He's So Shy

by Linda Cajio

  “Richard …”

  His name on her lips was an invitation, one he had been desperate to hear. He plunged into her softness, losing himself inside her as the most incredible feelings washed over him: want and need and satisfaction all at once. He forgot himself as the emotions culminated inside him in a rush of bliss.…

  And then he realized how out of control he really was. He tried to stop himself but he couldn’t, couldn’t stop how he felt about her. Never had he wanted anyone as much as he wanted Pen—and it showed.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his breath coming in sharp rasps. He felt like a stupid teenager with his first girl. “I wanted you so badly, Pen …”

  “It’s okay,” she murmured back, caressing his shoulders in reassurance. “In fact, it’s flattering that you want me so much. But next time, wait for me.”

  Relief washed over him. He chuckled and kissed the softness just under her ear. The scent of her swirled through the corners of his mind, drugging his senses. His hand found her breast, the nipple springing to life under his palm.

  “I think it’s next time,” he said, lifting his head and pressing his hips even deeper into hers.

  “I can tell,” she said, pulling his head down for her kiss.

  This time he waited. He more than waited, as he took her time and again over the edge into the velvet darkness until the scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her flesh sheathing his was so imprinted on his brain and body that she would live within him forever. And then, in the small bed that sheltered them, he went over the edge with her for the first time.

  SEVEN

  Pen became aware of a heavy weight across her stomach, her back against a solid wall. She tried to shift her body into a more comfortable position, but somehow couldn’t manage to do so.

  Then the night came flooding back to her.

  Pen opened her eyes, hoping against hope she wouldn’t see what she was afraid she’d see. She saw it. Wincing, she squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. The ceiling of the small trailer was barely visible in the first gray streaks of morning. Richard’s trailer. Richard’s arm was around her. Richard’s naked body was against her own naked body. His skin was snuggled warmly along the length of her.

  “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath. How could she have done this? Where had her brain been? She’d certainly compromised their relationship now. And with people focused on both of them at the moment. She should have resisted his plea … and she knew she couldn’t have. She’d wanted this as much as he did. One time. But now one time was over, and she had to face reality. She wondered if she could get out of the bed and out of the trailer without waking him.…

  The alarm went off.

  Pen shrieked, her body jumping automatically at the sudden sound. A large male hand reached out and smacked the top of the clock radio. The rest of the body never moved.

  “Richard,” she said, shaking him. Maybe it was better this way, she thought. The sooner he got up, the sooner she got out.

  “I’m awake, Mom,” he mumbled.

  “Richard!” she exclaimed indignantly.

  He opened his eyes wide, as if surprised by the voice next to him. Then his expression relaxed into a sleepy smile. “You’re not Mom.”

  “Thank goodness.” She nudged him while trying to pull the sheet up under her chin. Unfortunately, the material was trapped under his arm and would come no higher than the highest curves of her breasts. At least her nipples were decently covered. “Your alarm went off.”

  “Pen, do you regret this?” he asked, clearly sensing her distress.

  She gazed at him, conscious of his body next to hers. He was raised on his elbow, concern showing in his eyes. His hair hung down on his shoulders, tousled and completely masculine. The darker hairs of his chest and forearms didn’t begin to hide the lean, corded muscles. He looked wild and magnificent, and she wanted him all over again.

  She sighed, the tension going out of her body with the gesture, and she told the truth. “I don’t regret being with you. But it complicates things considerably, not to mention the bad timing.”

  He relaxed. “As long as you don’t regret what happened. I don’t want you to. Not ever. I know it complicates things—”

  “More than you know.” She managed a chuckle. “Come on, you better get moving, otherwise Libby will kill us both. What damn time does that thing go off, anyway?”

  “Five-thirty.”

  She groaned. “My cousin is a torturer in disguise.”

  “It’s normal hours, Pen, for actors.” He was silent for a moment, not moving to get up. “Pen—”

  “Richard.” She reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the first bristles of his whiskers against her fingertips. “It’s okay. Really.”

  He eyed her, then nodded. Leaning down, he kissed her softly until she melted under him. Then he kissed her again before saying, “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure.”

  He got out of bed, leaving the sheet across his middle until the very last moment, charmingly considerate of his nudity. Pen looked heavenward. Why couldn’t he be a jerk, like anyone would expect an actor to be? But no, Richard had to do those innocent things that wormed their way into her heart. Lord help her, but he did.

  She wondered how many of her neighbors knew she hadn’t spent the night in her own home and how she was going to get back into it without being seen. And why the hell should she be worrying about it? Unfortunately, because if parents took it into their heads that she was immoral, it could mean her job. But Richard was emotionally vulnerable too.

  She couldn’t face it all, she thought in confusion. It was better to put her feelings away and take them out and examine them later, when she could look at them objectively.

  She was dressed when he emerged from his dinky shower, a towel wrapped around his hips.

  “Aren’t you taking a shower?” he asked. The question was innocuous, but the panic in his gaze wasn’t.

  She rose to her feet and put her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest, feeling the coolness of his wet skin and the strength of his muscles underneath. It nearly undid her good intentions. She took a deep breath and forced her mind into control. “Richard, it’s okay. You need to get to the location. I’ll shower at my place, I promise.” She stopped and laughed. “Do you realize that everyone thinks you’re bathing in the local stream?”

  “Too shallow.” He shrugged dismissively, clearly in no mood for humor. “Can I see you tonight, Pen?”

  She knew she ought to tell him no, that she really couldn’t see him, not only for her own sanity, but also to keep her job. But the only thought in her brain was not to hurt him. And he was hurt. Ironic, she thought. Usually the woman felt hurt and neglected the morning after. Not the man.

  One more plus in Richard’s corner to bring her down.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I’ll come by here after you’re done shooting for the day.”

  “Good.”

  She could hear the pleasure in his voice, and that pleased her. Their leave-taking almost didn’t take, the good-bye kiss nearly undoing both their good intentions. But she managed to get out the trailer door and down the mountainside without incident.

  The sun was only inches above the horizon when she turned down her street. A group of unfamiliar vehicles were parked along the curb in front of her house, several people leaning against them while chatting with each other. Cameras were slung around one or two necks.

  Paparazzi.

  All hell had broken loose.

  Richard found himself surrounded by a large group of tabloid stringers after he parked his truck on the location site. He pushed his way past them without a word, grateful that Pen wasn’t with him this morning. He had to admit he was now glad that she wasn’t coming to the set.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded of Libby as soon as he reached her.

  “Your adoring fans,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Where’s secur
ity?” he asked, furious. “Why aren’t they keeping those people down at the base of the mountain?”

  “Security is on its way,” Libby said. “They weren’t expecting this. None of us was.”

  “I need to call Pen,” he said. “She’s suppose to come over tonight, but those people will follow me back to the trailer.”

  Libby shook her head. “All we’ve got are cellular phones here. People are probably already monitoring the bands. Unless you want the world to know you’re planning to come back as someone’s knickers, better forget using them.”

  Richard cursed.

  “Better hang on to that one,” Libby said. “I’ve got more bad news. About your trailer—”

  “My trailer!” Richard burst out, his first thought that someone had already discovered Pen had been there through the night. “What about my trailer?”

  “You can’t go back there,” Libby said. “The reporters are bound to follow you, and if they take pictures … they can make it look bad for the studio and the movie and you, like nobody’s treating you right or you’re off your rocker. The studio has a house for you. A very fancy one, all cedar and glass, and it’s off by itself on thirty-five acres. They want you to use it.”

  “But I don’t want to use it.”

  Libby raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “I don’t think it’s a request. I’m having your stuff moved over this morning per studio orders.”

  He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe any of this. “Dammit, why is my personal life suddenly everybody’s business?”

  “Because you are an actor’s actor who’s always been squeaky-clean, and now there’s some dirt. It’s far more interesting to speculate on Mr. Goody Two-Shoes’ having an affair than to print another Liz-goes-on-a-diet piece. You’re hot right now and that makes you news. Besides, what are you doing with my cousin anyway?”

  He glared at her. Libby glared back.

  “Just be careful with her,” Libby said. “She’s not as tough as she seems. And I didn’t bring you into this movie for you to test your newfound stud image on my cousin.”

  “I’m not testing anything on Pen,” he snapped, furious with Libby.

  “Fine. I’ll get a message to her about the problems at your place—”

  “Good morning, all!”

  Mary Jane’s chipper voice broke up Richard and Libby’s conversation. He turned to face his costar, finding her disgustingly cheerful.

  “Richard, Richard.” She pinched his cheek in mock affection. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re looking glum. Don’t let all this hoopla get you down. I thought you did a good job on that interview—as good as you were capable of doing. So what are we talking about here? The motivation for the upcoming scene? I really don’t like this scene, Libby. I come off as very calculating—”

  “Calculating!” Libby gasped. “You only ask Richard if he wants more stew as he talks with your husband about the wisdom of sending men out of the fort.”

  “It’s not right for me,” Mary Jane insisted. “Maybe I should be the one talking to my husband about the men, rather than Richard.…”

  Richard gritted his teeth. From the moment he’d awakened this morning, nothing had gone right.

  At the end of a long, exhausting day of fighting Mary Jane over scenes and ducking reporters, Richard arrived at his new home. He walked through the cedar-and-glass rooms and desperately wished he could go back to his trailer. This was too sterile and luxurious to suit him. But it did have one good thing: a telephone with blessed, secure lines. He put his hand on the receiver, then remembered about wiretapping. How far would a tabloid go?

  He cursed at the very possible answer. Damn! How was he supposed to get in touch with Pen? How could he know she was okay? He couldn’t, not if he cared about her. What they plastered all over their front pages about him didn’t matter. But if they said one word about Pen … worse, if he contributed to that. He had been hurt by her that morning, but now he understood her concerns. He wanted to be with her, to tell her things, intimate things, important things.

  But he couldn’t go near her. Not yet.

  “Damn you, Richard Creighton.”

  Pen huddled behind some trash cans as she watched the reporters clustered at the foot of her walkway. She’d tried all day to get near the place, but reporters were all over it, front and back, every time she’d driven by. She’d gone to the set to see Libby and had found reporters staked out there as well. Then she’d gone back to Richard’s trailer only to discover it had vanished! She’d spent the day in her car, going back and forth from the local pizza shop to her house.

  Now it was evening and some of the reporters had finally given up. She’d planned to sneak into her house by going through the yards across the back, but now she was holed up behind the Stonemans’ trash cans. So far they hadn’t looked out their side window and caught her. So far.

  How had the reporters found out about her? She’d love to know who had squealed—and kill the informer! She wondered if anyone else knew what it was like to spend the day in the Twilight Zone. She’d unwittingly contributed to this kind of frenzy in the past by being just as curious as anyone else about celebrity gossip. Oh, she didn’t buy the tabloids and would never admit her interest to anyone, but she did read every bit of the blaring headlines at the supermarket checkout counter. She took delight along with the majority of the public in the naughtiest ones. Never again. Charles and Di could have a fistfight in Paddington Station, and she wouldn’t even look at the front page photo. Not after this!

  If only she could have forced herself to stroll up her walkway in a brazen manner …

  Cameras would have gone off right on the spot, ruining with their eventual headlines whatever reputation she had. And the irony was that only yesterday the headlines would have been totally false. She couldn’t risk it. Poor Lolita had probably eaten all her dry food and was desperate for her overdue meal. She had to get in that house!

  Action came faster than she anticipated when she heard Joe Stoneman’s voice on the other side of the wall. That he was murmuring sweet nothings to his wife in loud enough tones for New York City to hear was the deciding factor. Three was definitely company. Pen scooted on her bottom out from behind the trash cans and along the grass lawn. She felt like a crab with a hernia problem. She made it to her house without being spotted, the reporters more involved with their dinner than their quarry. Brutus, the local watchdog, barked a couple of times, but he barked at everything. The reporters were probably used to it by now.

  “Remind me never to go crazy over a movie star again,” she muttered as she let herself in the back door.

  Lolita greeted her with loud plaintive cries. Pen resisted the urge to turn on the lights, instead fumbling in the dark with cat food cans and the electric opener. Lolita was pacified finally, and Pen pressed the button to hear the calls on her answering machine. The first was from Libby, telling her not to go to Richard’s trailer.

  “No kidding,” she muttered, then clamped her jaw on complaints when Libby added that she should stay off the telephone and definitely not call certain people.

  This was ridiculous, she thought in disgust, but didn’t boldly turn lights on and run around banging pots and pans together.

  After that the calls were from reporters giving numbers for her to return calls, interspersed with more from local people who seemed to have divined that she was the mysterious woman in Richard’s life. What was this? Psychictown, U.S.A.?

  But one call was missing. From Richard. She knew what she’d said that morning, but she would have thought he would have at least called. The disappointment in her heart should have surprised her. But it didn’t.…

  She became aware of a soft tapping on a kitchen window. Her stomach tightened and a vision of a rabid reporter à la Hitchcock going on a blood rampage ran through her brain.

  She shook herself. “Get a grip!”

  Still, she was cautious as she approached the back door.

  “Pen
?” said a male voice. “Pen, are you there? Let me in if you are.”

  “Richard!” she gasped, and flung the door open.

  He slipped inside.

  “Are you crazy?” she demanded, the darkness obscuring his face. She pulled him down into a crouch beside the door, not wanting anyone to see one, let alone two, human shadows in the windows. “This is not the time to think you’re James Bond, dammit. Those reporters would have a field day if they knew you were here!”

  “I know, but I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He stared at her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve spent the entire day trying to get into my own house. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m sick of pizza, and I’m so mad I’m ready to spit.” She smiled sweetly. “But other than that, it’s been a hunky-dory day. Now get the hell out of here before anyone sees you. If they haven’t already!”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I was very careful.”

  She knew he had the training to fade in and out without being seen, but that didn’t ease her panic. Even if he hadn’t been seen coming in, he could be seen leaving.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” Richard said. “This isn’t the kind of romantic aftermath I had in mind.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. And it wasn’t. It was hers for getting involved with him in the first place. “By the way, you’ve vanished off the face of the mountain, or at least your trailer isn’t there anymore.”

  “You went back? Didn’t you get Libby’s message?”

  “Just now on the answering machine,” she said. “I haven’t been able to get near the house all day so I thought I’d try your trailer again. Where the heck is it, anyway?”

  “Nowhere.” His voice turned sarcastic. “The studio requested I move into a house. Ordered is more like it. I’m in some cedar-and-glass thing off Route 602 in Franklin Grove.”

  “Cedar and glass? Set way off the road on several acres?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s owned by the head of Dow Corning. It’s his summer home. Or else it’s Joe Papp’s old place.”