Her eyes clouded, and something about the way she sat, quietly unmoving, had a hint of loneliness about it. It was crazy, since she always travelled with her band, a tight-knit, friendly group who always seemed to take good care of her. “I was so looking forward to coming home. To not having to change out of my pj’s if I didn’t want to. To just…” She cast him a glance from under the sweep of her dark eyelashes. “Am I making any sense?”
“Yeah, you are.” He knew exactly what she meant. “The guys wanted to check you into the best hotel in Clifden. They thought I was crazy suggesting you stay with me, but I knew you’d prefer being here. Let me show you around.” It would have been natural to offer her a hand to pull her from the chair, but he stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode through the double glass doors that led from the patio to the cottage’s interior instead.
“You’ve seen most of it. There are four bedrooms, yours, mine, one which serves as a home gym, and one I have converted into a makeshift office.” He pushed open a door to reveal a room dominated by a large desk holding an impressive computer installation with two huge monitors. “I’ll be spending most of my time in here.”
“Your Batcave.” She smiled.
“Every man needs one.” She’d always understood that he needed a private place to work—somewhere devoid of distraction. The way they worked was so different. She had made herself comfortable on the sofa with a guitar and a notebook to compose—happily ignoring him when she needed to. He could never work like that.
They walked back into the sitting room. “I reckoned you’d be able to work here.” He waved at the large squashy sofa next to the fire. “The beach is less than a mile away, we can visit after breakfast if you like.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “Someone might recognize me. No-one knows I’m in Ireland, but—”
“I know you’re used to being front and center, but believe me, even if you are recognized, no-one will bother you. I’ll make sure of that.” She lived her life in a fishbowl, which was one the reasons he’d wanted to bring her to Ireland, back when they were married. To show her that life could be easy. Could be real.
She sat on the sofa, and stroked a patchwork throw adorning its back. “Did your grandmother make this?”
The cottage had been in his family for generations. Old pictures in his grandmother’s photo albums showed it with a thatched roof in an earlier incarnation.
“Maybe, I don’t know. She might have made it, or it could have been made by one of her sisters or her mother. Her parents lived in this house before her.”
Stacy walked to the window and stared out at the wild garden, edged with fuschia hedges underplanted with bright orange montbretia. The grass was rough and uneven, and bordered by a drystone wall. In the distance, the granite sky blended into the darker sea below.
A memory of something he’d read floated up. “Didn’t you spend your early years in a house that had been home to generations of your family too?”
She turned. “The cabin in the mountains?” Her mouth twisted. “There’s an element of creative license in the story of my early years.” She stared at the floor. “Lester wrote my bio. He liked to say he created me. In many ways he was right.”
When her gaze lifted, there was pain in the depths of her eyes. Adam gritted his teeth. “He didn’t create you.” He walked to her side, and gripped her upper arms, turning her to him. “That man did his very best to undermine your confidence. He controlled what you thought about me, and what you thought about yourself. Don’t let him win. Don’t give him credit for something he doesn’t deserve. Your creativity, your talent, that’s all down to you, Stacy Gold. Don’t ever doubt that.”
She scrunched her eyes closed. “Everything about me is a lie. Every single fact you think you know is wrong.”
*****
Stacy’s mouth was dry. Her heartbeat was pounding. She’d broken the one cardinal rule drummed into her since her teens. Never tell.
Adam’s touch was on her chin, edging her face up.
She opened her eyes to see him staring with compassion in his eyes.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head. Took a step away. “It’s complicated.” She crossed her arms. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You can say anything to me. You know I won’t betray your secrets.”
She did know that. After their ill fate marriage ended, Lester had warned that Adam would sell his story, but he’d never betrayed her. How could she have ever thought he would?
“Why did you wear the ring?”
His sudden switch of topic confused her for a moment, and she didn’t reply.
Adam’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “At the awards show. Why were you wearing my ring?”
He deserved the truth, but admitting it would shift the dynamic between them into dangerous territory. The safe response would be that she was feeling nostalgic, but it was more than that. On their anniversary, she’d mourned the death of their marriage.
She pulled in a deep breath. “I didn’t know if you were watching. I hoped you were. I wanted to show you that our marriage meant something to me.”
The look in his darkened eyes stole her breath. He stood so silent, so watchful, the same, and yet so different from the man she’d known it was as though she was seeing him for the first time.
A terse nod. A glance at her lips. Considering.
“Why did you kiss me at the airport?” Was it for the same reason?
He looked into her eyes again. “I wanted to.” He frowned. “You walked through those doors and I acted on impulse.” His gaze lingered on her bare legs. “I’m drawn to you. I wish to hell I wasn’t, but we’ve got to face facts. We sleepwalked into marriage, bought into dreams of each other that had no basis in reality. You tell me now that everything you told me was a lie. I don’t know what to do with that. Half of me wants to dig away to find the truth, and the other half is telling me to walk away, but this goddamn attraction keeps getting in the way.” He stroked her cheek.
“You lean in to my touch. The look in your eyes tells me you want my mouth on yours.” He stared at her mouth. “Your lips part, and your breathing speeds up.”
Stacy’s nipples hardened, poking against the soft cotton of her nightdress. His fingers were warm. Her head tilted, encouraging him to stroke the long column of her throat.
“You want me. I can read your body like a book, and it’s telling me you want sex as much as I do.”
“Adam.” His name was pulled from her, a murmured, needy sound. Giving in was the worse thing she could do—there was too much history, too much pain. But he stood before her, touching her neck, and the urge to touch him back couldn’t be resisted. “We shouldn’t.” One step and her arms were around his neck, her fingers lacing through the dark strands of his hair. She breathed in his scent, went on tiptoe, and tasted him.
At the airport, she’d tuned out everything when kissing him, but the kiss had lasted only a moment. Now, she took time to savor the press of his mouth on hers, the touch of his tongue tracing the top of her mouth, the brush of his skin against hers. He was a favorite meal she hadn’t eaten for months, and she was starving.
His hands moved lower, brushing against the top of her thighs before sliding beneath the hem of her nightdress. Her back arched, pushing her hips forward into his pelvis. Their lovemaking had always been like this. Urgent. Desperate.
One hand flattened on her bottom, and the other continued upward, stroking the curve of her back. She dimly registered the sound of a moan, from him or from her, she didn’t know, didn’t care. Their bodies needed to be closer. With nothing between them.
She pushed away the neckline of his T-shirt, feeling the corded muscles of his shoulders. “Take it off.”
He buried his face in her throat, nipped the skin there with his teeth. “My hands are busy.”
She pulled away just enough so she could strip him. Tossed his T-shirt to the floor, and let her hand
s roam the wide expanse of his chest. Exploring a body she’d once known every inch of, but one which had now changed, had now hardened. His muscle definition rivaled that of an athlete, or an actor with a strip clause in their contract.
“This doesn’t have to change things, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” he murmured against her neck.
“Just sex?”
His fingers slipped under the waist of her panties.
“Just sex.”
The last time she’d had sex was with this man, nine long months ago. Sex with him now would mean something, it couldn’t not. They were alone in his house—by his design. Had this been the plan all along?
“What?” His fingers stilled, and he pulled back to look into her eyes. He’d always had the ability to know when there was something going on in her head—even without words.
“I just…” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Did you plan this?”
His hands left her skin. He frowned, and stepped back.
“We’re alone. I treated you badly. It’s not impossible to think you want some sort of revenge for what I did to you.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. His gaze swept her head to toe. “I’m not the one who came down here half-naked.” He crossed his arms.
“So what just happened is my fault?” The curve of his biceps, the supple length of his arms, made it impossible to concentrate. And of course, he noticed.
“We were always horizontally compatible.” He bent to snatch his T-shirt from the floor. “Go get dressed, Stacy.”
Chapter Six
She drives me crazy.
While Stacey showered and dressed, Adam stalked outside and tried to get his temper under control. How dare she think he wanted revenge? From the moment they’d reconnected, he’d shown her nothing but consideration. He still had no clue as to what she meant with that crack about everything about her being a lie; she hadn’t been a drama queen while they were married, so he had to believe there was something to it. But what?
He rubbed the back of his neck. Despite his intentions the moment he held her in his arms, skin to skin, caution had been thrown to the wind. If they didn’t establish some ground rules they’d be ripping each other’s clothes off again in the next few days.
Half an hour later, she joined him.
“I’m sorry.” She fidgeted, and avoided his eyes. “I guess I’m just paranoid.”
“I guess you have a right to be.” The one man she trusted above all others had done a number on her. “I’m sorry too. We have a lot of baggage between us.”
She looked up.
“Truce?”
“Truce.” Her mouth curved in a tentative smile.
“I called the guys. Let’s go meet them.”
Boxfield Animation’s premises consisted of a unit in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Clifden. From the outside, it was nothing special, but inside featured a state of the art recording studio, and a large open office where the animators worked on large monitors. The company was small, but had already proved themselves, picking up an Oscar nod for their last production—an animated short film.
The executives from Plaxtair were America based, so the team that met Stacy and Adam on arrival was a small one—Sean, the director Eamonn, his assistant Mandy, another couple of voice actors, and Christine McCarthy, a voice coach.
After the introductions were made, they settled around the conference table to outline the next steps.
Bottles of water and glasses were on a tray in the center of the table, together with a pile of bundled scripts.
Christine took the lead. “You have a great speaking voice, but even professional actors need work to bring out the best in their voice overs.” She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Today we’d like you to read through a scene with Bill and Michael here. That will give us a baseline to work from. You’ll be sick of the script by the time we actually record the finished track.”
Stacy swallowed. Adam could tell that she was suffering from nerves, but probably no-one else could; she had a good poker face.
“So how does this work? Do I talk along to the animation?”
Sean shook his head. “We’ve developed storyboards breaking down each scene, but the visuals will be created for the soundtrack, rather than the other way around.” He handed her a bundle of papers. “This is the entire script. The section on top is the scene we’ll be working on today. Once we have it recorded, you and Christine will analyse it to finesse your performance.”
“We’ll work on capturing Bibi’s personality, and getting her voice right for the next couple of weeks,” Christine said. “The final couple of weeks will be dedicated to recording for real. When we get into the studio, you’ll see that every session will be recorded on video. This is for the animation team. They like to see the actors’ faces when they are speaking. A lot of times, their facial expressions and gestures get incorporated into the final film.”
Stacy’s eyebrows rose.
Eamonn laughed. “I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? But in a lot of cases, the actors playing certain roles resemble their animated counterparts quite strongly.”
“So I could have a squirrel counterpart?”
Eamonn nodded. “Or at least one who would share some of your gestures or facial ticks.”
With a glance at Sean, Stacy took a memory stick from her bag, and placed it on the table in front of her. “Thanks for sending me the CD of the songs Bibi will sing. I did some work with them last week, and have recorded versions, with a basic guitar track below the vocal.”
Sean grinned. “That’s fantastic, Stacy. We have backing musicians lined up, but this will help a lot.”
“We’ll record the songs further on in the process,” Christine said. “The more work we do on the vocalization, the more Bibi’s personality will come through. You may find that the final songs sound quite different.”
There was a sparkle in Stacy’s eyes. She seemed fascinated by the process and eager to learn. “When can I start?”
“Help yourself to water.” Eamonn nodded to his assistant, who handed bound copies of the script to Stacy, the other voice actors and Christine. “And we’ll begin.”
“We’ll leave you to it.” Adam pushed back his chair, and left the room with Sean just behind him.
They continued into Sean’s office. Adam fixed himself a cup of coffee from the pod coffee machine in the corner, then sank on one of the brown leather sofas.
Sean did the same. “She seems really down to earth.” Curiosity was in his eyes. “How did last night go?”
“Fine.”
“Have you talked?” Sean pinned Adam with his gaze. “About your divorce?”
“Yes.”
Sean waited for a few moments, then leaned back and grinned. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
“No.”
He shook his head. Cast his eyes heavenward. “I listened to all your shit for months. Now you’re holding out on me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s always been complicated.” Sean sobered. “I just don’t want this to be difficult for you. She really did a number on you, back then. I know you’re over it, and you’re no delicate flower, but I care about you, man. If there’s a problem with you two, I caused it by pushing for her to do this job. I don’t want...”
“It’s fine.” Adam swallowed a mouthful of coffee, and wished it were laced with whiskey. “Her living in the house might be challenging, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle. She needs this job, and she’s perfect for the part, even better than Mitta. I have no regrets.”
Not yet.
*****
The following few hours, really fun hours, passed in a flash. Stacy was used to using her voice as an instrument, but the whole recording dialogue process had been a revelation. The other actors managed to infuse their parts with such personality, such conviction, she was in awe of their talent. They’d stood in front of microphones in the studio space, ac
ting their lines rather than merely speaking them.
Once the first read-through was done, they’d reviewed video and audio with Christine.
“Every action that you do, even smiling, changes your voice.” Christine paused the tape. “Let’s look at this bit, for example. Michael’s character, Elliot, brings Bibi flowers. He’s excited. He’s in love. When Michael acts out the dialogue, the way his body moves and his facial expressions are mirrored in his voice. It’s so much more dynamic than just sitting at a table and reading it, like we did the first time around.”
“My performance seems flat.”
“You just need practice,” Michael said. “When we run it again, go for it. Be the squirrel.”
“I should have that on a T-shirt, or something.” Stacy smiled. “Be the squirrel!”
“Hear that? The way your voice rose? That’s what we’re looking for. You have to relax into it. Don’t be afraid to sound goofy, or crazy. Bibi is both of those things. Be the squirrel.”
There was a tap on the door, and Adam and Sean entered. “How’s it going?”
“Good timing,” Christine said. “We’re done for the day.”
Disappointment flipped in Stacy’s stomach. “I thought we were going for one more recording?”
Christine shook her head. “Monday is soon enough.” She glanced at her cell phone. “We’ve been working for hours; your voice will be getting tired, even if you’re not.”
The other actors stood. “I have to get home,” Michael said. “I have to collect my kids from a minder.”
She hadn’t learned much about her co-stars. “You live locally?”
“About half an hour away,” Michael said.
“And I live in Clifden,” Bill said. “When Sean started the company, the first thing he did was interview voice talent in the local area. Five local actors worked on our last production.”
“So am I the only one who’s come far?”
“Carson, the actor who’s playing Bibi’s love interest from the big city, is an American who lives in London. But yes, apart from Carson, everyone lives in Ireland. There are a lot of creatives living in Ireland, more than enough to fulfill all our needs. Some of the animation crew has worked in American studios, and some for larger studios that had bases in Ireland. It’s different from a movie crew, where you have contracted people forming the crew, we’re a much tighter knit bunch.”
Stealing Gold (The Logan Series Book 4) Page 5