Love Beat (6 page)

“Anyway, what kind of problem?” With an effort, I haul us back to smoother waters.

Ben rolls his eyes and starts again. “For goodness’ sake, Tunis, get a grip. I was saying Jake thinks his shots of you meeting Fitzlean yesterday aren’t strong enough. He wants to retake them.”

I frown. A shot of me looking scared is part of Ben’s storyboard. He wants a repeat shot of my now famous reaction on that fateful night a year ago to give our report a dramatic opener, give his film a touch of symmetry.

No way. I brace myself for a fight.

Jake leans forward. “There’s this great place I’ve found. It’ll make a terrific backdrop.”

Anything’s better than meeting the Panther face to face. The very thought that he’s here somewhere is making me twitch. Keen to make amends for my bombshell I agree. “Sure, anything. It sounds great.”

Just then Sonja appears at Jake’s elbow. “Mr. Simmons? Or can I call you Jake?”

The ice-maiden gatekeeper of the mighty Fitzlean Empire is actually smiling. This is a first. And she looks enchanting. “I’ve got a message for you from Mr. Fitzlean.”

Jake glowers up at her. “And I’ve got one for him. Tell him to keep his hands off our presenter.”

The PA blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Jake, for goodness’ sake.” Seriously alarmed, I smile kindly at Sonja. “Don’t mind him. He improves with lunch. Have you worked for Mr. Fitzlean long?”

Sonja tears her eyes off Jake for a second, bewildered. “I… About a year.”

I give her a friendly grin. “Never a dull minute?”

She smiles shyly and the ice thaws a fraction. She turns again to Jake, braver now. “We’re arranging some classes to amuse the guests, Mr. Simmons. Mr. Fitzlean wondered if you’d give some master classes on photography. He’s a great admirer of your work.”

Jake stares sullenly at his plate. “No.”

Sonja’s cheeks turn the palest shell pink. For once she looks completely lost and remarkably pretty. I melt.

Under the table I kick his foot. “For crying out loud, Jake, you’ve seen what he’s like. She’ll probably lose her job. Just say yes.”

Jake glances up impatiently. “Sorry, Sonja. Yes, then. And it’s Jake. Please.” He eyes her morosely while she beams back at him.

As she turns away, she gives me a grateful nod. “And you’re due at the salon in five minutes, Miss Vale. Ask for anything. It’s all on the house.”

Jake glances at me and sighs heavily. “We’ll do the shots when you’re through. Text me, would you? We’ll meet on the terrace.”

Across the table Mel and Ben are deep in conversation, already drawing up their plan of attack on the A-listers and their agents, Ben on the golf course and Mel in the spa. I leave them to it and head for the salon.

* * * *

“Wow.” Jake’s pacing the terrace when I finally emerge, sleek and relaxed. Nera’s right about the styling. It’s surprisingly good.

My hair’s lightly reshaped and a tender, loving manicure has settled my nerves. What helped even more was the friendly female chatter all around me.

Now I feel good. And hey, even Jake’s noticed. From him, this is praise indeed. I smile a thank you and we set off at a brisk walk toward the woods.

Walking quickly soon undoes all the salon’s patient work. Soon my hair’s a mess from twigs and branches brushing past me and I’m growing uneasy. The woods are creepy. There are sinister rustles in the undergrowth, and I keep seeing black shapes among the trees.

At one point I jerk to a halt and Jake swears as his camera bag bumps into me from behind.

“What are you doing? Keep walking, Tunis. This stuff’s heavy.”

“But… I thought I saw somebody.”

He gasps theatrically and lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “Maybe it’s…
the Panther
.
Grr
.”

He lunges at me, teeth bared, hands clawing the air around my face. “
He’s coming to get you…
”

“Stop it. That’s not funny.” I try to smile but I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

He snorts. “Shapes? Just ignore them. Fitzlean’s people are everywhere. The place is crawling with security. You mean you haven’t noticed? We’re Alcatraz central.”

After that he goes quiet, but I’m even edgier. The farther we go, the more I sense his air of suppressed excitement.

Why?

Soon the path grows steeper and I start to hear a dull, roaring noise. It’s getting steadily louder. A generator of some kind?

I stop to get my breath. “How much farther?”

“Nearly there. It’s a terrific spot. You’ll see.”

At last he sets down his bag, takes out his bulky camera and starts to screw on a lens.

Now I see I’m truly honored. He’s brought an early handheld camera, his beloved Éclair Cameflex, the French classic.

He holds it up proudly. “Look at that. What a beaut. You’d never guess it dates from the forties. If it was good enough for Orson Welles it’s good enough for me.”

I roll my eyes. Boys and toys. If Mel were here she’d tell him to shut up. I’m too soft on him.

Instead, I give him a wry smile. “So where’s this view?” The noise is loud now, a dull roar. I see only trees.

“Right here.” He steers me firmly down a short flight of wooden steps, through a wall of shrubs then gives me a sharp push so I stumble forward. “Now turn to face me.”

I freeze.

I try to scream but nothing happens.

I seem to be suspended in space. In fact, I’m swinging on a narrow footbridge, a few feet away from a wall of solid rock with only rope rails between me and—nothing.

About fifty feet away I see a tall column of cascading water. That’s what’s making the noise. At the foot of the gorge, some hundred feet below me, an angry, frothing stream boils and swirls, flecked with foam as it snakes away from under my feet.

He’s right. It’s spectacular. To most people, it might even be beautiful.

But to me it’s sheer terror, my worst nightmare.

I hate heights. He knows this.

Views are fine. I’m okay if there’s a window or a barrier. But here there’s just…rope.

I wheel round, my throat too tight even to cry out. At last I find a rasping, husky imitation of sound. “Jake,
no
. Get me off this.”

Behind his camera, Jake’s making soothing noises. “Brilliant. You look terrified. Again.”

At that minute shadows erupt from the trees and figures race toward the footbridge. One lunges at Jake from the side in a full body tackle. Both men land in an untidy heap.

Another strides calmly onto the bridge toward me.
Cade
. He gathers me into his arms and pushes my head down against his chest. “Don’t look.”

The whole thing takes barely seconds. I bury my face against him and his heart beats close to my ear. Dimly I hear a scuffle on the path.

“Get rid of his camera.” Cade’s command reaches me through his chest. A muffled shout from Jake tells me the camera’s being wrestled from his grasp. There’s a long pause then a distant crash.

“Now drive him back. We’ll walk.” Cade’s voice echoes through his ribcage. He keeps my head pressed close against him.

From the muffled depths of Cade’s tight embrace, I can hear Jake shouting.

“Get your fucking hands off me. That camera was a fucking antique, you moron.”

Then his protests grow faint. After a moment I hear car doors slam, an engine start up then silence. Just the roar of the water.

Cade releases me and takes my face in his hands. “Look at me. Do you trust me, Tunis?” He holds me with a look of steel.

I take a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Good. Now let’s get you off this bridge.”

Steadily, keeping his hands firmly on my face, he draws me back onto the path. Quickly he puts an arm around me and leads me up some steps to a car park with lookout points, telescopes and wooden benches.

We sit down on the nearest.

My breathing steadies but I still feel sick. Now that I’m out of danger, questions bubble up. “How did you get here so fast?”

He looks grim, his jaw rigid with suppressed fury. “Security spotted you. They told me you were heading for the gorge so I came after you. Lucky I did.” He sounds gruff.

It dawns on me he’s angry with
me
. So this is
my
fault?

He glares at me. “You were supposed to tell me. What were you doing in the woods?”

“Jake and Ben wanted shots of me looking scared.”

His eyes blazed. “Looking
what?
Why?”

I swallow. “They thought the footage of us meeting yesterday wasn’t strong enough.” I sigh. “I don’t know. Ask them.”

“I will. I’ve seen the rushes. They looked fine to me.” He sounds grim. “I did some checks. You’ve got a thing about heights. You had an accident on stage.”

He knows?
“Yes.” I tense. “My fiancé and I were rehearsing for
Romeo and Juliet
. The balcony collapsed and I broke my foot.” I allow myself a small, bitter smile. “So I lost the part then he broke off our engagement.” My smile fades. “So I lost him too.”

It used to hurt. Now it’s sort of scarred over. I rarely talk about it, but I keep the phrase ready to roll off pat, just in case.

“And Simmons knows?”

“Yes.” I swallow.
Please drop this.

His jaw clenches briefly. “He tried to scare you witless for a
photo
?”

“He’s a genius.” From long habit, I spring to Jake’s defense. “And he loved that camera.”

“He’ll get a replacement.” Cade jabs at his phone and starts to issue a stream of instructions, his voice low and angry. “I want Simmons in my office
now
. I’ll be back in ten.”

He slips the phone back in his pocket, his mouth set and grim. “From now on you stay away from him.”

I feel a spike of indignation. “That’s unfair. He meant no harm. He gets—carried away.”

Cade turns on me, his eyes blazing. “You don’t get it, do you? We have an agreement. From today, you belong to me and I have a duty of care. I want to know whom you see, where you go and what you do. I don’t trust him. You could have been killed.”

He rises to his feet and looks at his watch. “We’d better get back. And as soon as we do you’re scheduled for four hours in the spa, lunch included.”

As I rise shakily to my feet I shiver.

Instantly he draws me into his arms, his eyes full of concern. “You’ve had a terrible shock. In the spa, try to relax. That’s an order.” He smiles but his eyes look worried.

Like a cloud passing away from the sun his mood changes in a second. He kisses my forehead. “I want you fit and rested for tonight.”

Tonight.
I feel a surge of heat so intense that I feel giddy.

His eyes cloud again. “What’s the matter?”

I touch my cheek briefly to his. “Nothing. Excitement, that’s all.”

He leads me back along the path, holding me firmly by the hand. We talk little but as we emerge from the woods and cross the lawn, I feel I’ve known him forever.

Every look, every touch, sparks heat.

Once, where the path plunges into a dip in the trees, he pushes me up against a trunk and fastens his mouth on mine with a passion so intense, so sudden that my knees grow weak. As he explores me with his hands I respond, high on adrenaline, willing him to take me, control me, to dowse this furnace deep between my legs.

From his jagged breathing I know he feels it too. But he’s mindful of security, wary of prying eyes. He pulls away, strokes my face gently and touches his lips to my eyelids and the tip of my nose.

“Later. Be patient.”

Chapter Five

“At the start of a session, you kneel.”

It’s early evening and we’re in Cade’s apartment. It has spectacular views all over the park and it just doubled in size. With the communicating door thrown open, our suites become one vast complex.

I’m nervous. I’ve been nervous all afternoon, comforted only by a delicious lunch and a couple of hours of prime pampering in the spa. Now I’m standing before him in practice pose, as relaxed as my nerves and my excitement allow.

As instructed, I’m freshly showered and wearing slinky lingerie, stockings and high heels.

Cade, by contrast, is fully dressed in black jeans, loafers and a crisp white shirt, the cuffs loosened and folded back. He’s reclining on a stylish leather sofa and looks stunning, like a male model between shoots. His legs are crossed, one ankle leaning casually on his knee.

He’s flexing a slender cane.

The sight of it sends a shiver through me. But
I’ve done my homework. I’ve got rights, even here.

Or have I?
This is a verbal agreement, my reputation staked against his. It’s a dangerous game—more like cold war.

And that’s before we get to the caning part.

The air between us crackles with static. Every word, every move, is somehow charged with meaning, building the tension.

“And you call me Sir. It keeps a proper distance between us and helps the role-play. Creates respect and a feel for discipline. So kneel.”

I do it, eyeing him warily. The breathtaking classical statue facing me is subtly different from the knight errant who rode to my rescue earlier this afternoon. He’s darker, more severe, and looking at me like I’m his favorite meal.

And he’s got a cane.

He rises, lithe as a cat, and walks slowly toward me, his gaze dark and penetrating. “Lose the bra.”

Hurriedly I let it slip to the floor. With a twitch of the cane, he flicks it away.

I wince as the cane springs back. He touches the tip of it to one nipple then moves across to the other, drawing it slowly up between my breasts, along my throat and finally presses the point under my chin, forcing me to look up.

“We’ll aim for two sessions a day, one in the afternoon or evening and one at night. Each session will last up to two hours. Is that acceptable?”

How do I know?
I’m new at this. My only guide is the slow burn of arousal deep between my legs as my dream slowly morphs into reality. “Yes, Sir.”

He, too, seems troubled, his breathing steady but noticeable. It surprises me.

“You must tell me when it gets too intense. I don’t normally handle vanillas.”