by Clara Leigh
I smile at him while I ever so gently shake my head. “I know everything that matters, and I can’t wait to discover the rest.”
“I’m not the sort of man you should be banking on forever with.”
Idiot! He’s exactly the sort of man I am planning a lifetime with. “Don’t try to belittle yourself by hiding behind your showbiz rep. I know you, the real you. You’re not a villain. You’re a great actor and a fabulous lover. You’re kind and gentle and brave and daring. I love that when it matters you’re prepared to take risks if it means it protects the people you love. I also know how deeply you love your little girl, and how desperately you try to be a good daddy even when everything is against you.”
“Arri…” His daughter’s name whispers past his dry lips, and his eyes widen in shock. “Oh, God!”
I didn’t hear anyone come in, but they’re back. Lorne is standing with Arrietty at the back of the theatre box. She’s dressed in a confection of pink and cream satin and has a rapidly melting chocolate cone ice-cream clutched firmly in her hand. Her lips are ringed with chocolate and there’s a blob of it on her chin.
Arrietty’s bright eyes are fixed on us. There’s no way she didn’t hear what I just said. Awkward questions are now inevitable.
Damn! “I’m sorry,” I mouth.
“Are you going to kiss her, daddy?” a little voice squeaks.
The space inside the box falls deadly quiet.
“I mean, Dare,” the little angel corrects herself. She looks to Lorne for approval, as Dare’s head is still bowed. “Lilli says I’m to always call you Dare, and make believe you’re my big brother, but I know that’s not right and that we just have to pretend because of the silly people like the ones who messed up my party.”
“Oh, God!” he mutters, and he clings to me.
I guess both of us coming at him with our love at once is overwhelming.
“I’m sorry.” Arrietty’s cute little button nose crinkles. “I’ll call you Dare. It’s just I’d like to have a proper daddy like my friends.”
My space in his arms is instantly usurped by a six-year-old. He scoops her up and kisses her chocolate-covered face. “Sweet thing, you can call me daddy as much as you want.”
“Just maybe don’t ask to move in with him yet,” Lorne mutters, but Arrietty doesn’t seem to hear. She’s squeals in amusement instead as Dare whirls them both about.
“Careful, Daddy! You’re going to squish my ice-cream.”
“Oops, don’t want that.” He gives a shaky guffaw and drops her gently into her seat.
“On the subject of ice-cream—” Lorne raises his hand and licks the molten dessert off his fingers. “—if you’re going to canoodle with Flicka, could you please hurry it up or you’re going to have to lick all this cherry nonsense off me.”
He’s holding three cones, two of which are laden with cherries, and one of which I assume is for me. I’ve got to love Lorne’s eternal optimism. He was so certain we’d sort things out, he bought me an ice-cream. If Dare notices his friend obviously had something to do with my presence, he doesn’t remark upon it.
“I don’t know. What do you think?” Dare addresses his daughter. “Should I kiss, Flicka?”
Arrietty’s brows wrinkle into a pensive frown, and she makes a soft hmmm noise in the back of her throat. “Will it make your teeth fall out?”
Dare raises his fingers to his beautifully straight teeth and feels the top front five or six for wobbles. “I don’t think so.”
“Everly says that kissing makes your teeth fall out.”
Dare squints at her. “Oh, and who have you been kissing?”
She turns pink across the cheeks and further wrinkles her nose. Her ice-cream suddenly becomes utterly fascinating.
“I think Everly might be fibbing,” Lorne says, his blue eyes are twinkling with mischief. “Because if it was true, Dare would have run out of teeth years ago. He’s always kissing people.”
“Maybe I have dentures.” The man in question suggests.
“What are they?”
“False teeth.” He gets down to Arrietty’s level, grinning broadly so that she can inspect his pearly whites.
She prods him for a bit, before announcing, “They look real. I think you’re okay to do kissing if you want.”
“Yes, please,” Lorne adds enthusiastically, as molten ice-cream runs over his fingers and drips onto the carpet.
Dare turns back towards me. “Where were we? I think you were mid-way through telling me something.”
Lorne bays like a hippo. “For heaven’s sakes just kiss her, Dare. You can do the big speech and sappy confessions version later. The second act is about to start.”
Right on cue, the lights dim.
“I love you,” I whisper. If I was expecting something chaste given our little audience, then I was forgetting whose arms I’m in. His hand knots in my hair, and he arches our bodies so that we’re pressed together from lips to thigh.
“Is that so, puddin'?”
“Puddin'?”
“Yeah,” he drawls, “because you’re tasty like one.”
That kiss knocks me senseless for hours, which is just as well as it means it sustains me through the rest of the performance, the death of the poor wolf, and the drive through the evening traffic to deliver Arrietty back home. Oh, and the interminably long discussion Dare has with his family about his daughter and what he wants his role to be in her life that Lorne and I are excluded from. Not on Dare’s orders, but his mother’s. She’s definitely a formidable woman. Curiously, I discover that while Dare addresses her as mum, Arrietty always calls her Lilli. Dare’s dad is apparently Simba.
When we eventually leave the house, Dare is slightly pink around the eyes, but smiling.
“Have you worked something out?” I ask.
He nods, then snuggles me into his embrace. “It makes sense for her to carry on living here considering how much time I’m away from home filming, but I’m going to see a lot more of her. And while I’m not about to announce she’s mine to the world, I’m not going to hide it either.”
“I’m pleased for you,” I say, kissing him on the nose. “She’s a cutie, and so are you.”
“Me too,” Lorne slaps him on the back. “I’m glad you’re finally sorting it out.”
Dare wraps an arm around each of our shoulders, and we walk outside onto the crunchy, white gravelled drive. It’s long past twilight, but the air is still warm and perfumed with the multitude of scents wafting up from the regimented flowerbeds. The moon is full above the treetops, and there are no more than three powder-puff clouds obscuring the stars.
“What now?” Dare asks.
“Home, bed, and bonking for you two, and an exercise in tolerant endurance for me.” Lorne rolls his eyes, but affection marks his words. “It’s a good job I’m such an accommodating house mate.”
“Did you say maid?” Dare teases.
“I said mate.”
“Bet you’d look cute in one of those little French maid frocks.”
Lorne harrumphs. “Get Flicka to play dress up. My days of servicing you are done.”
“What about if she’s filming on the other side of the globe?”
He just rolls his eyes, and I let it go. There’s an undercurrent between them, but I don’t let it worry me. I’m too happy and relieved to have Dare back in my life to want to crack the lid on their – well, what I suspect is their – not entirely platonic friendship. One hurdle per day is my new moto.
“Or, alternatively,” Lorne muses right as we’re getting into the car. “We could hit the club, get way more than a little tipsy, and then have a dirty kinky threesome. That ought to give the gossip mags something to talk about.” He leans forward from the backseat, so that his head is level with both mine and Dare’s shoulders. “What do you say?”
“I think we’re supposed to be going home to have make-up sex,” I reply. Damn, I hate how prim I sound.
“Dare?”
�
��What she said.”
Lorne sits back, and folds his arms across his chest. “Fuck, you’re both boring. I can’t believe that after all my hard work getting you together, I’m being banned from the party. It’s not like we have to double dip or anything, we can stop at oral.”
I suck my tongue and try not to giggle both at Lorne’s fake outrage and Dare’s sour lemon expression.
“We could go to the club,” I say quietly, unable to resist stirring things up a bit. “I mean, if you wanted to, Dare.”
“Why would I want to?”
I place my hand on top of his on the gear stick. “Well, I know you like to live wild and all. I don’t want people to think I’ve turned you into a pussy cat. I don’t want them to think I’m one either.”
“Are you saying you want to have a threesome with Lorne?”
I shake my head. “Not exactly. I’m just saying that the easiest way to right all the crap that’s been put out there about us is to be seen together. Actions speak louder than words. No one can claim it’s all in the past if we’re hanging out having fun together.”
Dare sighs and slaps the steering wheel. “I don’t give a fuck what the rest of the world thinks.”
“I know, but…” I’m not expressing myself very well. “I need for them to see I’m not Felicity Caine, bubble-gum princess of wholesome pop anymore. I need to nuke her from space, or something.”
“By having a threesome?”
I think his brain got locked on that thought. Haven’t I already said otherwise?
“Wasn’t the footage of us going at it hard against the side of Jace’s trailer enough? I think it convinced most people you’re not exactly squeaky-clean.”
“I had no control over that.”
“I’m going to ring the neck of the bugger responsible.”
“Dare.” I squeeze his hand again, hoping to draw him back from being side-tracked. I felt the same way a few hours ago. Now, I figure it doesn’t really matter. In a strange way I sort of thank them now that things are looking fixed between Dare and I. At least we can now be open about what we are. Nor do I have to give a stuff about what Chinchilla think.
That means, no more 5A.M. wake-up work-outs. Unless they’re dirty sex work-outs. And, no more having my food consumption micro-managed, and definitely no more dictating what my morals have to be.
I’m tempted to leave them on the floor of the Ungentlemanly Refuge along with my good girl panties.
“Is it so wrong of me to want to be seen in public with you? I’m done with secrecy Dare. I want everyone in the world to know that we’re a thing, and I want to once and for all to lay to rest the myth that is Felicity Caine.”
“It’s not because you want to see what’s inside Lorne’s budgie smugglers?”
I stare at him cross-eyed for a moment, struggling to follow the leap of logic that got us to Lorne in, or maybe out, of his underwear.
“You know, I’ve never even seen that film,” I admit. “I wasn’t even twelve when Sunsetters came out. And I’ve heard it’s like way rude.”
“Only if you’re perving on Lorne’s package, otherwise it’s what you’d expect from a movie of that genre.”
When I frown, they both laugh.
After their mirth dies down, Dare says, “We can go to the club if that’s what you really want.”
“I want.”
“But if there’s any saucy stuff between you two —”
“I’m totally up for sauciness, Flicka.” Lorne puckers his lips and blows me a kiss.
“—then I’m going to cut him into little pieces and feed him to the Borrower’s tribe of guinea pigs.”
“Honestly, dimwit, they only eat veggies.” Lorne sticks his tongue out, which I’m certain Dare sees in the rear view mirror. “And in any case, don’t you want me to teach Flicka my party trick?”
He gets no answer, but on the other hand, Dare drives us to the club, not back to his place.
-37-
Dare Wilde
We’re not having a threesome. Guinea pigs and long standing friendship aside, I’ll kill Lorne if he gets frisky with her. I know my emotions are over-boiled today, but Flicka isn’t just another date. She claims she wants a future with me, and any future that might exist doesn’t involve Lorne slipping beneath the sheets with us.
He knows that. I know that. I’m sure Flicka knows it too, which begs the question why are we here?
One: because I feel like a git for not realising that the interviewee was her sister, not her, the woman I’ve been secretly dating and who has thrice claimed she loves me in sentences that didn’t also contain cries of “Oh God!” “You’re so big!” or “Yeah fuck me, baby.”
Flicka and Flo are alike, but perfectly differentiable. I really ought to have known. So stupid to fall for such a basic trick.
Two: because going home and entangling our limbs doesn’t feel like the correct solution. It’d look too much like we were hiding. Hence,
Three: In order to show the world the truth. Forget chat shows and official statements, Flicka’s right, being seen out socializing together trumps all else, which is why we end up right back where this whole thing began, the seedy underground hothouse that is my man cave.
The three of us enter arm in arm.
Down on the lowest level of the building, there are hundreds of bodies packed in tightly. The club is thrumming tonight. Business always triples whenever my name hits the headlines. Murmurs follow our passage through the tide of people. It’s like one of the circles of hell, shadows leaping across the walls. Dim lighting that fades to blackness in the corners. Most of the dancers are near naked. It’s too hot for clothing and the music is too loud for communicating with anything besides sign language.
It’ll be quieter in the booths, not that conversation is what we’re here for.
We grab drinks from the bar, Lorne joking about what I might like, seen as how I’ve given up the good stuff. I order a bottle of Talisker and refrain from hitting him around the head with it. He’s determined to be irritating.
We head towards the VIP area at the back of the club, where my favourite booth lies. The lighting here is gentle. It spills in soft, orange pools and doesn’t flicker in the way it does on the dance floor. There’s more air and fewer bodies, though I’m not at all certain that’s a good thing. Alone with her, there’s no place to look other than at the gorgeous curves of her body. The only scent in the air is hers. The only taste I crave, that of her lip gloss. I steadfastly attempt to ignore all three. Only, somehow I get caught out by the way the light bends as it hits the top of her breasts.
I push her into the space where we first met and fall onto the squashy leather beside her.
Fuck this is awkward. There’s a nervous thrum in my veins. My skin tingles when we accidentally touch.
“Maybe we should have stayed out there and danced. Made sure we were seen,” she says.
“We’ve been seen.” I don’t mean to be snappy, but I know that’s how I sound. In my defence, it’s been a long day.
“What are you so pissed off about?”
“I’m not. I’m antsy. It’s not the same.”
“Fine, then why are you antsy?”
As if she can’t work it out. I shake my head, and then pour myself a drink. It slides down leaving a pleasurable burn in its wake.
“I’m going to get my new lawyers to insist that Chinchilla to take down the interview and issue a retraction and a statement about how they fraudulently misrepresented me. I don’t know if it’ll fly, but while they’re complaining about damages to their brand, look at what they’ve done to mine. They’ve made me look like a total flake.”
It’s a good plan. If she’s prepared to put up a fight, they’re more likely to back down, or at least come to an out-of-court settlement.
We sit awkwardly for several minutes, me bristling with directionless anger and her fiddling with the hem of her shirt, and then a bar mat that barely survives the assault. Lorne has pulled
a vanishing act. I guess he’s pissing or something. Or maybe he’s decided against playing gooseberry.
“Do you remember the first time I came here?”
“Of course.”
“I thought I was being so bold. I was so convinced my plan was going to solve everything. It was stupid. You were right to turn me down.”
I don’t have anything to say in reply to that.
“I was so cross with you, but I see now that actually you offered me what I wanted.”
“I didn’t offer you anything.”
She shakes her head in a way that makes her cloud of blonde hair dance against her shoulders. “Yes, you did. I just wasn’t brave enough to accept. I didn’t know you. I didn’t trust you the way I do now. Would we have lasted, Dare, if I’d agreed to shag you that night?”
“Doubt it,” I huff. Hey, no lies. If we’re truly going to be a thing, then there needs to be genuine openness between us.
I wonder if she realises that “threesome” is actually a sort of code that exists between Lorne and I, designed to weed out the undesirables such as the undercover reporters – they’re always up for anything – from the genuinely worth pursuing. It’s sad, and I know it makes me a shallow git for wanting it, but I like that I’m the only man who has fucked her. I want it to stay that way forever.
Flicka sighs and settles her hands in her lap. Another few awkward minutes pass. Lorne still doesn’t show. We’ll be having words about his absence later. His banter might be irritating, but we need him here being a sort of buffer while we both figure out what the hell it is we’re supposed to do.
“Dare.” I turn my head and find that Flicka’s on her feet. Fear shoves a lance through my chest as for a moment I believe she’s about to depart. It prompts me to rise too, but I’m barely upright before she’s pushing me back down onto the buttery soft leather. “You said something else to me that night. You told me to come back once I’d checked out of Sweetsville.” Her hand clasps my collar and she straddles my lap. “Owing to that video, I figure I’m all checked out. That means we get to have some fun, right?”
“Flicka…” I murmur.