Undone by the Star

by Stephanie Browning

  The sleeveless bodice fitted as though molded to Alex’s form and the skirt swayed in elegant seductiveness with every step she took. Alex crossed and recrossed the room, relishing the sensual swish of the fabric, envisioning the expression on Marc’s face when he saw her in it. Imagining the touch of his hands sliding across the sleek lines of the fabric and into the soft folds of peau de soie sent a surge of heat through her entire body.

  She turned to the waiting women, knowing her pleasure would be shining in her face.

  “This is it,” Alex said. “This is the dress I want to wear.”

  “It’s perfect,” sighed Kate.

  Helen frowned slightly, while Grannie slowly nodded her head. “Yes…always one of my favourites.”

  “Who designed it?” Kate asked fingers barely touching the skirt. “This fabric is absolutely gorgeous.”

  “A little known designer,” Miss Sadler recalled. “Emma, her name was. She created only a handful of evening gowns and then moved to Cornwall with her husband to open a hotel. She made this dress for me as a thank-you. I helped them get their business started. Lovely girl, such a talented artist.”

  “What do you think, Helen? How does it fit?” Alex asked.

  Reserving comment, Helen removed the measuring tape from around her neck, and silently checked the length and fit of the two-piece gown. “We’ll need to take up the hem,” she said looking up at Alex. “But I like it.”

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief as Helen got to her feet. “It’s about the dress and the woman who wears it in my opinion,” the older woman was saying. “Not the designer. And you, dear, look beautiful.” She squeezed Alex’s hand and whispered, “We still have the matching bag, but what about shoes?”

  “Glass slippers?” suggested Alex grinning at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Let’s drink to tomorrow,” suggested Marc as Douglas lowered his beefy frame onto the bench opposite without spilling a drop of beer.

  “Here, here,” said the scout.

  They raised their glasses and drank deeply. They were happily ensconced in the bar of the King’s Inn where Marc was staying the night. It had been a gruelling afternoon. Rain, followed by disappointment in the first property they’d looked at – not Douglas’ fault, it just didn’t suit the main character – and then finding another production company had beat them to the next one.

  “I’d never given a thought to the difficulties of finding the right location before this picture,” Marc said, “but then I didn’t have to worry about the mechanics of filming.”

  “Or financing,” contributed the location scout. “This part of Yorkshire is a popular spot for shooting. Prices have gone way up. We need to travel further afield.”

  “But if it’s the right place.…”

  “Exactly.”

  Marc felt the familiar burr of an incoming text and groped for his phone. With a thrust of pleasure, he saw it was from Alex. Meeting Grannie for dinner in The Garden Room, talk later?

  “Do you mind?” he asked Douglas holding his mobile phone aloft.

  The man shook his head. “Take your time.”

  Having a pint with my scout…, Marc wrote. He hesitated. There was nothing else he could put in a text. Will call later. His message sent, he traded his phone for his glass. Twenty-four hours ago, he was sitting in the Library Bar at The Sadler, and here he was in Yorkshire, content with his progress on the film, but missing Alex like crazy.

  “Found yourself a girl down in London, have you?” Douglas was eying him speculatively.

  Marc grinned. “Maybe.”

  His companion snorted. “There’s no maybe about it, looking at your face.”

  “That bad, is it?”

  Douglas took a long pull on his beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think maybe your career change has come at the right time. You can’t act worth a damn.”

  Marc laughed and sat back. He was enjoying the camaraderie that had developed over the day. “What about you? Is there someone special at home?”

  “Aye, there is. A wife and two kids.”

  Marc felt an unexpected pang of envy. “How old?”

  “Gavin’s the oldest; he’s six and the little lass is two.”

  A month ago, having a conversation like this with the other actors on the set who did have children, would have been polite, but of little interest. But now, with Alex in his life, Marc suddenly found himself viewing the world differently. That’s one of the reasons his star status had lost its shine. He wanted stability. He wanted a home, and surprisingly, he now knew he wanted a family as well.

  “I’m an only child,” he said abruptly.

  Douglas cocked his head. “Only and lonely?”

  “Yes, and no,” said Marc sliding his glass from hand to hand as he spoke. “But one gets used to doing whatever, whenever.”

  “And then the right woman comes along and, boom.”

  “It seems that way,” agreed Marc. Their steak and kidney pies had arrived. He downed his beer and asked Douglas if he wanted another one. Douglas took a pass.

  “We’ve a lot to cover tomorrow and not much time.”

  They made plans for the next day while they ate, shared a few war stories from the film business, and then Douglas took his leave. “You’d best go call that girl of yours,” were his parting words to Marc, “or you won’t be sleeping tonight.”

  Watching the other man lumber towards his car through the pub’s rain-spattered window left Marc thinking how nice it would be to have someone waiting at home. He’d been a well-loved child, but his parents had been so caught up in their work, he’d often been left on his own. Having a family had always been a rather vague “maybe someday” kind of concept for him.

  Until now.

  Until Alex.

  Marc finished his beer and headed upstairs.

  Alex sprinted across the room and dove for the phone, almost losing her towel in the process. “Hello?”

  “Hello.” The sheer pleasure of hearing each other’s voice left them both speechless.

  Alex tugged her towel closer and lay back on her bed savouring the intimacy of their unspoken thoughts. “I was in the bath,” she said feeling herself blush. She heard him inhale sharply, all the way from Yorkshire.

  “Are you teasing me, Alexis Kirkwood?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted, “just a little.” Because I trust you, I feel safe with you, and I can’t stop thinking about you. She tossed her towel aside and slid under the duvet. She wiggled luxuriously.

  “So, are you going to tell me about what you’re wearing…or not wearing?”

  Alex laughed softly. “I’m under the covers – the flat’s a bit chilly.”

  “I wouldn’t mind kissing those goosebumps away.”

  Alex sighed and felt her eyes drift shut. She could imagine the softness of Marc’s lips on her dappled skin. The surge of heat from the thought warmed her as no duvet ever could. “Just one or two,” she murmured.

  “Goosebumps or kisses?” Marc’s voice was low.

  “Either…both.” Alex’s thoughts tangled and floated on her desire for this man. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

  “Not entirely a good idea,” his voice had become a growl. “I wouldn’t stop at one goosebump or one kiss.”

  Alex stretched her feet out, imagining the sheets wrapping her were the weight of Marc’s body, the caress of his hands. “Mmmm…,” she murmured. “Your day must have been pretty relaxed for you to have all this energy.”

  Marc let his breath out in an explosive sigh. “It was long and frustrating. And I kept thinking about running my hands through your hair at the most inconvenient times.”

  “And muss me all up?” Alex was laughing now, loving the sense of making the man she wanted squirm with desire.

  Marc laughed too. “I am dreaming of mussing you all up, Alex. And now I had better change the subject before my imagination renders me senseles
s….”

  Alex purred with delight. They might be miles apart, but her body radiated heat. She imagined the rasp of his beard. His hair would be tousled, and his skin would….

  “How did your afternoon go?” he asked.

  “What?” Alex sat up.

  “The fashion show…?” He knew damn well she’d been caught by her own tease, she could hear it in his voice.

  Alex cleared her throat and reached for her wrap. “It was good practice for the red carpet. Helen had all the gowns set up, Grannie and Kate sat in the front row, and I walked the catwalk.”

  “And am I right in thinking you found the perfect dress?”

  “Maybe,” laughed Alex. It was silly, but she didn’t want to share any details with him. This was her first event as the head of The Sadler Hotel, and even more importantly, she had to admit, their first appearance together in public. She and Marc would officially be a couple. The press would pass judgment, and there was nothing she could do about it. Alex yanked up the sheets scowling at the thought.

  Her nerves were warring between trepidation and excitement. “Kate says I’m giddy.”

  Marc laughed. “I thought that the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “Which reminds me, remember the elderly couple in the lobby that day, the Rt. Honourables? Grannie and I had dinner with them tonight. It was hilarious. They really are sweet, but halfway through dinner, Penelope Smith-Jones leaned over and asked me whatever happened to that gorgeous young man.”

  “You can tell her he’s disguised as a plumber and working in Yorkshire.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “Tell me you’re not still wearing that hoodie!”

  “Yup, but I had to take my work boots off. They’re covered in mud.” From there, he told her all about his day, the houses they’d seen, the easy rapport he had with Douglas.

  “I like him, he’s a great scout,” replied Marc. “Doesn’t mince words, doesn’t give a fig about the actor thing, and he’s good at his job. We’re going to a place called Fallowfield tomorrow.”

  “Are those the pictures you sent me?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, but unfortunately, the owner’s being difficult. We can’t meet the estate agent until five o’clock.”

  “The premiere is in two days!”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” promised Marc. Wouldn’t miss a chance to hold her arm, smell her scent, feel the glow of her smile as she conquered the world – at his side.

  Neither of them wanted to say good-bye. He could, Marc realized, have lain there all night just listening to Alex breathe. The thought of her body next to his propelled his thoughts back to the hunger he’d felt the other night as they lay together in front of the fire. Their passion had been laced with a longing that had yet to be fulfilled. In its place, the roar of anticipation ignited every part of his body. He was alight with the lust that comes with falling in love.

  He wanted to be looking into those flashing brown eyes of hers when the time was right. When he was confident that he wouldn’t let her down, that he was ready to commit, and that she was as well. Until then, he would hold himself in check. If only his chest wasn’t so damn tight.

  “Marc?”

  “Just lying here thinking about how badly I want to be with you, really be with you…,” he began, but the words caught in his throat. “But it’s more than that. I can’t explain it, I just…”

  “…want to be with you,” whispered Alex.

  A wave of desire closed the distance between them.

  “The day after tomorrow,” he said.

  “The day after tomorrow,” echoed Alex, her voice as soft as a goodnight kiss.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’ll drive you to London myself if I have to,” shouted Douglas as the two men sprinted towards his car. Marc tossed his belongings in the back and slid into the passenger side, buckling his seat belt seconds before Douglas released the hand brake and roared out of the parking lot.

  Marc, for one, had barely slept.

  They’d arrived at Fallowfield the previous afternoon only to find they’d been stood up by the estate agent. When he’d offered to rebook the following morning, Marc had made the difficult decision to stay another night. Alex had taken it in stride when he’d called to let her know, trusting him to make good on his promise.

  But if things didn’t fall into place today, it would be touch-and-go getting back to London in time. And that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Marc glanced out the passenger window and tried not to worry.

  An early morning mist lay over the surrounding countryside forcing the traffic to a crawl as they approached the first roundabout. Unable to contain his impatience, Marc drummed his fingers on the armrest. He really needed this location to work, but even more important was his need to not disappoint Alex.

  She had already shown that she supported his dreams, he could do no less for her. To take her grandmother’s place on the red carpet and make it her own, would solidify Alex’s position as head of The Sadler Hotel.

  She’d wanted him at her side, and he would damn well be there. He’d given her his word.

  “Relax,” said Douglas. “The fog will lift soon.” He shifted into a higher gear as they merged onto the main road.

  “It’d better,” muttered Marc, “I’ve put my life in your hands.”

  Leaving Douglas to focus on the road, Marc started making notes, matching what he already knew about Fallowfield to the demands of the script as it now stood. But his mind kept wandering to Alex, to their date that evening, and the thought that they would appear in public together as a couple. After years of guarding his private life so carefully, he was in a relationship that really mattered. Any fame or fortune he may have enjoyed in the past meant little to him now.

  His adult years had been punctuated by too many suitcases, too many moves, and too many shallow relationships, none of which added up to that elusive concept called “home.” Home meant love, family, and making memories.

  It was as though he’d reset the clock the moment he’d met Alex. And yet, here he was, rolling the dice on his future.

  The sun was out now, burning the moisture off the land. Marc’s tension eased and before long, they caught sight of their destination amid the rolling fields and dry stone walls of the surrounding valley. It was pure Yorkshire, right down to the rambling blue line of a stream traversing the estate. Alex would love it.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” said Douglas as he slowed for the entrance. “A proper eighteenth-century country house.”

  They followed the gravel drive as it wound its way through the grounds, tantalizing its visitors with glimpses of sunlit elegance.

  “Looks like there’s a car parked out front,” said Marc with relief.

  He felt the scout’s eyes flicker his way. “My old gran used to say that ‘if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.’ Applies to love as well, I’m told.”

  Marc laughed. Douglas was a romantic at heart, and apparently, he was becoming one too.

  As they pulled up next to the other vehicle, a well-dressed middle-aged man opened the front door and came down the steps of the house. “Cliff,” he announced, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Sorry about yesterday. Mrs. Lange’s a bit skittish.”

  “Should I be concerned?” Marc cut in.

  The agent shook his head. “No. Mrs. Lange’s already living with her son in Australia. She’s definitely onside, but she is finding it hard to let go of the past. Can’t say I blame her,” he added as he led them inside. “This place is a beauty.”

  The entrance hall was exactly as Marc had envisioned it, full of light and space with warm panelling and wide, inviting doorways.

  Reassured, Marc moved on, scanning Fallowfield’s interior with a director’s eye. The house had been built more than two hundred years ago, yet it was easy to picture it as it would have been in the early 1920s; the reception ro
om still retained its seating areas, and the style of the furniture fit his imagination frame by frame.

  While Douglas chatted with the estate agent, Marc quickly assessed the rest of the rooms on the ground floor. Their size would allow a camera crew plenty of flexibility. It was an important consideration. A shell-shocked and injured soldier would not have ventured far from home. Especially a widower with a small child he barely knew.

  Although he could use a London soundstage, most of the interior shots could take place here. Marc had a sixth sense about this house. All the years he had immersed himself in history, absorbing the feel, not just the facts, came into full play. He circled back to the entrance hall, nodded to Douglas, and then ran lightly up the curved staircase.

  The bedrooms were impressive, but they did not affect his decision about whether or not to shoot at Fallowfield. He did pause in the master bedroom. Having a romp in the antique four-poster with a certain CEO, was a tempting vision. He was definitely grinning as he sprinted up the stairs to the next floors.

  Without a bustling household to sustain Fallowfield, the top of the house had languished. The corridors were plain, faded, and the air was stale; but there, next to the nursery, was the large room Marc had envisioned overlooking the lawns at the back of the house.

  He stepped inside. Dust motes floated in the beam of sunlight cutting across the bare floor. Marc felt a prickle of nostalgia. Across the back wall was a series of cupboards just like the ones he’d had as a boy in upstate New York, filled with games and toys, and the miniature soldiers his godfather had sent him every Christmas.

  At one time, this room would have been alive with children, but now it stood empty and forlorn.

  He stood utterly still as his imagination supplied the picture…children. Dark-haired like himself, with flashing eyes like Alex. Again he wondered what it would feel like to be a father, to come home to the lively laughter and quarrels of a thriving family. His own privileged life of upscale condos and lavish fame seemed brittle and boring compared to the possibilities of this house.