Nacho Figueras Presents (16 page)

K
at got home late that night. The ride with Sebastian had put her behind schedule, and even once they'd started to film again, she had found her concentration had been broken. She couldn't stop thinking about being on that horse. She'd dwelled on the magic of riding in general, which had been a true revelation for her, but the particular power of riding with Sebastian was where her mind kept returning, no matter what was happening on set. At one point, Liberty had called a halt to a scene and stood there, talking to Kat through her headset for a full two minutes before Kat had even realized what had happened.

Tomorrow was a day off, and she was glad of it. After that ride, she needed time away from Sebastian to recover her willpower. She was shaken and distracted, and she felt like she was starving for something, but when she wandered into her kitchen, nothing had any appeal.

She'd been happy to be back in her house, surrounded by her things again. She'd given the friend who had been renting the place a break on two months' rent, plus the cost of moving her to a new house, to make up for the inconvenience of Kat coming back early, but it had been worth it to be home.

After she got the final check for writing
Twenty-five Roses
, she'd immediately sent her parents enough money to cover all her father's hospital bills and then paid off the balance on her mortgage. When she wrote that check, a weight had dropped off her shoulders and left her feeling like she could float. Plus she was still getting paid to direct and had backend points on the film so, for the first time in a long time, money was not going to be an issue.

She was back home, in her beautiful house, with her beautiful things, doing the work she loved best, in her beautiful, carefully cultivated life. Her destiny was back on track.

She should have been ecstatic. But tonight, all her treasures felt tarnished; nothing in her lovely home offered any real comfort.

She decided to make a cup of tea and draw a bath, hoping that she could soak away her restlessness, but she knew before she finished undressing that even the hottest water would feel tepid. There was no satisfaction to be found.

She bathed anyway and then dried off, bundled her hair up in the towel, and pulled on a crisp white cotton nightgown before climbing into bed with her laptop to go over yesterday's rushes. She couldn't relax, and she knew there was no chance in hell she'd sleep, so she figured she might as well work.

They had filmed a difficult scene yesterday—the moment when a young Victoria watched her husband being thrown off a horse and then died in her arms. The scene was very technical. They'd had a horse trainer in to work with the stallion that they needed to buck and rear on cue. They'd also had a stuntman who specialized in bareback riding to swap in for Charlie when he was thrown off the pony. Added to that were Liberty's reaction shots and then the moment when she ran out to the broken, bloodied body of her husband and held on to him while the lovers whispered their last words to each other.

The rushes had come out beautifully. The horse had done exactly what it had been trained to do, the stuntman had taken the fall safely but made it look fatal, and Liberty and Charlie had acted their hearts out. And even though she'd written the scene herself and seen about half a dozen different versions of it already, Kat teared up right along with Victoria when she parted from her beloved.

She sighed, happy that she had what she needed from the scene, and she reached to fast forward to the next part, but just then an outtake came on, one where Sebastian, who had been helping with the horse, was caught on camera. She had noticed that her director of photography, a steady and taciturn woman named Mary, made a quiet habit of filming Sebastian whenever she could. And Kat couldn't say she blamed her in the least.

She paused the video and zoomed in.

God, she thought, if this man ever decided he needed yet another career, there was no doubt he could make a killing in front of the camera as well. Sebastian was leading the horse, looking over his shoulder and laughing at something offscreen. The sun was in his eyes so he was just barely squinting, his amazing smile was in full bloom, and the arm that led the pony was flexed and taut. It reminded Kat of the way he'd turned and looked at her on the horse today, asking her if she was ready to go faster.

She felt a warmth rise to her cheeks thinking of it, and then, looking back at the screen, she felt the warmth travel downward as well. She pressed Play, watching him turn and walk away from the camera, and felt her breath catch in her throat. She rewound the image, absently sliding her hand along her bare thigh as she looked at Sebastian's laughing green eyes, the way his black T-shirt and faded blue jeans fit him in all the right ways, the way he moved with such effortless grace. She touched herself and was not surprised to find that she was soaked.

She closed her eyes, wanting to continue down this path, and yet not. All the desire she'd felt while riding with him came rushing back at her, only magnified by the postponement of her satisfaction. She looked at the image of him again and felt herself shaken by her longing.

But at the same time, she was clutched by an intense regret. Because what if sitting in her beautiful house, alone in bed, watching him on the screen like some far-off Hollywood deity, was the most she could ever hope to have from him? What if this was the closest she would ever get to him again?

She shut the computer with a click and reached for her phone. Before she could think twice, she dialed his number.

S
ebastian felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but kept his eyes on the road. He'd check messages later. Right now he was concentrating on simply making sure that he and Liberty got out of this night intact.

He hadn't wanted to go out. His plan had been to go back to the hotel, take a long, cool swim, and then, he had to admit, he was going to lie in bed, close his eyes, and play back every second of his ride with Kat that afternoon. And whatever his hands did while he was doing that, he would not hold himself responsible for.

It had been sweet torture, seeing her in those clothes, feeling her pressed up against him as they rode, smelling her scent, becoming aware of the unmistakable quickening of her desire. She had wanted him, he was sure of it, and her hunger had only fed his own.

And then, when they hit a gallop and her desire had turned into an intense joy, when he had watched her almost instantly fall in love with riding—that had only made it worse. It had reminded him, once again, what a remarkable woman she was, and just how desperately he missed her.

He felt haunted. He couldn't wait to leave the set. Once he got back to the hotel, he dove right into his pool, then he took advantage of his outdoor shower, and slipped back inside his room wearing nothing but a towel.

He had just lain back on the bed, imagining the way her breasts felt pressed against his back, the way her arms had clenched around his waist, the way her breath had panted, warm and unsteady, against his ear, when Liberty had burst into his room wearing a long red wig, a trench coat, and a pair of enormous sunglasses.

“Put on some clothes,” she'd declared. “We're going out!”

He'd instantly refused. The last thing he wanted was to abet Liberty in whatever strange scheme she had obviously concocted against her own boredom. He wanted to stay in bed, think of Kat, and be as satisfied as he could possibly get without actually having her in his arms.

“If you don't go out with me, I'll just go out alone, and if I go out alone, you will be directly responsible for whatever might happen to me, Sebastian. Now, not that I couldn't just stand here all night and ogle you in that towel, but you need to put on some clothes, make yourself pretty, and call for your car because I want to go out, and you're driving.”

He had groaned and protested, but her threat had worked. She refused to take her bodyguard, so someone had to make sure that she came out of things alive.

And now they were in the car, and Liberty, still wearing what she insisted was a disguise that no one would ever recognize her in (though Sebastian thought that she looked exactly like herself, except with long red hair and sunglasses) was directing him to an East Hollywood strip joint with the somewhat terrifying name of Jumbo's Clown Room.

He had thought about refusing to go. Strip clubs were not his thing. But he knew that there was no use in refusing Liberty. The only way to get through this night would be to take a deep breath, put his head down, and hope that she didn't get them both arrested.

“Park here,” she demanded. “It's just up the block.”

He pulled the car along the sidewalk, wondering about the wisdom of leaving a Porsche Panamera parked on a street in East Hollywood. But it was just a rental so he supposed it would be all right.

The bouncer let them in without a second glance at Liberty, which was a hopeful sign. Perhaps they would get in and out without any trouble after all.

The club was very
red
inside. Red lights, red walls, shiny red stage floor. The women who were dancing were lithe, pretty, very flexible, and looked, to Sebastian's jaded eye, bored out of their minds.

“Whooooooo!” screamed Liberty as she sat down at a table right next to the stage. A blond Asian woman with pierced nipples and a pair of black panties with a ruffled butt danced on over and gyrated right at eye level.

“Sebastian,” hissed Liberty, “pay the woman!”

Sebastian rolled his eyes but took out a twenty and carefully tucked it into the side of her underwear. The blonde nodded at him and smiled, and swiveled back to the other side of the stage.

“That's not how you do it!” yelled Liberty. “Watch me!”

And she pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket—Sebastian realized, with dread, that she had a thick roll of them in there—and stuck it between her teeth and gestured for the blonde to dance back on over.

Seeing the cash, the stripper moved quite a bit faster this time and happily stood still as Liberty managed to stuff the bill down the front of her panties with nothing but her mouth and a wink.

It was the wink that did it. Suddenly the dancer's eyes got huge, like she had just seen a miracle take place right in front of her. Her mouth fell open, and she choked out, “Oh my God, you're Liberty Smith!”

Liberty grinned and held a finger up to her mouth. “Our little secret, right, honey?” she teased.

The blonde blinked rapidly and then nodded, her hips suddenly swiveling twice as fast. She showed zero intention of dancing anywhere else but right there in front of Liberty's face.

Liberty pulled out another hundred, and this time used her hands to get it where she wanted it to go. The stripper grinned and almost clapped, and then leaned down and said, “Are you, like, researching a role? Are you playing a dancer in your next movie?”

Sebastian laughed when he saw how completely delighted Liberty looked by this idea.

She turned to him. “What do you think, Seb? Should I play a stripper next?”

He shook his head and smiled. “I'm sure you would be excellent,” he said diplomatically.

The stripper leaned down again “Do you want to come up and dance with me?” she said to Liberty.

Sebastian reacted quickly but not quickly enough. “I think that is a very bad idea,” he said, trying to grab Liberty's arm, but she slipped out of his grip, leaving her empty coat in his hands and revealing that this was her plan all along. All she was wearing was a purple G-string, a pair of sparkling gold pasties, and a pair of spike heels so high that Sebastian worried she'd break her ankle.

She threw her sunglasses down at him. “Woooo!” she yelled, and wrapped herself around the pole.

Sebastian had to admit that the woman looked like she knew what she was doing. She was up, and then she was down, and then she was doing splits (a moment when Sebastian was visited with the undeniable urge to stare at the ceiling until it was over), and then she was completely upside down, her long red locks swinging in the breeze, until the other stripper made the fatal mistake of stepping on Liberty's wig and pulling the whole thing off her head.

If people hadn't suspected her before, there was no ignoring her now. Liberty's long blond mane of hair came tumbling down and suddenly there was no mistaking the fact that the world's most famous movie star was hanging upside down, nearly naked, on a red, red stage in an East Hollywood strip joint.

“Holy shit!” came a shout from the guy sitting at the table next to Sebastian. “Holy frigging shit!”

Sebastian stood up. “Okay, Libby,” he said, “time to go.”

She grinned at him and did an upside-down split in the air.

“For God's sake, Liberty. Everyone knows who you are. This isn't safe.”

“Wait, isn't that—” came another shout.

“Liberty,” said Sebastian sharply. “We have to move. Now!”

Liberty shook her head and laughed.

A crowd was starting to gather. Sebastian tried one more time.

“Liberty, please, this is dangerous.”

Liberty just rolled her eyes and spun.

That was it. Sebastian was up on the stage in an instant, pulling Liberty off the pole and wrapping her in her jacket.

The crowd booed, and the mood immediately shifted from amazed to ugly.

“Hey!” Liberty yelled, and struggled against him. “I'm not done!”

“We're going,” he gritted at her. “Now.”

Suddenly there was a surge of revolt from the audience. Men were starting to climb up on the stage with them, yelling at him to let her dance.

Swearing, Sebastian threw her over his shoulder and bowled through the crowd. Hands reached out to grab them and bodies crowded close, but he made it out the door and slammed it behind him. “You have a crowd control problem,” he panted at the bouncer as he put Liberty on the ground and then grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the car.

Liberty was cackling wildly, completely entertained by the whole spectacle. “Wasn't that fun?” she yelled as they made it to the car and slid inside. “Wasn't that the best?”

Sebastian hit the gas just as a crowd of men and strippers from the club surged toward the car.

“No,” said Sebastian, running a yellow light in an attempt to get away. “That was not.”

“
Pffft.
” Liberty blew a raspberry and made the thumbs-down sign. “You wouldn't know fun if it bit you in the ass, Sebastian. Let's go get a drink somewhere else. I'll keep my coat on, I promise.”

Sebastian sighed in frustration. It was obviously going to be a long night.

Much later on, after Sebastian had finally managed to convince Liberty that she didn't need yet another flight of tequila shots, and that they should just go back to the hotel, Sebastian lay in his bed, staring at his phone in disbelief and anger.

Kat had called hours ago. But left no message. Her name blinked on the screen like a missed opportunity.

Why hadn't he checked to see who was calling?

He looked at the clock. It was really much too late to call her back now, but he started to dial her number anyway.

Halfway through, he stopped. Surely she had just been calling about work? How weird would he seem to return her call at 3:30 a.m.?

He considered texting her, but since she hadn't left a message, he didn't want to press.

Sighing, he put the phone facedown on his bedside table and closed his eyes. Immediately the vision of Kat—her gray eyes wide, her high cheekbones flushed red, the white button-down shirt she'd been wearing this afternoon opened maybe just one more button than was strictly decent—swam into his mind.

He let his hands wander as his mind filled with memories painful and sweet. The ache of what he couldn't have mingling with the pleasure of his recollections.