Come a Little Bit Closer: The Sullivans (9 page)

Frustration ate at him as he let her go back to her office, climb the stairs, and shut the door behind her. It had been a really, really long time since Smith hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. Not just because he was a movie star. Not just because he was wealthy enough to buy anything he wanted.

But because of the man he’d always been.

Smith knew how to focus, how to channel every last bit of his energy into his work. For the first time ever, even though the timing couldn’t be worse, he was considering turning that focus on a woman.

Hell, who was he kidding? It was pure need that was driving him to it, not some logical decision he was making. Because the truth was, he w
anted Valentina so badly that the want, the need, was tearing at his insides. And it was a need only made worse by the sure knowledge that he could already have taken her,
could easily have stripped her down and lowered her to the small leather couch under the window of her office for pleasure.

Once upon a time, her beautiful body would have been enough for him. And when he was younger, he would have believed that t
he easiest way to deal with the need would be to use his charm and looks to persuade her to have a hot, but very casual, film fling.

Only, something told him that uncovering that sensual layer wouldn’t be nearly enough. Not just because it would only fuel his need to know more about the rest of her...but also because he knew that if he risked touching only her body, she’d write off her heart entirely.

What the hell was happening to him?

He pushed one hand through his hair as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with the other. He hit speed dial on the number at the top of his list. Just hearing his mother’s voice had him smiling again.

“Hi Mom.”

“Smith, honey, how are you?”

“The movie’s going well.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” She paused for a moment, and he knew she hadn’t been fooled by his reply about the movie and not himself. “And how is everything else?”

For as long as he could remember, Mary Sullivan had had a laser-sharp radar when something was bothering one of them. She never poked, never prodded, but was always there when they were finally ready to come for help and advice. Smith knew he’d called her because it was long past time for him to admit that he knew
exactly
what was happening to him.

“There’s a woman.”

“So I’ve heard,” his mother said softly. “Marcus and Nicola said Valentina was very pretty. Very sweet, too.”

Smith immediately thought back to the tears on Valentina’s cheeks during filming the previous day. She’d been so moved by the love story he’d written that the sweetness of her response had tugged at him, right in the center of his chest. It was why he’d given her the flower and the cinnamon bun—because they were both sweet, and both reminded him of her.

“She is sweet,” he confirmed to his mother. “And beautiful, and smart, and strong.” He blew out a hard breath. “And she won’t let me take her out on a date.”

Jesus, it was like being fifteen years old again and pouring his heart out over his mother’s chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen. Smith loved his brothers and sisters, but only with his mother had he ever admitted just how difficult his extreme fame had been for him at times, especially when it had reached a point where he could no longer go where he wanted, where he felt trapped under a magnifying glass. It had taken years to learn how to deal with it, and to find ways to make sure he lived his life according to his own terms, while still managing the demands of his fans and the media. Just like today, when he’d needed someone to talk things over with, Mary Sullivan had been the only person he could think of calling.

“Did she tell you why?”

“She doesn’t trust actors.” He had to admit, “And I don’t blame her. There’s a lot of scum in my profession.”

“You’ve worked together for long enough on your movie that she would know you’re not one of them,” his mother told him with perfect certainty. “But sometimes, it’s harder to admit to ourselves we want love in our lives than it is to keep living without it.”

Smith was suddenly hit with the realization of how close this situation between Valentina and himself was to the relationship between Jo and Graham in his film. In
Gravity
, both the hero and heroine were stubbornly convinced that love was the hard part, when the truth was that love should be the easiest thing of all.

He’d written the damned movie, and yet he’d needed his mother to point out the obvious to him: if he couldn’t fight gravity—and an attraction that knocked him off his feet—then it was time to fight
for
it instead.

“Have I told you lately how smart you are?” he asked her.

“So are you,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice now. “You’re one of the smartest men I know. Smart enough to know a good thing when you see it and to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t let it go.” She was as serious as he’d ever heard her as she said, “And if it turns out that she’s the one, no matter what, remember what you’re fighting for, even if it feels like you’re the only one fighting sometimes.”

For seven decades his mother had gained wisdom, two of those decades shared with a husband she’d loved with her whole heart, four of them as the solid foundation of eight children’s lives. Smith had learned everything that mattered from her, and especially after watching Valentina and Tatiana with their mother, he would never take Mary Sullivan for granted for a single second.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you, Mom?”

“Oh yes, honey,” she said in a voice that was slightly thicker now, “I do know. But it’s always nice to hear it one more time.”

Chapter Eight

Valentina woke with the same sinking feeling in her stomach that she’d gone to bed with. She’d been so flipped out over the thought of Smith and her sister posing for “romantic” pictures in a magazine—even though they would be completely in character, clothes and all—that she’d fled without remembering to thank him for the flower and breakfast. And that was on top of her completely unprofessional mini-meltdown over her mother’s visit.

She dropped her head into her hands as she sat on the side of her bed. For so long she’d been able to push these kinds of feelings away. Why was she having such trouble doing that now?

And why did she have a sinking feeling that the answer had Smith’s name written all over it?

Even worse, why was it starting to feel like he might also be the cure for her swirling, conflicting emotions?

With mechanical precision she showered, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, applied her makeup, and slipped on one of her suits. No matter what happened today, she’d be professional. And she would keep her emotions off the set and away from Smith Sullivan.

Once on set, she headed into her office to put down her bag and was planning to turn right around to finally say a polite thank you to Smith for the flower and breakfast, when she found something new on her desk.

Maybe she should have been prepared. After all, it was the third morning in a row that Smith had put something special on her desk for her to find when she got in.

But how could she have possibly prepared for this?

With trembling hands she put down her leather bag and reached for the wooden frame. The black and white picture wasn’t big, but it was beautiful.

She and Tatiana were laughing together on the set. One of her hands was on her sister’s shoulder, while Tatiana had one around Valentina’s waist. They’d always been so easy with their affection, had been curling up together under the covers to watch movies, and giggle, and comfort each other since her sister was a baby. Valentina had never thought twice about how natural it was to reach for her, to hold her, to laugh with her.

Their closeness wasn’t something she took for granted, but seeing it captured so beautifully made her see it anew for what it was.

Yet again, Smith had made sure she saw the gift first, his note second. She didn’t put down the frame as she picked up the sheet of paper with her free hand.

Valentina,

This picture was one of the candids Larry has been taking of the cast and crew. You and Tatiana are so easy. Sweet. Perfect.

Looking at how happy you are in this picture makes me smile.

Smith

Just as she’d done the previous morning when he’d given her breakfast, she re-read the note several times, until his words were tattooed on her memory.

No wonder he’d been able to write such a beautiful screenplay, if he could capture so much with so few words. Words that were right. So right that all the things he had said he believed love could be were in this picture. Neither she nor her sister was trying, and neither of them was afraid of love being ripped away.

The love between them just
was
. And the deep, intrinsic knowledge that nothing would, that nothing could ever pull them apart, made it even more precious.

A few moments later, it wasn’t the photo that she lifted to press to her lips as she took a shaky breath and worked to clear her gaze. She didn’t know how it was possible, but the short, beautiful note even smelled like Smith: clean, sexy man.

She knew how powerful actors usually behaved. She’d seen enough of them give her mother diamond bracelets and expensive trips—even a car once. One call to an assistant and each of those gifts were dispatched, much to her mother’s joy.

And yet, the flower, breakfast, and now a black-and-white photo that she’d treasure forever, meant so much more than glittering jewelry or any other expensive toy ever could.

Smith was balancing a dozen responsibilities on this film, between acting, producing and directing. She’d heard him talking with more than one member of his family on the phone during quick breaks, especially his pregnant sister Sophie, whom he checked in on every single day.

And yet, somehow in the middle of more pressure than any person should be able to withstand, he was doing this for her, too. She put in long hours and got in earlier than most of the crew, but his hours made hers look borderline lazy.

He didn’t have the time to waste on her. Because that’s what it had to be in the end, didn’t it?

A waste.

Yes, if she gave in to his wooing, they would likely end up having hot sex. Her entire body tingled at the thought of just how hot sex with Smith would likely be.

But even while she schooled herself to get over the crazy fantasy of one night with him, a voice in her head forced her to listen as it whispered that being with Smith wouldn’t just be hot...it would also be easy. Sweet.

And perfect.

* * *

Valentina knocked on Smith’s trailer door, though it was already open. She valued her privacy enough to value everyone else’s, too. Especially that of a man who rarely got to have any.

“Come in.”

With his deep, inherently sensual voice rasping up her spine, her first thought was the same one she always had when she saw him.

Gorgeous.

Followed immediately by
sexy.

And then
want.

But close on their heels was another.

Tired.

For the past few weeks, Smith’s energy hadn’t flagged, hadn’t waned, nor had she ever once caught him complaining. But for the very first time, he looked worn down.

Her protective urges jumped to the fore. “Is everything okay?”

He got up from his desk to pour her a cup of coffee. “Much better now that you’re here.”

God, it was so hard to keep fighting her feelings for him. Because she liked him. Wanted him, too, with a desperation that was breaking her down, slowly but surely, every second he was near.

And when he wasn’t.

“I know how busy you are,” she began, but she was sick and tired of stalling around him. She’d always prided herself on being direct. Forthright. And appreciative when someone was kind. It was precisely what she’d taught Tatiana. And, she knew, what her mother had taught her before that.

Valentina moved closer to him this time, rather than farther away. “I forgot to say thank you yesterday for the flower. For breakfast. And, especially, for the photo. You didn’t have to.” She smiled at him as she said, “But I can’t deny that I’m glad you did.”

When the mirror of his smile came, it took away some of the exhaustion stamped into his nearly perfect features. “It was my pleasure, Valentina.”

He handed her the drink and their fingertips brushed as she took the mug from him.

Only, it wasn’t coffee she wanted as the word
pleasure
zinged around inside her head and body like a pinball.

“How do you do it?” she asked him before she could stop herself. “How do you keep all the balls in the air and give so much of yourself while still keeping it all together?”

“Keeping it all together?” He gave a slightly harsh laugh. “Jesus, Valentina, can’t you see that it’s killing me?”

“Directing, producing, and acting all at the same time is a tough order,” she agreed.

His eyes grew darker as he said, “I can handle all of that.”

She could feel the quicksand pulling her in, deeper with every word tossed out between them, with every moment she spent with Smith in his office. That quicksand had to be the reason she couldn’t leave. The reason she couldn’t even consider making herself go.

Her lips felt dry, too dry, and she had to wet them before asking, “Then what’s killing you?”

A low groan left his lips as his gaze dropped to her mouth for a split second, then back up to her eyes.

“Not doing this.”

His mouth was on hers before her heart could pound out its next beat and even though she’d come here to thank him for his thoughtful gift—
not to kiss him!
—somehow she was in his arms and they were kissing like he’d been away to war and had finally come home to her.