by Linda Cajio
“If you gave me the right, would you still do them?”
The answer was as automatic as breathing. “If they were essential to the story line, yes.”
“And if they weren’t, you would object for your own integrity, not out of concern for anyone else’s feelings.” She smiled slightly. “You’ve asked a question that has no meaning, Richard.”
“Yes, it does,” he countered stubbornly. “It matters personally.”
“And how can I, even if given the right, ask someone I care about to compromise themselves for my sake? Either you accept what someone needs to do or you don’t.”
The heart of the matter was a lot more than a movie’s love scene, and he believed that she knew it. “Do you care about me?”
She was silent for so long that his heart began to pound with anxiety. Finally she said, “I told you before, I have a crush on you. You’re exciting, Richard. You dazzle. Your attentions flatter. And yet there’s something more. I feel vulnerable, and I don’t like it.”
“So am I, Pen.” He drew in a breath to steady himself.
Pen rose to her feet. “I don’t think I’m coming to the set anymore, Richard.”
“What!” He stood up, his whole body tense.
“I …” She shrugged. “I don’t have anything more I can do with my school project unless I retape the whole thing, so I’m back to being a nuisance.”
“Pen, don’t let Mary Jane throw you,” he began.
“It isn’t Mary Jane. Well, yes, in a way it is. She reminded me I have no place here and how easily I can get in people’s way.” She grinned. “Besides, once you jump off a cliff, the thrill is gone.”
“What about me?” he asked, feeling oddly helpless. She was slipping away, and he didn’t know how to stop her. “I like having you here to talk to, to be around.” He was making her sound like a hanger-on, exactly what she was so afraid she was. “You’ve become a part of the set. I know everyone likes you. You’ve shown us all how to tolerate Libby, for one thing. And you keep her from turning into a little Hitler, for another.”
“Glad I served a purpose.” She shook her head. “No, Richard. I think I’m better off doing this. I think you are too.”
She walked away from him, heading back to where the cars were parked.
Richard felt totally bereft. In one fell swoop, he had lost her companionship, as well as the invitation to her bed. How the hell it had happened, he had no idea.
And he had no idea about how to get it all back.
“You know, Lolita, there are actually times when I envy you,” Pen said to her cat, who was stretched out on her chest, purring away to beat the band. “So, are you seeing Buster next door tonight?”
Lolita’s purrs went up a notch at the neighboring cat’s name, but she didn’t move from her contented perch. Pen stroked the cat’s soft fur. She really did wish she had Lolita’s ability to accept whatever was offered with no regrets if it didn’t last. But she couldn’t.
Okay, so she had run from Mary Jane. Anyone would, rather than subject themselves to what would be a continual battle of comeuppance. She had a feeling Mary Jane already knew about Richard and her—what little there was to know—and would use it against him. Them. Pen thought of simply refusing to play the star’s game, but Mary Jane would probably be undeterred. Someone who so obviously needed to manipulate wouldn’t be able to quit for lack of players. She’d suck them into her games again. No wonder dead silence had accompanied the mere mention of her name at Libby’s.
Worse, even if Richard wasn’t interested in Mary Jane, who could compete with her? That body, that overt sensuality … Pen shuddered. She didn’t even want to compete with Mary Jane.
She’d run away from Richard too. Pen laid her head back on the armrest of her sofa and closed her eyes. The leaden weight in her chest had nothing to do with Lolita. She couldn’t go on day after day with Richard anymore, knowing she exposed more and more of her gooey attraction to him. She doubted that she’d ever been more confused in her life. But the way he left that night with her honor intact had been humiliating. She was a mature woman who was supposed to be able to control her own physical actions. She hadn’t then. In fact, she hadn’t been doing it since Richard had showed up.
So she’d been cooped up in her house for the last few days. Richard never showed up to beg her to come back to the set, and oddly she resented him even more for that. Libby wisely didn’t say a thing in her evening telephone calls. She only complained about Mary Jane.
Whatever was going on up there on the mountain, it was hot and heavy.
Opening her eyes, she reached over and got the remote control, clicking on the television. To her shock, Richard’s face bloomed on the screen. His rare interview. Her brain told her fingers to press the buttons on the remote, but the message never got through. Richard stayed on the screen, and Pen’s eyes were glued to him.
He slouched down in a comfortable-looking chair, his hair scraped back in a ponytail, a day-old stubble along his jaw. He looked unkempt, extremely pained to be where he was, and devastatingly sexy. He answered questions with one-word answers, never looked the interviewer in the eye, and his hands flailed around aimlessly while his knees rocked apart and together like a metronome. He had the classic signs of shyness in its glory, and Pen’s heart went out to him.
“I understand you took a survival training course to prepare for this role,” the interviewer said.
Richard straightened in the chair, then slouched again, looking away. “Yes.”
Silence ensued, the interviewer clearly expecting Richard to elaborate and Richard just as clearly not.
“This movie is about a man torn between his white roots and his Indian upbringing, right?” the woman prompted.
Richard was quiet for a long moment. “That’s right.”
More silence.
“Oh, Lordy,” Pen muttered, putting her hands over her face. How she ever got an entire lesson on tracking out of him …
“I also understand there’s a bit of off-camera romance going on.”
Pen immediately flipped open her hands. Richard reacted with lightning speed, sitting up, his body tense. And damning. Nothing else could have signaled the truth in the interviewer’s statement better than that.
“Say no,” Pen muttered, glaring at the screen. “No, no, no.”
But a perverse little voice inside her wanted him to say yes, to make a public commitment.
Richard said nothing.
The interviewer grinned. “A little bird told me you and a lucky local schoolteacher are very chummy-chummy. So who is your new ladylove?”
“I thought this was supposed to be an interview about the movie,” Richard said through a locked jaw. At least it looked locked, he was clenching it together so tightly.
“Oh, it is,” the woman assured him, her expression like a gimlet skewering her victim. “I take it that the rumor’s true.”
“I never said it was true!” Richard snapped.
“Ah, but you haven’t said it isn’t.”
Another dead silence. Pen groaned and covered her eyes again. Lolita got up and walked off her chest, clearly disgusted with the continual disturbance of their feline-human love fest.
“My personal life is of no concern—”
“Of course it is,” the interviewer corrected, leaping in. “Your fans want to know all about you, Richard. You’re such a mystery man. But if you’re in love, you don’t want to be closemouthed, do you? You wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans by keeping your own true love story a secret from them.”
Pen held her breath, realizing that he could come off as a super prima donna, depending on what he said about the fans.
The expression on his face changed. “But if I tell everything, then I won’t be a mystery man anymore.”
“Good answer!” Pen exclaimed, sitting up.
The interviewer laughed. “I suppose that’s true. But won’t you at least tell us a little about this new love in your life
?”
The interview went on like that for several more minutes, with Richard avoiding a direct answer and the interviewer pushing for it every step of the way.
The interview no sooner signed off than Pen’s telephone rang. She snatched it up. It was Libby, who was apologizing for the leak on the set. She hung up and it rang again, her neighbor this time, asking if she was the local because Richard had been seen at her house. She hung up. It rang yet again, right under her hand.
Pen snatched her fingers away and stared at the telephone. Anger coalesced inside her. How could this have happened? And what about her job? A teacher’s private life was private, but one never knew what a school board might take into its collective head. And her private life had just been on national TV! Richard Creighton, Mystery Man, was going to ruin her reputation in this town. She had to stop the potential for gossip this very minute.
She turned and headed for her front door.
The sudden pounding on his trailer door was so fierce that Richard wondered for an amused moment if it could knock the mobile home over on its side.
“Richard! You open this door this instant!” Pen shouted.
“She saw the show,” he muttered, all his hopes shattered. “Okay, okay!”
The pounding stopped and he got the door open. Pen swept inside the trailer, demanding, “How could you?”
“How could I what?” he asked, stalling for time as he stepped outside and glanced at the trailer door for dents. It was too dark to see clearly, so he gave up until the morning.
“Richard!”
He turned around and came inside behind her, closing the door on his doom. She was wearing a tank top and camp shorts, her hair wild around her shoulders, as if she’d been pulling at it anxiously. She probably had. Still, it didn’t hinder his automatic reaction to her. Pure lust. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Pen, but that damn woman just sprang it on me—”
“Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” Pen asked, her arms folded across her chest in a defiant stance. The gesture pushed the upper curves of her breasts together in the most breathtaking manner. “Why didn’t you deny the whole thing?”
Richard blinked. “But that would be a lie.”
“Richard!” Pen flung herself around in a circle, clearly looking for room to pace. There wasn’t any.
“Pen, calm down,” he began, realizing she was furious with him. Why should she be furious with him? He didn’t do anything wrong. “The show was taped this morning. We tried all day to get them to edit out that part, but they wouldn’t. I’m on your side, remember?”
“Do you know what you’ve done?” she asked. “I bet it’s already all over town. Soon it’ll be all over the county. The school board might try to take my job from me.”
“They can’t!” Richard said, glaring at her. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a single woman, entitled to have your own life. I realize you’re upset—”
“A lot you know.” She ran her fingers through her loose hair in exasperation, causing the one side to stick practically straight up. “Richard, school boards are like kingdoms unto themselves. Oh, they might not fire me outright because people are gossiping about my love life, but they’ll discuss it openly at meetings, concerned about my ‘moral influence’ on the children. The parents may get riled up in the process. Then they’ll find some reason to get rid of me that even the union can’t bust. Or they’ll ‘bow’ to public opinion and not worry about any possible lawsuit I might file. You’d be surprised what can happen.”
“But, Pen, you have no love life,” Richard said logically.
“And why didn’t you tell the woman that?” Pen shouted in his face.
Richard backed up. “I’m sorry, Pen. But how do you think I feel, having this thrown in my face on national TV? I’m entitled to as much privacy as anyone else. I hate doing interviews. I told you that before.”
“You know what I think?” Pen asked. From the narrow-eyed expression on her face, Richard had a feeling he didn’t want to know. She went on, unfortunately, answering her own question. “I think that whole interview was a nice publicity generator for Richard Creighton, actor.”
“The hell it was!” Richard snapped. “I would never do something like that, Pen.”
“You need to keep your name before the public,” she reminded him. “Isn’t gossip a perfect way to do so?”
“What the hell happened here?” he demanded, having had enough of all this nonsense. “I was the one made to look stupid. I was the one who was harassed by the interviewer, and you’re blaming me?”
“Yes, I’m blaming you,” Pen said. “If you had handled it with a bit more finesse, you would have given the woman nothing.”
“I’m sorry I’m too much of ‘the Cretin’ to suit you,” he said stiffly.
Her eyes widened at his words. For one long, long moment, she just stared at him, then her expression collapsed. “Oh, Richard. I didn’t mean for you to think that.”
“What else am I supposed to think?” he asked, relaxing a little. “I acted like a cretin in that interview—unsophisticated, no finesse.”
“Innocent enough not to dissemble.” She shook her head. “I’m still angry as hell, but I suppose you couldn’t help yourself.”
“Gee, thanks,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his shorts pockets. He glanced up. “What can I do to help you now?”
“Don’t do any more interviews,” she replied, and had the grace to chuckle.
“I promise.” He gazed at her face, softened now, drinking in her features. “I’ve missed you.”
She looked away for a moment. “How are things going on the set?”
He made a face. “Don’t ask.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Mary Jane definitely likes to stir things up,” he said, shaking his head. He decided she probably didn’t want to hear the particulars. “Let’s just say that it’s tense. Getting back to our problem, someone from the set is a leak. Probably that damned publicist. He arranged the interview, and insisted I do it. If it’s any consolation, that interviewer will probably have trouble in the future finding other major actors who are willing to talk to her. She violated an unwritten rule about embarrassing actors in public.”
“I’d like to thwack her,” Pen muttered grimly. “And you.”
He chuckled. “Can’t I just wear a hair shirt for life?”
“Not good enough.”
He felt, if not totally forgiven, at least reprieved. Taking a chance, he reached out and touched her bare arm. Her flesh was warm and silky. A haze clouded his vision, and heat flooded his own skin. He shouldn’t, he thought. He’d promised to be a gentleman until she was ready to further the relationship. But he couldn’t stay away.
“Pen,” he whispered, drawing her to him.
“I … I can’t,” she said. “I shouldn’t.”
“Please. I need to touch you just once.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed as if he caused her pain. Then she whispered, “Only once.”
If there was any resistance now, he didn’t sense it. She came into his arms as if made for them. Her body was solid and real, not like the phantoms of his restless bed. Her breasts pressed into his chest, and he turned up her chin, splaying his fingers across her cheek before bringing his mouth down on hers.
The kiss was filled with longing. He wanted her so badly; he’d missed her so much. The days had been unhappy and the nights pure torture. Yet he hadn’t known how to break through the barrier she’d set up.
But now she’d come to him. In anger maybe, but he wasn’t letting her go this time. He pulled her hard against him, his kiss almost bruising. Almost. Her mouth was yielding, and pumped his need for her higher. He ran his hands through her hair, the strands winding around his fingers. He could feel the delicate line of her jaw, the smooth warmth of her skin. The kiss went on and on until he was dizzy.
They were both gasping for breath when he finally lifted his head. He wanted to say something, to reass
ure her, to promise sincerely that he’d be a gentleman … but the notions went straight out of his head the moment he looked at her flushed features and lidded gaze. They kissed again, their hands clinging seemingly everywhere at once as each tried to pull the other closer. He pressed his hips into hers, pushing her back against the refrigerator. He wrestled the bottom of her tank top up and pushed her bra down, exposing her breasts. With mouth and hands, he tasted and caressed, marveling at the incredible texture of her nipples against his tongue. She moaned and clung, her fingers clawing at his back and pulling at his hair. He felt so good, so solid and so right.
He wanted more of her. He needed to claim her as his own and damn what anybody would think.
Somehow they made it into the tiny bedroom, collapsing together on the cramped bunk. Her clothes seemed to stick to her body; he couldn’t get them off easily. Either that, or his fingers were suddenly all thumbs. But buttons and zippers and clothing were finally dispensed with.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured in awe, as she lay back on his bed. Her breasts were full and heavy from his touch, the nipples rosy and beckoning. Her small waist tapered to a taut stomach before flaring into feminine hips and lush thighs, her woman’s flesh hidden, mysterious.
She ran her hands up his arms, her fingers digging in slightly, demanding him, wanting him. The message sang along his veins. He’d never wanted anyone before the way he wanted Pen.
He ran his hands along her thighs and upward, retracing the course of his gaze. Bending forward, he nuzzled her breasts over and over until she was frantic under him. He stroked her inner flesh, feeling her moistness, her need fueling his own, until he couldn’t wait any longer.…
“Richard, do you … have anything?” she murmured in his ear.
He raised his head in bewilderment. “Any what? Oh.”
He reached for the foil package in his wallet on the tiny bureau, grateful she had remembered to protect them both. He had wanted to be prepared in case their relationship deepened as he’d hoped. No regrets, he thought, as her hands took over the small task, driving him wild in the process. He pushed her down on her back again, panning his tongue once around her nipple. He kissed her neck and settled his hips into the cradle of her thighs.