Recovery

by JC Harroway

  I glanced around at the other patrons, noticing for the first time the propensity for flat caps and tweed jackets. We shared the joke, his face aglow with mirth in the firelight, and I hid my snigger behind another mouthful of my drink.

  ‘But you’re moving away from those, right? What sort of roles would you like?’

  He grew pensive. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been very lucky and the films I’ve done so far have made my name. But I’d love to take on something grittier. Something that challenges me in different ways. The film I shot in New Zealand was a drama, a small indie film.’

  I witnessed the same excitement in his eyes I’d seen at the base of Stanage Edge this morning, and it stirred up the constant state of arousal I experienced around him. ‘Well if that’s what you want, you should go for it. I’m sure you’ll be successful.’

  He glanced away, a small snort belying his usual confident persona.

  I baulked. ‘Oh come on. Your success can’t be doubted.’

  His enigmatic smile neither agreed nor denied as he scanned the pub’s patrons. ‘Ah, but what is the measure of that success? It’s all subjective, right?’ His eyes were downcast and his thumb scratched at his beermat, shredding the edge. ‘My father, for example, measures success by the number of Olivier Awards crowding his mantelpiece. He never gets chased by paps.’

  My confused frown spurred him on.

  ‘My father is a classical actor—Shakespeare. He’s not really interested in anything outside the National Theatre or the bottom of a glass.’

  I held my breath, his confidences an insight into the real him. ‘You don’t get on?’

  His bitter sneer spoke volumes.

  ‘But he must be proud of you? Of your success?’ I pulled his agitated fingers away from the beermat and tangled them through my own.

  ‘When he’s sober enough to notice?’ He scoffed. ‘He despises the “fame thing” as he calls it. The social media, celebrity gossip, life-under-a-microscope garbage. Thinks I encourage it.’

  ‘Do you?’ My voice descended to a cautious murmur. ‘Isn’t that what we’re doing together?’ My words felt so poisonous I wanted to spit them out. This, sitting here with him after the day we’d shared, was so real it terrified me. We could be any other ordinary couple sharing a date.

  ‘Yes, I guess we are.’ Nathan’s thumb rhythmically brushed the back of my hand as the silence stretched, and I wondered what thoughts or memories I’d lost him to. I hated that someone as talented and successful as he was, adored by millions, faced derision from someone so close to him. Couldn’t his father see the successful, driven and altruistic man Nathan was? What demons had Nathan grown up with, and had his need to perform been shaped by an embittered alcoholic too selfish to nurture the budding talent his son possessed?

  Aware of another’s presence, I looked up. A young woman hovered close by. Her pretty face was flushed and the hand that reached for the empty glass on our table trembled. Nathan and I dropped each other’s hands as if we’d been caught snogging behind the bike sheds by the headmaster.

  ‘You’re Nathan Banks, aren’t you?’ She wore a shirt embroidered with the name of the pub. ‘Oh, I love you. I’ve seen all your movies. I can’t believe it; you’re Nathan Banks! Could I get an autograph?’

  Nathan slipped into work mode, his easy confessional mood a thing of the past. ‘Sure. What’s your name?’ Tension hardened his eyes as he slipped on his game face, but to the casual observer he was all gracious smiles and down-to-earth charm. He reached for a clean beermat from our table, inclining his head towards the fan and giving her his undivided attention.

  She offered him the pen from her apron pocket. ‘Emily.’ Her adoring gaze followed his every move as he inscribed the beermat with a personal message. He added his signature to the bottom. ‘Would you like a photo?’ He handed her the beermat and pen, and she nodded, presumably now beyond the ability to speak. Pocketing the autograph, she produced her phone, her free hand clutched to her mouth as if she might sob or vomit at any second. I hoped for all our sakes it wasn’t the latter.

  ‘Allow me,’ I said, taking the phone. She stood beside Nathan, beaming a smile of the truly enraptured, her face turned to the object of her adoration. I snapped a few shots of them and handed the phone back to her, hoping she’d leave and we could resume our quiet chat by the fire. No such luck.

  ‘Oh wow, thank you. I love you.’ As if his polite, approachable demeanour had given her the green light, she threw her arms around his neck, yanking him down into a fierce hug before once again clutching her mouth. Nathan tolerated her touch with forbearance, the tic of a muscle in his jaw the only sign he might be uncomfortable.

  A wave of acid surged into my throat, twisting my mouth into a bitter pout. Her hand pawed his arm, even though the meet-and-greet was clearly over.

  ‘Are you staying here? Oh wow. I can’t believe it’s you.’ The second time she hugged him I wanted to eviscerate her with her own Biro.

  Nathan laughed a polite laugh, gently but firmly extricating himself from her grip.

  ‘Okay, well thanks.’ She stroked his arm for a final time and fled with her treasured souvenirs.

  ‘Time to leave, I think,’ Nathan said, reaching for his glass and draining the last of his beer.

  ‘Why?’ I glanced around the bar, but no one else seemed interested in us, despite the spectacle.

  ‘She’ll tell her friends.’ His certainty chilled me—this was his world and I didn’t doubt Emily had already posted his picture on her social media sites, inviting all her friends to meet the celebrity she’d stumbled upon on an otherwise mundane evening at work.

  Deflated, I picked up my jacket, shrugging it on. He’d just started to relax, to be himself, and I resented the interruption to our quiet evening. I didn’t want to acknowledge the jealousy that prickled beneath my skin like a rash about to erupt. I wanted to rewind to before we were disturbed, to delve beneath the layers of Nathan Banks. I’d glimpsed the real man and I was desperate to see more. But as the last few minutes had proved, despite all his layers, he would always be Nathan Banks and there would always be someone with a camera.

  We trudged across the field behind the pub, the silence thickening the cool evening air. Was Jess right? Had my feelings crossed into dangerous territory? My possessiveness indicated they had and with today’s glimpses of the ‘normal’ Nathan, I feared the slope I stood on had become a little more slippery. I visualised myself at the top, adrenaline pumping at the thrill of the ride I knew it would be to fall, while all the time my feet scrambled back from the edge of the precipice to safety.

  Nathan’s longer stride reached the first dry-stone wall ahead of mine and he vaulted the wooden stile to the far side, offering a hand to guide me as I followed. My palm tingled as he intertwined his fingers with mine before striding out across the next field.

  ‘You’re good to them.’

  He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your fans.’

  ‘Am I?’ With his attention fixed on the setting sun tinting the horizon, he continued our punishing pace up the hill.

  ‘I think so. You’re good with people—it’s an admirable skill.’

  He snorted, coming to a halt, and spun round to face me. ‘Why does that sound like one of those compliments that’s shrouded in sarcasm?’ He cupped my cheek, pushing the hair out of my eyes.

  When I opened and closed my mouth, unable to find a suitable rebuke, he smiled, dropped his hand from my face, and continued up the hill. This was what he did to people—made them feel at ease with his boy-next-door charm and good manners, then blew them away with one of his dazzling smiles. I couldn’t blame the fans for pawing him. He was magnetic, drawing people in as if they were seconds from death and he possessed the last bottle of cure-all.

  ‘What are your plans for the rest of the week?’

  I sighed. ‘I’m meeting Jess in LA in a few days.’

  He glanced back at me with raised ey
ebrows, and I rushed to finish my explanation.

  ‘We’d planned to have a stopover on the way home from New Zealand, but you know, with everything that happened …’ I hadn’t meant to blame him again for the early demise of my Queenstown job, but the clench of his jaw muscles indicated I’d done just that.

  ‘There’s a world-renowned autism clinic and research centre there—I’m hoping to arrange a visit.’

  ‘Have you been before?’

  We set off again, our strides picking up speed.

  ‘No.’ He’d set quite a pace and with my hand still captive in his, I puffed behind him.

  ‘I have a home in LA. You can stay there, if you like.’ His back was to me, his shape silhouetted in the dusk.

  Of course he would have a home in Hollywood. If I kept up with celebrity gossip, I would know that. ‘Um, thanks, but we’ll be perfectly comfortable in a hotel.’ We crossed the second stile, traversing the grounds of the hall itself. I needed to get away from him, from the madness that surrounded him, not be surrounded by the constant reminders his home would provide.

  He turned, still holding my hand but walking backwards so he could watch me as he said, ‘I’d like you to stay at Los Feliz.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well for one, you’ll be comfortable.’ He turned again, his stride lengthening. ‘There’s a pool and a gym. It’s empty and I have a housekeeper. And for two, I have a state-of-the-art security system to keep out unwanted visitors with telephoto lenses. The paparazzi are just as bad in LA.’

  My mind whirled. I hadn’t thought of that. Would I be jumping from the proverbial frying pan only to be burned on a different continent?

  ‘What about fans with fluttery eyelashes? Does it keep them out too?’ As soon as the words were out I wanted to swallow them back, afraid how much they revealed about my state of mind.

  He laughed, drawing me up onto the hall’s gravel driveway. ‘Yes, those too.’ He turned to face me, dropping my hand and folding his arms across his chest. ‘You really don’t like my fans, do you?’

  I shrugged. ‘I like them just fine, from a distance.’

  His sage nod irritated me. He saw through me. ‘You know, you have quite fetching eyelashes yourself.’ Dusk had fully settled and his eyes gleamed in the lingering light.

  I huffed, shaking my head. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you? One more female falling at your feet.’ The fear of transparency left me vulnerable and I clung to my camouflage. As much as I’d delighted in the glimpses into his personality, I guarded my own idiosyncrasies with almost fanatical tenacity.

  The teasing glint left his eyes, diminishing his smile to false. ‘Not really. Besides, you’re hardly falling at my feet.’

  He strode to the entrance and opened the door, waiting for me to enter ahead of him. In the tiled entranceway, I heeled off my shoes. ‘I don’t do swooning.’

  ‘I’d noticed.’ His voice was muffled as he stooped to untie his shoelaces, placing his shoes next to mine just inside the cloakroom.

  ‘You like that? The screaming fans? The touching? People who don’t know you swearing undying love? That’s what you want?’ We climbed the curved staircase and the tumble of confused thoughts increased with every step. Just when I felt I’d glimpsed the true essence of him. ‘Because if you do, from what I’ve witnessed, there’s no shortage of candidates.’

  His hand ruffled his hair, as if he’d never thought of the question I posed, or he’d thought about it too much. ‘No. That’s not what I want. I’m just like everyone else—looking for something real—for someone who truly sees them.’

  For the first time that day, fatigue tinged his eyes, dulling the energy and excitement that had shone there since we’d left London. I paused on the landing and he moved around me to open the door to our suite. I reached for his arm, my hand closing over the taut muscles there. When I spoke, my voice softened. ‘Why do you let them touch you? That girl at the premiere kissed you.’

  His eyes clouded, darkening to forest green, and I held my breath, waiting for another insight into this man who had the world at his feet. ‘I chose this madness, remember? Welcomed the fame and fortune—the odd over-zealous fan isn’t a big price to pay.’ He paused in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob. ‘I’d be nothing without my fans and most of them are awesome. I guess it does seem a little weird, but I’ve just grown used to it.’

  Inside the suite, he flicked on the lights and dropped the room key onto the hall table. When he turned to me, the mist had cleared, his face alight with amusement. ‘If it bothers you …’ he tugged me forward until I stumbled into his arms, ‘… I’ll take more care to avoid roving hands and mouths in future.’

  We were back to banter. Part of me welcomed the lighter tone. We’d be heading home to London in the morning and neither of us had raised the subject of seeing one another again.

  I stared at his full mouth, inches away, his lips twitching. ‘It doesn’t bother me. Don’t let me spoil your fun.’

  He peeled my jacket from my shoulders, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. ‘Okay, I’ll make an exception—just your roving hands and mouth. Happy?’

  I thumped his shoulder and he grasped me tighter around the waist. ‘Perhaps instead of my personal physician, you could be my personal bodyguard—keep everyone at an acceptable distance?’ His lips hovered over mine as the image his words painted took shape in my mind and I pushed him back, curling my fingers into his shirt to prevent him escaping altogether.

  ‘That would be a very tricky job, I’m sure.’ I mimicked the screaming fans from the premiere. ‘Nathan, Nathan! We’re available, Nathan. We’ll have your babies, Nathan! I’ve heard the screams, remember?’

  His bark of laughter caught me by surprise, prompting my own giggle.

  We sobered at the same time, our eyes locking and the air around us crackling with familiar tension.

  ‘I had an awesome day, today. Thank you for showing me your favourite place.’

  His hand cupped my cheek, his fingertips brushing my jaw in the softest of caresses. ‘Anytime, Soph.’

  When our lips met, I pulled him closer, revelling in the rush his kisses produced, the battle with myself conceded. He lifted me, carrying me to the bedroom, which, like the rest of the suite, was the epitome of luxury, but it could have been a tent in a field. I didn’t need a show, a performance. I just needed this real man standing before me.

  ‘I love that you want to ward off my fans—my own personal dragon-slayer.’ He lowered me to my feet, tugging my sweater over my head and smoothing the tumble of my hair back from my face.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it means you care.’

  Did I care? The thought was uplifting and petrifying at the same time. I couldn’t respond, because he crushed his mouth to mine once more. I answered with my actions as we peeled the clothing from each other with aching slowness, pausing to press lips or tongues or reverent fingertips to every inch of exposed skin.

  ‘Turn around,’ his husky whisper commanded me and I’d have done anything he asked me right then. As I spun away from him, I came face to face with a large gilt mirror in the corner of the room. He placed his warm hands on my hips and rested his chin on my shoulder, gazing at our reflections from behind me with hooded eyes.

  ‘Look how beautiful you are.’ His hands roamed my hips thighs and belly, his voice bewitching me. ‘Look at yourself, Soph. Do you see what I see?’

  I did as he said, observing the flush of heat staining my chest and throat. My nipples were hard and my breasts rose and fell with my rapid breaths. The erotic sight of us was too much to bear—I closed my eyes, blocking out the evidence of my desire for him.

  Nathan kissed the side of my neck, his whisper tickling my skin. ‘Open your eyes.’ He moved his hands to my stomach, his golden skin a contrast to my pale complexion. Slowly, he cupped my breasts, lifting them and rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. ‘Put your arms around my neck.’ His tongue traced the pa
th his lips had taken moments before and I shivered as the tingles snaked down my spine.

  I complied, tangling my fingers in the hair at his nape, the angle pushing my full breasts forward into his hands. He nuzzled my ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth then biting down gently. ‘You are a fucking wondrous sight. Don’t move your arms.’

  Abandoning my breasts, he wrapped one arm around my waist, holding me firmly and pressing his erection into my back. With the other hand, he reached between my legs and used his feet to spread my legs open farther as he pushed one finger inside me. ‘Watch me,’ he growled, and I was his to command.

  He withdrew his finger and spread the moisture up to my clitoris, circling. My legs trembled. Without Nathan’s arm around my waist holding me up, I would have been a puddle on the floor.

  My eyes focused on his hand as the pleasure radiated out from my core in ripples. He moved his other hand back to my breast and rolled my nipple once more. I cried out, my eyes darting back to his as I gripped tighter to the silky strands of his hair.

  Arousal blazed in his stare, inflaming me further.

  ‘Nathan,’ I whimpered, my hips jerking. He plunged two fingers inside me before returning to the exquisite circling of my clitoris.

  ‘You. Are. So. Sexy.’ He punctuated each word with a gentle tug on my nipple. ‘Watch yourself come.’ His erotic words pushed me over the edge into a soul-wrenching orgasm that went on and on as I clung to him.

  Nathan turned me in his arms and kissed me deeply, his teeth grazing my bottom lip and his tongue plunging into my mouth. When he guided me to the bed and finally pushed inside me, I held his face, commanding eye contact. ‘Nathan.’ I saw the man he was. Not just the movie star, but also the complex, flawed, vulnerable human being in all his glory.

  This was likely our last time together and part of me was terrified to be this open, this exposed with him. But as we came together, I acknowledged my feelings and knew that when we parted, I’d abandon regret. For a short while, I’d truly known Nathan Banks.

  Chapter Thirteen