Southern Star: Destiny Romance

by JC Grey

  Ryan’s ears perked up. ‘Something popped?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Elsom frowned. ‘Apparently, there’s some sort of anomaly with the DNA on the murder weapon, which they thought was Blaze Gillespie’s. He wasn’t specific, just said it was an inconsistency and they’re revisiting the evidence.’

  Ryan took out his wallet. ‘I’ve got a twenty that says she didn’t do it.’

  Elsom gave him a severe look. ‘We’re in the business of detecting, not gambling, Ryan.’

  ‘So . . .?’

  ‘Make it fifty and you’re on.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The suite at the Beverly Wilshire was stylish and sumptuous, and the staff friendly and unobtrusive. Blaze had done three press interviews and two TV spots that day, and everyone had said nice things about her performance in Bad & Co. Not one whisper of gossip about her scandalous life had reached her ears. Meanwhile, her premiere dress hung on the back of the bathroom door: a figure-hugging confection of bronze silk, encrusted with jet beads at one shoulder.

  Everything was divine. Everything was perfection. Everything was utterly wrong.

  She’d been doing all right since she’d arrived in LA: holding in the hurt, smiling at the attention, acting her part as though her life depended on it – right up until the designer of her dress, Wes Jacobs, arrived for her dress fitting this afternoon. Once it was on, Wes’s awestruck young female assistant had stepped back, oohed and aahed, and asked Blaze how she managed to get her stomach so flat.

  The blast of pain that had come in the wake of that innocent question had almost sent her reeling. She didn’t want a flat belly, she wanted a bump that contained a brand-new life. She yearned to lie in Macauley Black’s arms and whisper her secret late one night after love-making, watch his dark eyes flare with the miracle of it. She wanted to experience the kick of life inside her. She wanted to be fat and happy. She ached to hold her child against her breast; to feed it, love it.

  With rigid determination, Blaze had held it together until the fitting was finished and the dress was safely back in the garment bag. She’d hugged Wes, thanked Jodie and waved them out with a promise to say only good things about the W label on the red carpet.

  Now, without warning, the desperate ache of loss swamped her. Tears streamed down her face and clogged her throat. Hugging herself in a vain attempt to hold the grief inside, she retreated to the bedroom, curled into the corner of the chaise and wept for the tiny life that had flickered ever so briefly. Like a tidal wave, the torrent of grief was unstoppable. On and on, she cried, until her throat was raw and aching, and damp patches soaked her shirt.

  Minutes passed, an hour, but blind and deaf to anything except her loss, Blaze didn’t hear the suite phone ring and ring until its sudden cessation pierced the wave of emotion. Wrung out, she lay against the back of the chaise, shuddering in the aftermath of the flood.

  Into the sudden silence, a deep and familiar voice said, ‘The hospital said you didn’t talk about it at all . . . the baby.’

  Blaze looked up and he was there. Out of nowhere, Mac was standing at the door with unshaven jaw and tired eyes, a battered travel bag in hand.

  ‘I felt numb . . . I didn’t know what I felt then, but now it’s all . . .’ She drew an arm across her sodden face.

  The phone rang again, intruding. They both started. Blaze finally went to answer it, and found a desperate hotel receptionist at the other end. ‘Ms Gillespie. I’m so sorry, but you didn’t answer and he wouldn’t wait. He said he was your husband, but I’ve never seen him before. Security are on their way if —’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ Blaze interrupted. ‘Thanks for checking, though.’ She replaced the phone, watching Mac shrug out of a well-worn leather jacket and place it with studied deliberation on the bed.

  ‘The hotel thinks I’ve acquired a husband.’

  He didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed or embarrassed. ‘You didn’t pick up and they wouldn’t let me up.’

  Blaze studied him. ‘Why are you here?’

  Mac was silent so long it was as if he’d been turned to stone. ‘I couldn’t not come,’ he said finally. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  The words sounded so rough and raw, it was as if they’d been dragged from him. Seconds after he’d uttered them, they still throbbed in the air until he cursed, dropped his bag, turned and headed for the doors to the large terrace. Every fibre of her body aching – for herself, the child and Mac – Blaze sat there, uncertain of what he expected or needed. When she heard only silence, she caved in and followed him out.

  Staring out at the smog-edged spring sky towards the Hollywood Hills, he had a white-knuckled grip on the balcony rail. Below, horns blared faintly. He was hunched over slightly so she couldn’t see his face clearly. It wasn’t until she saw his shoulders shaking that she realised.

  Shocked, she felt as if she should retreat inside the suite, leaving him to grieve in private, but instead she took one step forward, and another.

  Out of everyone in the entire world, she thought, he was the only other person who could truly share her loss. She put a hand on his back, felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she murmured. ‘Not until . . . it was too late . . . she was gone.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘It was far too early to know for sure, but I just have this feeling she was a girl. I called her Skye.’

  Under her palm, she felt Mac take a shaky breath. He turned, dark eyes shadowed but steady, and she dropped her hand.

  ‘I thought . . . we could plant a tree,’ she murmured. ‘For Skye. A connection to her for always. Maybe down by the waterhole at Sweet Springs.’

  ‘Something like a Moreton Bay Fig,’ he said. ‘They live for hundreds of years.’

  Blaze took a breath. ‘You hated me. In the hospital, you looked at me as though I was the lowest form of life.’

  A weary smile curved his lips and he reached out a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I hated me! I was shattered. You’d just miscarried in my arms, and I didn’t even know you were pregnant. I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me you didn’t know that you were pregnant.’

  ‘She was yours.’ Her chin jerked up and she felt a spurt of anger as she silently dared him not to believe her. ‘Apart from you, I haven’t been with anyone. Not for a long time. Mitch Redmond was my best friend and I miss him, but we were never lovers.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain . . . I’m the one who should be explaining – and apologising – for not protecting you that first time, among other things. I . . . we . . . I wanted to talk to you about it but then Peg got hurt and . . . the time was never right.’

  She nodded and gave him a sad smile. ‘I’d been feeling a bit tired but I thought it was just the heat. I never even considered . . .’

  He kind of scooped her against him then so she lay against his chest. For a moment she resisted and then gave in and relaxed, her head tucked under his chin.

  ‘I wanted to see you but I was so angry. And then Rowdy said you’d gone away.’ He hesitated. ‘So there aren’t any misunderstandings on another front, I slept with you because I wanted to sleep with you. Not as part of any plan to seduce you into selling Sweet Springs.’

  Blaze gave a choked laugh. ‘I can understand why you feel so strongly, but it’s not for sale. It’s mine.’

  The phone rang again and she exhaled. The world just didn’t know when to wait. ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Local time?’ Mac glanced at his watch. ‘Nearly five. Why?’

  ‘What!’ Blaze reared back. ‘That’ll be Rudy and Rolf.’

  ‘Who?’

  She rolled her eyes as she picked up the phone and heard the front desk inform her that Rudy and Rolf were on their way up.

  ‘Hair and make-up artists,’ she told Mac, as she went to open the door of the suite. ‘The premiere of my movie, Bad & Co., is tonight, and I’m supposed to be bathed and ready for them to work t
heir magic. Instead I’m a mess.’

  Never one to turn down the chance at a little drama, Rolf greeted her tear-ravaged face with horror, while Rudy told Mac that with a bit of attention he could have a six-figure modelling contract. Mac inched towards the door, but not before Rudy – or was it Rolf? Hard to tell when both favoured dramatically arched eyebrows and neatly groomed goatees – had a hand around his biceps and was asking what he did to keep in shape.

  Blaze, curse her, looked about to explode with laughter as he escaped, muttering that he’d be back later.

  ‘Pick up a tux,’ Rudy or Rolf called after him. ‘Armani. Come back in an hour and your woman will be looking like a goddess, and we might even have time to do something with you.’

  Finding his way to the Armani store was Mac’s first mistake. His second was not asking about prices before a leggy blonde saleswoman cornered him with what she called Giorgio’s genius cut. It would be perfect for him, she promised, and it did feel good, he had to admit. Within half an hour, a pile of bags waited for him at the counter containing the tux, a crisp white shirt, tie and shoes. His third mistake was not bolting before signing the credit card receipt. By the time he headed back to the hotel, his head was feeling as light as his bank balance. He didn’t think he’d spent that much on clothes in his entire life.

  It had taken less than an hour so he got a beer at the hotel bar, found a seat where he could watch the lifts and waited until Rudy and Rolf headed out across the foyer, evidently having finished working their magic with Blaze. He was as open-minded as any bloke, but he could do without being touched up – artistes or not.

  They weren’t following the plan! The bitch had gone – and her lover, too, panting after her. Yet another man letting the slut lead him around by his balls. Couldn’t anyone see through her?

  That idiot newcomer had been the one to spill the beans about Mr Superstud Black’s absence.

  We could do with some more meat in the spag bol. FYI, the boss is away for a few days.

  FYI, fuck you, imbecile!

  Nails already chewed into jagged weapons yearned to dig new holes into arms already marked by scabby stress scars. But the idiot’s presence had meant ignoring the agony of the worms that crawled beneath the skin, until the kitchen door had slammed behind him. Stupid hick!

  All it had taken was a casual question about the boss’s whereabouts and he’d grinned and run off at the mouth about how Black had it bad for the bitch and had gone running after her to LA.

  Alone again and the blood flowed from self-inflicted welts on arms and neck. The worms crawled and bit beneath the skin in earnest now, but did anyone know that? Did anyone wonder about the sacrifices made in order to bring a whore to justice?

  Oh no. It was just more meat in the bolognese and FYI.

  Fuck them all!

  The rage peaked and then slowly subsided. Rational thought returned. The bitch and her bastard lover were out of reach for the moment, but not out of mind, and the time could be put to good use.

  In fact, a little distance was a fine thing. It allowed the time to finetune and finesse, to anticipate the finale. Others might have followed her to LA for the pleasure of the hunt, or because obsession overruled logic. But the truly great predators allowed their prey to come to them. And she would, there was no doubt. One way or another, she would be back; the deadly undertow that connected them would see to that.

  Black was expected to return within days. He had no choice with the station to run. The bitch wouldn’t be far behind. Oh yes. She liked what hung between his legs too much to give it up yet. She would follow him back, straight into the trap. Lust would be the death of her – how deliciously ironic.

  As Mac walked out of the lift and into Blaze’s suite, he frowned at the text message from Ryan on his phone. Something about an anomaly with the forensics and a request to keep Blaze close until the situation could be clarified. What situation? Mac didn’t like it, particularly the instruction not to mention anything to Blaze. They’d only just cleared up the last round of disastrous misunderstandings and . . .

  He looked up and all thoughts of forensics and misunderstandings fled. The shopping bags fell to the floor in a rustle of tissue paper as he stared at her, and stared some more. He probably started to salivate; he knew he was sweating and his knees were trembling.

  ‘Sweet Jesus,’ he managed.

  Blaze gave him a saucy wink, and did a hip-wiggling twirl in a dress that wasn’t any shade he’d seen before. ‘Like what you see?’

  ‘Like is probably understating it a little,’ he said a little shakily.

  Capturing all the colours of a stormy Queensland sunset, the dress was suspended from one glittering, beaded shoulder strap, slanting across her bosom just low enough to hint at her cleavage. From there it skimmed her spectacular figure and fell straight to the ground with a short train behind. It was a model of restraint, but the body beneath was anything but.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted, raising an elegantly curved brow. Her hair was swept high on her head and studded with topaz beads that gleamed in the light from the lamp. All traces of the grief-stricken Blaze had vanished.

  ‘Uh,’ he replied in inspired fashion. ‘You look good in . . . what is that colour?’

  Blaze glanced down. ‘Bronze shot with gold and copper. The silk changes with the light.’

  ‘It’s . . . can I touch you?’ He came closer, but she laughed and danced out of his reach.

  ‘No! If you smudge anything, Rudy and Rolf will put a contract out on you.’

  ‘I think I can handle Rudy and Rolf.’

  Another lift of those sleek brows above smoky, sensual eyes. ‘The way you hightailed it out of here suggests otherwise.’

  Mac shifted uncomfortably. ‘Rolf had his hands over my arms. He was stroking me.’ Even to his own ears he sounded embarrassingly like an Edwardian virgin. ‘And Rudy’s eyes were looking places they shouldn’t.’

  Blaze’s lips quirked, and her eyes followed the same path over his jeans that Rudy’s had earlier, only Mac’s response was rather different this time. ‘You can hardly blame Rudy,’ she said. ‘You have a fabulous . . . physique.’ She started to reach out to him but pulled back with a sound of regret. ‘Maybe later. The car’s coming in ten minutes.’ She flicked a glance to the bags piled on the floor. ‘I take it you’re coming to the premiere.’

  Mac thought of the text message from Ryan. ‘I’m sticking like glue until we’re home.’ And beyond, but they could deal with that later.

  ‘Then you’d better get changed, while I add the finishing touches.’

  ‘You look perfect as you are,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm, but I have some very expensive baubles on loan. It would be a shame not to enjoy them.’

  Five minutes later, he emerged from the shower with a towel around his waist to find her looping slender drops through her ears in front of the dressing-room mirror. She smiled at his reflection as he came up behind her. The smooth, bare expanse of her neck was irresistible, and he placed a lingering kiss there. When he came up for air, her eyes were closed, her expression satisfied. He looked at the earrings. Each had a large topaz surrounded by small stones that shot silver fire. Diamonds, unquestionably.

  She turned and held out a wide, intricately wrought band studded with the same stones and asked him to fix it around her upper left arm. ‘Remind me to return these to the hotel safe when we get back. They’re worth nearly a million US, and it’s a requirement of the insurance.’

  He kept his expression neutral, but his stomach dropped a little at the mention of the gems’ worth. Baubles, she called them, but for many they’d represent an entire lifetime’s earnings. He took his shopping bags into her bedroom to change, aware of her presence at the open doorway. When he had his shoes and pants on and had buttoned up the snowy-white dress shirt, she glided across the room to fix his cufflinks and tie as though she’d been doing it all her life.

  ‘Jacket,’ she murmured, pulling it from the ti
ssue paper and stroking the fine wool before helping him into it. She circled him, looking at the finished effect. ‘You brush up well,’ she said, ‘with a little help from Giorgio.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mac frowned, tugging at the noose around his neck. He loathed the bloody things.

  The phone rang and Blaze answered it. ‘Ready to face the music?’ she asked a moment later. ‘The driver is here.’

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

  Blaze scooped up a small beaded evening bag on the way out, and they made their way to the lift in silence. They had it to themselves, and Mac was aware of the nervous electricity surrounding her as they descended. She looked, for the first time since he’d known her, like the celebrity who adorned all those glossy magazine covers.

  ‘It’s only a movie,’ he said into the silence.

  ‘During the making of which I supposedly got it on with half the crew.’ She pursed her lips. ‘The press won’t miss the opportunity to throw some nasties at me, so don’t get upset, okay?’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  She sighed. ‘Especially don’t get upset with your fists. It just gives the media more ammunition.’

  ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘Laugh as if I couldn’t care less. Act bored as if it’s old news. Tell them I hope they enjoy the movie. Boring, but you get to keep the high moral ground and you don’t get to be the headline the following day.’

  ‘Okay.’ Mac nodded. ‘But if anyone really pisses me off, he better beware of dark alleys.’ He thought of something. ‘What about the bastard behind all the crap in the media? He worked on the movie, right? Will he be here?’

  Blaze frowned and her hand tightened a little in his. ‘The production company didn’t invite him, but I suppose there’s a chance he’ll show up as someone’s guest.’

  ‘If you see him, be sure to point him out,’ Mac said.

  She smiled a little sadly. ‘I’d rather you believed me than avenged me.’

  The lift came to a halt in reception, and Mac jabbed a finger on the ‘doors close’ button. He didn’t want any interruptions until they’d finished speaking.