He didn’t answer, instead raking a hand through his disheveled salt-and-pepper hair. Guilt thickened Carter’s throat. He had known Elliott was drinking again, but he had been too caught up in his own health problems to press the issue.
“Maybe you were right.” Elliott stared morosely out the windshield. Sunlight illuminated the gray stubble on his face, as well as the deepening lines. “Maybe you should’ve stayed away from here. This business eats you alive. It screws with you until you don’t know who you are or what you’re doing anymore.”
Carter pressed his lips together, frustration and sympathy warring inside him. He was reminded of how easily he could have gotten caught up in a similar hell with the pain medication. There but for the grace of God… He released a small breath. “It’s going to be okay, Elliott. You’re not the first who’s had to do this more than once before it sticks.”
A short time later, they passed through the gate at New Beginnings. The residential treatment facility catered to the rich and famous. It was tranquil, spread out over twelve acres, with resort-like facilities and views of the Pacific. It looked like a place where one might go to vacation, not detox. Carter had called the center while Elliott was being discharged. Elliott had asked him to, to his credit.
Carter stopped the SUV under the columned portico in front of the lobby. A staff member waited to take the bag Elliott had packed at his place after they had left the hospital.
“I didn’t ask them to call you,” Elliott said.
“I know. Do you want me to go in with you?”
“I’ll do the walk of shame by myself.” He attempted a weak smile, his eyes hidden behind the dark tint of his sunglasses. “You’ve got a good girl, by the way. Quinn…she’s real. She might be the one to keep you sane around all this.” He cleared his throat. “I love you, Carter, you know that? I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch. I’ll call you every morning—”
“Just focus on getting better.”
“I’m still your agent. I’ll stay in touch.”
He patted Carter’s knee, then got out. His heart hurting, Carter watched as he handed over his bag to the staff member and walked inside.
* * *
It was well into the afternoon by the time Carter returned. As he entered the cottage, Quinn put down the magazine she had been reading on the sofa. “How is he?”
“Back in rehab.” He sat next to Quinn, feeling beaten down. She wore slacks and a white wrap-sweater, her hair in a pretty French braid. He told her what he knew about the incident that had led to Elliott ending up in the ER. “Another resident in his building found him in the parking garage, car still running and him slumped over the steering wheel. He drove like that. It’s a miracle he didn’t kill himself or someone else.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” But this situation with Elliott had unsettled him. He thought of others he had known in this business who had self-imploded, victims of Hollywood’s pressures and excesses. “I’m sorry I had to run out on you.”
“I’m just glad you got him somewhere he can be taken care of.” Hesitantly, she added, “I…also want to apologize.”
Carter had sat forward, elbows on his thighs, but he turned his head to look at her.
“I know I blindsided you. This morning didn’t go the way I intended.” Her teeth worried the flesh of her lower lip. “And you were right. I’m afraid of the things you said—of getting hurt again, of making another mistake.”
He turned to her on the sofa, swallowing down his pride. “Do you love me, Quinn?”
Her eyes were pained. “It’s not that simple. Who you are—”
“Forget Hollywood.” His throat ached. “Do you love me?”
“I…do love you,” she admitted, a quaver in her voice. “But I’m afraid of not being enough for you. That your world is just too big for me, and we won’t last. We’ve been living in a bubble, Carter—”
“You’re more than enough for me.” Earnest, he took her hands in his. “We can make this work.”
Her gaze was liquid and uncertain. He squeezed her fingers, needing her to believe him. “It won’t be as easy as other relationships, but it’s possible if we want it badly enough. And I do want it, Quinn. I want a life with you, whether that’s here or somewhere else. There’re other actors who don’t live here. They come here when they have to, they travel to wherever they’re filming, but they have a home and a life away from LA.” He thought again of Elliott. “I’ve been thinking lately maybe that’s something I need.”
She stared at him, her lips parted. “What’re you saying? My divorce isn’t even final yet.”
“Then we take this one day at a time.” Gently, he took her fingers and slipped them inside his button-up shirt so they touched the vertical scar on his chest. His voice was tinged with emotion. “This led me back to you, Quinn. Even with what I went through, I wouldn’t change it, not if that meant never finding you again.”
Her eyes misted.
“Just don’t bail on me.” His husky voice held a plea. “Don’t go back to Rarity Cove yet, all right?”
When she nodded faintly, he caressed her lips with his.
“They’ve been running me ragged, but that’s ending, at least until I get to New York.” Looking into her eyes, he toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “I have a photo shoot late tomorrow afternoon in Santa Monica—it’s the last thing on Ariel’s itinerary here. But up until then, we’ll spend the day together. You can go to the shoot with me. It’s supposed to go into the evening.”
She shook her head. “I’m okay being here without you—”
“I want to take you to the Santa Monica Pier. It’s one of my favorite places. There’s a great lunch spot, and they put me in a private room in back. We’ll eat, have a look around and then we’ll go to the shoot. They can be a lot of fun.” He wanted to make up for the time she had been left alone.
She looked into his eyes and then released a small breath of acquiescence.
“We’ll also go out to dinner tonight.” He touched her cheekbone. “I do love you, Quinn. I don’t take that word lightly.”
She leaned into him. Carter held her, reveling in the feel of her relaxed against him. Then, placing a fingertip under her chin, he lifted her face to his, his lips again brushing hers.
“We still have hours before dinner. Is there anything you’d like to do right now? Somewhere you want to go?”
“This morning left me drained,” she admitted softly. “I was thinking maybe we could just lie down for a while?”
Standing, he held his hand out to her. Quinn’s fingers clasped his as she rose and walked with him into the bedroom. Then, slowly, they undressed each other behind the window’s closed shutters.
Afterward, they lay in bed, Quinn’s head on his chest. Carter knew by her quiet, even breathing she had fallen asleep, sated and spent. Pensively, he watched the play of dappled sunlight that filtered between the shutter slats. Carter had never imagined he would find someone he wanted to share his life with. To have what his brother had been lucky enough to find twice. He had figured it was the trade-off for his stardom, for the wealth of opportunities he had been given.
Quinn stirred against him. Her hand slid over his stomach as she mumbled something he didn’t understand. She talked in her sleep. It was a trait he had discovered once they had begun sharing a bed. Smiling softly, his lips brushed against her forehead.
A younger version of himself might have imagined getting bored with just one woman. But this…
Quinn had begun to feel like home.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
They’d had a perfect day in Santa Monica with its rising sandstone bluffs and rocky shores. Although they had been detained at times by fans who recognized him even in his ball cap and sunglasses, Carter had still been able to show Quinn around the storied pier and amusement park.
It was now late afternoon, and they were at a private oceanfront home for the p
hoto shoot, which was to accompany a feature article in an entertainment magazine. While Carter had been whisked away by hair and clothing stylists, the home’s owner had graciously offered to take Quinn on a tour of the impressive Spanish Colonial-style residence that was just blocks from the pier.
As she returned to the rooftop terrace where the shoot was underway, she took a seat on a brown-and-tan-striped chaise, where she could watch while staying out of the way. The terrace was a beehive of activity, with nearly a dozen people working amid the mobile lights, reflectors and other photography equipment that had been set up by the pool. Around Carter, professionals adjusted lighting and instructed him on how to sit or stand. He appeared Old Hollywood handsome in a dark suit and silk tie.
“I’ve said it before—no one wears Tom Ford better than Carter St. Clair.”
Quinn recognized Ariel Carrington’s voice, although the woman wasn’t talking to her but to one of the hair stylists. Both had their backs to her and were looking at Carter. Neither was aware she was within earshot, since a large reflector on a tripod partially hid the chaise where she sat.
“Have you met the new girlfriend?” the stylist asked.
“She’s no big deal—average, at best. She won’t last. Carter will have his fill of her, and he’ll move on.”
Quinn’s face heated, but she remained frozen in place. If she got up and left, they would become aware of her presence and know she had overheard.
“I don’t know, I think she’s pretty.” It was the stylist speaking again. “She was with Jake Medero. That’s saying something.”
“Too bad he didn’t keep her,” Ariel replied haughtily. “Carter could do miles better than that Italian bitch the studios set him up with, but this slut isn’t even in her league.”
Someone called the publicist over, and she walked away. Quinn startled as her phone sprang to life. She reached into her bag to try to mute it, but it got the attention of the stylist, who turned around, a flush creeping over her cheeks as she saw Quinn. Their eyes held for an awkward second, then Quinn got up and took the phone into the house so she could hear, relieved to escape. The caller was the flooring contractor she had left a message for over the weekend. He was finishing up a project at another home in the canyon and was wondering if he could drop by to get a look at the floors.
She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’m not there right now, but I could meet you in an hour?”
She gave him the address and disconnected. Quinn turned, caught off guard by the stylist who now stood in the hall. She had a platinum-blond pixie cut and tattoos on her arms. Quinn had met her earlier and recalled her name was Dove.
“I’m so sorry you overheard us,” she said, appearing upset.
Quinn felt her pulse in her throat, embarrassed. “It’s all right.”
“It isn’t.” She looked over her shoulder, no doubt checking to see where Ariel was on the terrace. “Don’t take what she said personally. She’s jealous. She’s territorial about Carter and doesn’t like anyone he’s ever been with. I really am sorry.”
Quinn waved the incident off again, then changed the subject. “Would you mind doing something for me? Let Carter know I had to go to his house to meet a contractor? I’m going to take a taxi and leave the car here for him—he has the keys. Tell him I’ll see him tonight at his guest house?”
Dove agreed, although she still looked worried, then turned and went back to the terrace. Quinn peered outside. She knew the shoot was supposed to continue into early evening, as nighttime shots had been planned. Carter would be disappointed she had left, but the contractor had come highly recommended. If she could secure his services before they left town, they would be a step closer to getting the house on the market.
Going back to the property would also let her avoid Ariel, who was talking to Carter as two stylists fussed with his clothes. They had removed his suit coat, and he stood with his tie undone and hanging loosely against his shirtfront, slim-hipped and tall, hair ruffled by the ocean breeze.
Quinn turned and went down the staircase, planning to take one of the taxis that had been parked at the pier’s entrance.
* * *
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I thought she’d probably tell you when you got home.” Dove appeared contrite. The photographer had called a short break, and she had taken Carter aside to give him Quinn’s message. Hesitantly, she had also told him what Quinn had overheard. Irritated, Carter peered at Ariel as she conversed with the magazine’s editorial director on the other side of the pool.
“Was she upset when she left?”
“I don’t think so…I mean, I couldn’t tell.” Nervously, the stylist scraped her fingers through her short hair. “I get a lot of work from the magazine, Carter. Please don’t get me in trouble.”
“It’s fine, Dove. I appreciate you telling me.”
Briefly touching Dove’s arm, he walked to where Ariel stood. Seeing him, she broke into a smile. “The layout’s going to be fabulous, Carter. I saw the shots on-screen. Even unretouched, they’re—”
“We need a word in private. Excuse us,” he said to the man, then took Ariel by the arm and guided her to an unoccupied area in the terrace’s corner. It was getting late, and overhead the vibrant blue sky had faded.
“You look so intense, darling. What’s all this about?”
“I heard what you said about Quinn. Quinn heard it, too. She was sitting right behind you.”
Ariel huffed. “And of course she went running to you.”
“She didn’t tell me. Someone else did.” He leaned in closer, annoyance tightening his jaw. “Quinn’s off-limits. You don’t talk about her, and you treat her with courtesy. You’re not the only publicist in town, Ariel.”
Her shoulders rigid, she stared off to a line of waving palms near the beach. The photographer announced they were getting back to work. Having made his point, Carter began to walk off.
“From what I hear, Jake Medero is into some hard-core kink. Word is, he visits that sex dungeon in Mid-City whenever he’s in town. Is your new girlfriend into that, too?”
Carter turned back to her. Her mouth was pinched, and her dark eyes glittered.
“You’re fired,” he bit out.
“You can’t do that! We’re leaving for New York in a couple of days. The premiere’s next week—
“You won’t be going. I’ll rely on the studio publicists. And if you say another word about Quinn, I’ll make sure you never work for any of Elliott’s clients again.”
Anger coursing through him, he turned and strode back to where the next shots would take place, counting down the time until he could go after Quinn.
* * *
Closing the door behind the departing contractor, Quinn walked from the foyer to the living area where she had placed her purse when she arrived. As she entered, her eyes were drawn to the windows that provided a view of the canyon, the shadows on the hillside lengthening as daylight began to recede. For a time, she simply stood looking out, thinking of what Ariel had said. Quinn’s fingers toyed absently with the necklace she wore. She understood beautiful women would always be around Carter, and many would be attracted to him. If they had any chance at all of making this work, she would have to take that in stride.
Preparing to leave for the guest cottage, she picked up her purse and the house keys. But as she passed the sofa table, she noticed the blinking light on the phone console. Another message. She hadn’t been here since late last week. She put down her things in case she needed to write down a name or number and pressed play.
I’m sorry. So damn sorry for everything…
Her stomach quivered at the distraught male voice on the recording. It sounded like Elliott Kaplan. Had he called here the night he had ended up in the ER? As he rambled on, some of it incoherent, Quinn felt as though she were invading his privacy by listening to what was a very personal message meant for Carter. She poised her finger over the button to stop the playback, then froze.
I s
aw you tonight on that stage and I finally knew you were going to be okay. That I hadn’t ruined your life. It was the goddamn coke! You’ve got to understand. I was high!
He began to weep.
I’d give anything to take it back, but she just made me so damn mad! I-I should’ve just left, but I took the scissors from your desk, and I…oh, God. I-I tried to get away, but you were coming up the stairs…
Quinn’s hand rushed to cover her mouth, her heart turning over even as her mind reeled. Kelsey Dobbins had been the attacker. But what Elliott was saying…
It sounded like a confession.
Movement in her peripheral vision made her whirl. She gasped, adrenaline tingling through her body. Elliott stood beside the hearth. He had a harried, wild appearance. She hadn’t heard anyone come inside. How long had he been there? A weakness in her limbs, Quinn quickly stopped the recording.
“Elliott, I…” she stammered. She tried to appear calm, although she was also looking for a way out. The terrace doors behind her led to nothing but a thirty-foot drop into the ravine below. Her voice trembled. “I-I thought you were in rehab.”
“I was. I left.”
Quinn’s heartbeat roared in her ears as he took a step closer, his tone somber.
“I was in group therapy when I got this flashback of making a really stupid, coked-up call. I’d hoped it was just my imagination, but according to my list of outgoing calls, it wasn’t.” His pained expression held regret. “It turns out I was so fried I dialed the wrong number, though. I called here instead of his cell, which explains why I’m still walking around a free man. I slipped out of the center and took an Uber here.”
His gaze moved to the phone console. “I was hoping I could delete it before anyone heard. You’re not supposed to be here, Quinn. I talked to Carter this morning, and he said you were going to the shoot with him.”
She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.
“I…can’t let you tell him.”
Electricity crackled in the air. Quinn’s brain floundered. Elliott stood there, his shoulders slumped and skin bunched around his eyes.
Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two Page 25
