The Morning After (11 page)

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His mind drifted back to earlier that morning. He’d untangled her long languid limbs from around him and regretfully climbed out of bed before dawn broke. When the car had arrived to take him on set, and she’d woken, he’d felt the tug to her again, the moment her unfocussed gaze collided with his. He hadn’t wanted to leave. And he always wanted to leave. No matter how good the night before had been, he was always keen to get back to work, to disengage himself from any lingering emotions.

With Cara, it was different. He wanted to spend the day with her. Wanted to show her around the area, and spend long hours over dinner in his favorite restaurant, listening to her laugh. Heck, he’d be happy to just rub sun-cream over that milk-white skin, and fetch her drinks all day.

Warm water splashed over his toes, bringing him back to reality with a jerk.

“That’s one.” Doris shifted her stool around, and started on his other foot.

Chapter Twelve

Whenever she was worried, Cara would pick up the phone to Ethan. But, for the first time ever, she couldn’t do that. He was working. Busy. So busy, it would be wrong to bother him. The fact that Michael had chosen to blacken Ethan’s name filled her with guilt. He didn’t deserve it. Had done nothing, apart from be a true friend when she’d needed one.

Telling him could wait. But clearing up the mess she’d made of his home couldn’t.

It took copious rinsing to banish the suds from the bathtub. By the time the towels were washed and in the drier, hunger was biting chunks out of her stomach, so she made a bacon sandwich and carried it over to the laptop on the polished wooden desk in the corner.

She checked her email. One message, from Suz. Her gut clenched as she read through her friend’s diatribe about Michael’s behavior, apparently he’d been telling all and sundry that Cara had ‘run-off’ with Ethan. If Suz was incensed now, just wait till she caught a glimpse of The National Inquisitor.

She tapped the tabloid’s title into the search engine, and sucked in a deep breath as she found the link to the online version. She closed her eyes as she clicked the link. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but she needed to know exactly what he’d said, in order to report to Ethan later.

She read through the article with disgust and growing dismay. Not only had Michael trashed her reputation, but he’d also been photographed looking distraught on the front cover. There was mention of Carethan, apparently a mash up of her and Ethan’s names. The photographs that had flooded the Irish papers were reproduced too, and a little note at the end of the article asked for people with any photographs to send them in to the paper.

With a groan, she remembered the girls at the airport. Would they succumb to the lure of payment and send in the pictures of her and Ethan they’d smiled for, the day before?

She flicked to the two-page virtual spread titled ‘Women He’s Loved and Left.’ Many small pictures filled the screen. Ethan, with his arm around a Brazilian model in one, kissing an actress in another. Holding hands with Aoife Fitzpatrick in a third. Cara rubbed her hand over her eyes. Dancing with a statuesque blonde, having dinner with a redhead. And, if the copy was to be believed, he’d seduced and abandoned all of them.

She stared at the picture of Aoife. At least she knew the truth about this relationship—so why was the newspaper reporting Ethan had left Aoife, when the complete opposite was true?

She typed their names into Google, and watched the links appear.

After fifteen minutes, there was only one conclusion she could come to: that Aoife had spread the story of being abandoned, and later revealed a new boyfriend. Painting Ethan as the bad guy, again. Why he hadn’t contradicted Aoife’s story perplexed her. And made her wonder how many of the women he’d been pictured with were really even ex-girlfriends.

She flicked her hair away from her face with a weary hand. Dealing with these lies was beyond her. Should she refute the charges leveled against her in the press, or take the high ground and ignore them? Given the fact that she’d actually gone all out to seduce Ethan, was Michael right—had she mentally thrown him over the moment she felt attraction for Ethan as he pulled her from that damned costume?

Pushing back the chair, she went to the bedroom to change into her swimsuit. Yes, she’d been attracted to Ethan, back then. But she hadn’t been sure enough of Michael to commit to him, and when she’d heard of his betrayal, she’d been stunned and hurt. Even if Ethan wasn’t in the picture, she would have broken off all contact with him. And he hadn’t even stuck around to hear her reaction, had just run away as fast as his legs could carry him.

In the article, he revealed that he was working for a large American company based in Dublin. Which meant his foray from Donabridge had been successful. She knew her father, he wouldn’t be able to fire Michael for being a snake, but he could have made working for him hell, and wouldn’t have hesitated to make his annoyance and displeasure clear. Michael had managed to get another job before that happened.

Throwing mud at Cara would cleverly mitigate against any possibility that Cara’s father might give him a rotten reference.

She pulled a clean towel from the cupboard, stuck her feet into her thongs, and stepped out into the warm, Malibu sunlight. Bloody Michael had done enough damage for one day. She was determined not to obsess about him any longer.

****

They were due to finish shooting at eleven. Finding out about the latest intrusion into his private life had focused Ethan’s intent. Given his acting an edge of perfection that ensured he took less takes than normal, and by nine, his entire day’s shooting was in the can.

“We don’t need you any more tonight,” John said. “So if you want to go…” His head tilted, and he squeezed Ethan’s arm. “I know you must want to get back.”

They hadn’t spoken about the press’s intrusion, but everyone on set must have seen the tabloid by now. And John was no stranger to paparazzi; he’d know the strain Ethan was under.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then.”

John nodded, and exited the trailer.

By ten, he was waving off the car, and standing on the front doorstep with the paper clutched in his hand. Lights blazed inside; it was too early for Cara to have retired to bed. He’d have to tell her.

The door swung open.

“I thought I heard a car.” Cara was dressed in a long loose red dress, her hair glinting with highlights a day in the sun had intensified. Her nose looked pink, and her feet were bare. “You’re early.”

“I got through it earlier than anticipated.” Ethan stepped in, and brushed his lips against hers.

“Keen to get home?” she murmured against his lips.

His hand brushed against the side of her face. “Yes.”

Time stood still. If only he didn’t have to tell her. Didn’t have to snap the thread of attraction tightening between them. He puffed out a frustrated breath.

Cara’s gaze flickered to the tabloid he gripped in his other hand. “You’ve seen it, then?”

“You know about it?” She must have gone out, seen it on the news-stands. Any crazy could have recognized her from the pictures in it. Could have approached her. Ethan’s heart dived. He should have phoned, should have warned…

“They phoned my cell this morning. I checked it out online.” Cara stepped back, and took the paper from his hand.

Blood roared in Ethan’s ears. “They phoned you? How the hell—”

“Michael was kind enough to give them the number,” Cara said calmly. “What are we going to do about it?”

She could be calm and collected about it, but Ethan wanted to punch a hole in the wall. He stalked into the room, heading straight for the whiskey bottle he kept for emergencies in the top cupboard. He splashed a generous amount into two glasses, handed one to Cara, and swallowed a mouthful. The whiskey seared his throat. Its aroma filled his mouth and nostrils. It didn’t take the edge off.

“That lying—”

“—snake? Turd? Asshole? I’m surprised the air in here isn’t blue, I’ve cursed him so much.” She smiled a tight smile. “After trying them all out, I settled on ‘pathetic loser.’” She walked into his arms, and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.” Her words were muffled against his chest.

Ethan’s heart swelled. She
was worried about him?

He tilted her chin up, and gazed into her eyes. “I’m well used to it. I’m angry for you.”

“They had a field day, pulling out all your previous…they even mentioned Aoife.” Her eyes narrowed. “And they got that totally wrong. Why does the world think you dumped her, Ethan? You told me all about it; I can’t believe you took the rap for the breakup.”

“They get everything wrong, that’s the way the press are.” Ethan rubbed his hand over his hair. “The moment I arrived in America, they tagged me with the Irish bad-boy thing. Half the women they photographed me with I’ve never slept with.” He opened the paper that she’d tossed on the table, and stabbed at the pictures with a finger. “This was a first date, after which I dropped her home. Her career needed a boost, so her publicist invented a story. And this one.” He felt his lip curl as he pointed to another picture. “This is a still from a movie, for Christ’s sake. I never so much as went out for a drink with her.”

He slipped an arm around her and held her tight. “I’m no angel,” he murmured against her hair. “But I’m no devil either. It suits the image they’ve built to paint me as one.”

“And Aoife?” she questioned, not letting him off the hook for a moment.

“Aoife…” It all seemed so long ago. He guessed he must have thought he was in love with her; it had certainly hurt enough at the time. But the fact that she’d given an interview to a woman’s magazine, saying sadly that things just hadn’t worked out between them, had been all that the press needed to run with the ‘wounded Irish beauty’ angle. She’d done well with the publicity in the years since. Her interior design business was thriving, and she’d even had the cheek to send him an invite to her wedding next month.

He’d taken a perverse pleasure in burning it in the fireplace. They’d sold the pictures for the wedding to a glossy magazine, and doubtless his non-attendance would lose them a couple of hundred thousand from the fee, but he’d be damned it he’d play the ex for the cameras. “At the time, I didn’t care enough to put the story straight.”

Cara’s eyes sparked fire. She pulled away, and put her hands on her hips. “Well, it’s about time they stopped putting these lies out there.” She tossed her hair back. “They need to divorce the man from the role.” Her mouth tightened. “I’ve a good mind to phone them up and…”

She looked so fierce, so protective, he couldn’t hold back a smile. “Going into the ring for me, Cara?”

“Damn right. And I’m aiming for a knock-out.”

She’d do it too, the truth blazed from her eyes, and extinguished the anger that had blazed thorough him like a forest fire all day. He reached for her shoulders, felt the tension in them, and kneaded gently. The words
I love you
, ran through his head. A week ago, he’d be able to say it, but now they’d slept together saying it felt too serious, too forever.

He’d once told another woman he loved her. There was no way he was putting himself on the line for heartache again. But nothing else seemed to fit. He lowered his head and kissed her. Letting his lips tell her what his voice couldn’t.

“My publicist will be here tomorrow morning. We’ll work out a plan of attack then.”

Her fingers crept under the hem of his T-shirt. Soft fingers stroked his belly. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispered.

****

While Ethan showered, Cara dressed in her sexy, grey silk nightie and slipped between the cool cotton sheets. After the panic of the morning, she’d swam in the ocean and picked shells off the shore for hours, letting the beauty of the day wash over her like the water that rushed over her toes at the water’s edge. Taking her irritations with it, as it receded.

She was stealing time in paradise. In a few scant weeks, she’d be back to reality, and would fight her battles then. The conversation with Ethan had reignited her indignation. Especially when he’d confirmed her suspicions about the women he’d been accused of hurting. Ethan wasn’t a forever type of guy, there was no use pretending he was. The experience with Aoife had left him wary and unable to commit. But he wasn’t a bad guy either, and the fact that the press had decided to label him one burned.

Ethan walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips.

Cara’s mouth dried. All thought vanished in an instant at the look in his eyes.

He walked to the bed. “I like your nightie,” he murmured as he pulled back the sheet, whisked off the towel and pulled her close. “Does it feel as silky as it looks?” His hands smoothed over the silk, warming the flimsy fabric and the skin beneath. “Mmm, it does.”

And as his mouth teased her nipple through the silk, Cara ran her hands through his hair, and surrendered to sensation.

Chapter Thirteen

When Melissa Brown arrived at the beach house the next morning, Cara liked her instantly. Her silver cap of hair was expertly cut, and her muted makeup emphasized her patrician features. She was wearing an unstructured, black skirt and tunic combo, which must have come from a top designer, so elegant was its simplicity.

She walked into the sitting room, four inch heels clicking on the wooden floor, and placed her briefcase on the coffee table. “Right, let’s get to it,” she said eyeing Ethan. She glanced at Cara. “I need to find out how much of this is true and how much is a complete fabrication. And we need to decide what, if anything, we’re going to do about it.”

Ethan sat with Cara on the sofa opposite Melissa. He covered her hand with his own. “They can say what they like about me, but I’m not happy that they’re making Cara the focus. She’s not a public figure.”

Melissa’s eyebrow arched. “Maybe not a week ago, but now…” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid all that has changed.” Her voice lowered with sympathy evident in her deep tones. “The photographs in the Irish paper,” she flicked open her briefcase and pulled out the photograph of Cara half-naked in Ethan’s arms, “this one in particular, ignited interest in Cara—who she is, what she means to you.” She shrugged. “There’s no way of putting that particular genie back in the bottle.”