Camera Shy (20 page)

He smiled. "So did I. As always." Then he touched her face again. "Before you go

. . . ." The sudden seriousness in his voice unsettled her.

"What is it?"

"Maybe it should wait," he said, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding her eyes. "I don't want to keep you."

She put her hand on his chest, leaning into him. "No, tell me." He exhaled. "I just, maybe it's too soon —"

Oh shit. Shit. Shit shit
shit
. "Jason—"

"I don't want to rush into anything," he said. Relief swept over her, but he went on. "But I'm not going to lie, Allyson."

Shit
.

He met her eyes finally. "Whatever this is, whatever it is I'm feeling for you, it's more than just sex."

She stared at him for a long moment. It was only her lungs screaming for air that reminded her she needed to breathe. "Jason—"

"I'm sorry," he said, dropping his gaze. "I shouldn't have said anything." He closed his hands around hers. "I just—I didn't want to be dishonest with you."

"I know," she said. "Look, it's still so soon. I'm not—I really don't know
what
I feel right now."

He nodded. "I understand." He ran his fingers through her hair.
Oh God, Jason, don't do that, you're making it so hard for me to leave
. Goosebumps prickled beneath her sleeves as he kissed her forehead.

"I want you to come back. Soon. I want to see you again."

"I want to see you, too."

"But I just . . . ." He hesitated. "I didn't want you to get the wrong idea about me, that I'm using you for sex."

The way I'm using you for sex, you mean
? Simone swallowed. "I will come back. I'm not sure when, but I want to see you." She kissed him again. "Just, give me some time to think about things, to sort a few things out." She bit her lip. "In my head."

"I will."

They met each other's gazes for a long moment. Finally, she whispered, "I should go."

"I know." He pulled her into a deep, sensuous kiss. They whispered their goodbyes, and she got in the car.

* * * * *

As he watched her car disappear down the driveway, Jason was certain she was gone forever.

He started toward the house, kicking a rock as he did. "Fuck!" he shouted. In the house, he fell onto the couch and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd said too much. Couldn't just let it rest, could he? Just
had
to blurt it out, and as she was on her way out, no less.

But what could he do? He'd been torn about it for days, wondering if he should say anything or leave well enough alone. Scare her away, or leave her thinking he was just using her?

He sighed. At least he hadn't come out and said he loved her. He didn't. His emotions weren't that strong. He had feelings for her, but—hell, who was he kidding?

He was falling fast and hard for her. If this wasn't love, he didn't know what was. And he'd likely just lost her forever.

* * * * *

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Simone pounded the steering wheel with her fist. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be sex. A fling.
Fun
. But then why the hell had she come back up here again and again? Why was he occupying her mind all the time?

What was he doing to her?

And why,
why
, did he have to go and say he felt the same way she did? No, she didn't feel that way. She didn't. She was
not
in love. She did
not
have feelings for him. This was sex. Casual, no-strings-attached, non-committed
sex
. At a stoplight, she rested her forehead on the wheel. She couldn't be in love with him. It wasn't the right time. She was just starting to get her head together. The last thing she needed was another messy relationship, and all of her relationships were nothing if not messy.
Really
messy.

But she'd never felt like this before. The butterflies in her stomach were there all the time, not just when he looked at her or touched her or kissed her. When he
did
look at her, or touch her, or kiss her, the butterflies went crazy. And when he made love to her—

"When he
fucks
me," she said aloud. "He doesn't make love to me. He fucks me. I'm a booty call. He's a booty call. This is not love. This—" A car behind her honked and she snapped her head up. She accelerated through the green light, waving an apology to the driver behind her.

How would she even know if she was in love? Looking back, she couldn't remember ever feeling this way. Not even with Gregory and certainly not with the men who came after him. Just thinking of Jason made her heart ache in that tear-jerking, "just one kiss and I can die happy" way a schoolgirl felt when she looked at a picture of the latest Hollywood heartthrob. But in his presence, she was so at ease, so comfortable. He could make love to her for hours, like his entire purpose in life was to bring her pleasure. He could fuck her against a car in the pouring rain because neither of

them could wait long enough to get inside. And he did, because he wanted to. Because he wanted her, he desired her.
Her
. Not the Simone Farrell the whole world thought it knew,
her
. She didn't have to pretend to be anything, didn't have to put on an act.
Except the whole lying about my name, my career, and every other relevant detail
. She clenched her jaw as guilt rose in her throat. She needed to tell him. She couldn't keep lying. He had to know. He deserved to know.

Then what? Keep pretending she didn't love him?

She sighed.
Good one, Simone. Another lovely mess you've gotten yourself into
.

Chapter Thirty-Five

At the end of the film's final shoot, Henry Wall clapped Simone on the shoulder.

"I damn near lost my faith in you, my dear," he said. "But you've done well." He tapped the film can containing the day's footage. "I think you might be looking at another Oscar nomination."

Simone beamed. In spite of all of the distraction lately, she was back at the top of her game. She slipped into character as effortlessly as she did during her first few films. The numbness was gone. She could
feel
again.

As she headed back to her trailer to get her purse and head home, her smile slowly fell with the uncomfortable weight in her chest. She was back at the top of her game with acting, but Jason still dominated her thoughts.

A week had passed since she left Tofino with her heart in her throat and his confession ringing in her ears. She hadn't called. He'd left a few messages.

"Allyson, it's Jason. Look, I'm sorry, I'll understand if you want to back off, but . .

. . I want to talk. Call me."

"Allyson, it's Jason. Please, just give me a call."

"
Click
"

Simone sighed. She sat at the table in her trailer and cast a sideways glance at the Smirnoff bottle. No, she thought.
That's not going to help
. Though if it weren't for the fact

that she was driving home in a few minutes, she'd be sorely tempted to do a couple of shots.

That's when her trailer door flew open. Anne-Marie entered and tossed a tabloid in front of Simone. "Page nine," she said, helping herself to a cup of coffee. Simone eyed the coffee cup. Anne-Marie planned on staying a while. She sighed and turned to page nine. Tucked in the corner, amongst a scandalous article about another actress's "Simone-like Spiral of Self-Destruction"—Simone flinched at the title—was a small article titled "Is Simone Farrell making a comeback?" The inset picture showed her with the fling that had destroyed her marriage, and another recent photo of her smiling and waving at the paparazzi on her way into the studio. She skimmed the article. ". . .
mysterious trips out of the country
. . . ." ". . .
sources
close to Simone say her attitude has done a complete one-eighty
. . . ."
". . . rehab? A new man?
" She closed the magazine and pushed it away.

"The vultures are circling, hon." Anne-Marie leaned against the sink and watched her over her coffee cup. "Whatever it is you're doing, they're going to sniff it out sooner or later."

Simone glared at her. "Not unless someone 'in the know' lets the cat out of the bag."

"I'm not going to say a word," Anne-Marie said coldly. "But they're going to figure it out. These guys could find Jimmy Hoffa if it paid as much as chasing after you." She furrowed her brow. "This is more than just a fling, isn't it?"

"No." Simone avoided her eyes. "It's just a fling."

"Bullshit."

"It's
just
a fling." Simone looked up then. "And it might not last much longer." Anne-Marie's eyes widened. "What?"

"Why is that any shock? Me? Ending a fling with a guy? What's so shocking about that?"

"No, it's shocking because I think you're in love with him."

Simone laughed. "No, I'm not."
Liar
. She stood and poured herself a cup of coffee, her back turned so Anne-Marie couldn't see how red her cheeks were probably getting.

"Simone, I know you," Anne-Marie declared. "If you're not in love, then I don't know who is."

Staring into her coffee cup, Simone didn't turn around. "Why do you say that?"

"Come on, babe," Anne-Marie said. "The way you smile when you mention him. The way you stare off into space when you don't think anyone is looking. The fact that you are willing to run off to Nowhere, Canada, every other week to see him." Simone's shoulders slumped. "It's the worst possible timing. I shouldn't be doing this."

Anne-Marie touched her arm. "If you're in love with him, then go with it. You don't need another scandal or an affair, but—" Her voice hardened. "He's not married, is he?"

Simone laughed in spite of herself. "No. No, he's not married."
I don't think he's
married. But then, what do I know about him? Not a damn thing? How can I be in love with
him? I'm not. I'm not
. "I'm not in love with him." Her voice cracked.

"Yes, you are," Anne-Marie said in that,
don't argue with me, I'm right,
voice.

"Look, if you've met someone, and it's more than just a stupid romp, why not go public?

If you just come clean about it, the paparazzi will find someone else to stalk." Simone turned to face Anne-Marie. "Or they'll stalk us together."

"Maybe. But that reflects worse on them than it does on you." Anne-Marie shrugged. "Maybe it would do good for your image, some positive publicity for once. This, and the way your film is going right now, maybe you'll be back in Hollywood's good graces sooner rather than later."

Simone scowled. "I'm not going to use him to get back on the A-list." Anne-Marie's lips parted and she raised a knowing eyebrow. "You
must
be in love."

"Why now?"

Her agent drained her coffee cup and set it in the sink. "Because the Simone I know and love has no qualms about using a man to impress the rest of the world." Before Simone could respond, Anne-Marie flounced out of the trailer. The door slammed just before Simone's jaw snapped shut. She watched her agent through the window for a moment, but didn't follow her. Anne-Marie was right, and Simone's face burned with shame. She had used men in the past: everyone before, after, and including Gregory.

But not Jason. She wouldn't do that to Jason.

She absentmindedly let his name slip off her tongue, whispering it into the silence of the trailer, and her heart fluttered. Maybe Anne-Marie was right, and there was only one way to find out.

She picked up the phone, and called him.

* * * * *

The ringing phone startled Jason. He picked it up and cradled it on his shoulder, his hands still moving the mouse and pounding the keyboard.

"Jason Connor."

A beat of silence. "Jason, it's Allyson."

The sound of her voice brought his hands to a halt. He leaned back in his chair.

"Allyson . . . ." His heart quickened. He couldn't decide if he was angry that she'd waited this long to call, or just giddy with relief that she finally
had
called.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't call for so long."

"It's okay. I'm glad you called now."

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said, before I left." Jason's throat went dry.
Here it comes
. "Okay . . . ."

"Things are complicated here now. I mean, I just have a lot going on in my life." His heart sank.
Here comes the bombshell
.
She's married.
"I understand."
I'm pissed
that you led me on, that you used me, but I guess I—

"I think it would be best to talk more in person."

"You—what?"

"Look, I can't promise one way or the other how this is going to go, how I feel. But . . . I just need to see you. Discuss this face to face."
So I can see the wedding ring? So you can tell me that it's not me, it's you? Christ,
Jason, give her a chance.
"Uh, sure. When?"

She paused. "As soon as possible. My schedule is a bit of a mess right now, but . .

. ." Another pause. "I'll let you know."

"Listen," he said. "If you don't want to pursue this, if you just want to let it go, forget it ever happened—"

"No," she said quickly. "Not at all. I'm just—it's complicated."

"In my world, that usually means, 'I'm married'."
Way to go, idiot
. She was silent for a second. Then she laughed. "Married? Oh God no. No, that's not it at all." She paused again and he could hear her smile fall. "Is that really what you thought?"

He was glad she couldn't see how red his face undoubtedly was.
You're an ass,
Jason. A total ass
. "No, well, I—I wasn't sure."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have been a bit more open in the beginning. No, I'm not married."

"I'm sorry, too," he said. "I really shouldn't have been such a dick about it."

"It's okay." That smile was back. "Really, Jason, I do want to see you again."

"Just let me know when. I'll be here."

There was a long pause. Her voice was low when she said, "Just . . . don't think that I balked because I don't have feelings for you too."