Twice the Temptation

by Francis Ray

  He knew how important obtaining the part in the play was to her. To ensure that he did, she had compared it to his dream, that of becoming an astronaut and traveling to the farthest reaches of space. She hated to see the disappointment in the face she loved more than anything. “I didn’t ask him, sweetheart.”

  “But you have to ask him, Mommy. If you don’t ask him, you won’t be able to—”

  “Jeremy, let this gentleman pass,” Bridgett said tightly, stepping aside and drawing Jeremy with her. This time he went, his gaze locked on Sebastian as he passed.

  “He’s leaving, Mommy. Mommy, he can’t leave.”

  “It’s all right, Jeremy,” Hope soothed. Feeling Sebastian’s hard gaze on her back, she hunkered down in front of her child again. She could easily detest him for upsetting Jeremy, but the blame wasn’t his. It was hers. Somehow she had to make her son understand that sometimes dreams don’t always come true, no matter how much you wanted them to.

  TWO

  Closing the salon’s door, Sebastian still felt the disapproving glare of the elderly woman and even more so the pleaful one of the little boy. The small, stark face was a drastic contrast to the giggling expression he wore earlier. Jeremy. Hope had called him Jeremy.

  Hands deep in the front pockets of his navy blue slacks, Sebastian headed for his car two blocks away. There had been a parking space directly in front of the salon, but the driver of a little red sports car had zipped around him and into the space. The gloating young man, not the least disturbed by Sebastian’s honking horn or his glare, had gleefully waved. Either he hadn’t been taught to be courteous or had forgotten the lesson.

  Sebastian’s thoughts returned to Jeremy. The child seemed genuinely upset that Sebastian was leaving. His steps paused. Would Hope be reprimanded for not keeping a customer happy? Although he didn’t think of himself as such, other people thought of him as important. His ex-wife certainly had. But it was only after he had married Celeste that he’d finally figured it out. They’d spent two chaotic years together before she had found someone richer and more gullible. Frowning, he paused on the tree-lined street as he tried to recall exactly what Jeremy had said.

  Something about “Mommy, you won’t be able to—” then the other woman had cut Jeremy off to let Sebastian pass. Sebastian had a sneaky suspicion that the interruption wasn’t coincidental.

  Tianna had said Hope was one of their top stylists, and he had no reason to doubt the receptionist, but something was going on. He glanced back toward the salon. Walking down the street in the opposite direction was the elderly woman and Jeremy. The child saw him and immediately stopped, bringing the woman to an abrupt halt.

  From the hundred feet or so separating him, he couldn’t see Jeremy’s face clearly, but Sebastian had no trouble hearing the excitement ringing in the boy’s voice over the traffic and other city noises. Even if he hadn’t, the child was jumping up and down, his left hand pumping in the air. A lefty.

  Sebastian was left-handed. If his ex-wife hadn’t been so concerned with keeping her model-thin figure, partying with the rich and famous, and jetting all over the world, she might have become pregnant as Sebastian had wanted and he’d have his own child Jeremy’s age. And he would’ve suffered the fires of hell not to disappoint him.

  One step was followed by another, then another, back to Della’s until he could hear Jeremy’s thrilled cries of, “I knew it. I knew it.” The woman trying to quiet him finally gave up. Sebastian felt himself smiling at the ecstatic boy, and hooked the thumb of his left hand upward. Grinning from ear to ear, Jeremy returned the gesture.

  The day from hell had ten hours to go, but at least this time he knew what he was walking into. Wearing a baseball cap for the next couple of weeks in no way compared to disappointing a child. He opened the door and for the second time that day stepped into Della’s.

  Surprise hardly came close to describing the way Hope felt on seeing Sebastian reenter the salon. Pausing briefly at the receptionist’s counter, he nodded, handed Tianna his sports coat, then started toward Hope, his long strides sure and purposeful. Despite her best efforts, Hope felt a distinct flutter in the pit of her stomach. Her hand closed tightly around the comb in her hand. No matter what an arrogant so and so she thought he was, he was an impressive so and so.

  He topped six feet easily, but his physique was trim and athletic. Even without the jacket, he was a commanding figure in his blue pinstripe shirt and navy slacks. Heads, male and female, paused to watch as he passed. Each movement was rich with an irrefutable mixture of confidence, authority, and sex appeal that announced him as a man to be reckoned with even before he opened his mouth. He stopped two feet from Hope.

  “Ms. Lassiter, Tianna tells me my appointment time isn’t up for another thirty minutes,” Sebastian said, his gaze direct and piercing. “If you’re still agreeable, I’d like for you to service me.”

  Hope’s eyes widened, then narrowed as a ball of heat rolled through her. She had used and heard the word service thousands of times, but never before had an erotic image of her entwined in a man’s arms popped into her head. Her hand flexed on the comb. Her breathing escalated as she fought to get Sebastian out of her mind and his slow hands off her body. What was the matter with her? As a rule, she could take or leave men. Usually she left them.

  But Sebastian was a different ball game. Nervously, she moistened her dry lips. Sebastian’s onyx eyes followed the movement of her tongue with rapt attention. The heat shot higher.

  “Sebastian, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  With difficulty Sebastian tore his gaze away from Hope’s lush red mouth and greeted Della, the owner of the salon. Beautiful and stylishly dressed in a figure-flattering suit the soft color of wisteria, she extended her hand. Gladly he reached for it. “Hello, Della.”

  She smiled. “I’m happy to see you were able to keep your appointment.”

  Sebastian noted the twinkle in her eyes and smiled. The first time he came to the salon, Gregory wouldn’t have it any other way except to inform Della about Sebastian’s haircut horror stories. After she left, Gregory had told him about the woman’s business savvy and her close monitoring of the clientele. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had seen him leave, then return.

  Good. At least Della didn’t think Hope was the cause, but it wouldn’t hurt to reinforce that notion. “I’ve almost come to the conclusion that it’s the shape of my head and not the barber’s fault.”

  Della shook her head, her manicured nails lightly touching the delicate sterling silver chain around her neck. “Nonsense. You have a beautifully shaped head, and from all the acclaim your plays have garnered over the years, that head possesses considerable brainpower. I look forward to seeing your next play.”

  “Thank you.” No matter how much trepidation or problems lay ahead with A Matter of Trust, including the most important one of casting the female lead, Sebastian had discovered early never to let his audience know. Learning the problematic side of the production of a play often took away from patrons’ enjoyment. “Open auditions are set for later this afternoon.”

  “Then I better let you get finished. I have the utmost confidence that Hope will meet your every need.” With a reassuring nod to Hope, Della strolled away.

  “If you’ll take a seat, Mr. Stone, we can get started,” Hope instructed.

  Sebastian took his seat. His back was to the mirror, but his gaze quickly swept the line of mirrors at every station across from him until he located Hope’s reflection in one and watched her step behind him. Efficiently, she placed the black cape around his shoulders and secured it at the nape of his neck. She picked up a pair of thin pointed scissors with one hand and placed the other hand on his head.

  Because he knew what was coming next, her touch should have made him tense. Instead he had to stop himself from leaning closer and rubbing against her soft hand like a preening cat. Her fingertips were entirely too gentle, entirely too smooth, and entirely too disturbing. He tw
isted in his seat.

  The next thing he knew, her splayed fingers were beneath the cape on his shoulders, massaging. He jumped and tried to turn around in the chair to face her. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get you to loosen up. This also helps blood circulation,” she told him, continuing the ministration, the pressure of her hands keeping him facing away from her.

  It was a good thing he had on the cape or she could tell he didn’t need the blood circulating any better in one part of his body. Annoyed with himself for his lapse and her for being the cause, he leaned away from her unsettling hands. “If you don’t mind, just stick with the hair.”

  “Of course, Mr. Stone,” she said crisply.

  His cell phone rang. Sebastian grabbed for the instrument like a drowning man for a life raft. His self-imposed celibacy must be finally catching up with him. Gingerly he settled back and said, “Sebastian.”

  “Hi, Sebastian. It’s Roscoe Carroll.”

  Sebastian’s life preserver turned out to be an anchor in disguise. Roscoe, wealthy and with a fondness for Havana cigars and imported beer, was the producer and major backer for A Matter of Trust. In their past associations Roscoe had adopted a hands-off policy, but this time he wanted in on every decision. Especially choosing the female lead. Maybe it had something to do with his recent divorce from wife number three. Fifty-three years old, bald, five feet six, tipping the scales at two-thirty, Roscoe loved to be in love. “What can I do for you, Roscoe?”

  “It’s my pleasure to do something for you,” Roscoe said, the smile in his West Coast accent easily discernible. “This afternoon when you do the auditions, you don’t have to worry about the female lead.”

  Sebastian’s grip on the phone tightened. His back came away from the chair. “I thought we agreed to make the final decision together.”

  Good-naturedly, Roscoe chuckled. “We will. We couldn’t have better than Margot Madison.”

  “What?” Sebastian leaned farther forward. Gentle hands settled on his shoulders and began massaging. Telling Hope to stop ran through his head only for a second, then he felt his tense muscles loosen. He leaned back in his chair. Hope returned to his head and he almost called her soothing hands back at Roscoe’s next words.

  “I want Margot and we’re lucky to have her. There is no way you’re gonna find better at the audition,” Roscoe said happily. “She can have her pick of roles. She’s a star.”

  Sebastian knew exactly what Margot was: conniving, manipulative, egotistical … and those were her good points. “Have you discussed this with her?”

  “That’s the fantastic part. She approached me. She’ll make this play a hit before it opens.”

  She’d also make Sebastian’s and everyone else’s life hell every time things didn’t go her way. He glanced around the salon. A few people were already watching him. This wasn’t the time or the place to go into his objections. “We’ve already scheduled auditions for this afternoon. Why don’t you come down to the theater and we’ll talk before we make any definite decisions?” Sebastian suggested, knowing there was no way he was working with Margot again. It could be financially devastating, especially if Roscoe fought him, but if pushed he’d break his contract and worry about the damage to his bank account later.

  “I’ll come, but my mind is made up.” The line went dead.

  Punching the disconnect button, Sebastian returned his phone to his shirt pocket almost at the same time Hope pulled the cape from his shoulders, then briskly brushed around his collar. As soon as she finished, he stood up, pulled out his billfold, and handed her two twenties.

  Instead of taking the money, she held out a hand mirror to him. “Don’t you want to see?”

  “I don’t have time.” A lopsided head at the moment would really have sent him over the edge. He gestured with the money.

  Curling one delicate hand around the glass and the other on the handle, Hope brought the mirror to her chest. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your call sounded as if it was about your play.”

  “It was. The female lead.” His offer of the money was again refused.

  Hope moistened her dry lips. “You haven’t cast the part yet, have you?”

  Sebastian was watching her pink tongue disappear back into her mouth and almost missed her question. “What? No. No, we haven’t.”

  She smiled and his breath caught. “Great, because I happen to know the perfect woman.”

  “Who?” he asked automatically, his attention on her mouth again.

  “You’re looking at her.”

  “What?” Sebastian quickly surfaced back to reality.

  “I said you’re looking at her,” Hope said, trying not to be discouraged by the absolute look of disbelief on Sebastian’s face. “I was with the Edgar Evans Touring Company for several years before Jeremy was born. I’ve played comedy and drama. Even a couple of musicals, although my voice is not very strong.”

  Sebastian’s gaze shot up to her black hair tipped in purple, then laid the money on her service area. Hope might tempt him with her body, but he wasn’t crazy enough to cast her for the lead in his play. The day from hell might be trying to drive him crazy, but he wasn’t there yet. “You’re not right for the part,” he said emphatically.

  His dismissive words stung Hope’s pride. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lynn, the stylist next to her, taking in every word. Lynn was a nice woman, but she was also an incurable gossip. Before the afternoon was over, the entire shop would know of Sebastian’s curt rejection.

  Trying to negate further embarrassment, Hope lowered her voice. “But you haven’t seen me act. I’ve played the lead part of Eleanor before and I—”

  “Surely you can’t be serious that you want to try out for the lead,” he scoffed, causing several people around them to turn and openly stare.

  Hope had been initially interested in playing Eleanor, but she would have settled for a minor role to get back into the theater after being out for so long. Now, seeing the incredulous expression on Sebastian’s face, a face that had had her thinking erotic thoughts earlier, set her on a slow boil.

  She might have had trepidations about asking for the role, but she had none when it came to her acting. Douglas, the loving husband she had lost unexpectedly almost five years ago to a brain aneurysm, had always maintained that if you didn’t believe in yourself, you couldn’t expect anyone else to.

  Hope forgot all about Della’s ironclad policy of deference to the clients no matter what. She forgot about the gossipy Lynn. “And why not?” she practically hissed, planting both hands on her hips.

  Usually Sebastian tried to let down easy the unending number of would-be actors and actresses who approached him wanting a role, but his patience was in short supply at the moment. For some odd reason he felt betrayed that Hope and Jeremy wanted something from him like so many others.

  It didn’t help that Hope was also the eleventh person that day wanting him to help them get a part in his new play. Numbers nine and ten had done their part in continuing Sebastian’s day from hell. Nine had been so busy talking, she had overflowed his water glass at lunch. He had thanked God it hadn’t been coffee. Number ten had waylaid him on the elevator for fifteen excruciating floors.

  And now Hope, a woman who, despite the ugly hair spiking on her head, effortlessly made his body want hers, was asking for the most difficult role he had directed in years. Well, if she wanted to know why she wasn’t right for the part, he’d certainly tell her.

  “Eleanor Cartwright is sophisticated, elegant, cultured one moment, then a scheming, conniving bitch the next. She can smile and cut your heart out, then cry over a sunset. She’s a complex woman, and few actresses can master all the range of emotions she must carry. Certainly not a woman in your profession.”

  Hope’s delicate nostrils flared with fury. “Are you trying to imply that because I’m a hairstylist, you don’t think I have any brains or sophistication?”

  “Acting is more than wanting t
o act,” Sebastian said, fascinated in spite of himself by how anger heightened the color in her cheeks and made her beauty all the more alluring.

  Snatching the money from the counter, Hope stuffed it in his shirt pocket behind the cell phone. “I can see why all the barbers messed up your hair. You head is full of hot air.”

  Her anger was hot, volatile. Almost tangible. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but it was better him than some slimy producer or director who would use her dream to misuse her body. Sebastian didn’t like to think of Jeremy’s expression when Hope told him she hadn’t gotten the part. Obviously it was important to both of them.

  His gaze never leaving Hope’s, Sebastian slowly took the money from his pocket and placed it on the table again. It was the only thing he could think of to do to ease his own regrets, and maybe just not have Hope or Jeremy think too badly of him. Why it mattered, he wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry.”

  Refusing to let the tears burning her eyes fall, Hope watched Sebastian and her dream walk away.

  THREE

  Sebastian couldn’t get Hope’s face out of his mind. She’d looked so defiant, yet so crushed when he had told her she wasn’t right for the lead. He’d made the right decision, he just wished he could have made it easier for her. Her profession had nothing to do with it. Although most stage actors and actresses preferred working in the media off-season or while waiting to get their big break, some weren’t able to find employment in that area. Subsequently, they came from all types of jobs. However, he honestly couldn’t think of one who had been a hairstylist.

  Now, sitting five rows back in the theater, watching woman after woman try out for the lead, he was again made aware of the depth and talent needed to bring Eleanor to life. He’d hoped having an actor bound and gagged in a chair might help the women bring more emotion to the crucial confrontation scene. So far, none of the women auditioning had a clue.