Trade (4 page)

Max sucked in a breath. She knew
exactly what was involved in surviving in the wild—her survivalist father had
taught her well, and a couple of years ago, she’d honed her skills by going on
a wilderness survival course with one of the world’s foremost survival experts,
Abe Kingston. “Do you trust me?”

Jasper’s gaze was keen. “Of course
I trust you.”

“So what if I went with him?”

“You wouldn’t want to do that—the
conditions would be…”

“My father was a survivalist,
Jasper. I’ve had a lifetime of training. And I did a month-long jungle survival
course with Abe Kingston.”

Jasper’s eyes widened. “For real?”

She pulled out her phone and
called Abe’s number. “Ask him.” She handed the phone over, and waited as Abe
confirmed her story to Jasper.

When he handed the phone back to
her, there was respect in Jasper’s eyes. “I never would have believed it. You’re
a real bad ass.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Okay, set it up. If he can
survive, I’ll give him a screen test.” He flicked open his diary. “We’re checking
out possible locations in Indonesia in two weeks.”

Perfect.
“The island I’ve
been scouting is Indonesian too. It’ll take a couple of days to get everything
together, but we could fly out and run the experiment for…” she ticked days off
on her fingers… “nine days, and meet you at your hotel straight off the island.”

Jasper held out his hand. “It’s a
deal. But be warned, it’s more than surviving, he’ll need to dig deep, reveal
more of himself than the usual shallow surface he gives to the world.” He slid
open a desk drawer and retrieved a heavy sheaf of paper. “Here’s the script. I’ll
expect him to have a passage prepared.”

*****

Friday was girl’s night. Cam had organized a babysitter, and
she was due over for dinner and altogether too much red wine. They’d made
Friday nights a tradition, if neither of them was busy doing something or
someone else, and for the past couple of months neither had missed it.

Forcing down the clawing need for
sex had been difficult, but with the help of her suitcase of sex toys, Max had
managed. She’d never really considered herself marriage material, so she played
with other, like-minded, fun-loving singles, but after the sex party at Hazzard
Hall where her fuck buddy Joel had almost killed someone, she’d retreated from
even casual sexual encounters.

Being with Sholto, hearing the hot
words he murmured, had jump-started her libido, and so, rather than slave over
dinner, she’d climbed into bed with her vibrator—just to take the edge off.
They could order out.

She lay naked on the cool sheets.
Closed her eyes, and allowed herself to think of him. The memory of the boy he’d
been, the one she joked with in class, mixed with the man she’d met in his
hotel room formed a disturbing combination of the past and present.

Whereas he hadn’t even recognized
her.

Her mind focused on one memory,
that of him leaning close enough to kiss and staring at her mouth. Her palms
brushed over her breasts, teasing the nipples into tight buds. He was unshaven;
his stubble would prickle against her softness. She stroked down her torso,
remembering his scent—the potent mix of sandalwood and man that lit her senses
alight. When her fingers dipped between her legs, she was wet, soaked with
wanting him.

The tip of her index finger
circled her clit. Would he touch her there with his fingers or with his mouth?
Her back arched as she pressed hard on the little nub, imagining his head
between her thighs, his mouth covering her heat, his tongue dipping inside.

Angling her knees, she reached for
the vibrator. There was no need for lubrication, so she set the device buzzing,
and fitted it, the throbbing bullet against her clit as the body pulsed inside
her. His hands would be strong, clutching her hips. His hard chest would abrade
her sensitive breasts. He’d murmur in her ear, more of those husky, Scottish
accented words, describing in exquisite detail every last thing he wanted to do
to her, the way he wanted to fuck her, how much he wanted her.

She imagined his eyes boring into
hers. The vibrator was a poor imitation; he’d be bigger, wider, but still her
inner muscles contracted as she squeezed her thighs together, and pressed the
vibrating bullet to her clit. Gripped by a fantasy, the waves built until they
could be contained no more, and thoughts of Sholto drove her over the edge.

Chapter
Four

Three quarters of an hour later Max was freshly showered and
dressed in sweats when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find Cam and
the pizza deliveryman standing on the doorstep.

Cam had her purse open. “He wouldn’t
let me pay.”

“You might have been trying to
hijack this pizza,” the pizza deliveryman teased. “I know it sounds
unlikely—but it has happened and I knew Miss Goode would kill me if she didn’t
get her pepperoni fix.” He grinned.

“Quite right too.” Max grabbed a
couple of notes from the table and exchanged them for the flat pizza box. “Thank
you.”

They both watched him walk away.

“Damn, he’s good-looking,” Cam
said. “If I was on his route I’d be ordering pizza every day.” She held up a
bottle. “I meant to be here earlier, but got delayed. Looks like I arrived at
the right time though. When I dropped Lindsay off at my mum’s she dragged me in
to look at her new curtains.” Cam smiled. “Which was just an excuse to confide
about how difficult my mother is finding my father’s retirement. He’s home all
day and making improvements to the house. It’s driving her crazy. He decided to
put up shelves in the spare bedroom, so our conversation was overlaid with the
sound of hammering. I couldn’t just drop Linds and run. You know how it is.”

Max shrugged. Her father had been
at home for as long as she could remember.

“What’s the deal with your
parents?” Cam tilted her head to one side, and fixed Max with a stare. “You
never talk about them. They live in Kent, don’t they?”

“We don’t really get on.”

“You fight?”

If only it were that simple.

“No. The very opposite. Every time
I go home and see them, we act like polite strangers. I pretend to be the sort
of daughter they want, and they pretend to believe I am.” Bitter rejection
twisted in her heart. “It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just the way it is.”

“You’re looking tired. Still not
sleeping?” Cam’s gaze was critical.

Max shrugged.

“You should take some time off. You
work too hard. We can handle things for a couple of weeks—why not go on
holiday?”

“Let’s open that wine.” She strode
into the apartment heading straight for the kitchen, and searched in the drawer
for the corkscrew.

Max took two plates from the
cupboard and brought them to the coffee table in the sitting room. She flipped
open the top of the box and the room filled with the scent of pizza.

Cam opened the wine and poured two
glasses. “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you?”

Max nodded. “I’m fine. Don’t make
a fuss.” Reassuring Cam had become a familiar chore over the past few months.
She didn’t want to let on just how badly affected she’d been by the whole Joel
affair. How she didn’t think she would ever trust a man again.

Cam took the hint. “What do your
parents think about your company?”

Some of the fantasies they made
real were pretty out there. They certainly wouldn’t receive her mother’s stamp
of approval. “They don’t know about it—and neither do my sisters. I tell them
it’s a concierge service.” She swallowed a mouthful of wine. “They wouldn’t
approve. It was bad enough that my name appeared in the papers with the Hazzard
Hall affair. My mother didn’t speak to me for a month after that.”

Cam’s eyes were full of sympathy.
She filled her glass and leaned back on the sofa. “So what have you been up to?
I thought I’d see you back in the office today.”

Max tapped a strand of shower-damp
hair behind her ear. Nerves swirled in her stomach. It was time to fess up, and
for an awful moment she wondered if she’d done the right thing. Cam had made a
throwaway comment she doubtless didn’t expect Max to act upon, but things were
moving at such a clip that she couldn’t back down now. “I’ve been working on a
fantasy.” She gulped a mouthful of wine.

“A fantasy for you, I hope. You
can’t keep avoiding life, honey—you have to get back out there and date again.
Not all guys…”

Max shook her head. “Not me.”

Cam’s eyes widened. “Oh, we have a
new client? That’s great. So, tell me more.” She grabbed a slice of pizza and
bit into it.

“Actually… You know all about this
fantasy. It’s yours.”

Cam’s brow furrowed. “My—” She
dropped the pizza onto the plate and covered her mouth with a hand. “My
fantasy? You mean the one about the reunion?”

Max couldn’t tell if Cam was
excited or appalled. “I should have told you that I know Sholto Kincaid. We
were in school together for about a year when he lived in Butterworth, that small
village in Kent I’m from. We weren’t friends, but I had a meeting with him
today to see if he’d accompany you to the reunion. He said yes.”

“I don’t believe it. Are you
joking?” Cam jumped up and started pacing backward and forward.

Max shook her head.

“You’ve really got Sholto Kincaid
to come as my date?”

Max nodded.

Cam walked over, pulled Max to her
feet, and enveloped her in a hug.

“It won’t be a proper date of course.
He’s never met you, so kissing and stuff…”

“Oh, honey, the last thing I want
is a fling with an unobtainable man. I want a real man, not a fantasy. Anyway,
the Sholto Kincaids of this world are way out of my league. I’d much prefer a
fling with your pizza deliveryman.”

Thank God.
The thought of
Cam actually fancying Sholto had been Max’s biggest concern—a fact she hadn’t
admitted to herself until now. “Are you sure? He’s pretty sexy.”

“You met with him face-to-face?”
Cam tilted her head to one side and observed Max through narrowed eyes.

To her consternation, a flush
warmed her cheeks. “I went to the premiere last night.”

“Did you meet him there?”

“It’s a long story. But yes. And I
met with him again today.”

“You’ve got a crush on him, I can
tell.” Cam’s forehead pleated. “I’m not sure he’s the right sort of guy for you
to get involved with though. Maybe after what happened you should date a nice
guy, not hook up with a player.”

“That won’t happen. Sholto and
I—well, we have a history. I never went out with him, but there was an incident
in school, a regrettable incident.” She glanced at the pizza. “Sit down. Eat—our
dinner is getting cold.”

Cam did as she asked. “Do you want
to talk about it?”

Max shook her head. “It’s ancient
history. Let’s just say I had a little leverage.”

“You must have had to pay. How
much? Can you take it out of my salary in installments?”

“He wouldn’t take money. He wanted
to trade.”

“Trade?” The word came out as a
squeak.

“He wants a film role and the only
way to get it is to prove he can survive marooned on a desert island for nine
days. I spoke to Jasper today and he’s agreed to screen test Sholto once that
condition has been met. The problem is, he doesn’t trust Sholto to do it
honestly. He insisted upon independent verification by someone he trusts.” She
swallowed a mouthful of wine, then pointed a thumb at herself. “So I guess I’m
taking a holiday as you suggested. I need you to handle everything at work
while Sholto and I play castaways.”

And I haven’t even told him
yet.

*****

The doorbell rang. Sholto strode across his living room, through
the shaft of sunlight that spilled through the full-length glass doors, and
opened it.

Larry stood on the doorstep,
staring into the branches of a tree to the left of the door.

“What are you looking at?” Sholto
tracked Larry’s gaze.

Larry turned to him with a smile. “There
was a bird—it distracted me for a moment.”

“In the gold medallion tree?”
Sholto spotted the bird that had caught Larry’s eye. “It’s a black phoebe.”

Shaking his head side to side,
Larry walked into the house. “I don’t know how you know this stuff, man. It’s
not as if you’ve lived in LA all your life.” He tossed his briefcase onto the
sofa and sat next to it. “So, what’s the emergency?”

“It’s about the
Solo
movie.”

Larry frowned. “Look, I’m sorry,
but that’s just not going to happen.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on
his knees. “You should just forget about it. I have a much more interesting
proposition for you. I got a call this morning from a director who’s casting a
small indie movie. He caught one of your recent interviews and wants you for
the lead. He wanted to know if you were really Scottish. He couldn’t believe
it, he was sure you were American.”

“I get that a lot.” Most of the
roles going in the movie business were for American actors, and he’d
effortlessly slipped into roles on that basis. Evaluating what exactly a
director wanted was second nature—hardly surprising, as he’d been adapting to
expectations all his life.

“Great!” Larry seemed to think it
was a done deal. “It’s a great project…totally different from your last role.
The character you’ll be playing is a hard-boiled detective who—”

“I have news. Someone has
persuaded Jasper Watson to give me a screen test for
Solo
, once I prove
myself.”

“Someone else has been pitching
you to Watson?” Larry rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I’m a good agent…”

Sholto stood. “You’re the best,
Larry. I wouldn’t want anyone else. Come on, let’s get a beer.” He started
toward the kitchen. “The person who talked to Jasper is an old friend doing me
a favor, okay?” He jerked open the fridge and pulled out a couple of cold ones.
“It’s totally crazy, but in order to screen test, I have to prove I can survive
on a desert island, just like Weatherly did. I leave next week.” He flicked off
the bottle tops, walked back to Larry, and handed one over.

Larry’s mouth was half open. It
wasn’t a good look. Eventually, he got himself together. “Listen, Sho…” He
almost never shortened Sholto’s name; this was going to be bad.

Sholto raised an eyebrow.

“You know I think you’re a great
actor.”

“But?”

“Can I speak frankly? You’re not
going to be pissed at me?”

Sholto slouched into his favorite
chair and sipped his beer. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“This role isn’t for you. It’s
dark. It’s gritty. It’s not big box office. It’s the sort of role a character
actor, one of the method guys, would take on. You’re a master of the sort of
roles you’ve been playing, but the Weatherly role will go to someone who can
put real emotion out there, who can dig deep and pull their guts out. For the
life of me, I can’t imagine why you even want it so bad.”

Sholto’s biggest fear was that
Larry was right. “That’s exactly why I want it.” His voice was soft. “Because
it’s a challenge.” Larry was more than an agent; he was a good friend. “I can
play sexy, I can play funny, I can do light—I can do all that stuff without
breaking a sweat. I want something more.”

“You don’t need to prove yourself
by going to some island and playing at being marooned.”

“You know what was missing at that
London premiere?”

Larry shook his head.

“Family. My uncle and aunt live
less than an hour away, but I couldn’t invite them. I would have been ashamed
to invite them to see me screwing on film.”

Larry’s face screwed up. “I get
you there.”

“You know my background’s
complicated. My Uncle Doug and Aunt Jeanne took me in when I was a teenager and
needed a home. Doug’s the only father figure I ever knew. I do need to prove
myself. I need to prove myself to him.”

Doug had told him he was proud of
what Sholto had achieved, was proud of the way he’d overcome his disastrous
start in life. But gaining the role of Weatherly, showing he was a serious
actor, capable of portraying the role would really make his uncle proud.

“He’s a no-nonsense man’s man. He
loves films like The Right Stuff, All the President’s Men and Apollo 13. Movies
where men are brave, honest, and heroic.”

In the dark days after Sholto was
removed from his mother’s home and brought to live with his aunt and uncle,
they’d had to build a relationship from scratch. Doug and Jeanne had no kids of
their own, and finding themselves unexpected guardians of a teenage boy hadn’t
been easy.

Doug worked construction, but he’d
supported Sholto every step of the way when he announced he would be an actor
one day. And ever since he started in the business, he’d yearned to win one
perfect role. The role of a man facing adversity, and triumphing in the end. An
Oscar win would be nice, but Sholto’s true aim was a lot more personal.

He’d given
Solo
to his
uncle for Christmas, and the story had captivated the older man. “The next time
there’s a movie premiere in London, I want Doug and Jeanne sitting next to me,
watching it.
Solo
is the perfect project. The one I
have
to win.”

“But having to play at being
marooned…”

“I wouldn’t be playing. It’s a
deserted island and I’d only have what Weatherby had when he was
marooned—nothing more. It’s hardcore.”

Larry’s eyes were so wide his
entire eyeballs showed. “On your own?”

“No. Someone will go with me to
make sure I do it right. I need to do this, Larry. I’m going next week, and I’ll
be gone for nine days.” He had no intention of mentioning just exactly who
would be joining him, mostly because he didn’t know how he felt about spending
nine days alone with Max.

Larry shrugged. He swallowed a
mouthful of beer. “But in case it doesn’t work out, at least let me set up a
meet with the other guys. The movie’s edgy and different. I still think you
should do it.”

*****

Max sat in the back of the Jeep that had picked her up from
her hotel looking out the window as the driver sped through the narrow streets
of the small, Indonesian village. People were everywhere—on foot, on bicycles,
on mopeds and in cars. There was a market set up on the side of the road,
stalls stacked with colorful clothing next to ones piled high with fruit,
vegetables, and brightly colored spices.