by Eve Langlais
‘You were young,’ he pointed out gently.
‘Old enough to know better. Anyway, we ended up in bed that first night and any night he felt like it.’
‘For how long?’
‘A year, nearly. I was working round to suggesting that we move in together.’
‘What happened?’
‘The usual. I got pregnant. I was scared, but I thought we would be fine if we handled it together.’ He heard the layers in her voice. Bravery concealing the old scars of fear and hurt. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her she was incredible. Instead, he held onto his coffee cup, counted his breaths, and gave her the space to tell the whole sad story.
‘He didn’t want to?’
Hattie’s eyes were squeezed together in an attempt to keep tears in. A tiny part of his brain registered the image and began to wonder how he might recreate it on the shoot. But the rest of him was caught in the need to listen to her. Not to let her down like this bastard evidently had.
‘No, he didn’t. His wife wouldn’t have liked it.’
‘Oh, Hattie.’ He couldn’t keep from reaching out to her then. He put his hand on her knee and turned his body closer into hers.
‘Everyone else at work knew. They all assumed I did, too. That’s why they never said anything.’
‘What did you do?’
‘He gave me some money and told me to deal with it. So I did.’
She was staring at him fiercely, daring him to pity her. Or judge her. He wouldn’t do either. He could only admire her courage, then and now.
‘And you’re telling me he didn’t break your heart? You’re a strong woman, Hattie Bell.’
‘He didn’t and I am. Thank you for noticing.’
He nodded. ‘How long ago was it?’
She frowned, working it out. ‘It’ll be five years in October.’
‘You haven’t been single for five years.’
She smiled. ‘No. Do you want a list?’
He laughed. Nothing kept Hattie down for long, it seemed. ‘No. Unless any of the others were heartbreakers?’
‘Not even close.’
‘I’m glad.’ He was. He didn’t like to think of Hattie miserable and alone. She should be laughing her way through life with her bright smile and even brighter hair. ‘When did you start dyeing your hair?’
‘When I was fifteen I dyed it purple. Mostly because it annoyed my mother so much. They hated it at school but, short of shaving it off, they couldn’t do much about it. It’s been various colours over the years, but scarlet’s one of my favourites.’
‘Does it still annoy your mother?’
Hattie grinned. ‘Probably, though she’s stopped going on about it so much, unless she’s telling me all the reasons why I haven’t found anyone to marry me. It usually gets a mention then.’
‘Why haven’t you found anyone to marry you?’ Surely there were guys queueing up for women like Hattie?
‘For the one reason my mother just can’t understand. I’m not looking.’
Tom nodded. ‘He broke your heart. Thought so.’
Hattie glared at him. ‘That is such a typical response.’
‘What?’
‘You just assume that the only reason a woman doesn’t want a husband is because she’s pining after some other guy. For your information, I’m happy with my life the way it is. I have a job, a place to live, and money in the bank. I get to decide when I go out and with whom. I have no problem finding men to spend time with me, if that’s what I want, and no problem telling them to get lost when I’ve had enough.’
His coffee had gone cold. He moved some magazines to make a space for his mug on the table. Time to try something different. If nothing else, it ought to take her mind off the heart-breaking bastard. ‘That sounds pretty selfish to me.’
She was on her feet in an instant, standing in front of him, hands on hips and eyes flashing with rage. If only he’d had a camera to capture the moment. ‘You hypocrite!’
‘What?’ He’d wanted to see what she looked like when she was angry, but he hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him.
‘Well, you’re not married, are you?’
‘No, but…’
‘Are you pining over a woman you can’t have?’
Tom shook his head silently. He was not pining over Lianne. The situation was completely different. And Hattie did not need to know about it.
‘So just what, exactly, is more selfish about my life than yours?’
He opened his mouth, but there was no answer. At least, none that he could give her. He couldn’t begin to explain that his singleness was for protection. That he wasn’t a fit person to be in a relationship. That she would be no safer with him than the monster who’d made her pregnant and dumped her.
As she watched him attempt to come up with a response, Hattie’s stance relaxed and her eyes began to twinkle. ‘Go on,’ she told him. ‘Admit it. I’m right.’
Reluctantly, a smile tugged at the corner of Tom’s lips. ‘Fine. You’re right. I’m every bit as selfish as you are.’
‘I never let anyone else touch the TV remote,’ she challenged.
‘I take up all the space in the bed,’ Tom countered.
‘I don’t wash up unless I run out of plates.’
‘I noticed. I work until four o’clock in the morning if I feel like it.’
‘I pick all the prawns out of the takeaway curry.’
‘I do that too,’ he grinned.
‘We’d better make sure we never agree to share an Indian, then.’
‘Or just order twice as much.’
‘Good idea.’ She sank down into the sofa again, looking at him curiously. ‘Did you mean to make me fly off the handle like that?’
‘Why would I do that?’
She shrugged. ‘To see what I look like when I’m angry.’
Point to her. He’d have to be more subtle next time. ‘Sexy,’ he said. ‘You look very, very sexy when you’re angry.’
‘You do know that women hate it when you say that?’
‘Do they?’ he answered mildly.
He watched in fascination as Hattie’s expression simmered again, then settled into a knowing look.
‘If you want to get me into bed, you don’t have to go to all this effort. You could just ask.’ She paused. ‘Or you could just kiss me again.’
‘I told you before, I don’t get involved with my models.’
‘Right. Silly me. It’s just that you were looking at me like you couldn’t wait to rip my clothes off and shag me senseless.’
His jaw dropped. She wasn’t supposed to have noticed that. He was supposed to be the master at hiding his emotions. But, with Hattie, they found their way to the surface. He turned away and picked up his jacket, taking a moment to recover his composure. When he looked back, Hattie was still reclining on the sofa.
‘I’m going now,’ he said. ‘And next time I see you, Hattie, I might well ask you to take some of your clothes off. But there will be no shagging. Ever.’ No matter how much he wanted it.
Chapter Three
‘Hold it there. Just a bit more. Eyes on me. Focus, Hattie.’
She fixed her gaze on Tom and tried to concentrate. However, it was easier said than done, what with the carpenter hammering nails into a board just inches from her head.
Hattie hadn’t known quite what to expect of the shoot, but it certainly wasn’t this. Tom had whisked her off to a crumbling stately home on the Northumbrian coast, where it rained every single day and the windows didn’t shut properly. Every room except the kitchen had an underlying scent of musty damp. Hattie had been cold for the past forty-eight hours, and not just because of the ridiculous outfits she’d been given to wear.
Today, Tom had set up one of the most dilapidated rooms with all kinds of DIY tools and traps for her to fall into. Earlier, she’d been attached to the wall while the electrician worked in the space around her. Hattie had barely dared breathe for fear of electrocuti
on. It wasn’t until after they’d finished the shoot that she’d realised none of the cables were live. Right now, she was lying on a trestle table while a wooden box was built around her. She had a horrid feeling it was a coffin. And the hammer, which flashed past at the edge of her vision, definitely sounded real as it thudded into the nail. She flinched.
‘That’s it. Give me more. Eyes ahead.’
The hammer caught her hair as it banged down. Hattie screeched.
Tom put down the camera and sighed. ‘Take a break.’
She let out a long sigh of relief.
‘You okay?’ He came over and held out a hand to help her up.
She sat up cautiously and checked that all her limbs were still attached. ‘I think so.’
He nodded. ‘Good. Have a coffee. We’ll start again in ten minutes.’
Tom went to talk to the lighting guy. Hattie slid off the table, grabbed a cardigan to put over the ridiculously flimsy nightdress she’d been given to wear, and went in search of something more sustaining than a coffee.
In the kitchen, she blagged a huge mug of strong tea and a bacon sandwich off the chef. She took a grateful sip of the hot drink and cradled the mug in her hands, grateful for the warmth. Presumably, Tom had chosen this location because it was falling down. Personally, Hattie preferred accommodation with reliable hot water and windows that actually kept the cold air outside. She’d complained about the chiffon nightie, but Tom had merely shrugged and said that he wanted to see her goosebumps.
Huh. It was all right for him, wearing three fleeces and a scarf. She’d like to see him wandering half naked around Croxfield Hall’s draughty corridors. Well, okay, she’d just like to see him half naked. Or fully naked. She wasn’t fussy. Unlike Tom, who was proving irritatingly good at resisting her.
He still fancied her, despite the orange hair and lack of make-up he’d insisted on for the shoot. She was sure she wasn’t reading the signals that badly wrong. She’d seen the way his cool grey eyes heated when he was gazing at her. She’d noticed him trying not to notice her when the cameras were off. But they were already two days into her week-long contract and so far he’d all but avoided her. Even when he was shooting, his instructions were brief and impersonal. She’d done her best to flirt with him, but it was hard work when he was so determinedly not giving her anything back.
She wasn’t normally the sort of woman who chased men. If they weren’t interested, she just moved onto the next man. In Hattie’s experience, there was always another guy who liked what she was offering. But with Tom it was different. He did like her, she was certain of it. There was some other reason he was holding back and she wanted to know what that was. He’d made an excuse about not sleeping with his models, but she wasn’t convinced that was the whole story, either. Well, she still had four days to find out.
‘We’re waiting.’
Hattie turned to grin at the object of her desire. ‘I’ll be there in a second. Want half?’ She lavishly squeezed tomato ketchup on the salty bacon and soft white bread that the chef had put out, then cut the sandwich in half and held out the plate towards Tom.
‘Thanks.’ He took the plate and picked up his half neatly.
Hattie took a large bite. Tom shook his head and waved in the direction of her bosom. She looked down.
‘Oops.’
A dollop of bright red ketchup had landed on the white nightgown.
‘It’s fine. You can take it off.’
‘Here?’ She winked. ‘Or shall we go upstairs?’
‘We’ll get back to work. But I think we’ll try some nude shots next.’
‘You know, on some film sets, when they’re doing nude scenes, everyone gets naked. Including the director.’
Tom looked at her steadily. ‘They do that when the actors are nervous.’
Damn. ‘I can be nervous.’ She shuddered dramatically and clutched at his arm.
He smiled briefly but shook her off. ‘Not because you’re naked.’
‘Well, no.’
‘So stop trying to get me out of my clothes.’ He took a step back. She’d rattled him. Just a little bit, but it was progress.
She finished her tea and followed him out of the kitchen. ‘Spoilsport.’
###
Tom uploaded the day’s shoot onto his laptop and scrolled through the pictures. He earmarked a handful of potential shots, but none of them had the spark he was looking for. The fragile vulnerability he’d detected at Hattie’s audition was missing, despite the fear in her eyes and the precarious positions he’d put her in. The nude shots were no better. She didn’t wear clothes as armour or disguise, the way so many women did. She dressed for adornment, but she was equally comfortable in her unadorned state and the photos showed that.
No, the problem wasn’t Hattie, it was him. He was holding back from the shoot. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. He needed to get personal. Take the risk and go in deep. Because if he didn’t, he’d end up with just another set of pretty but shallow pictures. But if he did... he might end up with Hattie.
His pulse leapt at the thought, even as his heart clattered shut. No way. He still remembered vividly how it had been with Lianne. He couldn’t bear to go through that again, not even for Hattie. There had to be another way to connect with her. He just had to find it.
‘Any good?’
He couldn’t help the smile that sprang to his lips at the sound of her voice. She’d been brilliant over the last couple of days. No whining, no complaining. Despite everything he’d put her through, she was still cheerful.
‘Hopeless.’
‘Really? I thought it went rather well today.’
Tom swivelled on his office chair to see Hattie leaning against the doorpost. ‘Did you?’
‘Well, no one was seriously injured, and I was gorgeous. What more could you ask for?’ She winked at him.
He laughed. She was irrepressible. ‘Nothing.’
‘Have you eaten?’
He checked his watch. ‘No. I must have lost track of the time.’
‘There are leftovers. I’ll bring you a plate, if you like.’
‘I can raid the fridge myself later.’
‘Can I see the pictures? Are they really hopeless?’
He hesitated. Would it help Hattie understand what he was after? She might just look at the pretty images and think everything was fine.
‘Better not.’
‘They’re that bad?’ Her voice was light, but there was a note of genuine uncertainty underneath.
‘I’m sure they’ll be better tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’
He hated hearing the dejection in her voice. It wasn’t fair to let her believe it was all her fault. But maybe that would give him what he was looking for. He hardened his heart and gave her a fake smile. ‘You’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s just lack of experience.’
She chewed her lip. ‘Should I just go back to London? You could find another model, I expect.’
Instinctively, Tom reached out to put his hand on her arm. ‘Stay.’ He might find another model, but he wouldn’t find another Hattie.
She nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘I told you before. I want you.’
‘Am I still your muse?’
‘Apparently.’
‘Good. So what are we doing tomorrow?’
‘How do you feel about horses?’
She shuddered dramatically. Just what he wanted.
‘Excellent. What else scares you, Hattie?’
‘Apart from power tools being used within inches of my brain? My hair when I’ve just got out of bed is utterly terrifying.’
He tugged a lock of said hair. ‘Be serious for a moment.’
‘Um, I’m not brilliant with spiders. Or high places. Ghosts. Horror films. I’m just your all-round basic wuss, in fact.’
‘You’re not a wuss.’ He couldn’t help reassuring her, even though he was supposed to be bringing out her vulnerabilities.
‘Thanks. You know what really terrifies me?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Well...’ She stepped closer and he drew in a lungful of some sweet scent. She must have showered after the shoot. ‘I’m absolutely, utterly petrified…’ She ran her finger down his cheek. ‘…that I’m losing my touch.’ And then she bent over, so that her cleavage filled his vision and her lips came to rest on the corner of his mouth. ‘What do you think? Have I still got it?’
Thinking was well beyond his capabilities in that moment. Tom tilted his head, his lips automatically seeking hers. Warm, soft and oh so good against his mouth. Hattie kissed like a goddess demanding worship, and he was her obedient slave. She dragged every last second out of that kiss, every touch and taste and lingering pleasure.
‘That’s enough,’ he said, though his hands in her glorious hair didn’t seem to hear him, and his mouth was already returning for another taste of her deep, velvet lips.
‘Mmm,’ she murmured into the kiss, which didn’t help his self-control at all.
‘Hattie,’ he tried again. ‘We have to stop.’
‘Why?’ She’d moved away, enough that he could get his breath back and divert some of his blood back up to his brain.
‘I warned you about this in London. I don’t get involved with my models.’
‘We don’t have to get involved. We could just have sex.’ She sounded as though she was explaining a simple concept to a small child. Apparently, that should have been obvious to him.
Not in Tom’s experience. He gave a curt laugh. ‘It doesn’t work like that.’
She tilted her head and smiled wickedly. ‘I thought that’s exactly how men like it to work.’
‘Don’t believe everything you read in the magazines.’ He’d never been the one-night-stand kind of guy and he couldn’t see it working that way with Hattie. If he had her once, he was going to want more and more and more. He was already half-addicted to the way she kissed him.
‘There’s never anything about you in the magazines. Just the photos.’ Had she been researching him? It was absurd to be pleased by that, but he was.
‘That’s the way I like it.’