She checked her email. One message, from Suz. Her gut clenched as she read through her friend’s diatribe about Michael’s behavior, apparently he’d been telling all and sundry that Cara had ‘run-off’ with Ethan. If Suz was incensed now, just wait till she caught a glimpse of The National Inquisitor.
She tapped the tabloid’s title into the search engine, and sucked in a deep breath as she found the link to the online version. She closed her eyes as she clicked the link. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but she needed to know exactly what he’d said, in order to report to Ethan later.
She read through the article with disgust and growing dismay. Not only had Michael trashed her reputation, but he’d also been photographed looking distraught on the front cover. There was mention of Carethan, apparently a mash up of her and Ethan’s names. The photographs that had flooded the Irish papers were reproduced too, and a little note at the end of the article asked for people with any photographs to send them in to the paper.
With a groan, she remembered the girls at the airport. Would they succumb to the lure of payment and send in the pictures of her and Ethan they’d smiled for, the day before?
She flicked to the two-page virtual spread titled ‘Women He’s Loved and Left.’ Many small pictures filled the screen. Ethan, with his arm around a Brazilian model in one, kissing an actress in another. Holding hands with Aoife Fitzpatrick in a third. Cara rubbed her hand over her eyes. Dancing with a statuesque blonde, having dinner with a redhead. And, if the copy was to be believed, he’d seduced and abandoned all of them.
She stared at the picture of Aoife. At least she knew the truth about this relationship—so why was the newspaper reporting Ethan had left Aoife, when the complete opposite was true?
She typed their names into Google, and watched the links appear.
After fifteen minutes, there was only one conclusion she could come to: that Aoife had spread the story of being abandoned, and later revealed a new boyfriend. Painting Ethan as the bad guy, again. Why he hadn’t contradicted Aoife’s story perplexed her. And made her wonder how many of the women he’d been pictured with were really even ex-girlfriends.
She flicked her hair away from her face with a weary hand. Dealing with these lies was beyond her. Should she refute the charges leveled against her in the press, or take the high ground and ignore them? Given the fact that she’d actually gone all out to seduce Ethan, was Michael right—had she mentally thrown him over the moment she felt attraction for Ethan as he pulled her from that damned costume?
Pushing back the chair, she went to the bedroom to change into her swimsuit. Yes, she’d been attracted to Ethan, back then. But she hadn’t been sure enough of Michael to commit to him, and when she’d heard of his betrayal, she’d been stunned and hurt. Even if Ethan wasn’t in the picture, she would have broken off all contact with him. And he hadn’t even stuck around to hear her reaction, had just run away as fast as his legs could carry him.
In the article, he revealed that he was working for a large American company based in Dublin. Which meant his foray from Donabridge had been successful. She knew her father, he wouldn’t be able to fire Michael for being a snake, but he could have made working for him hell, and wouldn’t have hesitated to make his annoyance and displeasure clear. Michael had managed to get another job before that happened.
Throwing mud at Cara would cleverly mitigate against any possibility that Cara’s father might give him a rotten reference.
She pulled a clean towel from the cupboard, stuck her feet into her thongs, and stepped out into the warm, Malibu sunlight. Bloody Michael had done enough damage for one day. She was determined not to obsess about him any longer.
****
They were due to finish shooting at eleven. Finding out about the latest intrusion into his private life had focused Ethan’s intent. Given his acting an edge of perfection that ensured he took less takes than normal, and by nine, his entire day’s shooting was in the can.
“We don’t need you any more tonight,” John said. “So if you want to go…” His head tilted, and he squeezed Ethan’s arm. “I know you must want to get back.”
They hadn’t spoken about the press’s intrusion, but everyone on set must have seen the tabloid by now. And John was no stranger to paparazzi; he’d know the strain Ethan was under.
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then.”
John nodded, and exited the trailer.
By ten, he was waving off the car, and standing on the front doorstep with the paper clutched in his hand. Lights blazed inside; it was too early for Cara to have retired to bed. He’d have to tell her.
The door swung open.
“I thought I heard a car.” Cara was dressed in a long loose red dress, her hair glinting with highlights a day in the sun had intensified. Her nose looked pink, and her feet were bare. “You’re early.”
“I got through it earlier than anticipated.” Ethan stepped in, and brushed his lips against hers.
“Keen to get home?” she murmured against his lips.
His hand brushed against the side of her face. “Yes.”
Time stood still. If only he didn’t have to tell her. Didn’t have to snap the thread of attraction tightening between them. He puffed out a frustrated breath.
Cara’s gaze flickered to the tabloid he gripped in his other hand. “You’ve seen it, then?”
“You know about it?” She must have gone out, seen it on the news-stands. Any crazy could have recognized her from the pictures in it. Could have approached her. Ethan’s heart dived. He should have phoned, should have warned…
“They phoned my cell this morning. I checked it out online.” Cara stepped back, and took the paper from his hand.
Blood roared in Ethan’s ears. “They phoned you? How the hell—”
“Michael was kind enough to give them the number,” Cara said calmly. “What are we going to do about it?”
She could be calm and collected about it, but Ethan wanted to punch a hole in the wall. He stalked into the room, heading straight for the whiskey bottle he kept for emergencies in the top cupboard. He splashed a generous amount into two glasses, handed one to Cara, and swallowed a mouthful. The whiskey seared his throat. Its aroma filled his mouth and nostrils. It didn’t take the edge off.
“That lying—”
“—snake? Turd? Asshole? I’m surprised the air in here isn’t blue, I’ve cursed him so much.” She smiled a tight smile. “After trying them all out, I settled on ‘pathetic loser.’” She walked into his arms, and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.” Her words were muffled against his chest.
Ethan’s heart swelled. She was worried about him?
He tilted her chin up, and gazed into her eyes. “I’m well used to it. I’m angry for you.”
“They had a field day, pulling out all your previous…they even mentioned Aoife.” Her eyes narrowed. “And they got that totally wrong. Why does the world think you dumped her, Ethan? You told me all about it; I can’t believe you took the rap for the breakup.”
“They get everything wrong, that’s the way the press are.” Ethan rubbed his hand over his hair. “The moment I arrived in America, they tagged me with the Irish bad-boy thing. Half the women they photographed me with I’ve never slept with.” He opened the paper that she’d tossed on the table, and stabbed at the pictures with a finger. “This was a first date, after which I dropped her home. Her career needed a boost, so her publicist invented a story. And this one.” He felt his lip curl as he pointed to another picture. “This is a still from a movie, for Christ’s sake. I never so much as went out for a drink with her.”
He slipped an arm around her and held her tight. “I’m no angel,” he murmured against her hair. “But I’m no devil either. It suits the image they’ve built to paint me as one.”
“And Aoife?” she questioned, not letting him off the hook for a moment.
“Aoife…” It all seemed so long ago. He guessed he mus
t have thought he was in love with her; it had certainly hurt enough at the time. But the fact that she’d given an interview to a woman’s magazine, saying sadly that things just hadn’t worked out between them, had been all that the press needed to run with the ‘wounded Irish beauty’ angle. She’d done well with the publicity in the years since. Her interior design business was thriving, and she’d even had the cheek to send him an invite to her wedding next month.
He’d taken a perverse pleasure in burning it in the fireplace. They’d sold the pictures for the wedding to a glossy magazine, and doubtless his non-attendance would lose them a couple of hundred thousand from the fee, but he’d be damned it he’d play the ex for the cameras. “At the time, I didn’t care enough to put the story straight.”
Cara’s eyes sparked fire. She pulled away, and put her hands on her hips. “Well, it’s about time they stopped putting these lies out there.” She tossed her hair back. “They need to divorce the man from the role.” Her mouth tightened. “I’ve a good mind to phone them up and…”
She looked so fierce, so protective, he couldn’t hold back a smile. “Going into the ring for me, Cara?”
“Damn right. And I’m aiming for a knock-out.”
She’d do it too, the truth blazed from her eyes, and extinguished the anger that had blazed thorough him like a forest fire all day. He reached for her shoulders, felt the tension in them, and kneaded gently. The words I love you, ran through his head. A week ago, he’d be able to say it, but now they’d slept together saying it felt too serious, too forever.
He’d once told another woman he loved her. There was no way he was putting himself on the line for heartache again. But nothing else seemed to fit. He lowered his head and kissed her. Letting his lips tell her what his voice couldn’t.
“My publicist will be here tomorrow morning. We’ll work out a plan of attack then.”
Her fingers crept under the hem of his T-shirt. Soft fingers stroked his belly. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispered.
****
While Ethan showered, Cara dressed in her sexy, grey silk nightie and slipped between the cool cotton sheets. After the panic of the morning, she’d swam in the ocean and picked shells off the shore for hours, letting the beauty of the day wash over her like the water that rushed over her toes at the water’s edge. Taking her irritations with it, as it receded.
She was stealing time in paradise. In a few scant weeks, she’d be back to reality, and would fight her battles then. The conversation with Ethan had reignited her indignation. Especially when he’d confirmed her suspicions about the women he’d been accused of hurting. Ethan wasn’t a forever type of guy, there was no use pretending he was. The experience with Aoife had left him wary and unable to commit. But he wasn’t a bad guy either, and the fact that the press had decided to label him one burned.
Ethan walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips.
Cara’s mouth dried. All thought vanished in an instant at the look in his eyes.
He walked to the bed. “I like your nightie,” he murmured as he pulled back the sheet, whisked off the towel and pulled her close. “Does it feel as silky as it looks?” His hands smoothed over the silk, warming the flimsy fabric and the skin beneath. “Mmm, it does.”
And as his mouth teased her nipple through the silk, Cara ran her hands through his hair, and surrendered to sensation.
Chapter Thirteen
When Melissa Brown arrived at the beach house the next morning, Cara liked her instantly. Her silver cap of hair was expertly cut, and her muted makeup emphasized her patrician features. She was wearing an unstructured, black skirt and tunic combo, which must have come from a top designer, so elegant was its simplicity.
She walked into the sitting room, four inch heels clicking on the wooden floor, and placed her briefcase on the coffee table. “Right, let’s get to it,” she said eyeing Ethan. She glanced at Cara. “I need to find out how much of this is true and how much is a complete fabrication. And we need to decide what, if anything, we’re going to do about it.”
Ethan sat with Cara on the sofa opposite Melissa. He covered her hand with his own. “They can say what they like about me, but I’m not happy that they’re making Cara the focus. She’s not a public figure.”
Melissa’s eyebrow arched. “Maybe not a week ago, but now…” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid all that has changed.” Her voice lowered with sympathy evident in her deep tones. “The photographs in the Irish paper,” she flicked open her briefcase and pulled out the photograph of Cara half-naked in Ethan’s arms, “this one in particular, ignited interest in Cara—who she is, what she means to you.” She shrugged. “There’s no way of putting that particular genie back in the bottle.”
Ethan’s mouth set in a thin line. “I’ve already lost Cara her job. And any prospect of getting another as a teacher in Ireland, because of it.”
Cara pulled her hand from under his. “Hang on a second, Ethan. You’re not to blame for this.” Her eyes couldn’t stray away from the picture, which lay on the table. She reached for it, and examined it. “The reason this picture lost me my job was because I was barely clothed in it. That was my fault. I never should have climbed into the costume in my underwear.”
Since her teens, she’d been concerned about preserving her reputation, not getting into trouble, and making sure she’d never see disappointment in her parents’ faces again. But being here with Ethan, seeing the liberties the press took with the truth, had opened her eyes to the way that life really was. Through no fault of her own, her reputation was shredded. And, what was today’s news would be tomorrow’s waste paper. Ethan couldn’t feel responsible for the words written by any journalist.
Melissa laced her fingers together, showcasing vivid red fingernails that curved like talons, presumably for ripping the press apart. “I agree. The picture would have considerably less impact if you were clothed. But combined with the photographs of you both at the fundraiser in Ireland, looking so happy,” she took another couple of pictures from the briefcase and slid them across the table, “people saw what they wanted to see. A couple entranced with each other.”
Ethan lifted one picture, and Cara picked up another. In both, they were smiling into the camera, obviously at ease.
“Carethan was born,” Melissa murmured.
Ethan glanced up. “And the fact that we weren’t—” he swallowed—”involved, doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Not really,” Melissa said. “These pictures hint at an intimacy, a closeness between you, that captured the public imagination. Rather like all of the great love stories in history, people want to believe that if you’re not already in love, you will be soon.” She pulled out a sheaf of paper. “These are printouts from the Carethan hashtag, and the majority of tweets are about what a great couple you make. How it looks as though Ethan cares, and about how much the tweeps want you to get together.”
“Christ.” Ethan ran a hand through his hair.
Cara’s heart dipped. Would it be such a bad thing to be involved with her?
“Moving on.” Melissa opened a copy of the National Inquisitor. “This is another matter. In this article, Michael makes concrete claims about Cara breaking off her engagement and leaving him. And names you as the guilty party.” She stared at Ethan. “If this isn’t true, we can sue him, although it will be difficult to win without proof. The danger is that it will keep the entire affair in the public domain for much longer.”
“They paint Ethan unfairly as a womanizer. Michael and I were never engaged. He’d proposed, but I hadn’t accepted. Ethan hit him when he saw Michael cheating on me,” Cara said. “Ethan behaved honorably. It’s awful that Michael should—”
“Lie?” Melissa asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone has lied about Ethan. And it won’t be the last. Unfortunately that’s the business he’s in.” She tapped her front teeth with a fingernail and stared out the window for long moments. “People want to
see you together. If you’re just friends, or have other lovers, then I think you need to set the record straight. I know the studio is keen to give the impression that you and Dee have a flirtation going on, Ethan. As pre-publicity for the next movie.”
Ethan shook his head. “I’m not agreeing to that. Not for a minute. I’m sure Dee won’t want to either, we can’t stand each other.”
Melissa’s eyebrows rose in two perfect arcs. “That bad?”
“That bad,” Ethan confirmed. “The truth is…” He paused for a significant moment. “Cara and I have grown closer since this whole mess. But that’s no one’s business but our own.”
Cara reached for his hand and squeezed it.
“With the firestorm of interest in your relationship at the moment, I doubt you can afford the luxury of ignoring the press right now,” Melissa said. “Did you know the paparazzi are camped outside the gates?”
Ethan cursed. “Many?”
“A couple of dozen. They surrounded the car and were taking pictures of me when I came in. A couple even shot pictures through the gates when they opened. I saw them in my rear-view mirror.” She shoved the pictures and papers back into her briefcase. “The best thing to do is give the public what they want. Which is, pictures of both of you together. Be open about your relationship. Refuting the minutae of how you got together might come across as an attempt to blacken Michael’s name. He’s sold his story, and any public fight will just give him the opportunity to sell updates. If you deal with the situation as it is now,” she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “then Michael’s story will quickly become yesterday’s news.”
“I don’t want Cara followed everywhere. I can’t be with her all the time, filming is still ongoing, and I want her to be safe.”
Melissa nodded. “Of course. She might be photographed, but she’s unlikely to come to any harm. It’s inconvenient, sure, but…”
“I’ll be fine,” Cara said.
“My advice would be to take the high road, and not to panic,” Melissa soothed. “What’s done is done, and the best way to move forward is to appear together at a couple of functions, to pose nicely for photographs. That should diffuse the frenzy that’s building up. People will soon lose interest and focus on the next hint of scandal. You could even tweet something innocuous to calm the twitter stream.”
The Morning After Page 9