The Promise of Change

by Rebecca Heflin

Nuzzling her neck, he continued. “‘Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest.’” He lifted her palm to his lips.

  She shuddered at his caress.

  “‘. . . hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails.’” His lips brushed each fingertip, and his voice grew huskier with each word. “‘. . . I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.’” He tasted her shoulder, nibbling gently, sending shivers up her neck, raising goose flesh on her skin.

  With one smooth motion, he tossed the blankets aside, revealing their naked bodies, making her gasp in shock.

  “‘I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body.’” His teeth grazed down her body to her quivering stomach.

  Her breathing grew ragged.

  “‘. . . the sovereign nose of your arrogant face.’” He glided back up to kiss her nose.

  “‘I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes.’” He pressed a butterfly kiss to each eyelid.

  “‘And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.’”

  He gently rolled her onto her back, his eyes black with desire, and captured her mouth in a kiss both so tender and fierce she thought it would consume her.

  Chapter 8

  Sitting at a delicate writing desk in one of the manor’s many rooms, Sarah responded to an e-mail from Ann, contemplating how to answer her question about what Brooke was like.

  Not to put too fine a point on it, but ‘she is a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.’ Despite her frequent declaration that she just adores Jane Austen, she wouldn’t get an allusion to her if it came up and slapped her on the back of her vapid little head. Uh oh. Speak of the devil . . .

  “Oh, Sarah. I thought you might be Alex. Have you seen him?”

  “I haven’t seen him. Did you check the library?”

  She made a little face before saying, “Thanks.”

  She couldn’t understand their fascination with the collection of essays, novels, and poetry the well-stocked library offered.

  Sarah returned to her e-mail, finishing with a rundown of the schedule over the next week. If all went as planned, the crew would wrap up the shoot here and return to London soon. However, she would be returning to London tomorrow. Elizabeth, her agent, was stopping over on her way to Hong Kong to meet with her about another two-book deal. She sighed, as if that were a bad thing.

  She hated leaving Alex, especially with Brooke on the prowl. Even with her previous experience with infidelity, it wasn’t that she didn’t trust Alex. She didn’t trust Brooke. She reminded herself it was only for one night. She’d return on the early morning train the following day and stay for the remainder of the shoot.

  She looked forward to the end of the filming. She was tired of sneaking around with Alex like they were having some sort of torrid affair. The pretense was wearing on her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t already slipped. It was hard to believe her love for him wasn’t tattooed on her face for all to see.

  She closed her laptop before returning to the library in search of her script to review it before tomorrow’s shoot, particularly since she wasn’t going to be here. Would there be any kissing tomorrow? Speaking of kissing, if she got lucky, she might run into Alex and corner him for a little make-out session before dinner.

  Opening the library door, Sarah froze. Brooke stood close to Alex, face lifted to his. He held her wrists up in front of his chest. Sarah gasped.

  “Sarah.” He dropped Brooke’s wrists, pushing her away from him. “It’s not what you think. . . ” He grimaced at the trite expression.

  “I know—”

  “I was trying to remove her unwelcome hands from my chest—” The anguish was plain on his face.

  Sarah glared at Brooke, gritting her teeth to hold back the unladylike string of expletives that threatened to erupt.

  “Now I know why you’re producing this claptrap.” Brooke returned Sarah’s astonished look with one of smug satisfaction.

  “What?” Sarah looked at Alex, confused. “What did she just say? What did she mean?” It finally dawned on her. She was more shocked by the revelation that Alex was apparently producing the movie, than by Brooke’s blatant attempt to seduce him. “I thought Michael was the producer . . .” Her voice trailed off. She already knew the answer. “Alex?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “All this time, I thought I’d succeeded on my own merits . . . someone had read my book and genuinely loved it enough to make it into a movie . . . and all along it was you,” she said as if to herself. “I should have known. The coincidences were so obvious.” She shook her head.

  “Bloody hell. Sarah, can you just forget your damnable pride for one minute.” He strode over to her, his hands raised as if to grab her shoulders.

  “My pride?” She took a step back. “This isn’t about my pride.” She smacked his hand aside as he tried to reach for her again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Was this supposed to be another of your surprises? In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t like surprises.”

  “Sarah. I’m sorry. I’d planned to tell you . . .”

  “Does everyone else know?” She could feel angry, humiliated tears filling her eyes, blurring her vision. “I feel like such a fool.” The tears rolled down her cheeks, temporarily clearing her vision.

  “No,” he said softly. “No one else knew, except . . . Michael . . .” He turned to glare at Brooke, understanding mounting. “A little pillow-talk, Brooke?”

  She at least had the grace to blush.

  “Please leave,” he said to her, his voice barely audible. She turned on her heel and left, giving Sarah a baleful look as she stalked out the door.

  “Sarah.” Alex’s hands were on her shoulders. “Look at me, please.”

  Sarah stubbornly shook her head, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “I need to leave.”

  “Is that your solution to everything—run?”

  “Don’t worry Alex, I’m not going to run off again,” she said with a little sarcasm. “Give me a little more credit than that. I just need to get some air . . . preferably alone.” He dropped his hands, and, stumbling out of the library, tears blurring her vision, she all but ran out the front door into the cool summer evening.

  Alone in her room later that night, she saw with clarity how perfectly the pieces fit. The fact that he was cast as Christen–I mean let’s face it, she thought, what were the odds of Alex being cast out of the blue, perfect or not?

  As producer, he could cast himself. The deference Michael paid him on the set; his involvement in almost every aspect of the production, including his regular viewing of the dailies, even when he wasn’t in the scenes. Although she was a novice to the move industry, she was surprised she hadn’t seen it before. She was surprised everyone didn’t see it.

  She was going to London as planned. Maybe a little separation would do them both good . . . give them some time to think. Besides she wasn’t sure she trusted herself around Brooke without wringing her swan-like little neck.

  Cried-out and exhausted, she turned in early, trying not to think about how cold and lonely the bed was without Alex.

  He screwed up. He knew that. But damn it, if she wasn’t so stubborn, so determined to do everything on her own, maybe this wouldn’t have gotten blown out of proportion.

  Of course it didn’t help that Brooke had been the one to reveal it. He sighed, sat on the edge of the bed. It only added to Sarah’s humiliation. He wanted to belt Brooke, and he wasn’t too happy with Michael at the moment either.

  He stood, paced his room, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He should have told her. Of course he should have. If he’d told her weeks ago, maybe she’d have been miffed at first, but after he’d explained to
her why, they’d had a good laugh over it and moved on.

  He stopped in front of the window and looked out at the black night. He wondered if she were still out there. He didn’t like the thought of her out there at night alone.

  Should he go to her? Apologize? Apologize, yes, but go to her, no. She said she wanted to be alone. If she wanted to speak to him, she would have let him know.

  Tomorrow he would grovel. Perhaps crawling on his knees would be in order. After what promised to be a long, lonely, sleepless night.

  Chapter 9

  On the crowded southbound Piccadilly line, her mind was not where it should be: her upcoming meeting with Elizabeth. Instead it was on Alex. She was hurt that he didn’t tell her the truth, that he’d led her to believe it was all a coincidence, that he was merely a member of the cast, but was that the only reason she was upset?

  She’d always had trouble accepting help. Even as a child, she’d stubbornly refused help tying her shoes, or doing her homework . . . or learning to ride her bike.

  She thought if she didn’t do it by herself, without assistance from anyone, she hadn’t succeeded. This didn’t change as she grew older.

  Was that part of the issue here? Did it really matter who produced the movie? Did it lessen her satisfaction of having written her first novel? After all, she likely wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t asked for Sam’s help.

  Instead of making her doubt her success, his investment of time and money should reinforce her accomplishment. He loved her, but she didn’t think he would throw good money after bad if he didn’t believe in the project. He was too driven for that.

  She also realized that she found great satisfaction in working with Alex. His insight into the characters she developed, his creativity in fleshing out the scenes, and his ability to lift the story from the pages of her book to make it compelling and real were a gift. They made a great team.

  Then there was his acting. She could watch him all day, except for the romantic scenes with Brooke, and never tire of the experience. He was so . . . believable. Genuine. That was the word.

  The train stopped at Green Park Station, but instead of emptying, more people got on, jostling for space in the tiny, crowded car. Reluctantly, she stepped closer to the man behind her.

  There was still the little issue of trust. If they were going to have a relationship, she needed to know he was secure in her love for him that he could tell her anything.

  Maybe that was her fault, too. Maybe he hadn’t told her because he was afraid she would react, well, exactly the way she did. She didn’t have the best track record with him. Clearly, she needed to work on her fight or flight response.

  She groaned, eliciting an apprehensive look from the well-dressed businessman holding the strap above her head. She met his frown with a tentative smile, and he returned to his newspaper.

  As soon as her meeting with Elizabeth was concluded, she’d call him. Of course she’d only get his voice mail, but she could at least tell him that she loved him and that she couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow.

  That issue resolved for the moment, she pulled the fax copy of her contract for the book deal out of her tote. There were a few provisions she wanted to discuss with Elizabeth. She bet Elizabeth just loved having a former lawyer as a client.

  The next stop was Hyde Park Corner, one more stop before Knightsbridge. The car’s doors opened, expelling most of its commuters, still not enough for Sarah to take a seat.

  The train had barely pulled away from the station before a series of explosions shook the tracks, filling the car with acrid smoke. The train ground to a halt with an angry jolt.

  Screams erupted, followed by deafening sirens. Sarah lost her grip on the handle and her world seemed to turn on its side. There was a sickening crack as her head hit the seat behind her. Just moments after landing on the floor of the train, someone fell on top of her, forcing the air out of her lungs with a whoof.

  Her last thoughts were of Alex, and regret. She wished she’d kissed him goodbye. Then darkness . . .

  Alex paced his brother’s office, scrubbing his hand through his already disheveled hair. “Damn it, Robert! I’ve got to find her.”

  “Calm down. We’ll find her. Just give my people time.” Robert walked over and closed his door on the chaos outside his office. People running about, phones ringing off the hook.

  “You don’t understand, the last time we saw one another we’d had . . . words.” Alex sat down, his head in his hands.

  Robert walked around his desk and, reaching out, tentatively touched his brother on the shoulder. “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Oh God, Robert. I love her. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He looked up at Robert, his face tense with worry and uncertainty.

  Thoughtful, Robert sat in the chair next to Alex. This was a side of his brother he thought he’d never see. For his brother’s sake, he fervently hoped Sarah was safe.

  She floated up from the murky depths to a shaft of light shimmering above her. It reminded her of summers spent in the tea-colored lake in front of the family’s vacation house.

  Diving down to the lake’s gloomy depths, she would let the buoyancy slowly lift her to the surface, challenging herself to hold her breath. Only this time she didn’t feel the water’s weightlessness, only heaviness. Her body ached with the burden of gravity.

  The light grew brighter, forming a pinpoint that sent a stabbing pain to the back of her head. She wanted to retreat into the darkness, away from the pain, but a sweet, familiar voice coaxed her up to the surface.

  “Sarah. Sarah, sweetheart?” Alex sat beside her bed, urging for her to come to.

  She felt someone squeeze her hand. Memories flashed through her brain, adding to the pain. Some memories were visual, others auditory, and still others olfactory. They were jumbled, out of order: acrid smoke burning her lungs before the air was forced out of them; a series of loud bangs; flickering lights; screams; violent lurching; pain; blackness.

  “Sarah.” The sweet voice again, closer this time, tinged with concern. She wanted to comply, to respond. She wanted desperately to break from the confines of gravity, but it was too strong. Her eyelids felt as if they had been sealed shut.

  “Allow her to come to on her own. Her brain will determine when it’s ready,” the nurse said as she came into the room.

  “Alex.” Her voice was raw and scratchy. She swallowed, trying to clear her throat, but her mouth was so dry. He’s here, she thought. A tear leaked out, sliding down the side of her face. He still loves me.

  Alex shot out of his seat as if he’d been ejected. “Sarah,” he breathed close to her ear.

  He sounded relieved.

  She groaned, and his voice grew anxious again. “Are you in pain?”

  She ignored his question. She had more pressing matters. “Where am I? What happened?” She furrowed her brow and the pain in her head returned.

  “You’re in hospital, Love. You don’t remember what happened?”

  “No,” she replied, wincing again as she tried to remember.

  “There was an accident on the Underground tube. From what the media reports have said, there was a massive power surge, causing a series of explosions. There was chaos at first, with rumors of a terrorist attack.”

  Train. She vaguely remembered being on the train . . . going somewhere . . . the only thing she could really remember was the noise, the smoke, the pain.

  “Mr. Fraser, please excuse me while I check her IV.”

  He released her hand reluctantly before moving to the other side of the bed.

  His hand was replaced by the gloved touch of the nurse. “How are you feeling, Ms. Edwards? Can you open your eyes for me?”

  Sarah tried, but only succeeded with a couple of ineffectual blinks. The light was painful. Someone flipped the light switch, turning off the light, taking the sharper pain with it. “How’s that? Better?” the nurse asked kindly. She had no accent. American, Sarah wondered?


  “Yes.” Her voice croaked again. “Could I have some water?” She opened her eyes, hesitantly at first. All she saw was a blurry face, surrounded by red hair. Blinking some more, the nurse came into focus. She had a plain, but kind, face, and her nose was covered in freckles. No offense to her, but she wasn’t who Sarah wanted to see. “Alex?”

  “I’m here, Love.” Taking her unfettered hand, he held it to his lips. Though his brow was creased with worry, he wore a small smile.

  Sarah was so relieved to see his dear, sweet face. A face she thought she’d never see again. Closing her eyes, she licked her dry lips. The nurse held a straw to her mouth, cautioning her to take small sips. It was so cool and sweet as it passed down her raw throat, she wanted to gulp it, but the nurse pulled the straw away.

  “You can have more in a few minutes. The doctor will be in soon,” she said, stepping away from the bed.

  “How long?” She hoped Alex understood her disjointed question. Her throat still burned.

  “The accident was yesterday. You’ve only been out a little more than twenty-four hours.” He brushed his free hand tentatively across her cheek, his other still holding her hand.

  “How many . . . hurt?” Another inarticulate question.

  “About a hundred, but most were treated and released. Cuts, scrapes, things of that sort. Only a few were hospitalized.”

  “Any . . . dead?”

  “No. They’re saying it’s a miracle the injuries weren’t worse.”

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Edwards.”

  Sarah tried to turn her head in the direction of the voice, but the pain returned with a vengeance and the room tilted slightly.

  “I’m the neurologist, Dr. Smithwick. It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling today?” He stood on the side of the bed opposite Alex, Sarah’s chart in his hand.

  He appeared old enough to be her father, with a shock of white hair, and pale gray eyes. His face looked worn, but friendly.

  Awake? Just barely. She felt like she could sink into the darkness again at any time. “Fine. My head hurts. My throat burns. My body aches.”