by Leslie Kelly
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE WEEK HAD BEEN ROUGH for Caro. Professionally taxing, personally draining. She couldn’t say she went home and felt better, so her days had stretched longer and longer as the week had progressed.
“Maybe that’s because it’s not your home,” she reminded herself, not for the first time, as she drove to work Friday morning.
Right. This was a temporary situation. In just over two weeks, she’d be going back to California. To her real life. Which meant, once again, leaving Mick behind. After last night’s brief conversation, his softly whispered question—which she wasn’t ready to answer—she should probably be feeling better about that.
Even aside from her confusion about that question, after what had happened Monday, she should have been delighted about going back to California. It would at least end the heartache of seeing him every day. It had been torture to return to their cordial roommates-only relationship. She was sleeping in his house, separated from him by only one flimsy wall and an ocean of confusion. Their all too brief encounters had been thin on conversation, but oh so heavy on awareness.
And now, all this knowledge was there, too. This sensual memory of the amazing things they’d done together Sunday night. The way he’d made her feel again, like she was alive and a woman for the first time in eight years.
“Dammit, why?” she asked aloud, slamming her hand on the steering wheel of her car.
Why was it only Mick?
Because he was her lover. Mick was right about that. She’d had sex with other men over the years, but Mick was the only one she’d ever considered her lover. He was the only man who’d touched her in some intangible place deep inside, where fingers, lips or other body parts couldn’t reach.
Someplace like her soul.
She couldn’t even claim to be mad at him anymore. Well, not too mad. Though she’d been very confused Monday, eventually she’d understood that he’d been right. He’d said exactly what she would have been thinking an hour later, when she wasn’t warm in his bed, still glowing from their incredible night.
That should have made everything a-okay. They were both with the program, in the game, on the same path.
And miserable as hell.
Though they were amicable on the set whenever he was around, and quiet but not unfriendly at home, it wouldn’t last. Yeah, they’d formed a truce, managed to pull off that next-to-impossible trick of being on good terms with someone after having incredible sex with them. But the tension was building again. It had been since that shared moment Wednesday morning in the kitchen when she’d been in her nightie and he’d been in the towel and they’d both been naked and panting in their minds. Again last night, they’d been reminded of what was at stake.
There’d been such heat. Instant, unrelenting heat. It still made her shake when she thought about how their stares had met, held, asked and answered. Yes and no. They wanted each other badly, but they weren’t going to make the same mistake all over again.
“Yeah, right,” she muttered. Mistakes were made to be…well, made. Weren’t they?
She forced thoughts of Mick and their private life out of her mind as she arrived at the trailer. Jacey was there to greet her. The younger woman looked a little fresher, brighter than usual. And, if Caro wasn’t mistaken, she didn’t have all that white stuff on her skin or the super black makeup around her eyes. Of course, the short dark hair was still spiked, and her clothes were strictly black on black. But it was a change, at least.
“You’re very chipper this morning,” Caro said as she got out of her car and walked to the entrance of the trailer.
Jacey shrugged, but wouldn’t meet Caro’s eye. “Had a good run, that’s all.”
Surprised, because Jacey looked anything like the health nut type, Caro raised a brow. “Running?”
“Sure.”
Just because she had a sneaking suspicion about something, Caro quietly asked, “Alone?”
Bull’s-eye. Jacey’s face pinkened, making her look even younger than her age, which was already pretty young. So young, Caro had sometimes wondered how the girl had gotten as far as she had in Hollywood. Since she and Jacey seemed to have struck up an odd sort of sorority on the set—because of the good old boys who surrounded them—maybe someday she’d ask her.
“Well…”
“Anybody I know?” Caro asked, opening the door and leading Jacey into the trailer. She flipped on the light switch, smothered a groan at the pile of faxes that had come in overnight and reached for the coffee machine.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Surprised, Caro swung around and looked at her. Jacey wanted her romantic advice?
“I hate having to discuss my private business…” Okay, not a girl gab session. Jacey was obviously concerned about something.
“I’ve sort of been spending some time with Digg.” Now Caro got it. Jacey had fallen for the handsome, heroic fireman who had all the female contestants—and the male host—oohing and aahing. Hopefully the TV audience would tune in to satisfy their own need to ooh and aah, as well.
Jacey continued. “It’s very low key, but someone saw us coming back from running today and I was just afraid there might be trouble. I had a cryptic note shoved under the door to my room.”
“Note? What’d it say?”
“Nothing important. I tossed it. But I figured I ought to let you know, get this thing out in the open, in case this creates a problem.”
Caro thought about it. “I’m not sure. I mean, we’re not Joe Millionaire, or The Bachelor. None of the women on the set has any right to be jealous—there’s no competition for Digg for heaven’s sake.”
Jacey probably heard Caro’s unspoken concern. “But?”
Caro sighed, then leaned her hip against the desk, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “But, you are a member of the crew. If Digg were to be the winner, other cast members could accuse you of helping him because of your status as an employee.”
Jacey’s jaw clenched and she stiffened. “I don’t even know who the killer is.”
True. Caro, Renauld, the writers and the killer were the only ones in on the truth.
“I thought for sure it was that slimy car salesman from Pittsburgh,” Jacey added. “But when he got murdered at the grain warehouse the other day, that blew my theory.”
The car salesman was victim number nine of the Derryville Demon, if you counted the three original fake victims from Sophie’s house. The cast was now down to ten. Not as magic as thirteen, but at least becoming more manageable. And another would bite the dust by the end of today.
“I’m not saying you would, or even could, do that, Jacey,” Caro said. “I’m just saying it could be perceived that way.”
Jacey’s shoulders slumped and again, Caro saw a glimpse of a vulnerability she’d never have imagined.
“However,” she said, giving in to an impulse she didn’t quite understand, “as long as you play by the rules and keep things low-key, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in you being friendly with any of the contestants. Digg included.”
Jacey flashed a bright smile. “You’re not so bad for a pencil-pushing tightass.”
Caro raised a brow. “Gee, thanks.”
“That was a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t have thanked you if I hadn’t known that.”
Jacey moved to leave the trailer, then paused and turned to face her again. “By the way, would you and that Winchester dude make up already? The two of you are making everyone around here pretty miserable with all your sighs and heartfelt looks.”
Before Caro could even express her shock that her feelings had been so easily read, Jacey continued. “You two need to get it on. And soon.”
This time Caro’s mouth fell open. Then she snapped it closed again. “That’s pretty personal.”
Jacey plopped onto the sofa and bent over to rest her elbows on her knees. “Got anyone else around to talk to?”
Anyone else. H
mm…there was Renauld, the menopausal director. Joshua Charmagne, the self-absorbed host. The players in the game. And oh, sure, how about Mick’s sister, mother, his cousin’s wife or her geriatric sexpot great-aunt? Pretty depressing. “Nope.”
“I don’t go for girl-talk stuff, but I do know how to keep my mouth shut—just in case, I don’t know, you feel like getting anything off your chest.”
And suddenly Caro was. She started blabbing like a gossipy woman revealing someone else’s dirty laundry. She might as well have been Mrs. Kravitz on Bewitched.
She didn’t go as far as to include Sunday night’s events, though she imagined Jacey could read between the lines.
“So, why aren’t you sleeping with him again?”
Caro sighed. Leave it to Jacey to go to that part. The part she’d tried to omit. “He doesn’t want to be used.”
This time Jacey responded with a snorty laugh. “All men fantasize about being used for sex.”
“Not this one.”
Jacey replied with a skeptical lift of her brow. “You sure he’s straight?”
This time it was Caro who choked out a laugh, responding with a vehement nod. “Oh, yeah. Very sure.”
“Is he into that weird Tantric stuff, self-denial, bizarre things like that?”
Caro had no idea what the young woman was talking about. “Uh, I don’t think so. Basically he just doesn’t want to be a temporary fling—someone I can kill time with while I’m here before blowing him off to go back to California.”
Jacey reclined on the love seat, lifting her boot-clad feet to rest them on the armrest. She put her hands behind her head and lay there, thinking about it. “Wow. A guy who doesn’t want no-strings sex from a woman he knows won’t expect anything more from him in two weeks.”
Sounded crazy, given the sex drives of most men Caro had known. Heck, ninety percent of the unmarried male population probably would have leaped on such an opportunity. But Mick had always followed his own beat, walked his own path. She rubbed her aching temples with her fingertips. “He’s an unusual man.”
Jacey remained silent for a moment, just staring up at the tiled ceiling of the trailer. Caro watched her, wondering what the girl was so interested in, but saw nothing except some mildew spots and dust.
“So why’s he so sure you’re going to blow him off?” Though her voice was deceptively soft, her tone held a note of sharpness that told Caro the young woman had cut directly to the heart of the matter.
“There’s this whole geography issue—”
“That’s a lame excuse.” Jacey shrugged, not looking apologetic in the least. “I mean, married people commute coast to coast these days.”
“His life is here, and this isn’t exactly a hot commuting spot,” Caro said in self-defense.
Jacey nodded, conceding the point. “And you’re certain he wants to stay here? Wants you to give up everything and come to him?”
Caro nibbled her lip. Once again, Jacey had cut right to the point. Because no, she wasn’t sure. She’d never asked him. Not now, not way back when. She’d just predicted the way things would go and cut out first before it became too painful to handle.
“Ah, so you don’t know.”
Caro finally shook her head, admitting that much, at least.
“Sounds like a conversation you should have.”
Right. If the geography were the only issue, maybe it would be as simple as Jacey seemed to think. But she didn’t want to get into those issues with Jacey, including Mick’s thing with women and her own self-doubt. There was also the insecurity that she’d grown up with, of knowing she’d never have a normal family or a normal home with people who lived like the families on television. Because she’d always lived through them. Not like them.
“Well,” Jacey said, “I think you’ve got to give it a shot. If you don’t, you’ll live the rest of your life wishing you’d risked it.”
BY SATURDAY, after his talk with Jared and each of his interactions with Caroline throughout the week, Mick had realized close-but-not-involved just wasn’t going to cut it. Not with them. Not with that hurt look in her eyes and the emptiness in his gut. Not with their past and the ever-lurking possibility of their future.
He needed to spend time with her to see if she felt the same way. He suspected she did, judging by the careful way she’d danced around her words in the past few days. Having time alone wasn’t easy with Caroline working incredibly long hours. Of course, so was he. First because of his day job, and now because of his extra duties as volunteer liaison between Hollywood and his hometown.
The job was pretty thankless. So far he’d had three people beg him to give their phone numbers to Joshua Charmagne. They’d all been men, so there was one rumor substantiated. Score one for The National Enquirer.
He’d also received a few bribe offers. The editor of the small local paper wanted him to try to snap secret pictures on the set. Several women had offered him everything from a free haircut—Diane—to free checking—the bank teller—to free pie—his own mother—if he could get them special work as a featured extra.
His mother had assured him as she’d handed over the apple pie that she’d make a great corpse. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d gone on to say she’d be perfectly willing to do it nude if they needed a drowning in the tub or something.
Okay, some things weren’t even worth apple pie. After picturing his dead, naked, sixty-two-year-old mother broadcast across the country, he didn’t think he’d ever eat pie again—or anything else, considering the sudden nausea. Mick had somehow managed to get away from her without offending her by losing his cookies—not to mention his pie—right there on his front porch.
Realizing that he and Caroline weren’t going to have a chance to move forward unless they made an effort, Mick plunged into one of the biggest risks he’d ever taken.
He was kidnapping her.
Well, he wasn’t really kidnapping her. But he was strong-arming her into coming away with him Saturday after work.
They’d had a pretty okay day, though they hadn’t talked much in the on-site trailer. Mick had hung out there more to be close to her than because he was needed for any Hollywood vs. Small Town interpreter duties. The tentative looks they exchanged—the sentences started but never finished—convinced him she’d reached the same conclusion he had.
That conclusion was, basically, go for it.
Heartache? Okay, possible. Anger? Yeah, that too. A long-distance relationship that didn’t last longer than a five-hundred-minute telephone card you could pick up cheap at Wal-Mart? Conceivable.
But, what the hell. If they didn’t go for it, they’d never know. So, he decided, they were going to try.
“You really can’t just kidnap me, you know,” she said with a nervous laugh as they settled into his car. They were heading away from the trailer, where Mick had just made sure Renauld knew Caroline was taking a much-needed night off.
“Yeah, I can. I just did.”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going by my place. Pack a bag for overnight.”
“Overnight.” She drew out the word, giving it an infinite variety of meanings and promises. “So, uh, tell me, what kind of overnight trip is this?”
He knew what she was asking. She wanted to know about much more than location or entertainment. She wanted to know what it meant to them, their future. And whether or not they were going to blow each other’s minds with some fabulous sex.
Instead of answering directly, he said, “I think we should give it a shot, Caroline.”
He heard the breath she sucked in. Then, in a shaky voice, she asked, “Give the weekend a shot?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “More than just the weekend. I mean us. I don’t think we should worry about next week, or talk about the past or concentrate on the future.” He took in a deep breath, then continued. “Let’s live in the right now. Okay?”
She didn’t speak for a lo
ng moment, and he risked a quick glance over at her. Caroline stared out the windshield, a slight smile playing about her lips. Then she finally murmured, “Okay, Mick.”
He was so relieved, he closed his eyes and said a quick, silent thanks.
“Eyes on the road, buster, I don’t want to give us a try when we’re dead.”
“I’m surprised I’m not already,” he admitted, giving her a teasing look. “I thought you were going to kill me this week.”
She pursed her lips. “I am spending my days surrounded by murder and mayhem. I just couldn’t decide whether to get you with poison or a raging band of wild dogs.”
After their laughter died down, he admitted, “I’ve been kicking myself all week for Monday morning.”
“I wanted to kick you a few more times myself.”
Man, that was his Caroline. She just wasn’t letting him off the hook. “So, is a simple ‘I’m sorry’ going to suffice?”
“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be in this car with you right now.” She looked at him expectantly.
Nope, she wasn’t letting him off the hook until he made it official. You had to love a determined woman. “I’m sorry, Caroline. Really sorry that I was such an ass Monday morning.”
She nodded. “Thanks for saying that. And, as twisted as your logic was, I did understand it.”
She didn’t say anything else for a little while. Neither did he. The silence between them wasn’t thick or uneasy. It was charged, expectant, comfortable and excited all at the same time. Then, finally, over the slight hum of the car engine and the sounds of traffic on the road, he began to hear music.
Caroline was humming. It took him a minute, but he finally recognized the tune: the theme song from Dharma and Greg. Good choice. Hadn’t that TV couple decided to just give it a shot against a lot of odds, too?
Remembering that Caroline usually turned to singing or humming when she was stressed, upset or scared out of her mind about something, he chuckled lightly. “It’ll be all right, Caro.” She gave him an appreciative look.
