Coming Attractions

by Rosie Vanyon

  Still, she vacillated.

  “You, me, stranded alone on an erotic movie set…” he murmured. “Are we really going to waste an opportunity like this?”

  His words penetrated the last of Cara’s defences. How many times had she run from intimacy? How many chances for closeness had she dismissed out of fear? How many cravings for nearness and connection had she trashed, simply because she was afraid of being hurt?

  It was plain to her in that moment that her mother’s abandonment had deeply wounded her, made her wary of linking with others, shaken her ability to trust.

  With sudden clarity, she knew that her contempt for home and hearth was no more than her way of avoiding risk. If she had no home, no possessions to care for, no loved ones, then nothing important could be taken from her. The ragged wound from the theft of her precious bike only underscored her rationale. Love meant danger. Caring meant peril. And intimacy? That was practically a guarantee of hell to pay.

  Did she really want to keep living aloof and apart? Was loneliness and alienation really a fair price to pay for safety?

  Perhaps Levi was right. Fate had thrown them into this unique situation together. It truly was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they were facing. Here and now, she had a chance to abandon her usual MO of running away and, instead, allow herself to enjoy this man’s nearness—to touch and feel and trust and connect in a way that was normally beyond her, even if she could only manage it for this one night. For the first time, in this oasis of time and place, she glimpsed the possibility that she could be open and yet safe in his arms. Surely, just for tonight, they could step outside of life’s normal constraints and enjoy the pleasures she knew they could bring each other. The notion was magnetic, tempting, seductive…

  “No consequences,” he whispered, as though reading her thoughts.

  Surrender.

  Like a parched flower, every tendril of her very humanity yearned to yield to Levi.

  “Cara?” Her name on his lips was her undoing. All at once, it was a release, an enchantment and a promise.

  In that moment, all her reservations fell away and her sigh was the sound of a woman coming home at last. In that instant, Cara stopped thinking and gave herself over to feeling. She wanted him. Wanted to feel him, skin to skin. Wanted to draw him inside her. Wanted to take him to that place with her where time stopped and hearts joined and bodies sang and, for a moment, at least, everything was perfect.

  She swivelled around and met his steady, gray-green eyes. She saw the faintest spark of victory when he read the capitulation in her gaze. She didn’t care.

  So, when he plundered her mouth, his hand tangled in her hair, his body promising to claim hers, his very soul seeking completion with her own, she did not pull away, she did not fight her vulnerability to him. And when he drew her toward the stairs, she followed him willingly. How could she resist one more night alone with Levi?

  Chapter Eight

  The room was like a dark faerie glade, all forest murals and garlands and faerie lights. It smelled like pine, wild flowers, and sex. Lying sated in Levi’s arms, Cara took delight in their surroundings.

  “Mom used to read us faerie tales,” she said. “Not the nice, sanitized, Disney-fied things we feed children these days. She used to read us the nasty, unvarnished stories. Bitter, twisted, and breathtakingly gory. We loved them. The book may still be in the study downstairs.”

  “Well, if you find it, you’re welcome to take it. I know I bought the house and contents, but I was focused on stuff like the Bechstein grand and the vintage Buick Roadster in the garage. Certainly not your childhood bedtime story books.”

  “Thanks, I may just go hunting for it later. When we sold the place, I was tied up on location in the middle of the Pacific. I left it to Mia to take what she thought we would want. I’m not much for owning a whole lot of material possessions and I’ve never been overly sentimental. But the story book would be nice.”

  Hell, next I’ll find myself owning a breadmaker, a shih tzu, and a 60-foot yacht.

  “Maybe you can scare your own kids silly with the stories one day.”

  His offhanded words were like a cold finger snaking down her spine and he couldn’t help but feel her shudder.

  “Cold?” he asked, pulling the bedclothes more tightly around her and embracing her more snugly. But no amount of blankets or body heat would ever warm that particular chill in her spirit. How could she have forgotten, even for a few hours, the pain that followed love as inorexably as night chased day. What had possessed her to chance her wellbeing on a round of the bad boogie with Levi?

  Sleeping with him before they talked had been a mistake, she realized. Come to think of it, sleeping with him at all was insane. They needed to sort out their differences about the movie. She had to be calm, stay objective, apply to the conversation the same logic and rationalism she had brought to writing the screenplay. Flying off the handle was not going to get her anywhere. Distracting herself with sex—no matter how glorious—would be similarly unproductive. She needed to hear him out. If she could grasp his arguments, it would only be one small step to finding some alternative way to accommodate his needs. Some way that didn’t involve twisting the truth of the film. Some way that didn’t men desecrating her mother’s memory.

  Knowledge was power. She resolved to keep the adage front of mind. It would be her new mantra. His firm hands rubbing her back saw the axiom shimmer like a mirage. His lips pressing gently against her cheek saw the words drift in and out of focus. Man, but he was compelling. When his fingers eased from her back to her buttocks and dipped erotically between her legs, she forgot everything and surrendered to him completely, again.

  ****

  He found her in the dark study, curled up in one of the wingback chairs, snuggled up with the cat and cradling a book, the page lit by the flames of the fire she had rekindled. Hell, she was stunning. She’d freshened up and dressed in her jeans and a sun-bleached aqua tee. Her feet were bare and he spent a second taking in the delicate bone structure and coral-toned polish, the lines of her elegant toes and graceful arches. He could develop a fetish for toes, he thought—Cara’s toes. Where her arms were tanned, her feet were pale against the leather of the armchair, a testament to a life in motorcycle boots, he assumed.

  Her gold hair spilled in a mutiny of curls over her shoulders, shielding her face from his view and also masking the pages of the book open in her lap. The faerie tale book she had mentioned, perhaps? Whatever she was reading had engrossed her so much, she didn’t seem to notice he was there.

  She looked small and defenseless against the great swath of dark leather, he thought, and she looked beautiful, ethereal with the firelight limning her golden hair and moonlight illuminating her creamy skin.

  He walked to the sideboard and deliberately clinked a couple of glasses. She glanced up, startled. He observed a frown lingering at her brow.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, pouring them each a drink and placing the tumblers on the glass table top, then pulling up another of the heavy chairs and settling himself against the cool cushions.

  After the mind-blowing hours they had just shared entwined on the king-sized bed in the exotic and erotic forest room playing out delicious satyr/wood nymph fantasies for many luxurious and leisurely hours, he wanted nothing more than to be near her. He longed to stroke her skin and explore her mouth, to drink in the unique womanly scent of her, to press himself against and into her again and again. She was like some tantalizing magic potion that quenched his thirst for the space of a heartbeat then left him desperately parched for more.

  It was all he could do not to scoop her up in his arms and nestle her on his lap. But her posture was closed and defensive. Her eyes were fortified, and the “keep back” vibe she emitted was practically palpable. He settled for the brush of her hand against his own as he passed her a finger of whiskey in a crystal glass.

  “Thank you. I had to get up. My head wouldn’t stop going round and ro
und,” she confessed.

  He saw something in her gaze, then some chink of vulnerability. He needed to capitalize on her mood, he thought. He needed to use her moment of weakness to leverage the outcome he required. The film needed sex and, right now, if he demanded her agreement, he sensed she would submit.

  She was tired, out-of-sorts, and sated. It was late. She’d gulped down the whiskey. Her mind was elsewhere, perhaps in the book she was reading. She would be putty in his hands. If he pushed his hand right now, he could complete the box office smash he needed to achieve and he’d have the cash to make his troubles disappear.

  Cara had thawed over dinner, her glacial bearing softening and liquefying, and she had opened up to him wholly in the bedroom like some exotic hothouse bloom, eagerly flowering beneath his masterful hands and tongue. Whenever they made love, it was as though they were both powerless to withhold anything from one another—their passion was absolute, their commitment to each brilliant moment together was total.

  And now she was open and unprotected, alone in the darkness, his to manipulate. He readied the steel blade of his ruthlessness, hardened his resolve to force the project his way, took aim at the soft spot in her heart, and…took himself completely aback when he retreated without pressing his advantage.

  For a split second, white-hot rage flared. He seared with utter self-loathing. What kind of a man was he to back away from an action that was unquestionably necessary? What kind of a human being was he to draw out the pain he knew he needed to inflict? A fast, clean strike would have hurt her, certainly. But dragging out the inevitable was nothing short of cruel. And he was not a cruel man. Least of all to a vulnerable woman he had come to care for. So, what the hell had just happened?

  The smolder of self-loathing became a low, disgusted burn. He shouldn’t be sitting here dancing around the movie issue with Cara. Time was short. He had to move fast. He should be ruthlessly exploiting every resource at his disposal to force his will upon her, for the sake of his family and the wretched position he had put them in. He owed a monumental debt and, while in a thousand lifetimes he could never make things right, he had vowed to do everything in his power to take the edge off the damage he had so irresponsibly caused.

  In order to pay his debt, he needed the movie’s box office takings to blow the lights out. And, for that to happen, he needed more sex in the script.

  The path was totally clear. There was no room for deviation and no time to waste. So, why was he allowing Cara to distract him from his sworn obligation? Why was he wavering when he needed to win?

  Before he could ponder his uncharacteristic actions further, she softly closed the book in her lap and met his eyes. He suddenly knew that despite the hours of delicious respite they had just shared, their earlier argument still lay between them like a coiled snake, a living thing full of venom and danger.

  Abruptly, she was not the soft, pliable waif he had painted her. Her jaw was set, her eyes glittered, her brow furrowed. He would swear she hadn’t changed position, but suddenly she seemed taller, more regal in the firelight, as though she’d cloaked herself in some sort of magic armor. He actually shivered in the face of her queenly bearing.

  He put down his whiskey.

  “We need to talk about the movie. The truth. We need to find a way to make this work,” she said.

  He picked up the conversational opening she offered and decided to see where it led.

  “Look, I’m sorry about before. I was insensitive. I just opened my mouth and blurted out that stuff about changing the film without really giving you any context.”

  She stiffened reflexively. Then he watched her regulate herself and force her body to relax. “I’m not sure that whatever context you provide will make any difference. But, go ahead. I’m listening.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the note of strain winding through it. He had to admire her self-control. In this moment, he had a real sense of her strength. The same strength, resilience, and persistence she must have shown in the face of unravelling the facts of her mother’s betrayal.

  For, it was a betrayal, he thought. How could a woman Cara swore was warm of heart and maternally devoted discard her children in favor of some legendary treasure? Family was paramount. Blood was supreme. You didn’t turn your back on your kin for anything, in his book. Least of all a chest full of trinkets or an old scrap of parchment.

  But wasn’t he doing the same thing, allowing a passing fancy, a temporary dalliance, to divert him from his familial obligation? In that moment, he knew he was as repulsive and dishonorable as Alessandra had been.

  Though he saw Alessandra as a monster, in the film, Cara had managed a balanced portrayal of her parent. Somehow, she had made Alessandra’s character likeable and human, made her decision seem reasonable, if not idyllic. The audience was not left hating Alessandra for her selfish decision to seek the treasure. But, in that moment, Levi hated Alessandra.

  Maybe his reluctance to move in for the kill was simply an unwillingness to tar himself with the same brush.

  Looking at Cara, edgy and worn and tortured beneath her serene veneer, Levi loathed Alessandra with every shred of his being. Every time he saw the flicker of hope flare in Cara’s eyes, he wanted to punch something. Alessandra had been an egotistical, frigid, avaricious bitch. He would never forgive her for leaving Cara the hideous legacy of feeling inadequate. He would never forgive her for turning her back on the woman he—

  His mind shut down the instant the thought tried to push its way to the surface. He had no room in his life for anything other than a short-term playmate, and even the temporary interlude was proving a liability.

  While Cara was driven to get the movie done her way, he had his own screaming agenda that would not wait. He could not afford to be deflected, he reminded himself. Failure was not an option. Right now, there was no time for detours or errors. He had to get the movie done his way right now. Or there would be blood on his hands. Literally.

  It was time to clue Cara in. At least in part. He had to make her understand why he needed to adjust some aspects of the film. He needed to convince her to agree to his proposed changes. Fast.

  And if he wasn’t man enough to play a brutal hand, then he’d just have to accomplish victory some other way. Because there was no choice, he reminded himself. He needed to win. Anything else was not an option.

  “You said that I only care about money. In a way, that’s true. I’m not ashamed of that,” he told her.

  “No wonder you like the movie. You identify with my mother,” she ground out softly. “Money is a powerful motivator. I know that better than most.”

  The accusation stung, but he knew she was merely lashing out because she felt threatened. She was reacting like a cornered animal, and he was only wounded because of the component of truth in what she said.

  He needed to help her understand she was not powerless or trapped. If he could defuse her defensiveness a little, she might not react with such hostility. And until he made her feel safe and empowered, she would be too tied up in her fight or flight response to really listen to anything he said. That wasn’t going to happen in the pre-dawn study with emotions running high.

  “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” she said. She bit her lip, clearly wishing she had kept her temper under control.

  He shrugged. “Forget it.”

  But he stood then, and walked away. He should have felt satisfied that he had left her deflated, all out of fire and ammunition, too.

  ****

  Levi found himself lying in a bed. Not his bed, he realized, nor any of the beds at Flinders’ Keep—after the last few days, he was familiar with most of them. This bed was as soft as a cloud, the bedding heavy and rose-scented. Lace from a throw pillow brushed his face.

  Where was he?

  He opened his eyes. Looked at the nightstand. Three a.m. said a windup alarm clock with filigree hands, ticking beside a porcelain bell decorated with violets.

  Almost of its own volition, his han
d reached out to pick up the bell.

  There was something odd about his hand, he thought. It was seriously hairy. And his nails were long and thick and kind of pointy. Weird. But never mind.

  He really needed to ring that bell.

  The bell’s tinkle was loud in the quiet, floral air. No traffic, he realized. Just some night birds and wind in trees. He was immediately filled with expectation, but he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

  Then the rustic wooden door creaked open and a woman who looked just like Cara walked in, all pretend coyness and sassy sexuality.

  “Red,” he said, shocked by the growling roughness of his voice.

  “You sound like you ate a gravel sandwich, Grandma,” she quipped as she placed her vintage leather doctor’s bag on the needlepoint chair just inside the door.

  “Aren’t you supposed to have a basket?” he asked.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You really have to get with the times,” she admonished. “My outfit, for example.”

  He sat up then, bed springs creaking, and stared at her.

  The hooded cape was red all right, but it was glitter fur liked she’d skinned a Muppet. It barely skimmed her crotch, revealing long bare legs ending in frilly anklets and red stilettos with little bows on the toes. Nothing little girlie about that get-up.

  “My, what big eyes you have, Grandma,” she laughed, and twirled cheekily. He swore he caught a glimpse of her curvy ass.

  “All the better to gobble you up,” he said, licking his lips and imagining running his tongue around her legs at the hem of that skimpy cape. Maybe trailing his fingers behind his mouth and sliding them upwards to discover…

  “You really have to work on your lines,” she laughed again.

  But as though she could hear his curiosity, she untied the red ribbon closure of the furry garment and slipped it off, draping it casually over the arm of the chair.

  An expletive burst from his mouth. She was the stuff of his wildest fantasies. Red lace boy shorts and a matching lace bra. With the socks and shoes…and the long bare legs…and the slightly curved belly…and the dark valley between her perfect, delicious breasts…and…