Coming Attractions

by Rosie Vanyon

  The pictures were a fast montage across the screen of her mind—the two of them grilling steaks and fixing salad together on a sunset deck, planting flower beds side by side, a dinner party with friends, long walks on a beach, maybe playing with a dog, the pair of them painting a nursery.

  The surprising ideas were so far removed from the existence Cara knew that she could barely catch hold of them, let alone examine them more deeply. So, she just let them slide by and let her newfound longing settle a little more firmly in her chest.

  But was it possible to be so surely and so deeply in love so soon? It had only been days! And how did Levi feel about her? That question was like a slap. She had no idea if she meant something to him or if, for him, what they shared was just a casual fling. Hadn’t she herself called it a mistake? And a stupid one at that? How she wished she could snatch those words back and chew them to bits.

  Plus, there was more than just the emotional component to consider, she realized. There was a practical issue to be sorted in terms of the very real and completely unresolved matter of the movie. Did loving him mean she needed to change her stance, relax her hard line about the plot? Should she stick to her truth crusade or should she offer him some leeway when it came to the film’s content?

  After all, he had confessed to her the importance of the film’s commercial success. He had not hidden his personal stake in the financial victory he sought. He had told her openly and honestly what he needed. He had been straight with her about his reasons. She had to respect him for his candor. But did loving him mean she had to put his needs before her own?

  Her mind tipped back to the rainy night she had lost her baby and unwittingly birthed the film, and then she overlaid the brand new image she had conjured of herself and Levi painting a nursery. The imagined sunshine yellow walls and glossy white architraves of some beautiful old home left her breathless. Did she dare want a home and family with Levi? Did she dare risk the agony of loss?

  And if she did dare, shouldn’t she cut him some slack and allow him to make the changes he needed to make? Wasn’t love about self-sacrifice? Putting the other person’s needs before one’s own?

  Then again, there was no guarantee that if she did put Levi’s needs before her own that there would be any glowing future for them as a couple. While she was sure he would be more than pleased to continue their liaison during the making of the movie, if only to keep her sweet and compliant—but also, she was savvy enough to realize, because the sex was amazing—what happened afterwards was anything but certain.

  Perhaps she should she demand details of his supposed life and death plight? Maybe his cause was something she wouldn’t support. Maybe he was keeping the details from her because he knew that she wouldn’t be sympathetic to his campaign. Perhaps, for example, he was trying to rescue a heartless murderer from death row and needed money for legal fees. Or perhaps he was exaggerating and his purpose wasn’t as ominous as he suggested.

  She shook her head. Clearly, the stress was messing with her mind. Somehow, she couldn’t see Levi’s fight as anything less than real and honorable. In which case, she circled back to the crux again—didn’t she have an obligation to support him in his quest to make the film a box office success? Was that what love meant?

  Then again, if she supported Levi, wouldn’t she be doing exactly what her sister accused her of—selling her mother out, tainting her memory, tarnishing her name? And wasn’t following her own convictions important, too? How could she ever hold up her end of a relationship if she couldn’t even be true to herself?

  But Levi needed her help…

  Cara shook her head again and flopped down into one of the leather chairs. How had things become so difficult so quickly? She’d taken one baby step over an emotional line and now her priorities were in total turmoil.

  ****

  The letter had been wedged between Rapunzel and The Star-Money and just the sight of it sent weird tingles skittering down Cara’s spine, as though her very being knew that she’d just stumbled across something explosive. If she’d been a Pixar movie heroine, swirls of mystic purple glittering smoke would have twirled up from the letter, complete with tense mood music and harp sounds.

  The envelope was thin and old—torn, brittle, discolored. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the stamp foreign, and the postmark faded and smudged beyond recognition.

  Cara’s fingers trembled as she pulled it from the pages of the book. Strangely reluctant to open it, she turned it over and over in her hands as though it might reveal its contents by osmosis.

  Her heart was beating a staccato rhythm and she could feel sweat beginning to gather on her forehead and under her arms.

  Finally, curiosity outweighed hesitation and she held her breath as she gently inserted her index finger to pry the ripped edges of envelope’s top apart. For a moment, the sides stuck closed and then, with the slightest pressure, they peeled away from one another and she could peer in.

  Inside was a single sheet of stiff, translucent paper, folded into eighths. Shakily, she fished it out and closed her eyes briefly, knowing at some bone deep level, that the words on this page would set off a chain of events that would change things—change her—profoundly. Cara had no idea whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. She whispered something nonsensical under her breath, half prayer, half profanity, and unfolded the paper.

  It took her a moment to decipher the bold blue handwriting, but once she got the hang of it, she read quickly, sucking the guts out of the letter as fast as she could.

  What she discovered left her sick and breathless.

  The letter, dated just before Cara’s fifteenth birthday, was from someone who could only have been Alessandra’s lover.

  ****

  Right cross, left jab, right uppercut. There might be another way out of this mess, Levi realized as he pounded out his frustrations on the punching bag in the makeshift gym in the basement. Funny how vigorous exercise could bring flashes of lucidity, he thought. Then again, other kinds of physical activity brought nothing but mind-blowing, thought-stopping bliss, he reflected wryly, failing once more to keep thoughts of Cara and her delectable body out of his mind.

  He decided to come at their quandary from a different direction.

  Issue one was Cara’s need to keep the movie as true to life as she could. As much as her steadfast position pissed him off and thwarted his own plans, he couldn’t help but respect her tenacity and integrity. She refused to be swayed by his impassioned pleas or by the promise of wealth and professional success. She stood by her beliefs adamantly and unfailingly, no matter what he threw her way. Annoying, yes, but totally freaking admirable.

  Issue two was his own financial dilemma. He hadn’t been kidding when he told Cara he needed megabucks mega-soon. And he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her someone’s life was resting in the balance and it was on his head to make sure a miracle happened.

  Right now, Bronte was lying in a hospital bed, pale and still, wandering alone through her unconscious mind. He’d promised her she would be okay. He’d promised her that he’d make things right. But he didn’t know if she had heard him. Regardless, it was up to him to get his shit together and come up with some serious moolah. Enough for an operation that would provide a tiny chance that she would one day wake up. After all, Levi was the stupid bastard who had put her in the coma. It was up to him to get her out of it.

  Left hook, right hook. Levi punched harder, slamming the bag again and again until his back and shoulders screamed. A good boxer needed focus, coordination, power, speed and endurance, he reminded himself. But today, he didn’t care about being a good boxer. Today was only about smashing and thumping and pummelling—anything to take the jagged edge off his frustration.

  The alternative solution again flashed through the mire of his aggression and fury and, this time, he paid it more attention. The answer came into his mind in a picture. He saw an arm, elbow deep in water. Slowly, the limb withdrew from the water
, ripples emanating as the closed fist surfaced. Water streamed from the between the fingers as they uncurled to reveal a dripping palm holding a clutch of glittering gold coins.

  Abruptly, he stopped punching and stood gasping as the bag swung like a lazy pendulum.

  Holy moly. He could find the missing fortune! If Alessandra had left her lavish legacy on the Flinders’ Keep property, then, technically—since he’d bought the house and contents in a bundle—it would belong to him. He could skim the money he needed for Bronte’s operation off the top, return the rest to Cara and Mia, and make Lost Treasure exactly the way Cara wanted to make it. Perfect!

  Some part of his new plan pricked at his conscience, but he was too excited to pay the niggling concern much attention. He could smooth out the details later. First, he had to find the missing treasure. The he could surprise Cara with his brilliant solution to all their troubles. He allowed himself a brief moment to savor the way he imagined she might express her excitement and gratitude, then filed the thought away for later contemplation. He needed to get down to business.

  Chapter Ten

  Confessing to Levi that Alessandra had not been chaste leading up to her death should have been easy. After all, Cara had said all along she wanted to portray the truth, hadn’t she? And this tidbit meant that Levi could ramp up the sex in the movie and she could support him in good conscience.

  So, why was she bunched under the doona in one of the non-themed bedrooms, crying?

  Was it because this particular truth struck her as a bit crude? After all, no one wants to think about their mother doing the mattress mambo with some strange man. Or was it simply the sting of finding herself so wrong, especially after her vehemence over her mother’s chastity?

  Maybe it was simply the thought of facing Levi now that she had admitted her feelings for him to herself. After all, without their artistic difference to hide behind, she would have to look her love for him full in the face. And she would have to decide how to proceed. She was shaking with terror at the thought of having to deal with a grown up emotion like love. She was the woman who couldn’t even keep a cat, for Pete’s sake. But a small part of her quivered with something else that she eventually recognized as something between excitement and hope.

  She would take things one step at a time, she vowed. There was no need to jump in feet first. She could simply go with the flow for the minute and see where the tide took her. She not-so-secretly hoped it would take her straight into Levi’s embrace.

  ****

  Levi found her in a plain, whitewashed bedroom, huddled under a pale yellow doona with the cat curled at her feet. The rain was easing and a watery shaft of sun highlighted her tawny hair and golden skin.

  Idly, he thought about their bedroom adventures over the last few days. Even as he wondered whether he’d be sued from here to Kingdom Come if he asked the extra assistant HR was sending to take care of the considerable laundry, arousal prickled through him just thinking about messing up this new set of buttery sheets.

  As though she could hear the direction of his thoughts, Cara moaned a little in her sleep and rolled over onto her back.

  His mind drifted back to the first time he had seen her—her sexy, tousled nakedness, her drowsy golden glory. He recalled his reaction to the sight of her—unreserved desire, instant and total.

  Nothing had changed. He wanted her still.

  Back then, he had thought his need had been fueled by the surprise of finding her and by the sensual atmosphere invoked by the brass four-poster swathed in luxurious fabrics. His longing was a purely physical thing, animal and impersonal. Now, though, he knew the woman sleeping naked before him. He knew the taste of her mouth, the passion in her limbs. He knew the heat of her skin and the feel of her tongue against him. He knew her laugh and her eyes. Ae knew her steadfast principles and her brave character.

  Sure, the prospect of surprising, passionate sex with a stranger was appealing, but if he was totally honest with himself, knowing her just made him want her all the more. It would be an exponential thing, he figured—the more he discovered of her, the more he would want her. The thought gave him a moment’s pause as a frisson of self-preservation snaked through him. Then he gave a small shrug. He’d just have to be careful not to get too involved. She was the perfect partner for a playful romp, but neither of them were looking for anything more.

  Moderation, he told himself. Just because he liked a wine with his dinner didn’t mean he had to go on a drunken binge every night. Similarly, just because he enjoyed the particular delights of Cara didn’t mean he needed to bind himself to her forever. Restraint, balance, reasonableness, he reminded himself. Small sips, tiny tastes. He’d dip his…er…toe in now and then, but keep his heart and soul well out of harm’s way.

  And now that he had figured out the solution to their stalemate, there was no reason he shouldn’t launch into a moderate, reasonable, restrained romp with her right away.

  And then two things happened at once—she opened her eyes and the rain stopped.

  ****

  “A girl could get a complex, you know,” she joked as her eyes drifted open and she saw Levi propped in the doorway, the appreciative expression on his face leaving no doubt about which direction his thoughts had been headed.

  Her brief nap had washed away much of the shock the letter had carried and, in the face of the living, breathing Levi, it was almost impossible to recall why she ought to be wary of a liaison with him. Because, seriously, right now, he looked about as dangerous as ice cream, and just as delicious.

  She smiled mischievously up at him, liking that fact that he had been watching her and thrilling in the evidence of arousal from his hungry eyes to the bulge in his jeans.

  “I’m starting to feel like some kind of pervert who sneaks up on naked sleeping women,” he told her, letting his eyes roam purposefully over an expanse of her exposed skin.

  She licked her lips. “Oh, but I’m not naked,” she drawled as she pushed the covers aside and rolled fully onto her back, revealing her bare body clothed in nothing but a scrap of blue lacy underwear.

  He blinked, swallowed, trembled.

  “I…ah…I think I could remedy that situation, if you’d like me to,” he told her in a voice imbued with equal parts promise and torture. “After all, I should have consistency in my naughty behavior, don’t you think?”

  She widened her eyes in mock innocence, took a moment to lick each index finger, and moved her fingers to her nipples where she playfully pinched them, causing them to harden into glossy peaks.

  His ravenous gaze followed her every move, his body growing visibly tense, his manhood swelling by the moment.

  He was the epitome of wet-making. She was the embodiment of sex-ready. The scent of their mutual desire was a hot haze between them.

  “I think it’s very wise to keep a thread of steadiness in your fetishes,” she murmured, glancing up at him from under her lashes and trailing her hands slowly down her body before allowing her fingers to dip briefly beneath the waistband of her panties.

  His eyes were so feverish with need that she was half-tempted to abandon her spicy torment. On the other hand, taking the game further was irresistible.

  “Well, just so we’re clear, right now I have a thing for naked writers and if I could be so bold as to suggest I remove that troublesome bikini, I think you might just fit the bill.”

  His tone was playful, but she could hear the unmistakeable essence of sexual need etched in every syllable. He wanted her. He wanted her bad. And just the fact of his undeniable appetite turned her on fiercely.

  “I like the way you think, mister,” she told him. “Why don’t you step this way and see if you can dispose of these here panties…with your teeth…”

  The sound he made was more like a primal growl than anything human and he took no more persuasion to abandon his post by the door. In two long strides, he reached the bed, toeing off his shoes even as he planted his hands either side of her shoulders
. She adored his muscles, she thought, looking up at the broad expanse of his lightly-haired chest and the curves and bulges of his shoulders and biceps. Man but he was yummy.

  Hot and bothered, too. His neck was tightly corded, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively, and his teeth were gritted. She could see the pulse leaping at his throat, hear the strained hiss of his breath. When his eyes found hers, she almost flinched, such was the ferocious need she saw there. What had she unleashed?

  Despite his thinly tethered control, she was not truly afraid. Levi would never hurt her or take something she hadn’t freely given, of this she was sure. But the sheer pitch of his want sent shimmers of excitement skimming through her veins and tingles of anticipation sparking over her skin. It was as though their desire fed off one another in some eternal carnal feedback loop—the more he wanted her, the more she wanted him.

  “With my teeth, you say?” he ground out, staring hotly down at her.

  She squeaked an affirmative and he nodded brusquely before lowering his face to hers and offering her the briefest, softest brush of lips on lips. Then he pulled away. She mewled her disappointment. All their teasing had left her wanting him, and a light kiss just didn’t cut it.

  He leaned down again, this time glossing his mouth in the hollow beneath her jaw. The heat of his breath on her sensitive skin set off a string of needy pinpricks through her system. The slight scraping of his stubble against her neck underlined his masculine power, not that she needed reminding. He was all male all right, rigid and musky and powerful. The perfect male specimen. And right now, he was…

  Taking tiny bites in a trail down her neck. The taunting nips bordered on painful and she liked the sensation. Meanwhile, one hand trailed ever so lightly up and down her side, stroking her skin, giving her gooseflesh, arousing her even further.