Second Chance Reunion

by Irene Vartanoff

  “What the hell—?!” Lucas stormed over to the table where the remote lay. He quickly shut off the television.

  “First I get an intrusive call from some slimeball Hollywood gossip rag. Now this garbage.”

  He turned accusing eyes on Sara. “Have you been talking to the press about me?”

  She shook her head. “I would never—”

  “Then who’s responsible?” he shouted. “Damn them.” He hurled the remote into a corner of the room. It broke on impact.

  She winced as Lucas raged on about Hollywood bottom feeders and so-called journalists.

  Finally, he dropped onto the couch opposite her. The brief storm was over. After dragging his hands over his face and through his hair, he looked at her again. “George’s fingerprints are all over this. He wants to put me in a corner.”

  She shook her head. “George wouldn’t.”

  He laughed, a harsh bark of bitterness. “You work for the bastard and you still don’t know what he’s capable of?”

  She chose her words carefully. “George believes the film should be completed.”

  “He incited the pack of wolves that call themselves media reporters to make a rush at me.”

  “Somebody else could have tipped them off.”

  “How did they get my private number?”

  She spread her hands to indicate her ignorance. “I’ve no idea.”

  “I hate this.” He stood, tension in his limbs. “I’m going to swim laps. Join me or not.” He strode from the room.

  Sara let out an unsteady breath. Had Lucas thrown things six years ago when he was angry? Slammed out of vehicles and stalked off into the desert? Had she ever seen him this way before? Six years ago, when the news broke that Jennifer Barnes was having an affair with David Connor, Lucas had exhibited sadness, not anger.

  Had George misread Lucas's state of mind for the past five years since the accident? Was Lucas hiding out from the world because he was angry, not grieving? A man with his longtime experience in the film industry wouldn’t ordinarily blow up over a mere phone call from a reporter and a speculative mention on a silly gossip television show. A cable show, at that. Small audience. Small impact.

  She would swim, too. He shouldn’t dictate how every scene between them ended. He was not her boss anymore. It was ridiculous, and bad drama, too. If this were a film, she’d have edited out all these entrances and exits. Unnecessary.

  The pool was one flight down, dug into the land, but since it had a wall of windows, it didn’t feel like a basement. It was Olympic size. Lucas swam furious laps, splashing the maximum amount with the butterfly stroke.

  She went into a small changing room and pulled on one of the extra suits Leona had shown her during the tour of the house. The tank suit with its back straps was meant for swimming, not showing off her body. Sara welcomed the opportunity for any exercise other than twiddling her thumbs.

  She slipped into the far side of the pool and started swimming. Lucas did not acknowledge her. He kept doing laps. She did laps, too, but with an easy breast stroke, not looking in his direction. Peace and calm were what she sought, both for herself and for Lucas.

  After a few laps, she was in the zone, her body on automatic and her mind, too. Lucas startled her when he spoke near her.

  “Why don’t you pack up and go home?”

  She nearly choked on pool water, shocked as she was out of her stroke. She began to dog paddle. “Are you throwing me out?”

  “George would come murder me himself if I did that.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “You’re welcome to stay, but I refuse to revive a very painful episode in my life.” He swam over to the nearest ladder and hoisted himself out. He wasn’t wearing a suit.

  Her heart knocked in her chest. She averted her eyes, but not before she saw that his backside was still in excellent shape. Had she ever noticed his butt before? Had she ever thought about his body parts specifically?

  His lips. She’d fantasized over and over a scene of the two of them concentrating on a script, leaning close to each other. Somehow they’d be alone and in private on a busy movie set. In her fantasy, he would put the script aside, and tell her he loved her. Then he would kiss her.

  How many times had she soothed herself to sleep with that romantic scenario, hoping she’d dream it later? Countless nights spent yearning over Lucas. Yet tonight she looked away from his body when it was visible.

  “It’s safe.” His amused voice came from a few feet away. He’d dried off and was wearing a robe.

  “Sorry,” she said, hoping vainly that he couldn’t see her embarrassment.

  “Since I usually swim alone, and Leona returns to her house after dinner, there’s no reason to wear swim trunks.”

  “Of course,” she replied, trying to hide how flustered she was. “Sorry I intruded, but you did invite me.”

  She made her way to the opposite ladder, glad she had put her towel nowhere near his.

  “So I did.” Lucas walked around the pool deck and held out a hand to help her up. As she took his hand, he stared at her body. She looked down. The wet maillot was nearly see-through.

  “You’re a lovely, desirable woman, Sara.” He pulled her close, looking into her eyes. His hands were on her upper arms.

  She felt naked. The moment spun out, tantalizing her. Was he going to kiss her? Would his hands pull down her shoulder straps, capturing her arms while he kissed her aching breasts with plundering lips? Would he be a gentle lover, or was his anger still waiting to overwhelm her with a surge for mastery? Her lips were dry.

  “Why aren’t you married?” he asked.

  Disappointment flooded her. He still saw her as a naïve young intern, not a grown woman.

  She didn’t have to accept that. She could influence the direction of their relationship. “You know why.” She leaned closer to him, looking straight into his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you, Lucas. Only you.”

  His eyes flared. His grip tightened. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.” Her voice was husky. She dared to raise a hand and insert her fingers between the edges of his terry robe to touch his naked chest.

  “Sara…”

  “I want you, Lucas. I’ve always wanted you. Please, let me be yours at last.”

  Lucas drew her closer and his lips crashed down on hers. Her lips quivered at their force, then opened to him. His tongue took possession of her mouth.

  She couldn’t breathe. Was becoming Lucas's lover what she wanted after all? What was she thinking, that he would give up his exile in the desert and resume his career in LA? Or was she supposed to exile herself here to be with him? Assuming he wanted her to be with him and this night would not be their only night?

  She pulled away from him.

  He let her go. He cocked his head. “Second thoughts?”

  She looked down, then back up into his face. “Why confuse the situation?”

  He nodded, not visibly upset that she’d come on to him and then changed her mind. “Or maybe you’d rather not be the aggressor?” he asked, speculating.

  Perhaps she was simply afraid of who he was right now. Not exactly the man she’d fantasized about for six years. Not anymore. She disengaged herself from his hands, and grabbed her towel. She wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her rigid nipples from his uninterested gaze. Her glance downward had encompassed his total lack of an erection. If she had continued the kiss, he would have eventually had sex with her. What man turned down a willing female? But he had no overwhelming desire for her. She tried to keep her expression neutral even as her disappointment threatened to choke her.

  “Why did you ask me about being married?” she asked.

  “I find it odd that a woman as attractive as you isn’t involved with someone. Male or female. Your choice.” He smiled at her.

  “Very funny.”

  “You should find someone to love, someone who can make you happy.”

  “What about loving someone who does not make
me happy?” she asked. “The way you once did?”

  His expression darkened at her reference to his ex-wife. “My personal history isn’t open for discussion.”

  “Then why is mine?” She located her sandals and sat down to put them on. She’d change back to her clothes in her guest bedroom, not here, where she felt so very vulnerable. Her unhappiness was dissolving into annoyance at his continued refusal to engage with the real issues keeping his life on hold.

  Lucas sat on the lounger next to hers and reached for her hand, but she ignored him and leaned over her right foot to push it into her sandal.

  He said, “I want what’s best for you.”

  “I want the same for you,” she replied, looking up at him.

  “A young woman like you could find the right man, settle down, have children. You could have it all.”

  “Maybe I will, once I finish your film.” Once she finished being hopelessly in love with him.

  He leaped to his feet. “How many times do I have to I tell you that I will not give this project the green light?”

  “As many as it takes to convince me. So far, I’m not buying. If you had kicked me out, then I’d be a believer.” Finished with her second sandal, she stood. She dared to put a finger on his chest again, but not in a sexual way this time. “Whatever has stopped you in the past, you need to get over it. You owe it to all the people involved not to let their efforts go to waste.”

  He shrugged. “They got paid.”

  Indignation made her voice sharp. “Do you believe you are the only person involved in a film who has any artistic input?”

  “No, of course not.” He found his own sandals and thrust his feet into them.

  “They wanted to see their achievement on the screen as much as you once did.”

  “Lecture over?” He had the look of a little boy who covered his ears to block out his parents’ admonitions.

  Who was she to scold Lucas, who had suffered a great tragedy, about what he owed the people who had worked on Desert Wind? “I’m sorry,” she said. She wrapped her towel around her more firmly, and headed for the door. She’d get her clothes some other time. “Good night.”

  ***

  By the time she reached her bedroom, Sara could have kicked herself. Why had she pulled away from Lucas's kiss? True, she had incited him, but she hadn’t forced him to kiss her. He’d kissed her of his own free will. If she hadn’t stepped away, they’d have made love, right there, on a pool lounger. All her dreams would have come true.

  No, they wouldn’t. It would have been sex, not lovemaking. If Lucas didn’t love her and want her, she wouldn’t fool herself that having sex with him meant anything. Better that she’d stopped them. A close call, in fact.

  But the film. Why had she backed down exactly when she should have pushed on? She should have ignored Lucas's stubborn reaction. She should have pushed the guilt button about the hopes of the cast and crew of Desert Wind. Not David Connor’s hopes, of course. She knew better than to bring up his name. For all she knew, the hopes of Jennifer Barnes and David Connor had been fulfilled by throwing their relationship in Lucas's face during filming. What an unsavory situation it had been. A setup for fireworks.

  Why hadn’t Jennifer Barnes bought her way out of the contract? Had Lucas been vengeful, making the cost too high to her career? Or was she so angry about their failed marriage she wanted to show Lucas what a successful relationship looked like? No, that was giving Jennifer Barnes too much credit. She was notorious for sleeping with her co-stars, for falling in love with them briefly, and then for moving on. Perhaps she’d expected Lucas to turn a blind eye to her infidelities instead of divorcing her. Scorned women could be incredible harpies. Did she deliberately throw handsome, much younger David Connor in Lucas's face?

  This sordid story should have been ancient history by now. What was keeping Lucas tethered to his mistakes with Jennifer Barnes? Perhaps if Sara could understand what held Lucas back, she could pull him over the obstacle, whatever it was, into the light of a new life.

  Their swim hadn’t ended in her favorite fantasy of fervent declarations of love followed by urgently romantic sex, but she’d recovered from her disappointment. She was glad she hadn’t gone through with seducing him. It wouldn’t have been the same. He wasn’t ready. Perhaps she wasn’t, either.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Sara made sure she was up early enough to catch Lucas having coffee before his ride. She carried her laptop when she found him in the breakfast room. Sure enough, he was dressed for riding, wearing a western shirt and blue jeans that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips. The cobalt blue plaid shirt should have looked all wrong on a sophisticated Hollywood film director. Instead, it caught the silver at his temples and made her more aware of his enduring physical appeal.

  “Glad you’re still here,” she greeted him. Before he could reply, she rushed on. “Would you show me your editing booth? I have other projects going. Using your editing suite would help me work on them.” She added, “If it’s not a terrible inconvenience to you.”

  His eyes narrowed. She willed herself not to crumble under the force of his intimidating glower. She’d practically dared him to refuse her, to claim that his editing equipment was unavailable because he needed it.

  “Oh, all right.” Still staring at her suspiciously, he called Leona. When the housekeeper came, he told her to let Sara into the locked room.

  “But leave my files alone, you hear?” he turned to Sara again to emphasize his words.

  “I hear you,” she said. “Thanks.” She suppressed a relieved breath and seated herself at the table, reaching for the coffee carafe. Pretending hard that getting into the editing booth wasn’t important. Liar.

  Lucas quickly drained his coffee cup and departed. She allowed herself a fist pump. “Yes!” Victory number one. With his vital presence gone, she finally relaxed and helped herself to a biscuit.

  A short while later, she was seated in a comfortable chair in a small room with the latest editing technology of five years ago. Luckily, technology had not leaped forward in the interim, so her system was compatible with what she could see Lucas had installed.

  She heaved a contented sigh. This was where she felt most at home, surrounded by the tools of her trade. Large multiple monitors, sometimes multiple computers, and a quiet space where she could call up files and analyze them one bit at a time. The cinematographer on the set made the initial decision of what to film and how many cameras to use. Sara’s job was to pick and chose from among thousands of feet of film that recorded the same scene from different angles and in different takes. She had to turn the mess of multiple takes, sometimes with ad libbed dialogue or action, into a coherent story. Film editing was an exacting, involved art. When she was in the zone on a project, her intent focus on the tiniest elements of a scene often left her oblivious to everything else for hours at a time.

  Today, her initial task was somewhat different. First, she had to snoop through Lucas's computer in hopes of finding footage of Desert Wind. She began randomly opening files on Lucas's desktop.

  An hour later, she called George. “I’m in his editing booth and I found files named Desert Wind. Lots of files.”

  “You’re a miracle worker.”

  “Thank you. I feel like one this morning. I don’t know how much is here.”

  “Should be the whole film. Copy it all.” He coughed. The coughing went on and on.

  When he finally stopped, Sara said, “I just wanted to update you. I’ll let you get back to resting.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m on the other side,” he said, his voice gruff. “Before I go, I want Desert Wind finished.”

  He sounded worse than the day before, but she had to ask. “George, did you talk to the press about Desert Wind?”

  “You mean that sleazy gossip TV show thing that aired last night? The phone calls I’ve been getting all morning from Hollywood reporters?”

  “Bingo.”


  “Not me.”

  “I didn’t think you’d leak Lucas's private phone number to the press.”

  He uttered some obscene words.

  “Any idea who might have done it?” she asked.

  “I’ll make a call or two. Keep to the plan. You’re doing great.”

  That was the nice thing about George. He was lavish in his praise. Now that she’d tipped him off, George would ferret out who was responsible for the leak.

  Sara quickly ended the call and texted her assistant with a list of hardware and software items to update Lucas's editing suite. She soothed her conscience about snooping in Lucas's files by reminding herself she was doing it to help George and Lucas both. Lucas still had a future, if only he could let go of the past. She yearned to save him from the pain he still suffered.

  The computer system in front of her looked very complicated, with all its buttons to push and switches to switch. It wasn’t. The details of editing could be artistically and technically complex, but digital editing of computer files rather than physical pieces of film, what was now called non-linear editing, was accomplished through a computer much like the personal computers everybody owned. Mastering the editing program was the only difficult part. For now, she copied files as fast as she could. Lucas might return at any moment and she didn’t want to be caught doing exactly what he’d forbidden her to do. She shouldn’t have wasted the time to call George, but she’d needed to crow to somebody.

  Hours later, Leona called her for lunch. Sara stretched, her intense concentration broken too soon. She’d gathered many files, but she had the sense that many more remained to be discovered.

  To her surprise, Lucas was already seated at the table in the parterre patio, waiting for her. She sat down and unfolded her napkin. “How was your ride today?” she asked.

  “Same as every day. Forget that.” He threw his ice teaspoon onto the tablecloth. “What have you been doing all morning? Leona says you were in the editing booth for hours.” His eyes narrowed.

  “I was. Your system is state-of-the-art, if this was five years ago.”