“Do you mind if I go upstairs and get the few things that I have? Some toiletries and a few clothing items?”
Max stepped back out of her path to the stairs but didn’t say yes or no. Fine. The asshole was done talking and frankly she was finished listening. He wasn’t going to say anything she wanted to hear.
With as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances she marched upstairs and gathered her things into a plastic bag and returned to the living room, her items in hand. Shoving them into her oversized purse, she glanced at the crutches leaning on the wall by the door. The tender caring man that had carried her around rather than let her use them was nowhere in sight. Long gone and never to be seen again.
“I guess I’ll see you on the…” She checked the paper again. “The twenty-fifth. Text me if you need anything before that.”
She turned but not fast enough because his answer smacked her right on the ass he wanted out of his house.
“I won’t need anything from you.”
As she walked out of the house and down the walk, the tears she’d been trying to quell wouldn’t be denied any longer. They ran down her cheeks and blurred her vision.
He never had needed anything from her. She’d only fooled herself into thinking he did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was business. That was the mantra that Max repeated to himself over and over for the next three weeks. Because he was in the middle of a play, he wasn’t expected to make many social appearances but there had been a few.
As expected and required by contract, Carrie had appeared at his side looking absolutely stunning. What she did with the rest of her time, he had no idea. He didn’t speak to her in between and didn’t see her either. For her part, she made no effort to contact him.
He missed her. The way she could make him smile and laugh when he wasn’t in a good mood. The funny way she worked at her laptop, making faces at the screen and completely unaware she was doing it. He particularly missed her at night. Yes, he missed the sex but it was more than that. The cuddling and tenderness she’s brought into his life was something he’d found he wanted. Now that he’d lost it that is.
He had seen her one day coming out of their favorite coffee shop with a paper cup in one hand and a pastry in the other. He’d watched her walk down the street, not sure where she was going because it was the wrong way for Nate and Paige’s place. Guiltily, he’d turned and gone in the opposite direction, not wanting to feel like a creepy stalker getting a glimpse of the object of his affections.
Here he was a few days later seeing her again. Tonight was a charity function and Max couldn’t even remember what the party was trying to raise funds for. Not that it mattered much. He’d figure it out when they arrived. He was decked out in his usual tuxedo, his hair freshly trimmed and his shoes shined. Carrie was dressed in a strapless gold gown that showed off her incredible curves. The hairdresser had coiled Carrie’s long red hair on top of her head, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. And absolutely kissable.
They’d barely touched since she’d come back from Los Angeles.
He’d taken her hand as they’d walk down the red carpet but as soon as they were away from the cameras she’d moved away, putting as much distance as possible between the two of them. She’d clearly received his message that day she’d come back. He should be happy that she wasn’t hanging on, trying for more. She’d done as he asked, and perhaps for the first time in their short acquaintance she hadn’t questioned him to death.
Then why was he so deeply and unutterably miserable?
The only thing that kept from drinking his days away was work. When he wasn’t at the theatre he spent his time lying in bed staring at the ceiling – wishing she were with him – or sitting on the couch staring at the paps across the street and remembering what she’d said about the difference between them. In fact, every single word she’d ever spoken to him had come rushing back, making it harder and harder to sleep. She wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. He constantly felt as if he could jump out of his own skin. He was restless, moody, and unpredictable. No one wanted to be in his vicinity.
The limo pulled up to the curb and he could already hear the crowd of fans and see the flashing bulbs through the tinted windows. He was an actor, goddammit, and he could bloody well act happy when the situation called for it. This wasn’t the first time he’d had his heart stomped on but for some reason he wasn’t bouncing back as he had from Alana.
It was almost as if Carrie was in a league of her own. That she was…different than all the others. The one thing he’d wanted to believe was that she was exactly the same as Alana but hid it better. Then she’d be a great actress, though, and he wasn’t ready for that either.
“Are you ready?”
It was the first words he’d spoken to her the entire journey there. She barely turned her head but nodded slightly, her gaze averted away. Her tiny frame was stiff, her back ramrod straight as she sat on the sumptuous leather seats waiting for their turn in the car line. In a moment the door was going to fly open and they’d be on display for only the second time since she’d come back to London. Since he’d learned the truth.
“Just follow my lead.”
It was the same thing he’d said every time they’d done this and she’d never failed to do just that, content to sit in the background while he chatted with interviewers and fans. Would this time be different? She had her own career to think about now. There was nothing in their contract that said she couldn’t promote herself.
The car door opened and the cool damp air immediately chilled his overly warm skin and dried the sweat that had pooled on the back of his neck. The usual surge of adrenaline that hyped him up when he heard the roar of the crowd was suspiciously absent tonight and he keenly missed it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed it until he was standing outside the limo holding his hand out to Carrie and wondering just how his life had come to this. As she demurely climbed out, careful not to flash too much leg or cleavage for the paps, she turned up her face and looked at him for the first time that evening.
He could see it in her eyes.
Whatever tender emotion that had dwelled there previously was long gone and in its place was pure disdain. He wasn’t even worth her hatred.
Carrie, like every appearance previously, had drifted back away from the crowds and the cameras, letting him soak up the attention alone. Working the red carpet by rote, he barely listened to the questions from reporters, simply repeating the answers he always gave.
It’s a terrific cause and I’m happy to support it.
The play is going great and I’m gratified by the reviews and the public’s response.
I really don’t know if or when another Thunder movie will be made.
I’m always looking for new and different roles.
I’m thrilled to be working in London where I get to sleep in my own bed every night.
He was almost done and inside the venue when he was tripped up. A pretty reporter from a national entertainment network had finished quizzing him about a new Thunder movie and instead of asking another inane question he’d been asked a million times before she went off script. She’d forced him to think about his answer and then scramble to make something up.
The young reporter held the microphone in his face and there was no escape. “You and your girlfriend Carrie Johnson look absolutely adorable together. And I think I speak for the world when I say that we all want to know how you balance having two busy careers and still manage to make time for romance. How do you both make a decision about what projects you’ll take? Does your acting and traveling make it difficult for her to make commitments to her own career?”
What the fuck kind of question was that? This woman spoke for the entire fucking world?
“You’ll need to ask Carrie that question.”
Then Max turned his back and strode away, fuming at the reporter. It was a stupid question and he had no idea how to answer it. What d
id it even mean? They balanced their relationship and careers by…
Fuck it, he didn’t have an answer. It had never come up. She’d never put him in the position of having to make those kinds of decisions. His publicist was going to have his head on a platter for the reply that he’d given. What had he been thinking? Ask Carrie? She’d say that Max was a complete bastard, although that was tame compared to what Alana had told reporters.
Speaking of Carrie? Where the hell was she?
Realizing he must have walked right past her and into the building, he backtracked slightly only to see her entering with his publicist Garrett at her side, laughing at something she’d said. Jealousy speared Max right in the gut and he didn’t stop to think about the consequences of his actions. He marched right over there and insinuated himself between Carrie and Garrett, giving his publicist a glare for good measure.
“I was looking for you.”
The smile she’d given Garrett had disappeared, replaced by a sedate expression that kept all of her emotions behind a wall. “And here I am. You walked right by us.”
Smoothing his lapels, he heard the orchestra playing a familiar song. If they danced they didn’t have to speak to one another. “We need to be seen together. We’ll dance.”
He didn’t make it a request because it wasn’t one. Garrett’s brows raised but he didn’t intervene, which was good as Max was in the mood to fire someone. It was too bad he hadn’t rehired Gemma.
Her arm in his, he led her to the middle of the crowded dance floor. He’d meant to keep her at a decent distance but the crush of couples kept pushing their bodies closer together. His thighs brushed her hips every time they moved and he was beginning to think this had been an extremely bad idea. His palms began to sweat and his heart raced at a much faster rate than the song. Concentrating so he didn’t stumble, he kept his head down, not daring to look her in the eye and see the scorn she held there.
And who the fuck did she think she was, being disdainful of him? She was the one that had used him. She was the one that had snagged a part because she’d met Tyler Gaylord. Max hadn’t done anything wrong. He had the moral high ground here so her little snit was completely uncalled for. She should be thanking him. He could have thrown her to the wolves and ruined her reputation.
Nate would murder Max though. For some reason, his friend was rather protective of Carrie. It turned out she could take care of herself quite well.
For the dozenth time, another couple bumped into Max causing him to press against Carrie’s lush body. Her breasts strained against the material of her dress, the creamy skin calling to him. It might have been his imagination but he would have sworn that he saw a small glimpse of a pink nipple as well. Perhaps.
Kiss. Worship. Devour. Claim.
If he stayed here on the dance floor with her his baser instincts were going to take complete control of his body. His brain scrambled to speak logically and coolly but his libido didn’t give a fuck about rationality. It had been weeks since he’d had Carrie under him, over him, beside him. Like a fever in his blood, he couldn’t forget the way she’d felt and tasted. Her scent wrapped around him, driving him slowly out of his mind and directly to one inevitable conclusion.
Thinking was overrated. He was running on pure male instinct now, letting the more primitive voice inside of him make all the decisions.
“We need to find someplace quiet to talk.”
Wrapping his hand around her arm, he tugged Carrie off of the dance floor toward…what? He’d know it when he saw it. He finally found what he sought…a doorway that led to an empty broom closet.
The room was lit by moonlight through a window, casting a shadow over Carrie’s face so he couldn’t make out her expression. If she was angry, she hadn’t acted like it.
“What do you want, Max? What do you hope to solve with this farce? We should go back to the party. I have nothing left to say.”
His chest rose and fell with his tortured breathing. There was a part of him that wanted to forgive her and simply sweep her into his arms, but that other part of him was still smarting from her betrayal.
“I…”
Max didn’t know what to say or do. Bringing her in here hadn’t been the brightest move but then he’d been doing boneheaded shit since the day he’d found out about her role in Tyler’s movie.
“You what?” she asked him, shoving against his chest when he would have moved closer. To explain only but she was in no mood to hear his excuses. “I asked you a goddamn question, Max. What are you doing? Why did we leave the party?”
Had there ever been such excruciating pain as the one in his heart at this moment? Carrie stood before him, beautiful, smart, funny, and talented. She was everything he’d wanted and more. He’d loved her, for Christ’s sake.
No, he still loved her. He wasn’t over her yet. Physically and emotionally he was a wreck and it had begun to affect his entire life. Even his coworkers on the play had begun to notice his distraction.
But it was the constant physical pain that he couldn’t take much more of. How much could a human withstand? If he couldn’t stop it, he needed something to distract him from it. A different pain. That’s what he needed. A small hurt to take away from the massive jagged gash in his heart. Max knew just how to get it too. He knew how to make her react. If he pushed her hard enough she just might strike out at him and he needed to feel her wrath.
“Did you fuck him? Did you fuck Tyler?”
A strangled gasp escaped from her lips and then her arm swung in the air. He watched it, fascinated as it came nearer, almost in slow motion, but he welcomed its destination. When her hand connected with his cheek, his head snapped back and his flesh burned. Harder than he’d thought her capable of but that was good. The more his face hurt the less he thought about his other wound. The mortal one.
Without another word or look, Carrie whirled around and strode out of the closet, leaving him behind without a backward glance.
Alone. Again.
CHAPTER FORTY
Hunkering down into her seat, Carrie silently looked out the airplane window as the lights of London faded into the distance. She’d ran out of the charity event and straight home, throwing some clothes into a suitcase so she could catch the next flight out of London. She didn’t much care where it went. As much as she’d learned to love this city, she couldn’t be in it right now. Every place she went, every corner she turned would remind her of Max.
How he’d ripped out her heart and then stomped on it.
However, his behavior tonight had been bizarre even for him. Max was a pompous asshole. That was a given. A judgmental bastard? Yep, that too. Spoiled and arrogant? He had his moments. But this evening at the party he’d shown a side of himself that she’d never seen before. Cruel. Callous. Insensitive. Primitive, even. His slick veneer of civilization had been stripped away and all that had been left was fury. The hopelessly polite Brit who drank tea had been taken over by an alter ego who didn’t care about the social niceties.
It was almost as if he’d wanted her to slap the shit out of him. Something, by the way, she’d been more than happy to do. Carrie could only hope it knocked some sense into that hard head of his. After a little more than three months in his company she could understand why he was single.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” the smiling flight attendant asked. “Pretzels?”
“Soda. Anything with caffeine. And make that a yes on the pretzels.”
She was going to need it to stay awake. The first plane she could get out of Heathrow had been to Rome. From there Carrie had a connecting flight to New York and then a final leg to Los Angeles. She’d be traveling the better part of the next twenty-four hours but it was worth it. She was out of London.
She’d sent a text to Paige from Heathrow that she was on her way and would explain when she got there, not mentioning any reasons. She didn’t want to get into it on the phone. This was a face to face conversation that required tequila. Lots of it. Paige
sent one text in reply.
Max is going to wish he was never born.
Ah, friendship. It was kind of funny that Paige simply assumed it was Max that had driven Carrie out of England.
She had learned something tonight, though. The reason Max had turned angry and cold was that he thought she’d slept with Tyler. Why he thought that was a mystery. Carrie knew Tyler would never tell him a tall tale like that. He had enough women begging for his attention that he didn’t need to brag about females that weren’t.
Max should have just talked to her about it. Like adults do. But then she remembered Max’s parents and realized he didn’t have much of an example there. They weren’t acting much like mature human beings so it wasn’t a shock that he had no idea what to do. They’d raised him to be a famous actor. Teaching him to be a good relationship partner? They’d dropped the ball on that one.
He might love her. But he didn’t trust her. Without that, the love didn’t matter much.
Carrie couldn’t try and make a relationship with a man work if he constantly thought she was out messing around. Alana had hurt him deeply but she was not Alana. Carrie wasn’t willing to take her predecessor’s punishments when she’d done nothing to deserve them. If Max didn’t get his head out of his ass he was going to die alone.
She’d be hard pressed to feel sorry for him.
* * *
The pounding on the front door woke Max out of a dead sleep. After Carrie had left the party last night he had gone on a drinking binge that would have made a college student wince. He was paying for that act of stupidity now. His skull felt like there was an ax splitting it in two, his mouth was as dry as cottonwool, and his stomach was tumbling and twisting. One look in the mirror as he stumbled to the door told the whole story.
What wasn’t pasty gray on Max was puke green.
“Just a fucking minute,” he mumbled as his hand wrapped around the doorknob. “Stop the bloody hammering.”
Swinging On A Star Page 24
