A Heated Touch of Action (A Scripted for Love Novel)

by MK Meredith

  Dropping his hand, he shrugged. “I have my own professional agenda here. I need the exposure, and your project sounds perfect.”

  The shift was subtle, but she relaxed, and he held back a grin.

  Hell, he really didn’t blame her. It wasn’t as if he had a stellar track record with the ladies. When he was young, he took them for granted, and now that he was older, his life was way too complicated for any to stick around.

  But as he observed the rigid stance of the woman in front of him, he didn't know if he'd ever met anyone wound quite so tightly. His sudden urge to volunteer to help her relax was nothing but trouble.

  “Well, it is,” she said.

  “Look here.” He pushed a photograph she hadn't seen into her hands on his way to join Gage and DC. “Then make sure you choose the best.”

  And he had plenty to fight for.

  Her name was Cleo, and he wouldn’t stop until he won.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bel narrowed her eyes at her brother and dad, glancing between them and the third surfboard they’d unloaded from the top of Gage’s Jeep. “What’re you guys up to?”

  She often tagged along on their surfing excursions, but while they braved the waves, she soaked up a little sun and a novel.

  Birds called out from above, and she dropped her head back. There was nothing like the cry of the sea gulls. It always relaxed her and made her feel like anything was possible. She and one of her best friends, Claire Adams, always thought it was cool that regardless of which coast they were on, west or east, if they closed their eyes and listened, the birds sounded the same.

  It helped them feel a little less lonely being so far apart. Claire lived in a quaint seaside town on the coast of Maine, called Cape Van Buren. Adulthood did that to friends. Decisions made, paths forged. One more thing that Bel couldn't control.

  She gritted her teeth against the feeling.

  “Hell no,” she said, turning her attention back to her family, who were determined to push her out of her comfort zone. “I am not getting on that thing.”

  Gage ignored her and grabbed a wet suit from the back seat of his car. Tossing it to her, he grabbed his surfboard. “Grab your board and meet us down by the water.”

  Every version of the word no raced through her mind like surfers into the water during the big swell competitions. “What in the hell, dear brother, don't you understand by the word no?”

  Lack of control only led to two things in her experience—pain and disappointment. She barely had enough control with her feet on dry land, so there was no way in his lifetime she was going to leave the solid ground to float on something that reminded sharks of dolphins in the freaking Pacific Ocean.

  Her father grabbed her board and his own, following behind Gage. “Let's go, Bel.”

  She dutifully followed, but she still wasn’t getting on that damn board.

  “Listen to me,” she argued. “This is your thing. You find peace and clarity out there being thrown around by Mother Nature. That’s fine. Great, in fact. But that is what works for you. Not me.” Placing her hands on her hips, she faced her brother square on, determined to stick to her guns.

  He zipped up his wet suit with an exasperated look. “Seriously? You need to psychoanalyze me less and yourself more. I swear, you would walk a mile out of your way to cross the street if there wasn't an actual crosswalk. You're missing out on life, Bel. And you’re too amazing for that.”

  Damn it. Sweet Gage was damn impossible.

  “Have you settled on a photographer yet?” her father asked.

  She flinched. Her lack of a photographer was driving her crazy. Nobody was within her budget. Well, scratch that. Apparently, one person was in her budget, but he was her last choice.

  The idea of working with Jimmy Callahan sent all sorts of sensations racing through her body, and not one of them was a comfort. Just the thought of him made the cold coastal waters a much-needed distraction, and she donned her wet suit with a grumble.

  “No, I haven't. It has to be the right photographer. This seminar will help set me apart at Pepperdine. There is no way I’m using your friend. I’ve heard enough rumors to be smart enough to run the other way.”

  “You’re listening to rumors now?” Gage asked, incredulous.

  “You’re the one who told me.”

  “The hell I did.” Her brother looked to their dad for support, but he just shrugged in his usual way, leaving them to figure it out themselves.

  “You know, his time in jail. More than once if I recall correctly.” She over pronounced the word jail hoping her lug-head of a brother would catch up.

  Gage made a face. “That was when he and his kid brother were kids, and I brought that up to show how much he’s changed. Wow, you don’t listen worth a shit. Isn’t one of the first tenants of psychology having good listening skills?”

  D.C. stepped in, clearly over their bickering. “All right, enough.” He pointed at Bel. “You’re right about the seminar. It will set you apart. But only if you get it done. And since you proposed it, and they gave a hard deadline, you need to stick to it or risk damaging your reputation. Being afraid is going to screw up your dreams. And being afraid of Jimmy is plain silly.”

  “I’m not scared.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she couldn’t remember when she’d been more offended.

  Gage snorted.

  “I'm not,” she insisted. “I'm practical, I'm careful. That's much better than racing down the highway, breaking the law, and putting other people's lives in danger,” she snapped at her brother, regretting her words immediately.

  Gage pressed his lips together. “Yeah, I never said I handled my baggage the right way, but you aren't handling yours at all.”

  “I’m sorry. That was out of line. But I am handling my life. I'm living it the way I want to.”

  “No, you're not,” he said as he waded through the water, floating his board at his side.

  She yanked up her zipper and looked him in the eye. “Quit saying that. Yes, I am.”

  Her brother tapped the top of the board over the vintage film-reel art that he'd had commissioned years ago. “Then show me.”

  Bel’s stomach pitched at the thought. Lifting her feet off solid ground meant she could fall and fall hard. She scanned the sweeping blue line of the ocean along the horizon.

  Or drown…and that seemed worse.

  Watching her mother walk away from them as a little girl had left her all too familiar with pain. And she had no desire to experience any again, no matter what form it came in.

  But the idea of not finishing her seminar in time or at all, of not continuing to make her mark at Pepperdine in a meaningful way, delivered its own kind of blow. She was going to have to think long and hard about Jimmy Callahan.

  The thought of his big, hard body straddling that damn motorcycle, his biceps bulging beneath the intricate design of his tattoos, left her feeling restless in her wet suit.

  There was something about him that made her uncomfortable, off-kilter, and thoroughly in need of a cold shower. Though there was no question about his incredible talent. Clearly, he was poised to move more solidly into the world of photography.

  Just not with her.

  She grabbed each side of Gage’s board. “If I fall, I’m going to kill you.”

  Her dad waded through the surf to stand across from her with a look of father-knows-best. “But that's just it, Bel. If you fall, we’ll catch you.”

  She couldn't help the smile that pulled at her cheeks. Her dad and her brother were the best men she knew. She dipped her chin in a small nod.

  The two men steadied the board.

  “Just slide on and sit for a while. Feel the ocean move underneath you,” her dad offered. “This could be the perfect photo op for your book. Family love.”

  With an eye roll, she laughed. “Sure. I'd have a great turn out, but it would just be all the ladies falling over the two of you instead of the quality of my research.”

  Gage
flexed. “Well, you know the Cutler men certainly are a striking pair. At least the young one.”

  DC snorted. “Please. Speaking of photography. Are you going to contract Callahan?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said without hesitation.

  Because, without a doubt, that would be one fall her family couldn't save her from.

  “M argo, you need to calm down.”

  “No, no! You did this! You!” His sister-in-law shoved a finger into his chest.

  Guilt reared with a vengeance right along with the pitch of her voice, but Jimmy ruthlessly crushed it down. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't hate himself before closing his eyes for one more sleepless night.

  He noted the wild look in her eyes, the telltale sign that she was too far gone to listen to reason. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he directed her toward the bedroom door. “You're going to scare Cleo, and I know that's not what you want. Go sleep it off. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  His niece was only eight-years-old. Too young to have to see her mother this way.

  Margo wrenched away, grabbed her bag, and stumbled toward the front door. “You don't get to tell me to calm down. It's too late for that. Just like you were too late for Jack.”

  The resounding slam of the front door left a phantom echo behind as he lunged to stop it.

  She was in no condition to drive, and the last thing Cleo needed was another dead parent.

  Yanking the door open, he rushed out to the railing and scanned the parking lot. “Margo!”

  He finally spotted her next to an old hatchback patched with putty, a taillight held on by red packing tape. She gave him the bird, then disappeared into the passenger side with a slam of a door barely holding on at the hinge.

  Jimmy drew in a deep breath, quite the feat considering it felt like he had a dead elephant sitting on his chest, and reentered the apartment. There was no telling if she’d be back tonight, and there was no way he was leaving Cleo.

  He knocked lightly on a closed door, smiling at the handmade sign that read no boys allowed. His heart gave a painful squeeze as he noted the asterisk at the bottom that read except Uncle Jimmy.

  “Come in.”

  He stepped around a barricade of stuffed animals, then lowered himself onto the bed next to his niece. She was buried deep in her comforter, curled up in a small ball. Her dark, wavy hair was just like his, but her eyes were a deep brown just like Jack’s. A reminder of where his priorities lay every time he looked at her.

  “Is Mama ever going to get better?”

  Her voice trembled, and Jimmy gathered her up against his side. Finding comfort in the feel of her small frame cuddling in tighter, he sighed, content that she was safe for the moment. “I don't know, Clee. But I'm going to do everything I can to help. But no matter what, you've always got me. Okay?”

  “Do you promise?” she asked, tracing the sweeping lines of the tattoos running the length of his forearm.

  “I promise,” he said, scared like hell that he’d somehow fuck up and not be able to keep his word. But it was what she needed to hear, and he’d work like the devil and pray like hell that he could do what he said he’d do.

  Margo wasn't wrong. It was his fault. All of it.

  If he hadn't been late picking his brother up for his rehab appointment, Cleo would still have her dad, and Margo might have gotten the help she needed.

  His phone buzzed with a text.

  Roque had an assignment for him.

  “I've gotta take this, sweetie.”

  He made a move to rise from the bed, but Cleo held on tight. “Don't leave me.”

  He hesitated then settled back in. “Never.”

  His producer friend answered on the first ring. “Hey, Jimmy, how soon can you be on a plane to Barcelona? My buddy Mateu Esparza’s family owns a citrus orchard out there. I think it may be the perfect location for our new project. He’s expecting you, and this project is too big to trust to anyone else.”

  “Man, you know I'm pulling back from location scouting. I'm focusing more time on my photography. It’s time for my career change.”

  “And I support you one hundred percent. If you have an opportunity that you can't miss, I'll back off, but this is a huge opportunity as well. This project has the means of becoming a whole franchise,” Roque said.

  It was exactly the kind of thing Jimmy would have loved to dig his fingers into. And who wouldn't jump at an opportunity to scout in Barcelona? It was one of his favorite cities on earth.

  He glanced down at the child snuggled so trustingly against his chest. Cleo’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing the soft rhythmic sighs of sleep.

  He couldn't take off now. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to her.

  “Gage has already agreed to direct. It would be incredible for us all to work together.”

  At the mention of his buddy’s name, Bel Cutler's face rose unbidden in his mind. “It would. I'm sorry, but something has come up. And it's pretty big. This could really help launch my photography.”

  “No shit? Is it what I think it is?”

  “Bel Cutler,” Jimmy answered, trying to hold back a grin. She would be pissed at the insinuation that she herself was a project of any kind.

  Roque was silent on the other end, then swore. “Shit. Good luck, man. Addi and Raquel were just talking about that to Uncle Martin after Sunday’s excitement.”

  “Of course.” The Mother and Father of Malibu were aware of every breath taken in their Pacific coast paradise.

  “I can't compete with that, but we might need to brainstorm on who could possibly take your place. I said you'd always have my support, and I meant it.”

  “Thanks, Roque. I’ll be in touch.” Jimmy disconnected the call as gratitude, relief, and regret fought for first place. He pressed his lips to the top of Cleo's head, hoping the lie didn't cost him a friendship…or add to his trouble.

  There was no doubt that the project with Bel would be as great for his career as he'd said, but getting her to sign a contract with him was about as likely as getting her to skydive. That woman's feet were solidly planted on the ground.

  But as he cradled his sleeping niece in his arms, his determination grew. He had to stay in town and stay close. He had to deepen his roots and build a career that would enable him to fight for custody and take care of Cleo.

  Jet-setting around the world wasn't going to cut it.

  He had an idea, though. It would hurt financially, but the payoff in the end would be well worth it.

  He’d have to find a way to get Miss No to say yes.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bel did her best to keep up with the long strokes of her sister-in-law in the waters off Pepperdine campus. Samantha had an in with a grounds keeper and had been swimming there for years in secret. Having the Dean as her father-in-law and a professor for a sister-in-law just protected her secret that much more. Being in the film industry, Sam had already had her fair share of the horrors of paparazzi and deserved a little peace.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Samantha asked.

  Worry twisted in Bel's gut as her muscles begged for an ease up in the pace. But she was too afraid to stop in any manner of speaking. If she stopped, she might fail, and when it came to her seminar, she couldn't let that happen. “I don't know,” she gasped out the words.

  She stopped swimming and moved inland until her feet touched.

  When Sam came within earshot, she continued. “I'm trying not to panic. I have less than a month before the deadline.”

  “Would pushing it really be that bad?” her friend asked, swimming in circles around her.

  “The university hadn’t agreed in the first place. They’d felt it had already been done, and they didn’t have the money to back it. I was too young. And just about any other excuse you can think of. But I pushed hard, showed them my research, and finally got their blessing. If I don’t deliver, my reputation will be severely damaged.

 
; “But every photographer I’ve come across has been way out of my budget and unwilling to negotiate. It's the weirdest thing. I've asked around, but it seems no one is willing to work with me.

  “There’s an easy solution,” Sam said. “You're just being stubborn about it. But I don't understand why? If Addi was here, she might even accuse you of having a boner for the guy.”

  Bel choked on salt water. “Sam!”

  “I said Addi would say it.” Sam laughed, pulling up from her laps and moving toward shallower water.

  “Yes, but coming out of your mouth, it just doesn't sound right.”

  “So, it's true?”

  “No!” Heat rose through Bel's cheeks. She splashed water at Sam. “I need someone very professional. Pepperdine has very strict rules. This project is everything to me. It talks about the kind of love I wish I could have but never will.”

  Sam shook her head. “Why would you say that?”

  Bel blocked out the images of her mother walking away and of all her relationships in the past where she wasn't enough. “I’m not being dramatic. Just practical. The kind of love you have with Gage is what people dream of, but it isn't often what people get. You, more than anyone, should understand that considering your marriage to Ethan Evans.”

  Sam's lips thinned, and she dipped her chin. “You're not wrong, but you're also not right. You’re an amazing, talented, and interesting woman. Any man would be lucky to be with you.”

  Bel waved the words away and leaned back to tread water lazily. “I love you, but I don't need the compliments or for anyone to feel bad for me. I just need to be able to make this seminar as powerful as possible. The words will be everything I have to give, but the experience, the depth through which I hope to reach people won't be accomplished unless I have pictures just as powerful.”

  Sam shrugged. “Well, then, like I said. You have your answer. I haven't seen anything as powerful as Jimmy Callahan's work anywhere else in Malibu.”

  Just then, the devil himself strolled across the rocky sand with a lazy roll of his hips and stepped into the water.