The Temptation of Laura

by Rachel Brimble

  The heat of her study burned at his temple, but he stared resolutely forward. He didn’t want her to sense his disbelief of what was happening. Nor for her to guess this was the first time he had taken a woman to his home so openly and freely. Cagey and territorial over his space, he rarely let anyone over the threshold for fear of having to share the life he kept private.

  Yet now, he took Laura there. He waited for the trepidation, the regret, the abrupt change of heart. None came. Instead, excitement and pride thundered through him, making him want to run with her rather than walking at a pace nearly killing him with frustration. Closer and closer they came to his address and, with each step, his eagerness to be alone with her, to show her his work, grew inside him.

  The pressure behind his ribcage was as welcome as it was painful. Was it madness to feel the prospect of a future he dreamed of could come to fruition because of the woman beside him? He had no idea why that should be so, but it was the truth.

  What would make her go home with him unless instinctively, she, too, knew it was important she did so?

  “What is it you have in mind to do when we get to your home, Mr. Lacey?”

  Her voice and question chilled him. Her tone was almost amused, as though a silent joke at his expense hung in the air between them. Annoyance prickled the hairs at the back of his neck. Didn’t she feel it? Didn’t she know it was the natural order of things that they’d met at the theater?

  “I have something I want to show you.”

  She guffawed. “I’m sure you do.”

  They neared the end of the street where he lived. He halted and looked directly into her phenomenal eyes. The skin at her neck moved as she swallowed, but she didn’t turn or look away.

  “I’m a playwright.”

  Her brow furrowed and the humor in her eyes vanished. “A playwright?”

  “Yes.”

  Her hand slipped from his arm and she held her basket in front of her. “Why are you telling me this?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Most likely for the same reason you so readily agreed to come home with me. I live just a little way along this street. Let us go inside and unravel the mysteries of our actions, shall we?”

  Chapter 7

  What was she doing inside Adam Lacey’s house, sitting upright and rigid upon a settee she could never afford? Laura crossed and recrossed her ankles as she glanced around his drawing room. His home was masculine, bare of trinket or flower, but compared to her and Bette’s place, it screamed of achievement. He’d left her to go upstairs and change out of his wet clothes. She glanced at the wall clock. The ten minutes she’d been alone could’ve been an hour.

  She needed to leave. Get out of there. Go back to where she belonged. Back to Bette.

  Standing, she stepped toward the door just as it swung open and Adam entered. Her breath caught. The man was ridiculously handsome. His dark blond hair was darker than usual, after his unplanned swim, and his face scrubbed clean. Her gaze drifted, of its own accord, to the smattering of chest hair just visible at the vee of his open-necked shirt. The man was unfairly relaxed. Laura inhaled. Handsome—stupidly, stupidly handsome.

  He halted, his smile dissolving. “You’re leaving?”

  He moved to touch her, seemed to think better of it, and dropped his hand to his side. Their eyes locked and silence descended. Her heart beat fast with the knowledge she would’ve given the world to stay there. Eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe with a man who fascinated and intrigued her.

  She stepped back. It was too dangerous. The atmosphere between them too potent. Her attraction to him kicked and punched at her heart. It was strong enough to make her want to kiss him, touch him, and bring that dazzling smile to the surface over and over. For little more than another breath, she would risk everything to run her fingers over his biceps and up to the plane of his wide shoulders.

  Laura blinked as her mouth drained dry. What had she been thinking by coming here? She hadn’t been thinking. In that moment when he asked her to accompany him back to his home, nothing but desire had whipped through her. Nothing but interest had leaped in her veins and obliterated her common sense. The fervor and lust in his eyes bespoke of a man who clearly had an agenda entirely different from hers.

  She looked past him to the door. “I have a friend. She’s sick. She needs me and the medicine I bought before I came upon you at the park.” She brushed past him, through the door and into the hallway. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.”

  “Laura, wait.”

  Ignoring him, she hurried toward the closed front door. She had to get out of there. If she looked at him again, she’d falter. Her rationale already hung on a hair’s breadth. His footsteps sounded at lightning speed behind her and when she clasped the door handle, his hand closed over hers. She stared at their joined hands and her body heated.

  “Laura. Please. I need to talk to you.”

  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet his gaze. His dark brown eyes shone with a pleading she hadn’t expected. How was she supposed to refuse? He was the first man in forever to make her heart pick up speed and flourish her hope for something more. She slowly pulled her hand from beneath his and curled her fingers into a fist at her side.

  “I don’t understand this.”

  He frowned. “Understand what?”

  She whirled away from him, clasping her basket to her chest like it would somehow protect her weakening heart. “Why I’m here. Why I can’t stop looking at you.” Heat pinched her cheeks as she faced him.

  His features softened and his eyes brightened. “You can’t stop looking at me?”

  “As a star.” Mortification he might think she saw him as anything more furled inside her stomach. Bette’s disbelieving laughter rang in her head.

  His gaze wandered over her face and lingered at her lips. “Come back into the drawing room with me. I want to show you something.”

  “No, I need to go. Whatever it is you need to show me, you can show me at the theater tomorrow.”

  “We won’t have a moment to talk alone there. Please.” He directed his hand toward the drawing room.

  Indecision battled inside her. She should get home to Bette. She should put as much distance between herself and this man as humanly possible. The passion in his eyes and the excitement of his smile caused notions inside her she’d never experienced before. It was as though she’d known him forever; a kindred spirit, albeit one dressed in superior clothing and residing in a classier habitat.

  She released her held breath. “What is it you want to show me?”

  “My play.”

  “Your play?”

  “Yes, I want you . . . I want you to be its star. With me.”

  Laura flinched as though he’d slapped her. She huffed out a laugh. “No, you don’t. What is it you really want from me? I don’t understand this. Any of it.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. Please, you have to believe me.”

  She stared. He seemed so sincere. Yet . . .

  He gave a hesitant smile. “If I am not mistaken, you would love an opportunity like this, would you not?”

  Her doubt faltered. What if he was serious? She frowned. “Are you playing with me, Mr. Lacey?”

  His smile dissolved. “Of course not.”

  Laura shook her head. This was madness. She reached for the door, humiliation and anger burning at her cheeks. “I’m not a fool, sir. You’re playing with me and it stops right here, right now.”

  “The minute I saw you staring up at the stage from the audience the other night, I knew.”

  She glared. “Knew what? That I would be the sort of woman to fall to your every whim? That you could easily cajole me into your home?”

  He held out his hand, as if inviting her to take it. “Come with me. Please.”

  She looked from his face to his hand and back again. “You’re wasting your time and mine. I have to leave.”

  He raised his finger. “Just wait here. One minute. That is all I ask.” />
  She opened her mouth to protest, but he took off and disappeared into the drawing room. She glanced at the front door.

  Open it. Go home to Bette and stay there. This is a ruse. He knows you’re a whore. He knows, and it’s just a matter of time before he tosses you some notes and asks you to service him.

  With a shaky hand, she reached for the door just as Adam’s heavy and hurried footsteps came into the hallway. Silently cursing, Laura turned. He held a bundle of papers about four inches thick. He met her eyes and grinned.

  “Here. Here it is. My play.” His eyes were wide with pride, his smile heartbreakingly boyish.

  Her hand slipped from the door. “That’s your play?”

  “Yes.”

  Doubt and reservation mixed with interest and curiosity. Everything inside her told her to walk out the door. Yet, she moved toward him and as she did, he laid the stack of papers on a side table. He leaned his tall and muscular frame over the manuscript and lifted one sheet after another. His fingers worked feverishly, his handsome brow furrowed. Laura’s stomach tightened at the sight of his concentration. His entire body hummed with a passion she’d never seen in anyone before. It was intoxicating. Infectious.

  Her heart hammered as a yearning for more of this man pulled deep inside her. “Adam . . . Mr. Lacey—”

  “There.” He jabbed a finger on the top paper of the pile. “This would be your entrance scene. Read it. Read Lucinda’s physical description. Read it and tell me what you think.” He stood back, his palms raised in a manner of surrender. “After that, if you have no interest nor wish to read more, I’ll let you go and not bother you again.”

  Cautiously, Laura approached him. When she was barely a foot away, she dragged her gaze from his and placed her basket at her feet. Straightening, she cleared her throat and lifted the paper.

  Shame immediately burned hot at her face. She was a failure. An untrue person.

  Anything could have been written there. How did she tell him she couldn’t read when the man had penned over a hundred sheets full of words, descriptions, and directions? Odd words she knew and learned jumped from the page amongst others she didn’t understand. The page blurred and heat burned from her toes to her scalp. Why had she thought she could be onstage when she couldn’t read a single sentence in its entirety?

  The seconds beat like minutes. The walls closed in on her and her breathing turned harried. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Laura?” His breath whispered across the exposed nape of her neck and he stepped closer. “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “I . . . I can’t read this.”

  “What? Why? At least see what you think.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter. “I can’t read it.”

  “What do you . . . Oh.”

  Shame coursed through her body, but she forced her eyes open and faced him. “Maybe I’m not the woman for the job, after all.”

  His blank expression was inscrutable as to what he thought or felt. Dented pride was a horrible thing at the best of times, but when standing in front of a man so handsome, so interesting and charismatic to actually believe her worthy of so much more . . . it was unbearable.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lacey. I really need to go.”

  He blinked and approached the door. “Of course. I’m sorry . . . sorry to have delayed you from your friend.”

  Pain struck her heart anew and tears burned. She picked up her basket and, with her head held high, strode silently from the house and onto the street. Adam Lacey’s door closed behind her and Laura sucked in an anguished sob.

  The following day, Adam sat in his dressing room pondering whether to seek Laura out before the show began or after. The revelation she was illiterate kept him awake for most of the previous night, despite the snifter of brandy—or three—he had consumed after she left his house.

  Why had he not considered such a thing? Was he really so superior to not realize she might not have had the luxury of schooling as he had?

  He stood and walked to his wardrobe, shrugging on a costume jacket. The show began in less than twenty minutes. Did he have time to talk to her? He stared blindly ahead as he buttoned the coat. No. He would wait. Bide his time.

  Lord knows his lack of words when she confessed she could not read must have resulted in her never wanting to see his face again. Why in the world had he not said something? Anything?

  “Fool. Damn stupid fool.” He entered the bustling corridor.

  There had to be ways to make her still consider the role of Lucinda, despite her lack of reading skill. She would not be the first actor to make a success from such circumstances. His shock and subsequent muteness had not been grounded in her lack of education, but in the fact such a thing had not occurred to him. When had he become so self-involved? He, better than anyone, knew success did not come on a plate.

  He tightened his jaw. If Laura was willing to fight side by side with him, in a bid to make his play a success, who was he to say they would not break through barriers they both thought impossible?

  He hurried toward Victor’s room. It saddened him that someone who held herself with such self-respect, who possessed such a sharp lilt of the tongue and watched the world with knowing intelligence through her beautiful lavender eyes, had not received a formal education.

  Upon reaching the director’s room, Adam knocked.

  “Come.”

  He pushed open the door and quietly closed it behind him.

  Victor frowned over the papers in his hand a while longer before lifting his head. “Ah, Mr. Lacey. What can I do for you?”

  Adam wandered farther into the room with his hands behind his back and his steps confident, as a cover to the deluge of nerves jumping in his body. “I am considering something and wanted to run it by you first.”

  Victor put down the papers he held. “Oh?”

  Adam cleared his throat. “What’s your experience with illiterate actors? Have you ever worked with any?”

  The director frowned. “A few. Why?”

  “I wonder of the work involved. How they go about learning their lines, and if it is ludicrously time consuming employing such a person.”

  “Why do you ask?” Victor narrowed his eyes. “Have you someone in mind?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is this about that play of yours?”

  Adam circled the room. He was loathe to tell Victor too many details, considering he refused to back the project. People had a habit of talking about something with others even when they wanted no part of it. Only Adam would reveal the details of his production when the time was right.

  “I am considering a character for something else I am writing and wondered of the plausibility. Despite my years in the theater, I have not worked with an actor who cannot read.”

  Victor studied him a moment longer before leaning back in his seat and lacing his fingers. “You’d need someone willing to sit with them and go over and over the lines until he or she has them memorized. Not only that, the person concerned would have to know every scene inside and out, including movements, props, entrances, and exits.” He lifted his shoulders. “Everything’s possible, but you must consider the hassle and commitment of giving this person a chance when someone who could read would save you a lot of money and time.”

  Adam frowned. “Why money?”

  Victor laughed and pushed his bulk from his seat. He came toward Adam and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, dear boy, I assume it won’t be you who reads these lines over and over to this mystery person? Therefore, you’d have to pay someone to do so.”

  Adam swallowed. It would be him. Only him. Hours upon hours of making Laura believe in her possibility. His stomach twisted with excitement. He laughed. “Ah, I see. No, of course not. Anyway, the idea is for a character I am writing, not an actual person. That is excellent. Now I know exactly where I want to go with the scene.”

  Victor shook his head, his eyes shining with knowledge. “It’s an actor, Adam. Don’t
think I don’t recognize the excitement on your face.” He blew out a heavy breath. “I’d like to congratulate you on finding this person, on finding the face you think perfect to portray your words, but I must warn you, without financial backing of a significant supporter, no one is going to give you the go-ahead to produce this play. You need to raise enough money to convince a possible investor you’re willing to risk your hard-earned cash as well as theirs.”

  “And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  Victor raised his eyebrows. “So you have further work lined up when the Black Quay draws to an end next week?”

  Unwelcome heat pinched Adam’s cheeks. “You let me worry about that.”

  Silent seconds beat out between them. “There’s a small production planned in Bristol. I could put a word in for you. The role is somewhat smaller than you are used to nowadays, but money and exposure seem to be your priority, bearing in mind the aspirations you have.”

  “What is the role?”

  “I’ll make some inquiries.” Victor strode to his desk and picked up several script pages. “In the meantime, you should concentrate on the here and now.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll see you out there.”

  Victor left the room and Adam stared after him. His resources were minimal. He certainly did not have money to throw into a project as big as he believed his play would be, but goddamn it, he would find a way. Laura’s face drifted into his mind. Her eyes, her smile, her sass, and her humor. He had to work with her. Had to see her face and body move to his literary music.

  He shifted as his penis twitched, despite his best efforts to convince himself his interest in her was entirely professional. He longed to smell the soft scent of lemon that lingered in her hair and stare into the violet dazzle of her eyes.

  Straightening his shoulders, he left the room and moved along the corridor. Positivity and possibility bloomed behind his ribcage. Laura Robinson was the key to the play’s success. He would convince her to trust him, then teach and encourage her until she embraced his play and her potential. Together, they could take Bath’s breath away and leave them panting for more.