wanted. She had no idea what it took to run a station. She ran around watching people get it on and tying each other up. She knew nothing about business. The real world. What it took to stay in control. What he had to do to stay where he was—on top.
‘Condom manufacturers, book publishers, lingerie companies...I could name any number of advertisers willing to lend their name to my show. And for the record, gagging and whipping don’t make the top seven women’s fantasies.’
He looked up. He knew he shouldn’t have. Her eyes were now bright blue—like the sky again. Challenging. Hard and unbelievably sexy. His eyes flicked to her soft pouty lips. A rash of heat spread over his body, and everything on him went hard.
‘Then what are the top seven fantasies?’ He knew he shouldn’t have asked that but after watching her lips for too long he wanted to hear the words come out of her mouth.
Faith hesitated for a beat. Her mouth clamped shut. Then she looked down at her notes, her cheeks pinking. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
Not this time. He was in control here, not her, and he had to keep it that way. If he didn’t, he’d be stuck here even longer and his mother had already threatened twice to visit him if he didn’t go home soon. ‘I want to know what the programme involves before I’ll approve it. And, Faith...’
She looked up and his heart pumped fiercely.
‘This will be your last show.’
TEN
He didn’t wait to see her face. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes; he just wanted to get out of there and refuse to acknowledge the feeling that was spreading over him. The feeling of carelessly crushing other people’s dreams.
‘I’m going out, Les.’ He didn’t wait for Lesley to throw another problem at him; he just walked past her, rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning his top button. It was criminal to make a man wear a suit in Sydney. He felt tied up. Choked. He slipped off his tie and rammed it into his pocket as he stepped into the lift and waited for it to take him to the bottom.
Cash rested his head against the cool mirror on the back of the lift and scratched at his neck. He unbuttoned another button on his shirt. It wasn’t his fault. Faith’s show couldn’t work. It needed more advertising and as long as Faith insisted on making everything so personal he couldn’t get any more. If she’d kept it light and fluffy—he’d be right. He thought he might even be able to sweet talk a cereal company to advertise then. But lately she’d been digging deeper. The interview she did with the hooker was the worst. Faith had scratched and dug and delved until she’d made the poor woman admit that it was love she wanted. Every time she took her clothes off for money she wished she had someone to tell her to put them back on. Faith had cried, the damn hooker had cried and the soft-drink company who’d signed up to a six-month contract had pulled out immediately. Why couldn’t she just listen to him? Why wouldn’t she just do what he wanted?
He closed his eyes for a fleeting second as he remembered her in the garden. Sitting on him. Shivering under his touch and breathing into his mouth. Making him think she wanted more. She wanted him. But she was just another woman pretending to give him what he wanted but all the while manipulating the situation to benefit herself. It was an act to get her show back on air; he knew that. Just like that kiss. An act. She didn’t feel that. They barely knew each other—there was no way she felt all that she was pretending to feel. But her eyes. They looked so sincere. As if she weren’t even thinking about the show—just him and her and what they were doing right then.
The lift landed awkwardly and the doors opened. Outside in the sun Cash walked. Walked and walked a
nd tried to breathe, but it was hard in the city. His shoulders ached. For a moment he wished he were back on the farm. Where he could sit on the back of a ute in the middle of a paddock and think. No distractions, no people, no sounds except the far-off bleating of a lamb. Here in the city he was never alone. There was always someone wanting his time—his attention. But he’d been gone from the farm for nine years. He hadn’t felt the pull to go back there in a long time. When he’d returned five years ago for his father’s funeral he’d barely been back at the farm five days. Why would he? Charlie and Jess had the farm running better than he ever could.
Instead of heading to the harbour, Cash turned and headed for the park. It was the only place he knew where he could sit and let his head fall forward and pretend he wasn’t in the city.
He’d run into Charlie and Jess a few times on his occasional visits to the farm. Charlie had grunted at him and he’d grunted at Charlie and their mother had given them a lecture. Never, not any of those times, did he speak to Jess. Nor did she speak to him. Her eyes were only on Charlie. Charlie—the superstar. Charlie; who’d dug the farm out of some serious financial trouble, who’d charmed the banks into lending him more money and who everyone believed brought the rain down in the drought of ninety-eight by sheer force of will.
Everyone loved Charlie and it wasn’t until Cash had started to play rugby that anyone had taken any notice of him. He’d even played for Australia for a couple of years—but of course as soon as Charlie had joined the team Cash had been back on the bench. It was that summer that he’d met Jess. Jess had stroked his boyish ego and made him feel as if there might be something about him that was better than Charlie. Until Charlie came home. Then it happened all over again.
But that was years ago and Cash hadn’t thought about it in a long time. He’d never questioned his choices. Until Faith started asking questions about love and relationships and trust. Cash found a bench and sat, trying to forget. ‘You have a closed mind and a closed heart and that makes you a soulless person. A person who is incapable of being loved. No one could ever love you, Cash.’
