Showmance Page 10

  Bringing the pot and two teacups over to the table, I set them down and took the seat across from her. Gran had always been a big tea fanatic, and the proper way to serve it had been bred into me since I was a teen. I’d already put out milk and sugar before Rose arrived.

  “I did talk with him,” I admitted, and her eyes flicked quickly to mine.

  “Oh?”

  I scratched at my stubble. “He said he’d like us to be friends.”

  “Huh.” She wore a thoughtful look.

  “What does ‘huh’ mean?” I cocked my head.

  “I’m not sure. It just feels like he’s up to something.”

  “Maybe he wants you back,” I ventured.

  At this she snickered derisively. “I don’t think so. I was just an amusement for him, a way to pass the time. The only reason he’d want to make amends would be to use me some more, and I have enough self-respect not to let that happen. Fool me once, and all that.”

  “You don’t think he’s changed?” I asked.

  “People don’t change in a matter of weeks, Damon. At least not as much as Blake would’ve needed to. I was aware of his reputation for being a ladies’ man when we first met, but he’d been so kind to me, so chivalrous, that I thought perhaps it was all just rumours. I found out the hard way that it wasn’t.”

  I was frowning again as she reached out to pick up the pot and pour some tea for us. “It’s his loss,” I said, my voice unexpectedly gruff. Bastard didn’t know how lucky he’d been.

  She lifted a shoulder, then let it fall. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m horrible at relationships. I get so clingy and paranoid, always needing to know what the other person is thinking, needing to be with them twenty-four seven. Mum was like that, too, and we both know how badly that ended. It’s probably for the best that I stay single,” she said, her eyes on her teacup before she looked at me pointedly. “If not for me, then for the sake of the poor sod who gets stuck with me.” A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped her.

  I tried to read between the lines of what she was saying. This was clearly her roundabout way of telling me I was better off not being interested in her. She had no clue how appealing I found the idea of her clinginess. In fact, she could cling to me all she wanted, preferably while naked.

  The real take-home message though, was that she didn’t want to talk about what happened on Friday, and I couldn’t blame her. After the way I’d spoken and how I touched her, I was surprised she wasn’t ignoring me completely. I’d way overstepped the mark.

  I stared at her for a long moment, so long she began to grow self-conscious as she clasped her fingers around her cup, her eyes on the table as she blew off the steam. My eyes were drawn to how her lips shaped themselves, forming a seductive “O” that she was entirely unaware of.

  “Some men aren’t so immature that they can’t handle the love of a good woman,” I said, and she glanced up. “Blake is a fuckwit for how he treated you.”

  She let out a shaky laugh. “You’re probably right.”

  She skirted around the fact that I was talking about myself, how I’d never treat her like he treated her. However, I could tell she was nervous about me broaching the topic, so I let it lie. She was trying to be single for a while, and I was willing to accept that. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course,” she said, and took a sip of tea.

  “Why don’t you dance on stage? You’re so much better than half the women in the show. I don’t understand.”

  She smiled wanly. “Some of us don’t crave the limelight the way others do.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Well, it’s perhaps a little more complicated than that. I love to dance, but I’ve got terrible stage fright. I wish I could do it, but I just don’t have it in me. For some reason, audiences take all the fun out of it for me. It’s ironic, because dance is a visual art form designed to be seen by others, but I’ve always been more comfortable creating rather than portraying. It’s sort of like how writers write and actors say the lines. I create the routine for dancers to perform.”

  “Artistry without applause,” I said. “A noble pursuit.”

  “Well,” she ventured sheepishly, “perhaps not so noble. Sometimes I stand behind the curtains and close my eyes, pretending the clapping is for me. That way I can enjoy the reward without the fear of being on stage.”

  I gave her a warm look. “There’s no shame in wanting acclamation. We all need it every now and again.”

  She leaned forward, hands still cupping her mug. “Do you ever get nervous before a performance?”

  “Nervous, yes, but not afraid. It’s easy to be someone else. Being myself is the problem.”

  “When did you first know you wanted to be an actor?” she asked. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but I have to admit, I find you a fascinating study. When you’re Christian during rehearsals, you’re so animated, but then when you go back to being Damon, you’re like a closed book.”

  Her question made me self-conscious, but at the same time I wanted to answer it. I wanted her to know me. “I was always a shy lad, never had a lot of friends at school. When I was eight, I had a teacher who was determined to draw me out of my shell. She gave me the lead in our school play of James and the Giant Peach. It was like” — I paused, trying to find the right words — “wanting to be an artist all your life and then finally finding paint for the first time. If I wasn’t myself, I could be anyone. I didn’t have to hold back. I was…free.”

  Rose ate up everything I told her. This was probably the most open I’d been with her since we’d met. “And then it just took over.”

  “How did you know?”

  She blushed. “Because I felt exactly the same way when I discovered dancing. I saw a film when I was little with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and just felt like my heart was going to explode. I knew right then and there what I wanted to do with my life.”

  I studied her, my eyes focusing on the flush of her cheeks and the delicate shape of her mouth, before whispering, “What a pair we make, eh?”

  She glanced up. “Quite the pair.” A moment elapsed and she cleared her throat, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I heard a couple of the girls in the show say you were working on a fishing trawler back in Skye. Is that true?”

  “It is. No idea how word got around, though. We certainly don’t use Twitter out at sea.”

  She grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe some of the men on your boat enjoy posting pictures of all the fish they’ve caught, like, ‘Hey, everyone, check out the size of my pollacks.’”

  Her eyes glittered when I laughed at her joke. “Nah, we’re all too exhausted half the time for any of that faffing about.”

  “Why do you do it, though?” she asked, her expression turning curious. “I mean, unless you lost all your money in a Ponzi scheme, then you must have enough to keep you living comfortably.”

  Exhaling a breath, I answered, “I like the harshness of it, keeps me grounded. During my film career I was given anything I wanted, especially after Mum passed and Dad came on the scene. I quickly discovered that spending money and indulging in luxuries made me miserable. That sort of life just isn’t for me. I like working hard for things, appreciating simple stuff like a cup of tea shared with a friend.” I paused to gesture between the two of us. “Or a hot meal at the end of a long gruelling day of labour. I feel like I’ve earned it. Not to mention I don’t really see the value of gold-plated iPods or watches worth as much as houses.”

  Rose leaned her elbows on the table as she studied me. “You’re very interesting to me, do you know that?”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. I’ve never known someone to be so enlightened yet completely uncertain of who they are at the same time.”

  I stared at her intensely, because she’d hit the nail right on the head. I was an actor. Even if we did know who we were at the beginni
ng, after a while sometimes we played so many roles that we forgot.

  “Perhaps you being here, getting offered the part right after your grandmother passed, really is kismet. Maybe you’re supposed to do this to find yourself.”

  “Enlightenment on London’s West End?” I asked, amused.

  “Enlightenment is often found in the most unexpected places,” she replied, lifting the cup to her mouth again with a teasing smile.

  My eyes traced the curve of her lips and the feminine line of her jaw, and I thought, If I could find myself anywhere, it would be inside you, Rose Taylor.

  “Have you been practicing the dance moves I taught you?” she went on, and my attention was drawn away from the swell of her breasts. I sat up a little straighter, like she’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t.

  “Uh, not exactly.”

  She shot me a playful scowl. “Well, how about we have another lesson now? This room should be big enough.”

  “I, ah — ”

  “No excuses. I promised I’d turn you into a dancer, Damon, and I won’t give up until I succeed. Now, is there an iPod dock or anything we can play music on in this place?”

  I stood and walked over to the kitchen to turn on the radio that was built into the wall. “Only this, I’m afraid.”

  Some awful hip-hop song came on, and I winced. Frank Sinatra I could deal with. Whatever this was, not so much.

  “I can’t dance to this.”

  Rose was already up and pulling our chairs into the middle of the room, placing them side by side. “Of course you can. This is Jason Derulo. If you can’t dance to Jason, then you really are a lost cause. Besides, the great thing about Moulin Rouge is that the music is completely anachronistic. Any genre or era will work.”

  I watched as she sat on her chair, then patted the seat of the other. “Come on,” she urged me. “Mirror what I do.”

  Reluctantly, I did as she asked, watching as she gripped the edge of her chair, then began to move her legs. She pushed up, then swung around so she was sitting on it backwards. The movement caused her top to rise up, revealing an inch of smooth stomach.

  I changed my mind. I could definitely dance to this song. More precisely, I could watch Rose dance to this song. I could watch her dance to it forever. She was in complete control of her body, and it was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

  “You’re not doing it,” she complained and I blinked, realising I’d been so transfixed that I hadn’t mirrored a single one of her dance moves.

  I cleared my throat. “Could we, ah, start over?”

  She stared at me for a second and nodded. “Sure, watch my feet. First you slide from side to side, then you take a step with to the right, a step to the left, and push up off the chair with your right hand.”

  This time she watched me while she gave instructions. For a moment her eyes seemed to glaze over, her attention wandering to my waist. I briefly wondered if she enjoyed watching me as much I enjoyed watching her.

  She clapped then, and I glanced at her. “You’ve got it. Okay, now I want to show you how to step onto the chair and lower the front to the floor before stepping off.”

  “Won’t that damage the chairs?”

  She shook her head. “Nah…well, probably not. They look like pretty standard Ikea numbers, so if they break, I promise I’ll replace them.”

  She held her hand out to me, and we both stepped up onto the chairs at the same time. Letting go, she lifted one foot, placed it on the chair back, then slowly lowered it to the floor while keeping a steady balance. She made it look way too easy. When I attempted to copy her, I wobbled and almost lost my footing. She smiled.

  “It’s hard at first, but once you get the hang of it, you can make it look smooth as fuck. This move is especially sexy when men do it.”

  At that I smirked. She flushed for speaking for so openly, but Christ, I hoped she found me sexy.

  “I mean, like, it usually is, anyway.”

  For some reason I felt like teasing her. “Do you think I will?”

  Her eyes widened, and she coughed nervously. “Um….”

  “Relax, Rose. I’m messing with you.”

  She grew flustered. “You’re mean.”

  I concentrated on what I was doing, and placed my right foot on the chair back again and thrust forward. The thing went flying, bashing into the floor while I whacked my ankle off the side.

  “Fuck,” I swore, hopping away and wincing.

  “Oh, crap, are you hurt?” Rose asked, hurrying to my side.

  I sat on the floor, holding my ankle as I gritted my teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me see,” she insisted, and began rolling up the end of my jeans to reveal an ugly red welt. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed and glanced at me. “Do you think we should go to the hospital?”

  Now I laughed. “Rose, it’s not even sprained.”

  She bit her lip, and my attention was transfixed by the action. “Yeah, but I feel bad. Maybe I should’ve taught you something easier first. I think I got a little carried away with that seductive base line.” She laughed shyly.

  Reaching out, I cupped her cheek in my hand. “I’ve been hurt a lot worse. Don’t fret,” I whispered, and her eyes rose to mine. Now she bit her lip even harder, and I wished I was the one doing it. Her taste came into my head again, and it was all I could do not to groan. She surprised me when she closed her eyes and sank into my touch. My heart hammered harshly in my chest, and I wanted to move my hand, sink it into her hair or run it down over her neck. Anything. But in that moment, I was too scared of breaking the connection.

  If I’d learned anything from Friday night, it was that Rose could be skittish when it came to intimacy.

  In the next second, her phone rang, and she exhaled. I dropped my hand and pulled us both up to standing. Rose’s gaze was searching for a second, her bright eyes flickering between my dark ones, and I knew she had to have felt the intensity between us just as much as I had.

  She answered the phone. “Hi, Julian, can I call you back in a minute?”

  He must have agreed, because she hung up and then turned back to me. “I should get going. We’ve both got a full day of rehearsals in the morning.”

  “Of course, let me walk you to the door,” I said, while on the inside it was the opposite.

  Don’t go. Stay. Let me kiss you. But I didn’t say any of that, and a moment later I’d walked her to the door and she was gone.

  Eleven.

  *Rose*

  “You have the best and worst timing in the world, do you know that?” I said as I left Damon’s place and called Julian back.

  “I do?” he asked with intrigue. “Pray tell, what exactly did I interrupt?”

  I scrunched up my forehead. “You know, I’m not even entirely sure.”

  “So it was something to do with the dashing Mr Atwood, I presume,” he said, and I could just imagine his giant grin on the other end of the line.

  I exhaled. “Yeah, we were having a moment. At least, I think we were. Maybe it was all in my head.”

  “Oh, quit the modesty, Rose. The man likes you. He more than likes you. Anyone with a pair of eyeballs can see it.”

  His statement made me flustered, my belly tightening with a mixture of excitement and dread. The dread was down to the fact that if I let myself fall for Damon and it ended badly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover. It was easier getting over Blake, because behind it all I knew he was a deeply flawed person, but Damon was inherently good. He was flawed, sure, but in a way that was strangely admirable.

  “Yes, well, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not dating actors anymore, remember? Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Julian quickly let the subject drop and moved on to other matters. “Well, you know how I’m turning thirty on Sunday?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you also know how I’ve been adamant I wasn’t going to mark the occasion?”

  “Yes….”

>   “Well, I’ve changed my mind. I want a surprise party at our place, and I want you to plan it for me.”

  I sputtered a laugh. “It’s not a surprise if you know about it, Julian.”

  “Oh, hush, that’s neither here nor there. I’ll pretend to be completely flabbergasted when I walk through the door. I’ll even practice my reactions in the mirror, maybe throw in some waterworks for good measure.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  I sighed. “Yes, Julian, I’ll throw you a non-surprise surprise party. It would have been nice to have a little more time to prepare, but I’ll do my best.” For years Julian had paid the lion’s share of our rent and utility bills without a single complaint. If he wanted a party, I’d give him a party.

  “Brilliant. I’ll leave my card out in the morning so you can shop for supplies. Oh, and you’ll invite your friends from work, won’t you?” he went on like butter wouldn’t melt. The penny finally dropped.

  “This is a ploy to get Alicia to our place, isn’t it?” I said as I climbed the stairs to the apartment.

  I had my key in the door and was stepping inside when he answered coyly, “Darling, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He was sitting in the living room when I met his eyes and hung up the phone. “She’s not interested in you, Julian. It’s unfathomable, I know, but she isn’t. Why are you so determined to win her over?”

  I took off my coat and hung it by the door before going to join him on the couch. His expression turned contemplative as he chewed on his lip. “I have this idea in my head that she’ll be a fantastic lay and now I can’t stop until I have her. You’re not a man. You wouldn’t understand.”

  I didn’t think it was because I was a woman that I didn’t understand, I thought it was more because I wasn’t a Julian. My best friend was single-mindedly determined once he got an idea into his head. I lifted his hand and intertwined his fingers with mine.

  “Even if you can get her to fall for your charms, what happens when she leaves and goes back to L.A.? You might miss her.”

  I cast him an intuitive glance, because sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t more emotional than he let on. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think Alicia was the one or anything, far from it. But I did suspect that his pursuit of her was indicative of a change in him. He was about to turn thirty. He couldn’t keep living the way he was living forever.