Malibu Betrayals (15 page)

“Exactly. Doesn’t make sense.” Luca glanced at Sam.

She shot a look from her brother to Gage, who apparently wasn’t even looking at her right now, and back. She’d lost sleep wondering the same thing. What was the point?

“I want her to apply for a restraining order but she won’t. Stubborn, shit.” Luca snorted in disgust.

“If they do anything else, we’ll file. Okay?” She crossed her arms. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I don’t want to make this into something bigger than it is, either.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still not letting her out of my sight.”

Luca dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Thanks. She thinks she’s invincible.”

Sam threw her hands up in the air. “Enough. No more talk about the Evanses or the stupid pranks on set. I’ll be careful and keep someone with me, no exceptions. Okay?” She was touched that they took her safety so seriously, she did too, but they spoke about her as if she purposefully placed herself within the Evans’ clutches. Something she’d never do again.

Both men gave a nod of confirmation, lips pressed into a thin line, jaws set, and then they settled into talking industry. Luca wanted to work for a specific studio and Gage had a few contacts. Sam wondered how men did it, shifting from tense to chill with such ease. She still hummed on a sharp edge, but looking at Gage, she wasn’t sure it was only due to Brigitte’s little visit, damn stubborn man. He thought all her reasons for not being together were excuses, but they weren’t, they were precautions for her and him.

She looked Gage over, his intense concentration, eyes neither blue nor green but somehow both. His broad shoulders filled the space, as did his solid, long legs stretched out before him. Solid, that was the word for him right now. Dependable. Strong.

And it terrified her. Getting used to him being there for her would only lower her defenses and set her up for a harder fall in the end. She hugged her arms around herself instead of wrapping them around him like she wanted to do, instead of letting him fix everything, protect her, and take care of her. She was falling for him too hard and too fast, and wanted to dig her heels in just to gain her breath, to gain back some control.

But she had to give him credit where credit was due, and found herself relating to him on a dangerously deep level because of it. He’d changed from the man he was two years ago, was changing, and he had no intention of stopping.

And neither did she. Lifting her chin, she straightened her spine. Her life was exactly that, hers, and she finally felt as though she was taking it back. She’d focus on tomorrow instead of next week or next month. Having a plan with the restraining order was a solid step to gaining some control.

She continued to watch him, curious about how the sight of him had such a visceral effect, like a warm vibration deep in her chest. She dug her nails into her palms.

Her grip on light and easy was slipping.

Chapter Fifteen

A few days later, the director called the main cast members to the set, and Gage brushed past her, as if on accident, his hand gliding along her backside. She jumped and then busied herself smoothing the front of her shirt, hoping no one noticed. On set he was always polite and courteous, but made sure he knew where she was every second of the day. It was disconcerting and made her want to get him back to his place so she could see his wicked grin, wanting him to be everything but polite. She waved her hand in front of her face.

Sam stared after him, her head pounding. The past few days had consisted of hard work and hot sex. She couldn’t complain. But she wanted to. Falling into bed at night with a work-worn brain and Gage-warmed muscles lulled her into a false sense of contentment. False because it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. The end would come. But forever wasn’t what she’d asked for. How’d the saying go?

He delivered on exactly what she wanted, a fling—light and easy.

For now, she needed to enjoy every moment. Then someday, armed with the knowledge of what made her happy, she’d meet a man and fall in love. A man like Gage, but capable of sustaining the long haul with her and her past. A man whose reputation and career wouldn’t be damaged by her baggage.

The thought didn’t comfort her.

Finding a seat with a good view of the action without getting in the way, she settled in to work. Mesmerized by Gage’s talent, Sam lost herself in his character, in the story. A particularly heart-wrenching sequence wrapped up, and she sighed.

“It’s just a movie, you know.”

She twisted in her seat to find Martin standing behind the chair next to her, holding onto the back with both hands. “Hey. It’s really something. I think you have a winner here.”

His eyes twinkled and he nodded. Clapping his hands once in obvious glee, he made his way around the chair and plopped into it. “I know it. Believe me, I love to see you cry.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but for you to get emotionally involved in
this
setting”—he waved his hand to encompass the chaos of the set—“with all of the equipment and side noise, well, that says something about this movie. Something big.”

She grinned.

Bushy black brows narrowed, and he leaned toward the screenplay on her lap. “Working?”

She followed his gaze and picked up the script. “Just tweaking.”

“Good, good.”

He didn’t ask to see her changes. The knowledge he trusted her was another bump up in her self-confidence. She wasn’t going anywhere. She loved her work.

Glancing around the set, she studied each member, each face. Who wouldn’t want her here?

Martin tapped her knee. “Okay, I better get to work before the other director gets pissed.” He stood to leave. “Sam.”

She looked up into his serious face.

“I remember the young screenwriter you were back in the beginning. You worked your ass off to be the best, wouldn’t take no for an answer. You built relationships, proved yourself time and again; it’s good to see that woman back in the game.”

Sam nodded, her throat tight. “I just hope everyone else will feel the same.”

“Doesn’t matter, they’ll be the fools in the end.”

Writing was as much a part of her as breathing. She loved it, and the idea that she’d considered walking away or was being pushed away because of Ethan made her stomach hurt.

What had happened?

A boy, a desire to be loved, false promises.

But that was then; this was now. She pulled in a deep breath and smiled.

The producer approached with a friendly, determined, set to his mouth. Sam nodded in greeting.

“Sam.” The quiet but intense man nodded in return. He handed her a business card. “This is for you. Cecilia wants to discuss business over lunch.”

Immediate warning bells went off in Sam’s head. “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”

His prominent brows furrowed. “I have conceded to Gage’s wishes that she remain off the set—not without my own personal consequences, mind you. This is the least you can do.”

“The least
I
can do?” She laughed. “I’m here because of Martin; I don’t have to do anything.” An idea took shape, curiosity driven. “But I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it. You’ve returned to writing from a year of mourning. You could use a few strong allies in your pocket.” He pushed the card into her hand.

After he left, she turned the card over. A sexy red-lipped pout covered the front of the card with Cecilia Lombardi’s information. She wrinkled her nose. On the back of the card, etched in pink ink, the time and place.
John’s Garden, Malibu Country Mart, Thursday 1 p.m.

Apprehension filled her gut.
Talk to Gage
. She shoved down the warning. She’d tried that, but it was one conversation he’d been tight-lipped about. He didn’t like the woman, and she really didn’t want to go, but business was business.

She stared at the card. What could the woman possibly want from her? Sam shook her head. It was with tentative steps that she was walking back into Hollywood. She at least needed to find out what the woman had to say.

Her security shadow would keep Cecilia in line, though Sam couldn’t really credit the woman with more brainpower than it took to dress herself in the morning.

But she was done taking chances.

Even with Gage?
She pushed up from the chair.

Sam meandered through the piles of equipment, which promised to topple with one careless touch, until she reached her favorite work place.

As she stepped up to the table, she slowed. Tilting her head to the side, she attempted to make sense of the tangle of material sitting on top of her screenplay. A pair of men’s boxer briefs. A small scrap of paper drifted to the floor. Sam picked it up, then slid onto her stool.

Annoyance tightened the muscles between her shoulder blades as she read the scribbled writing.
His favorite pair. I thought he’d want them back
. The words were accessorized by an oily kiss print from red lip gloss.

“Seriously?” She dropped her head back and her hand to her lap.

Gage rounded a shelf containing boxes of film. “What’s up?”

Sam held up the boxer briefs. His eyes widened. “Hey, those are mine.”

She knew he had nothing to do with their appearance. But fatigue challenged her patience. Wasn’t this the exact thing she worried about? The pranks, Ethan’s sister, Cecilia, and now this—it was too much. Exhaustion pulled on her like an anchor.

She tossed them to him. Needing fresh air, she passed by Gage, and with a discreet squeeze of his fingers, she slipped him the note.

She didn’t blame him, but every day came with reminders as to why they shouldn’t be together. This was just one example of how Gage being Gage Cutler would intrude upon her life. Maybe they could keep the press in line and find a way to keep the tabloids in check, but that still left all the people.

…

Gage stepped onto the front porch. He’d wanted to follow Sam immediately, but speaking with security had been the priority. He spotted his stubborn woman sleeping on an outdoor sofa. He shook his head.

Security planned to scour the area, search all trailers, and review all entries onto the premises. He rubbed the back of his neck. Talk about bad timing. He paced a short area of the porch and then pulled up to the wooden railing, slamming his hand on it. This stupid shit was pushing Sam further and further away. It was one thing if she was his, he’d ask it of her then because it’d be worth it and they’d be in it together, but all this trouble for a fling was ridiculous. The issues at work and the tabloids. He didn’t even want a fling, never wanted it, and his plan didn’t seem to be working. They either needed to get serious, or he needed to let her go.

He looked out over the yard, a cold dread heavy in his chest. Maybe that was the point—maybe it was time to stop trying.

“Fuck.” He pushed his hands back through his hair. His jaw ached from clenching it too tight for too long. Too much.

He lowered beside her without jarring her position. Within seconds she turned toward him and snuggled into his side. He clenched his fists. It was the same old cliché, but why couldn’t she turn to him when she was awake?

The briefs were just like the ones he owned, but the specific pair left for Sam were not his. What he wanted to know was who the hell placed them there and how the hell they knew what he wore.

Gage picked up her hand. “Hey, Sam. Time to wake up.”

She jerked and pushed forward to sit on the edge of the cushion. Her body swayed, and Gage placed an arm around her shoulders to steady her before she toppled to the concrete. “Whoa.”

She licked her lips and pushed her long brown strands from her face. Blinking several times, she focused on him with a smile. “Hey, how long have I been asleep?”

“Not sure. No more than forty-five minutes. Which reminds me.” He twisted to face her straight on. “What about ‘be careful’ don’t you get?”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Gage pushed up from the sofa and stepped toward the front edge of the porch. “There’s some sicko doing their damnedest to make your life hell, yet you fall asleep out in the open with no one around.”

“Exactly, no one was around. Besides.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “He’s never more than ten feet away, even when I pee.” Her eyes rolled, and he had to stifle a snort at her annoyance.

Gage leaned forward to see around the corner of the porch to find security scanning the yard. The man locked eyes and gave him a smooth nod.

He narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Don’t be an ass.”

Gage gripped the front porch post until his knuckles turned white. He’d wanted to grip her shoulders and give her a good shake when he’d seen her sleeping, damn stubborn pain-in-the-ass woman. But she’d been exhausted and needed space. He gave it to her, but only as long as he could keep an eye on her while she took it.

Her association with him made her life harder. He clenched his fists. He wanted to prove to her life with him under Hollywood’s microscope wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done if there was a reason, like if they were going to quit messing around and get serious about one another. He wanted to punch something.

He forced a breath through his lips and dropped his head side to side, cracking his neck. “I’m just worried about you.”

Sam glanced about, avoiding his gaze. “I know.”

Turning, he leaned back against the post and hooked his thumbs through the loops of his pants. Birds chirped above the soft rustle of the leaves, a slight wind blew just enough to be heard, but not enough to disrupt the quiet solitude free of voices. The perfect setting, really. Because even with Sam standing before him—he stood alone. “Could it be one of the Evanses?”

The question seemed to spook her. “I can’t imagine what they’d gain, and besides, we haven’t seen them around here.”

“Doesn’t matter, they’re a wealthy family. Finding someone to do their dirty work is simply a matter of the right motivation.”

She stepped up beside him and wrapped her arm about his waist. “This is all so frustrating. You and I are supposed to be having fun. Light and easy, remember? But instead, we’re dealing with stupid threats and petty harassment. I’m so tired of it all.”

The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction, but still kept a tight hold.
She
was tired? So was he, tired of the threat of losing her, tired of not being enough to make her stay, tired of wanting someone who might not want him back.

After they figured out who was harassing her, it would be best if he took his leave. The idea had merit, but left him with a gaping hole.

Light and easy? Fuck.

None of this was easy, but letting her go promised to be the toughest challenge of his life.