The House On Jindalee Lane

by Jennie Jones

  ‘It’s not just Damien,’ Tony said. ‘You told Polly and Dick about the casting-couch incident, they obviously spread it around, and now they’ve suddenly been struck dumb too.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I don’t know! I spoke to them on Skype and their fear was obvious as soon as I mentioned Marcus’s name.’

  ‘Oh, Tony …’ Poor Polly and Dick.

  ‘He’s got to them, Edie. I don’t know how, but he’s frightened the life out of them.’

  This couldn’t be happening. All because she’d slapped a producer and killed him off in a comedy whodunnit. It was beginning to feel more like a gripping tragedy.

  ‘Jonathon tried to talk Damien around, but the most he got out of him—and our darling Damien sounded beside himself with anxiety—was something about a photograph.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Haven’t got a clue! But he worried the socks off me. Jonathon called his mother, and she’s made arrangements to fly back from Greece early to pick up Sergei. In the meantime, Jonathon’s taking a couple of days off work, and I’m going straight to Melbourne tomorrow morning to be with Damien.’

  ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You have to stay put. This is dangerous now. I don’t trust Marcus or his lawyers.’

  Dangerous? ‘I need to help. I need to fix this, Tony.’

  ‘Tell that Special Forces hunk to be on alert.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to Ryan,’ Edie argued. ‘I want to talk to Damien. And I need to talk to Marcus!’

  ‘Why don’t you want to talk to me?’ Ryan said from behind her.

  She swung around.

  Ryan gave her a searching look, then without saying a word, beckoned for her to pass him the phone.

  ‘Tony? This is Ryan Munroe. I’d like to know why Edie is upset.’

  Ryan listened as Tony retold the story. ‘I can explain,’ Ryan said after a couple of minutes. ‘It’s going to be all right. I’ll call you back tomorrow. I need to talk to Edie now.’

  He hung up, slipped Edie a look that told her he knew something that she and Tony didn’t, then put her phone onto the benchtop.

  ‘I can take whatever you’re going to tell me,’ she said, sounding brave, although nervousness swam inside her.

  Ryan studied her, looking like he was assessing the best approach.

  ‘Just tell me,’ she begged. ‘Is it about the photos? Tony mentioned a photograph.’

  Ryan took a short breath and headed straight in. ‘Buchanan goes out with a woman and gets one of his suits to take the photos with a camera set up and hidden in his hotel room.’

  She flinched. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  Ryan didn’t even blink. ‘He’s cropped out of these images, leaving the woman either naked in full frame, or caught in a compromising position.’

  ‘Does he have any of me?’ Edie asked, her head spinning. ‘He can’t have.’

  ‘He does.’

  Edie gasped. ‘How? I never took my clothes off!’

  ‘There are photos of you in his hotel room.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Buchanan isn’t visible, but I presume it’s his hand down your blouse.’

  Edie put her face in her hands.

  Ryan stepped forward and pulled her against him.

  ‘This is totally creepy,’ Edie said, unable to understand how anyone could behave so disgracefully. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Edie, it’s not you who should be apologising or even feeling guilty. It’s not the other women either. It’s him. He’s fully responsible.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘Vince, and another friend, Cameron Sinclair, have been delving deeper and came up with all this. It’s how Buchanan kept the radio announcer quiet, kept Damien quiet, and others—including his wife.’

  ‘But what has he got on Damien? Damien wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone speak out of turn.’

  Ryan’s expression showed he was in a quandary.

  ‘Tell me,’ she pleaded. ‘I need to know so I can help.’

  ‘It’s a mock-up, most likely, but it shows Damien, naked except for his boxer shorts, and there’s another man—’

  ‘Stop!’ Edie closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘That’s not Damien. He doesn’t do what you’re going to say.’ She fought for clarity about the image Ryan had put in her head. ‘Was it inside or outside?’

  ‘It was taken in a dressing room.’

  ‘Did the other man have reddish-brown hair?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Edie let her breath out. ‘It was his boyfriend. They got together a few months before the run of Who Shot the Producer. The other man was an assistant stage manager on Damien’s show. They were together all through rehearsals and the run. That’s not a meaningless quickie.’

  ‘Looks like Marcus had a grudge against you after the casting-couch incident. Then he discovered you’d depicted him in your play. It was Buchanan who advised Damien to take the role of Riff Raff instead of doing your play here in town. He coerced Damien into telling him where you were. He said if he didn’t, he’d leak the photo.’

  ‘I don’t understand. It was a proper relationship between Damien and that man. They kept it quiet, only Tony and I knew. People gossip so much in the theatre.’ Like bloody Polly and Dick—although now they were in trouble too.

  ‘Edie,’ Ryan said. ‘The other man is married.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth.

  ‘Damien didn’t know,’ Ryan assured her. ‘But imagine what that photo would do to everyone concerned if it got out.’

  Damien would be mortified and crushed with guilt. He loved acting as an extrovert on stage, but that was it. He didn’t even attend the after-show parties. He didn’t want fame and recognition, he was an artist, wanting nothing more than to live quietly while performing and enjoying his dream. ‘How did you discover all this?’ she asked. Even Tony hadn’t got the truth out of Damien.

  ‘Vince had a word with the other man. He came clean. Damien told Buchanan’s men where you were but he meant no harm. He was scared, Edie.’

  ‘I’m not blaming him,’ she interrupted. ‘I want to see him.’ She wanted to hug him and keep him safe.

  ‘He had to tell Buchanan,’ Ryan said. ‘He was worried about the other guy, and the guy’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  ‘Turns out the wife knows her husband is gay. It’s something they live with. But still, Damien wouldn’t want that photo out in the world.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before?’

  ‘I didn’t need you worried.’

  ‘What are we going to do? Why is Marcus being so vicious?’ She’d had plenty to do with all sorts of people over the years, some of them narcissists and some just bullies. But this just didn’t make sense.

  ‘As soon as he puts a foot out of line, we’ll move.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Let me worry about that.’

  ‘You’ve got a plan?’

  ‘Yes. It’s not going to harm anyone—except Buchanan and his reputation.’

  Edie couldn’t begin to imagine what his plan was. Her head was crowded with images of Damien, and even Polly and Dick. She was culpable. This was her liability and she didn’t want Ryan to step in and fix it. But what could she do without his help? Nothing.

  Edie snuck her hand into his. She couldn’t look at him but she needed to hold his hand.

  His fingers curled around hers instantly.

  The feeling of wanting to be comforted overcame her and she pressed herself against Ryan, her face hidden against his shoulder.

  He released her hand, although he had to prise her fingers open because she was holding his hand so tightly. Then his arms came around her and she was protected by their strength.

  ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Just need …’ She needed Ryan’s understanding as much as she needed his assistance. She’d never have known how to get all this information on Marcus.

  ‘I
’ve got you,’ he said, his voice tender.

  Ryan closed his eyes and held her. He hadn’t just run a marathon, but his resting heart rate was probably beating over sixty a minute, instead of its usual forty.

  Her aroma penetrated his senses and made him feel a little drunk.

  But voices from the barn punctured the moment. He’d forgotten about the cast members waiting on the stage for Edie to return.

  He squeezed her tight for reassurance. ‘Give me a few minutes to send them home.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

  ‘I should say goodnight to them,’ she said, voice muffled against him.

  He ran his mouth over the top of her head, like the brush of a kiss. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  She shook her head and her arms snaked around him, holding him securely.

  He tightened his jaw. He had to take charge and that meant letting her go, even though she wanted to be against him and he didn’t want the moment to end. ‘Edie,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Let me go. I’ll be back.’

  He gave her a few seconds, the ocean-roar in his head rushing to the fore as she breathed against him, her hands now pressed to his back.

  Tonight, he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her with the proposed kiss from the leading man. He’d have done it too, if she’d let him. He’d have kissed her deeply in front of her cast. He longed to feel her mouth beneath his. To enjoy that moment when her lips parted beneath his and he felt her body melt, or her back arch.

  Reluctantly, he moved her arms from around his body, then kissed the top of her head again. ‘Wait here,’ he told her as she trembled. ‘I’ll be back.’

  As soon as he could get rid of the cast, he’d pick up where they’d left off.

  19

  Slow Dance with the Leading Man

  Edie had pulled herself together by the time Ryan came back into the kitchen, locking the door before putting the barn keys on the table.

  The sound of car engines and farewells a few minutes ago had brought her back to the present and off the torturous fears going on in her head. Simon’s voice had been the sound to bring her around. It had grated on her nerves. Perhaps she was simply sick of herself and the awfulness of everything in her life that she was unable to deal with, and that’s why she was irritated by his constant jolliness.

  Now she’d have to cope with embarrassment.

  ‘Sorry I was clinging to you,’ she said to Ryan, wanting to get the apology over and done with. ‘Had one of my moments,’ she muttered by way of an excuse.

  ‘I didn’t mind.’

  He threw two logs on the fire, the flames curling around their dry edges and the bark igniting in a shower of sparks.

  It was late, they’d be heading for bed soon so why bank the fire? She didn’t ask but she watched him with cautious eyes as he switched off the overhead light. With only the corner lamp and the firelight, her shoulders relaxed a little as the room took on a comforting atmosphere.

  He stood awhile, watching her. Then he drew his brows together in thought. Whatever his assessment was, it made her heart go wham.

  ‘You’ve had enough worry for tonight, Edie. It’s time to forget it for a while.’

  ‘But there’s so much—’

  ‘Stop.’ He walked towards her, and brushed his hand over the crown of her head. He took hold of the clawed hairclip and unfastened it.

  Her hair tumbled from its ponytail.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her heartbeat rising.

  ‘Making you feel more at ease.’

  Except his touch had the opposite effect.

  ‘Why don’t you just ask me to hold you again?’ he said as he put the hairclip onto the benchtop behind her.

  Moisture gathered in her throat. ‘Ryan—’ she began, but he cut off whatever pathetic excuse she’d been about to give.

  ‘You know I will. You only have to say.’

  How she wanted it. ‘Can’t though,’ she admitted as shyness welled inside her like a geyser in full force.

  ‘Why not?’

  She deliberated between telling a lie and the truth, but honesty prevailed. She’d done enough covering up in the last weeks. ‘Because I think you’re going to be nice, and tease me, and I don’t want to be teased.’

  ‘I’m not teasing you.’

  She caught his eye and held it.

  The lamplight threw shadows across the room, and Ryan appeared larger and more masculine than ever before. Perhaps it was because she was alone with him, and in need of his braveness. In need of his arms around her as he held her and told her again that she was going to be okay.

  ‘I’ll make it easier for you,’ he said. ‘Tell me what happens the first time the leading man holds the leading woman. The bit in Act I.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to hold you, and you’re not going to let me without a reason.’

  Her heart battered her chest. ‘They don’t kiss in that scene.’ She felt she ought to remind him. ‘They skirt around each other.’

  ‘So let’s skirt around each other.’

  They’d walked through that scene a number of times. But that had been before the ride on his Harley. Before he’d told her he was chasing her for real. Before this moment, when he was making her heart go wham.

  ‘What’s their motivation?’ he asked.

  Love. ‘They’re just two people, both wanting to embrace but not at the stage in their relationship where they can believe their feelings for each other.’

  ‘So let’s practise.’

  He took a soft step forwards and in no time at all, he was towering over her, all broad shoulders and lime-scented soap.

  Mesmerised by the depth in his eyes, focused entirely on her, Edie automatically took a step to her right, as executed so many times in rehearsal and in performance.

  ‘Like this?’ he asked softly as he followed her, sidestepping so he stayed in front of her.

  Her breath caught as the heat from his body reached her, like a hot and soothing hand. She took a step back.

  He mirrored her. He was close, and wasn’t letting her get away from him, but he didn’t overshadow or frighten her—instead, exhilaration tingled on her skin.

  ‘Your move,’ he said, his voice floating over her.

  A tidal wave of air lurched in her lungs. He wasn’t smiling and there was no teasing in his voice.

  ‘You keep shadowing me,’ she said as she blinked through the bewilderment of what was happening.

  The light in his eyes glowed hotter.

  She forced her legs to work and took a half step to her left. He matched the move, the distance between them the same, but a whole lot of sensuality now filled the gap.

  The flickering flames from the hearth danced on the walls behind him and across his shoulders.

  ‘And now?’ he asked.

  ‘We embrace—it’s like we can’t not. A bit like—’ She couldn’t remember the stage directions let alone the characterisation of the leading lady.

  ‘Remember when I took you to Kookaburra’s to meet Olivia?’ he asked. ‘You hugged me. A bit like that?’

  She nodded.

  He hooked an arm around her waist, almost cautiously, without rushing. But she felt the strength in it. The care in it. The tenderness and protection. A surprising second later she was in his full hug. Embraced and warmed by him.

  Inhaling, her chest rose high, pushing her breasts against him. She couldn’t get enough breath …

  ‘For this hug to work,’ he said, settling her more firmly against him, ‘don’t you need to put your arms around me?’

  ‘It’s just a quick hug,’ she told him, although her arms found their way around his waist. The feel of him sent her nerve-ends spiralling. ‘Then I pull away.’

  Except she didn’t.

  ‘Do I let you?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  He didn’t release her.

  ‘Have I told you how beautiful
your mouth is?’ he said. ‘How often I’ve wanted to kiss you?’

  The touch of him, his warmth and the overwhelming ache for him nearly had her melt to the floor.

  ‘I’m not sure what’s happening.’ Her words were barely above a sigh.

  ‘Remember how we were on the Harley,’ he murmured. ‘Remember how I kissed you at the river? Think about that.’

  She let the music of his voice drift over her as she watched him. He was all male dominance and she wanted to give in, to just let go and experience whatever he gave her.

  ‘Ryan.’

  He lowered his head, and her pulse beat so fast that every sound around her faded: the crackle of the fire, the tick of the wall clock.

  He paused, his mouth a mere breath away from hers.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked.

  He was always so far ahead of her that on many occasions he seemed to know what her reaction was going to be before she did. But not this time. He was unsure.

  The exhilaration of knowing she had this way of making him uneasy gave her some courage. She thought she might have smiled, or maybe she nodded—but a second later, he’d captured her mouth with his and was kissing her.

  She tilted her face so his mouth could sear more firmly to hers, then melted when he did as she’d wanted, her blood running through her as though it had been thickened with rich red wine.

  She wound her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss. His hold tightened and the rush of pleasure inside her swelled. She let him take over, still not believing this was happening.

  He pulled her in closer still. This was no hug; this was an embrace and she craved it. She’d never been this hungry, and if he let her go now, she’d fall to her knees and have to beg him to not stop.

  ‘This is unbelievable,’ she said in a shaky voice when his mouth moved to her cheek, to her chin, and to her throat.

  ‘It’s us,’ he said, voice gravelly as he put his hand to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair.

  It’s us. His words rang in her head, like a short stanza of poetry.