“That reminds me.” She went to the fridge. “Your publicist called while you were upstairs.”
After their walk, Carter had left his phone on the kitchen counter to charge, and Quinn must have read the screen. Ariel had already left one voice mail. She was becoming as much of a nuisance as Elliott now that the film’s promotions were coming up. She was probably wanting confirmations on the rounds of late-night and morning talk shows stipulated in his contract.
“Oh, shoot!” While taking items from the fridge for lunch, Quinn had knocked over a glass decanter of tomato juice on the top shelf. The carafe broke, sending red liquid down the shelves and across the floor. Carter stared at the mess, his skin tingling.
“Don’t move,” she warned. They had both removed their shoes after coming up from the beach, and she carefully sidestepped the puddle and shards of glass. She headed toward the closet where cleaning items were kept. “I can’t believe I did that—”
“I slipped on the blood.”
She turned to look at him. Carter swallowed dryly, the memory crystalizing. “I was going to get the phone to call for help, and I slipped on Bianca’s blood on the bathroom floor. It was pooling around her.”
Quinn returned to him, her face paling. “You remembered this just now?”
“Yeah,” he rasped. He wanted to close his eyes against the image—the gruesome gash in Bianca’s throat, her labored struggle for breath as she bled out in front of him.
“Do…you remember anything else?”
He reached for something more, but came up empty. “No.”
Carter looked again at the spilled juice. He felt Quinn’s hand slide briefly up his arm. “Don’t let Doug anywhere near this.”
She went to get the cleaning supplies.
* * *
After lunch, Quinn guided Carter through several restorative yoga poses that wouldn’t put stress on his recuperating shoulder. The poses were simple, intended to relax him, to take his focus off the press junket, his impending return to LA and the movie he had agreed to star in that would begin production in the fall. All big steps after a life-altering injury.
There were also his fragments of memory that appeared to be slowly returning, like broken shells washed onto the sand after a storm. It bothered her that her personal problems added to his burden.
His eyes closed, Carter lay on his back on the yoga mat in Shavasana. Quinn had created a peaceful environment in the workout room, lowering the lights and playing quiet music in the background. Sitting on her heels, she leaned over him as she performed a neck massage using lavender essential oil. As she worked, she studied the elegant planes of his face, the sweep of thick lashes against high cheekbones, the attractively stubbled, strong jaw.
He must have sensed her scrutiny, because she found herself staring down into his midnight-blue eyes.
“Keep your eyes closed. Slow your breath and bring it deep from the belly,” she reminded softly, continuing the knead of her fingers. She expected him to tell her he felt silly or make some sarcastic comment about what they were doing, but instead he lifted his hand and slowly threaded his fingers through her hair, then used it to pull her mouth down to his. His kiss was unhurried and thorough, making her want more. But they broke apart at the interruption of the ringing phone. It was his. Carter had brought it downstairs since he was expecting a call.
“Let it go to voice mail,” he said huskily.
“You need to take this—”
“Elliott will get over it. Let it go.” His thumb stroked languidly over her thigh. “There’s too much starting to intrude on us already.”
She left the phone where it was. Finally, its shrill stopped. Quinn’s pulse beat in her throat as they stared at each other.
“I want you.” His eyes smoldered with desire.
She wanted him, too. Slowly, she pulled her top over her head, her sports bra next. Carter sat up and kissed her as he fondled her breasts, sending a tingling ache straight to her sex.
“Sit on the sofa,” he murmured, his breath warm against her earlobe. “Scoot your bottom to the cushion’s edge.”
Quinn rose shakily. He made no attempt to hide that he was watching her as she removed the remainder of her clothing. Pulling off his T-shirt, he came to kneel closely in front of her. His mouth moved demandingly over hers, sending a surge of heat through her. Then, spreading her knees farther apart, he drew down the waist of his sweatpants. Bracing her weight on her elbows on the cushions, she lay back slightly and adjusted her body. Quinn moaned softly as he sank into her, the position allowing for deep penetration. Face flushed, Carter released a rough breath at the feel of it, too. Then he began to thrust, his pace slow and deliberate as his hands explored the soft lines of her hips, her waist. Mouth open, Quinn arched her neck, and he sucked and bit lightly at her there, eliciting another moan.
For a long time, their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, their ragged breathing in unison. Then his jaw squared as his thrusts become shorter and more forceful.
“Quinn…” he panted. She cried out as she came, her walls clenching around him. He released into her with a groan.
Sometime later, they showered upstairs in the master bathroom. Carter soaped her body, his hands sliding over her slick curves.
“I think we scared off Doug downstairs,” she said, feeling Carter’s chuckle low in his chest.
“I like this new form of cardio.”
She smiled softly. “Mmmm. Me, too. That was a creative position.” She pressed a kiss against his still-healing shoulder. “I guess it’s true necessity is the mother of invention.”
He tipped her face up to his.
“You’re under my skin.” His eyes were serious. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, his kiss sending a new spiral of need through her. Then, her hands trailing down his sides, Quinn looked up at him as she sank to her knees on the tile floor. She used her mouth on him until his body shuddered. One hand gripping the shower wall, the other fisted in her hair, he came again with a hoarse cry.
* * *
Although it was midafternoon, Quinn lounged in bed. A towel wrapped around his waist, Carter sat on the mattress’s edge and talked on his cell phone with one of the military veterans they had met at the hospital in Charleston. The man had left a voice mail while they had been in the shower, and Carter had returned his call.
“AJ and some of the guys have this idea for a recreation and fitness center—one adapted for vets with disabilities,” Carter said once he had disconnected. She recalled AJ was the one who had lost his leg in a roadside bombing. “It’s a tough situation. They’ve been through rehab, but afterward they’re pretty much on their own. The center’s just a dream at this point, but they’re looking to do a feasibility study and, based on that, raise funds.”
“And you want to help?”
Cupping the back of his neck, he nodded. “We’re meeting next week to talk more. There’s a large veteran population in Charleston that could benefit.”
His phone rang again. As he answered, Quinn turned onto her side and ran her fingers over Doug’s coat, who was curled against her.
“Elliott.” Carter stood, the phone against his ear. “Sorry I couldn’t take your call earlier.”
Quinn knew they were planning to announce Carter’s starring in The Rainy Season to distract from the photos that would go public next week. She didn’t understand some of the cinema and financing terminology as Carter spoke with his agent, but she recognized the name of the film’s director and the actors being considered for other roles, including one very beautiful ingénue. Deciding to give him privacy, she got up and moved to the bathroom to dry her hair. At the doorway, however, she turned to look at Carter as he paced the room, talking the business of Hollywood.
Although her heart lifted at how normal—how healthy—he looked, the realization was also a bittersweet one.
Already, his former life was beginning to reclaim him.
Cha
pter Thirty-Two
Carter St. Clair Gets Some Healing of the Sexual Kind
At the headline, Quinn released a tense breath. The gossip magazine was on the newsstands, its digital site also posting the photos overnight. Her stomach tight, she viewed the images on her iPad. Some were simply of Carter and her walking on the beach. But the ones taken while they had been seated at the lifeguard stand were more intimate. In them, he had his arm wrapped around her, and her head lay against his shoulder.
A caption accompanied the photos.
Carter St. Clair looks to be recuperating nicely with the help of his physical therapist, Quinn Reese-Medero, estranged wife of San Francisco Breakers running back Jake Medero. Did the hunky A-list actor play the lead role in their breakup?
She scanned the brief article, her frustration rising. Setting the iPad aside, Quinn rose from the sofa and paced. “They make it sound like I cheated on him. They don’t mention we were legally separated before I even started working with you. And I never took his last name—”
“Hey.” Carter came to stand in front of her. Gently, he clasped her upper arms. “We expected this, remember? And we know the truth. No one else matters.”
She nodded mutely.
“There’re three cars of ’em parked on the road,” Jolene fussed as she entered through the front door. Quinn knew Carter had called her to forewarn her of the possible paparazzi. Now that the photos the magazine had paid for as an exclusive were out, it was likely the agency responsible for them had sold information on Carter’s whereabouts to others in their business.
“It’s not right.” Jolene struggled angrily out of her coat. “It’s an invasion of privacy!”
“But it’s not illegal,” Carter told her. “As long as they stay off the property, there’s nothing we can do. Remember what we talked about. If they try to stop you when you leave—”
“I’ll run the damn fools over. Won’t be nothin’ left of ’em but a greasy spot!”
Despite the situation, he suppressed a smile. “I appreciate that, Jo, but just don’t, okay? Don’t engage them.”
“You take all the fun out of it,” she huffed. But her eyes softened as she looked at them. “Have to admit I’m thrilled with the two of you gettin’ together. Been wonderin’ when it would happen—I got a real sense about these things.”
Still grumbling about the photographers, she bustled off to the kitchen with Doug following. Carter turned his attention back to Quinn.
“There’ll be some heat on us for a while, at least until some other scandal draws their attention.” His gaze held concern. “We should probably stay off the beach for now.”
It was a gray day, anyway, the morning sunlight feeble as it attempted to fight its way through the clouds that had rolled in overnight. Even the beach appeared colorless. Quinn forced herself to focus on something else. “We’ll use the treadmill. We’ll also ramp up your shoulder work now that Dr. Patel has given us the all clear.”
“I need to make a couple of calls. I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty?”
She gave a faint nod.
“Do me a favor? Don’t read any of the comments online.”
He went upstairs.
When she had been with Jake, she had seen some of the things being said online about him, especially when the Breakers lost a game. The comments, even from self-proclaimed fans, could be scathing. She would abide by Carter’s request to avoid social media. But she couldn’t help wondering what was being said about her.
* * *
By the end of the week, the paparazzi who had been camped in front of the home had thinned, with only one car now visible outside the gate. Peering at it between the slats of the plantation shutters, Carter stood in the living area with his phone to his ear.
“Variety and Entertainment Weekly are planning cover stories,” Ariel Carrington, his publicist, enthused. “We’ll be doing the interviews and photo shoots while you’re here. You’re going to need your stamina to keep the schedule I’m setting. I hope that physical therapist has been doing more than just sexing you up.”
He ignored her comment. “I’ll be ready.”
“You looked good in those photos, so I suppose she is doing her job. But if you don’t mind me saying so, she isn’t quite up to par with your usual tastes, is she? What is it about her that’s attracted a pro football player and now you?”
Irritation flickered through him. Although she was now in her early-forties, Ariel had been a runway model before moving to the business side of the industry. She had also unsuccessfully propositioned him on more than one occasion. He would consider getting a new publicist, but she was closely aligned with Elliott’s agency and had been instrumental in Carter’s rise to stardom. He owed her like he did Elliott, but he had his limits.
“I do mind. Watch it, Ariel.”
She gave a throaty laugh. “Oh, my. You really are smitten, aren’t you? Anyway, I’ve been coordinating your time for while you’re here. In addition to the cover shoots, you’ll be doing Kimmel on Thursday and Ellen on Friday. They both tape around four, so we’ll need to go directly from the junket on those days. Also, I don’t know if Elliott’s told you, but they want you to present at the Silver Screen Institute’s salute to Norman Weintraub on Saturday night.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Carter, it’s Norman. It’ll mean so much to him. When they found out you were going to be in town, they practically begged.”
Norman Weintraub had been the director of one of Carter’s movies. He was also eighty and finally retiring after a long and illustrious career.
“All right,” he said, repressing a sigh.
“Elliott will be attending with you.”
“Let them know I’ll be bringing someone else, as well.” His tone left no room for argument. Quinn was going to LA with him at his insistence. He could see from the schedule being set for him that she would be spending much of the time during the week alone. He wouldn’t let that happen on Saturday night, too.
A tense silence filled the airwaves. Then, “Of course I’ll arrange for another seat,” Ariel replied coolly.
“Let’s get back to the junket. I won’t be answering any questions about the attack. Or my personal life.”
“I’ll make sure everyone’s aware you’re there to discuss the film only, but you’re going to be asked questions. You’re bigger news than the movie, Carter.” What sounded like emotion entered her voice. “And I want you to know, I’ve missed you. I’ve thought about you so much while you’ve been gone.”
As she gave a rundown on which journalists she expected to attend, Quinn entered the room. After their therapy session that morning, she had run on the treadmill, then gone through an extended yoga practice behind the closed glass doors of the sunroom. Nervous energy, he supposed. She now wore a simple wrap dress, her russet hair pulled back.
“I’ve got to go, Ariel. Send me the itinerary once it’s finalized.” He bid her good-bye and disconnected. To Quinn, he said, “You’re sure you want to go out?”
“You have AJ and the others coming by.”
Carter had invited the vets over to talk about the center, figuring it was easier than meeting them somewhere in public. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave.”
“I know. But Samantha and I made plans for lunch before all this started. I don’t want to cancel. And the truth is, I’ve got cabin fever. I need to get out.”
They had sequestered themselves since the news about them had gone viral. It had been nice, the two of them tucked away from the world. Carter had done his best to keep Quinn occupied, to keep her away from the Internet and the celebrity news segments on television. Interest in her had peaked since the photos had come out. He walked to where she stood and took her hands in his. “You look great.”
She gave a smile of appreciation. “It’s nice to remember I own a few things besides yoga pants.”
“I like you in those, too. And speaking of clothes, I’d like you to attend an
event with me while we’re in LA. It’s black tie.”
Anxiety filled her eyes, and she shook her head. “I don’t own anything for something like that. The best I have is the dress I wore to Olivia’s engagement party—”
“I have a stylist I work with in LA. She’ll take care of everything.” When she still appeared uncertain, he said, “I need you with me, Quinn. Getting back to my life after all this…it’s a little overwhelming.”
At his admission, she stared down at their fingers tangled together, then gave a small nod.
“The paps are outside. They’re going to follow you.”
“I know.” She sounded nervous but resolved. “We’ve talked about this—I can’t hide here forever. Samantha and I are having lunch at Café Bella. If anyone bothers us, she says she’ll toss them out.”
He released a soft breath. “Call me when you get there and again before you leave.”
A short time later, he watched from the window as the Mercedes departed. As expected, the lone car that sat at the top of the road pulled out behind it. Resentment tightened his mouth. Carter thought of his call with Ariel. It had brought back to him just how frenetic his life had been, how different from the solace he’d had here.
With Quinn out of the house, he had a call to return before the vets arrived. Frank Holloway was a retired FBI agent who had served as a consultant on one of his films. Carter had played an agent, and the two had gotten to know each other. Frank still had contacts within the Bureau, and Carter had asked him several days ago if he could do anything to get Quinn’s situation moved up. He had waited until her departure to call Frank back. He didn’t want to upset her with what he was doing.
Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two Page 21
