Driving Her Crazy

by Amy Andrews

  Looking up, she suddenly understood how Van Gogh must have felt when he’d painted his famous starry French sky.

  She breathed out. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Kent agreed, staring into the inky dome with her. ‘You want your money back now?’

  Sadie shook her head slowly. ‘They’re like...diamonds or crystals or teardrops or...something... I don’t have the words.’

  Kent grimaced. Unfortunately he did. They were the diamanté on Sadie’s pink thong.

  All trillion of them.

  Winking down at him.

  ‘Wow,’ he murmured, trying to divert his thoughts from her underwear. ‘Sadie Bliss lost for words. Somebody call a doctor.’

  Sadie smiled as her gaze roamed the sky. ‘Shut up, Kent Nelson. You’re ruining the moment.’

  Kent chuckled. ‘I’ll make a camper out of you yet.’

  Sadie ignored him as a sudden revelation dawned. She might not be able to find the words but she knew exactly how she could express the swell of emotion swirling inside her. The urge to paint, to replicate what she saw on canvas, flowed through her on a surge of energy that fizzed and bubbled in her veins like a slug of Moët.

  She hadn’t felt it in a long time. Not since Leo had told her she’d only been awarded the scholarship to the London Art College because the director owed him a favour.

  ‘Don’t you want to take a picture of it?’ she said quietly, not wanting to disturb the preternatural hush of the sleeping outback.

  Kent glanced at her, surprised by the awe, the emotion in her voice. Her lips were slightly parted, the waning light from the crescent moon laid gentle fingers across the plush pillows.

  He nodded as he fixed his gaze firmly heavenward again. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll make sure I get some before the trip ends.’

  Sadie wasn’t sure how long they lay there just looking at the sky. She’d have never thought a person could actually stargaze and lose track of time. But her fingers were tingling and her mind was buzzing. How could she capture all this? Do it justice?

  How could he?

  But then she remembered his photograph in the exhibition—its very starkness the key to its power—and knew if anyone could, he could.

  She was conscious of him awake beside her. She could hear his breath. Knew somehow that he, too, was looking at the cosmic vista with the eye of a true artist.

  ‘I saw Mortality,’ she said into the night. ‘In New York. A few months back.’

  Kent’s gaze that had been roaming freely screeched to a halt directly above him. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move a muscle. He barely breathed. He hadn’t wanted that photo, any of the crash photos, to go public but the families of the men who’d died had specifically requested that they be released. And he hadn’t been about to deny them.

  Still, he’d had no idea that out of that day forged in hell his photograph of a dying soldier would leave a lasting mark on the world.

  It was what every photojournalist dreamed of, he supposed, but it was an honour he could do without.

  Sadie turned her head to look at his silent profile. He had one arm flung above him, propping his head a little higher. His mouth was a bleak slash adding to the severity of the rest of his face. His gaze was trained steadfastly above.

  ‘It was...amazing. Did you see how well the gallery had it lit?’

  Kent shook his head. ‘I never go to my exhibitions.’

  Sadie blinked, surprised. As an art student she’d survived on dreams of attending her own exhibitions. ‘Well, they did a great job. Although it doesn’t need much, does it? It’s so...stark. Such a...private image. I had to leave. I couldn’t look at it.’

  Kent didn’t want to talk about the photo. Especially not with a woman whose definition of a hard day was the presence of a rather large spider.

  ‘Goodnight, Sadie Bliss,’ he said, rolling away from her.

  Then Sadie was staring at his back wishing she’d never said anything at all.

  Sadie was momentarily confused when she startled awake some time later, her heart racing. She wasn’t sure of the time but the stars were still out in force. She wasn’t even sure what had woken her. Then Kent whimpered beside her and she knew.

  She raised herself up on her elbow, her pulse still beating madly as he shook his head from side to side in his sleep, baring his gritted teeth. His swag had ridden down exposing his T-shirt-clad chest. His breath sawed in and out, harsh and loud in the stillness of the night.

  ‘Kent?’ she murmured.

  He didn’t respond, still obviously caught somewhere deep and dark inside his head. The same place the shadows came from, no doubt.

  ‘Kent?’ she said, louder this time.

  Still nothing.

  Another distressed little cry came from somewhere at the back of his throat, his face twisting as if he were in physical as well as mental agony, and before she could form a rational thought she was reaching out for him, placing her hand on his chest.

  ‘Shh,’ she murmured, rubbing the flat of her palm against his chest, soothing him as she would one of her younger brothers. ‘Shh.’

  To her surprise, he quietened a little and she continued to gently pat his chest until the creases in his face flattened out, his beautiful mouth relaxed, his breathing settled.

  She looked down at him as she absently patted him. What was going on inside his head? Was he reliving the helicopter crash that killed nine of the soldiers he’d been embedded with for almost two months? Was he hearing their cries? Did he see Dwayne Johnson’s rosary beads and his grimy tear-streaked face every time he shut his eyes?

  She had. For days after leaving the gallery it had played on her mind. And she’d only seen the photograph.

  She hadn’t been there when it had all gone down.

  Had he talked to someone about it? Or didn’t he-men believe in all that touchy-feely stuff?

  Maybe he needed to, though. If he was suffering from PTSD it would be vital, surely? Even he-men needed help through such huge life upheavals.

  The cool air swirling around her shoulders made her shiver and Sadie collapsed on her side, hunching down a little into her swag, keeping her palm anchored against his chest. She was reluctant to remove it despite Kent’s now peaceful slumber. The steady thump of his heartbeat was firm and solid beneath her fingers, his chest expanded evenly and it was curiously reassuring.

  Her gaze drifted to his face, relaxed now. She followed the hollows beneath his cheekbones to the beautiful symmetry of his mouth. Even slack with slumber it was utterly fascinating and for the first time in a long time she wished she had her sketch book with her. Once upon a time she’d never have gone anywhere without it.

  And tonight with the stars and Kent’s mouth she missed it desperately.

  Movement in the distance caught her eye and she flicked her gaze just above his face to see the tail end of a shooting star heading towards the inky, barely discernible horizon.

  She shut her eyes deciding what to wish upon. It should be something to do with Leo. A wish that he could see she had been a success without him. A wish that maybe he’d still want her. Just a little. That maybe he was still a little in love with her.

  That he’d been pining for her.

  But strangely on this night that Kent had given her she didn’t want it to be about a man who had used her up and thrown her away.

  So she wished Kent a dreamless sleep before drifting off herself.

  Kent woke slowly to early daylight. The sun was still low and there was a heavy feeling against his chest. He gradually cracked his eyelids open, giving his pupils a chance to adjust.

  It was quiet. So quiet. No muffled city traffic waking him. Not even insects to break the eerie morning stillness.

  The sky, not yet fully warmed by the sun, was still a soft blue. He turned his head, inspecting the distant horizon. The line where the dome of the heavens met the arc of the earth was still a little hazy in the cool morning air. In an hour, when heat transfor
med blue sky and red dirt into almost unbearable vibrancy, the line would slash a distinct path between the two.

  He looked down at his chest, surprised to find the heaviness there was a hand. Sadie’s hand. He turned his head to look at her, his gaze meeting a river of hair, her back to him. He looked down at her hand again. No rings. No fingernail polish. None of those French manicures that every second woman seemed to sport these days. Just neatly trimmed nails, not too short, not too long.

  Nothing fancy. Just like the rest of her.

  Quite why she had her hand on his chest he wasn’t sure. He knew from her loglike sleep in Cunnamulla she wasn’t a restless sleeper. So why was she touching him?

  And, more importantly, why was he just lying here not doing anything about it?

  In the distance he could just make out the noise of a car approaching and as it got closer she started to stir. He froze as Sadie turned, rolled to face him, sighed, licked her gorgeous lips and then settled to sleep again.

  All without moving her hand.

  He held his breath as the car passed by without waking her and then he was looking right in her face, her plump mouth moist from the swipe of her tongue. The deep red rouge of it, like an apple amongst the creaminess of her complexion, looked lush and kissable. Her eyelashes fell lightly against her cheeks. Her wild wavy hair framing the lot as if she’d just been painted by Rubens himself.

  He found himself wishing for his camera again. Wanting to capture the way the gentle morning light enhanced her too wide eyes and her too big mouth into something quite striking.

  Wondering if that too big mouth of hers kissed as well as it wisecracked.

  If it was as good a lover as it was a talker.

  A louder engine roared in the distance just as things beneath the covers started to stir, snapping Kent out of his stupor.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He sat bolt upright, displacing her hand and waking her in the process.

  ‘Come on, Sadie Bliss,’ he said briskly as he kicked out of his swag. ‘The day has started and I’m starving.’ He ignored her groan. ‘Let’s hustle.’

  An hour later, Sadie left Kent to another disgustingly unhealthy roadhouse breakfast as she headed for the amenities. Yes, she was starving, but she was seeing Leo today and she was doing that with the flattest stomach possible even if it meant depriving herself of food all day.

  Plus she needed a shower. Badly.

  The facilities were fairly basic and she thanked God she’d thought to bring her own shampoo and conditioner. Her hair was thick and did not take kindly to cheap products.

  Still, even with hair products that cost a small fortune, Sadie despaired as she looked into the grimy mirror. She sucked in her cheeks in the vain hope that they’d look like they used to—all hollowed and model-like. She hunched her shoulders to enhance her collarbones. She pirouetted and craned her neck around to try and see if the size of her bum had reduced any in the last few days.

  Even the minimiser bra she’d bought especially didn’t seem to look as good in the cheap roadhouse lights as it had in the expensive Sydney department store.

  If only she’d known about this trip a month ago—she could have at least done something earlier.

  She’d spent a lot of the last few years imagining her first meeting with Leo again. How she would look, what she would say, how he would react. And she could already sense the reality and fantasy were hopelessly mismatched.

  She’d wanted Leo to weep when he saw her. To rue the day he’d told her to go. To eat his words. Words that had struck right at her very core.

  Who’s going to want you, Sadie? You’re nothing without me.

  And she’d wanted to be smoking hot when he did.

  She didn’t care how vain, how girly that made her. How much it didn’t make sense. Leo had worshipped her body, had immortalised it in dozens of his works, and she wanted to show him that she still had it.

  That Sadie Bliss was wanted plenty.

  She screwed up her nose at her reflection. Could she pull it off?

  And what would she do if he crooked that imperious little finger at her? Because despite everything there was still a damaged part of her, the Daddy’s girl, that craved his approval.

  Sadie dialled the number Tabitha had given her as she made her way across to Kent, who was filling up the vehicle. Her heart was pounding in her chest as it rang in her ear and when it picked up her pulse spiked so quickly she thought she was going to faint.

  Which turned out to be unnecessary given that it was Leo’s PA who answered the phone. Kevin informed her Leo was painting and not to be disturbed, but that he would pass on the message that the Sunday On My Mind reporter was expected by mid afternoon.

  ‘Is that Leo?’ Kent asked as he returned to the vehicle after paying for the fuel.

  She ignored his childish emphasis. ‘They’re expecting us.’

  ‘Ready to go?’

  Sadie nodded absently. As ready as she was ever going to be. No time now for losing some last-minute pounds.

  This was the day.

  ‘Your cup of tea is in the dashboard cup-holder,’ he said as he swung up into the vehicle.

  Sadie buckled up and they got under way. She sipped her tea and ignored her growling stomach and the light-headed feeling making her a little dizzy. She watched out of the window as the flat red earth and occasional scrubby bushland passed by in a blur, her mind preoccupied with seeing Leo again after three years.

  Her enthusiasm of the last forty-eight hours to get Kent talking was non-existent today. She didn’t even notice the jolts and rattles of the vehicle as it negotiated the far more potholed highway. Her mind was busy and her gut was gradually screwing itself into a tighter and tighter ball.

  Kent, however, did notice the jolting and the shaking, particularly in the interesting way it manifested itself. Sadie’s chest shifted and bounced in his peripheral vision, totally screwing with his concentration. His initial relief that she wasn’t going to be Little Miss Nosey was quickly tempered. At least conversation might have kept his mind on something other than the way her breasts rocked and swayed in rhythm with the vehicle.

  After two hours of complete silence from her, Kent couldn’t stand it for another moment. Particularly when she was wound as tight as a bow string and frowning enough to give her wrinkles that no amount of youth serum would fix. Her thoughts were so loud he could almost hear them forming.

  He gave a slight shake of his head as he opened his mouth to speak, not quite believing that he was the one initiating conversation. ‘Penny for them?’ he asked.

  Sadie frowned as she turned towards his voice. It took a second for his question to register front and centre in her brain. ‘Nothing,’ she dismissed. ‘Just...formulating some questions for the interview.’

  ‘Then why are you frowning so much. He doesn’t bite, does he?’

  Sadie didn’t answer as she thought about Leo’s particular brand of scathing wit. Plenty of people had felt the sting of it. He wasn’t a man who tolerated fools very gladly.

  It was Kent’s turn to frown at her silence. ‘Does he?’ he demanded. Photographing celebrities already felt like a sell-out. He wasn’t going to pander to an overinflated ego, no matter how well regarded he was in the art world.

  Sadie frowned again. ‘What? Oh...no, he doesn’t bite.’

  Kent cocked an eyebrow. ‘So you do know him?’

  Sadie pulled her gaze away from the probing reach of his. ‘How much longer do you think?’

  Kent stood waiting at a petrol station in Borroloola his good foot resting up on the bull bar, a map spread over the red-dust-encrusted bonnet of his vehicle, studying the directions to Leonard Pinto’s outback retreat. Sadie had insisted on stopping here even though they’d not long stopped at a roadhouse for lunch.

  Well, at least he’d eaten lunch. She’d nibbled on a small apple and hadn’t even finished it. But given her little speech from day one about her cast-iron bladder he was s
urprised she needed to use the bathroom again so soon.

  Movement to his left snagged his attention and he turned his head to focus on the woman walking towards him. It took him a beat or two to realise it was Sadie.

  He blinked.

  She was wearing a dress. A flowing red dress with shoestring straps that showed the tiniest hint of cleavage. It outlined her thighs and fell in a fringed hem just below her knees.

  It was hardly revealing, in fact it seemed to just skim everything. To hint but not reveal.

  But the way it flowed against her body, moved against her curves, the way the red offset her hair and complemented her mouth and skin was nothing short of a marvel.

  She drew level with him and asked, ‘Does this look okay?’

  Okay?

  Kent felt as if he had a few short days ago in Tabitha’s office—as if his eyes were poking out on springs. Up close he could see she’d enhanced her eyes a little with some dark kohl, had smeared some gloss on her mouth, big silver hoops hung from her ear lobes. Her raven hair flowed around her shoulders.

  She looked like a gypsy and Kent struggled to keep himself from falling under her spell.

  ‘Wow,’ was about all he could manage when he realised he hadn’t answered her hesitant enquiry. But it seemed to do the trick as a huge grin kicked her crazy big mouth up at the sides.

  ‘Right answer,’ she murmured. ‘For a moment I thought you were going to say fine.’

  He shrugged. ‘I was toying with mighty fine.’

  ‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘You’re learning.’

  He smiled back. ‘I didn’t know we had to dress?’

  ‘Just trying to make a good impression,’ she quipped as she moved past him to the passenger seat, feeling more confident from Kent’s positive reaction.

  Kent blinked again. ‘That ought to do it,’ he muttered under his breath.

  He started up the car and pulled out onto the road. The cab was full of a new fragrance. Gone was the smell of earth, diesel fumes, aged leather and axle grease. It smelled like passionfruit and something headier, something that reminded him of sex, and he doubted he’d ever get the aroma out of the upholstery.