Star Attraction (9 page)

Brad nodded and looked around him
thoughtfully before disappearing into the living room again.

Zaira came out with two full
plates of sausage and peppers, with pasta, and then brought the salad.
 
She brought the wine and bread next,
and admired Brad’s graceful movements as he opened the bottle for her and then
sat down.

He praised the food, the wine, the
apartment, everything, over and over again, until Zaira wondered exactly what he
was up to.
 
She certainly enjoyed
his compliments, but she kept getting the feeling she was being manipulated by
Brad in some subtle way.
 
He
chatted amiably about every topic she brought up, especially classical music
and literature, and she began to enjoy herself in spite of her wariness of him.

Once they had finished eating,
Zaira told Brad to sit down on the sofa and start to read her work, and handed
him a red pencil for making corrections and comments.
 
She felt especially vulnerable now, for he was going to
criticize and comment on her work.
 
She knew that this was a very different kind of writing from her novel
and her academic work, and was afraid that he would think she wasn’t up to it
after all.
 

Rather than stand there watching
him score out dozens of passages, Zaira fled to the kitchen to make coffee and
cut the cake he had brought.
 
She
also got out the ice cream, and opened the box of chocolates.
 
She checked the champagne which she had
left to chill in the freezer, and found it cold enough to drink.
 
Feeling very daring, she decided to
take it out and placed it on the coffee table with two glasses.

He observed her movement, and she
tried to read his expression as he looked up.
 
Her heart began to pound as the emerald eyes caressed her
own, and for a moment she was sure he would come to her, kiss her.
 
But no, he merely smiled, and said,
“Fantastic.
 
Absolutely brilliant!
You've captured their voices and emotions perfectly.
 
This really does call for the champagne!”
 

Brad slapped the papers down on
the table with a flamboyant gesture.

Zaira could see he had merely
ticked the first five or six pages, but had not scored out anything.
 
With a sigh of relief, she went back to
the kitchen to bring out the rest of the things, and as she put them down on
the table as well, Brad said, “Here, help me.”

She picked up the glasses, and the
cork popped with that wonderfully unique sound.
 
As the champagne fizzed out into the glasses and onto her
hand, Zaira felt a complete and utter joy which she had never experienced
before.
 
Brad was here, he loved
her script, he was thoughtful, kind, breathtakingly handsome.
 
And dangerous.
 

He raised his glass in one hand
and toasted, “To us!” but instead of drinking from his glass, he captured her
wet hand, and slowly began to lick the champagne off the back of it with a
silky caress that made her weak at the knees.

“Brad!” she gasped, but could not
manage to bring her hand away.

“Delicious,” he murmured, but then
almost as if he caught himself doing something which he shouldn’t have, he
stood up stiffly, and said huskily, ”Sorry, my dear, I got carried away, and
after all, it’s a terrible thing to waste champagne.
 
Now drink up, while I finish reading the rest of this.”

Zaira sat down in the armchair
next to the sofa, and stared at Brad’s handsome profile.
 
The tingling sensations had not
diminished, but rather grew stronger as she examined every inch of Brad
critically, in an effort to find some flaw in him which she could dislike him
for.
 

But no, Brad Clarke was infuriatingly
perfect.
 
She couldn't help but
admire his wavy hair, with the mysterious red glints made her hand ache to
touch it.
 
His neck was strong, and
his shoulders massively broad.
 
His
chest muscles rippled with his every move, and he had a firm midriff, without
an ounce of spare flesh on him anywhere.
 
His legs were strong and supple, and she remembered again the first time
she had met him, when his jeans had molded to his magnificent body..
 

She shook her head, trying to
remove the enticing picture of him from her mind. She gulped the champagne in
an effort to ease the lump that had formed in her throat.

“Wonderful, fantastic,” Brad said
again, as he finished reading the last sheet, and while he did ask her one or
two questions about the script, for the most part he seemed perfectly
satisfied.
 

“You’ve made terrific progress. I
must say I’m very impressed.
 
In
any case, I'll still be tied up with one other project, a production of
Hamlet
I'm acting in, for the rest of
this week and next week, but after the performances at the drama festival, we
can get started on the film.
 
So if
you don’t mind working at this pace, do you think you can be ready in about two
weeks?” Brad asked in a very businesslike manner.

Zaira tried not to feel hurt as
she replied, “Yes, I think so.”
 
She had the feeling she was being brushed off, that he was not really
interested in her after all, though it had seemed so only a few minutes before.

“Great.
 
Now there's just one more small problem,” Brad said.

Zaira looked at him inquiringly.

“Before you say anything, just
hear me out, Zaira,” Brad insisted.
 
“My main problem has been trying to find an office convenient to here,
and now I've been told by my landlord that I have to leave my apartment by the
end of next week, because the man who let me have it had no right to sublet.”

Zaira knew what was coming, and
was surprised, but also in a way pleased.
 
She was feeling reckless after all the gin, wine, and champagne, and
decided that she would appear reluctant, but let him talk her around.

“I was hoping that you might see
thing my way, that the perfect solution would be for me to move in here,” Brad
said quietly.

Zaira pretended she was going to
say something by opening her mouth, but Brad continued persuasively, “You have
a spare bedroom, the office is perfect, and we could work a great deal more
easily together here than have three separate places to live and work.
 

“I’m only supposed to be in New
York for one semester, so if it doesn’t work out, you’ll be getting rid of me
in February anyway.
  
But I
promise, if you find me a pain, I’ll look for another place.
 
I don’t know how much you have to pay
here, but I’m paying two thousand dollars a month at the other place, so if I
give you that, plus another thousand.
 
Will that cover everything, including bills and food?”

Zaira’s eyes widened, and he
misunderstood her response.

“Not that I am going to pay you at
act as a housekeeper for me or anything!” Brad added hastily. “I just meant
that it would be easy to share the food bills, and we could take turns
cooking.”

Zaira said nothing, and he looked
at her anxiously, almost pleadingly.
 
She knew he was sincere about the business side of things, but she also
knew that the cozy domesticity suggested some sort of personal involvement.
 
She sifted through her feelings, and
for a brief moment a picture of Jonathan popped up in her mind.

 
But it was faded and dim, and Zaira realized with a start
that she was beginning to forget what her former husband looked like.
 
It had all happened so suddenly, but it
was almost as if she were being offered a second chance at happiness by the
gods.
 
She was afraid to take it,
but also knew that if she didn’t she would regret it for the rest of her life.

“Well?” Brad demanded softly,
looking at her face, and she could see the fear of rejection in his eyes.

“I agree with everything you said,
and the points you’ve made, so as long as you don’t bring home dozens of nubile
females and agree to scrub the bathtub, you can move in whenever you like.”

Brad chuckled and shook his
head.
 
“Absolutely no nubile
females will cross that threshold except you, I promise, and I have no
objection to scrubbing the entire place from top to bottom if it makes you
happy.”

“Right, that’s settled then.
 
Come and look at the room, and there is
anything else you need, we can hunt around to get it.”

They went into the spare bedroom
and turned on the light.
 
Brad
looked about and said, “A couple of lamps, a new quilt, a few pictures, that
sort of thing would be about it.
 
You don’t mind, do you?”

“Why should I?
 
It was like this when I came.
 
I haven’t had the money to make
improvements, and the university won’t object so long as we don’t knock down
the walls.”

“Fine, then.
 
If it’s all right with you, I’ll move
in this weekend, and then maybe you could come shopping with me to pick out a
few things on Sunday?”

“Saturday is fine with me, and I
haven’t got any plans for the rest of the weekend except to prepare my lectures
and then get back to the screenplay,” Zaira assured him.

“I can’t thank you enough, for
everything.
 
I mean, all your hard
work, the room, the screenplay,” Brad said, smiling, but Zaira moved away
before he could kiss her.

“Don’t mention it,” she said.
“You’re the one who should be thanked, for everything you’ve done for me.”

Brad gazed at her, searching her
face for a moment before saying in a more casual tone, “Well, I suppose I’d
better get home and start my packing, not that I brought much with me from
Malibu.
 
I’ll see you on Saturday
then, about four or five, after I’ve finished rehearsing and taking care of a
few business matters.”

Zaira showed him to the door, and
knew she was going to be kissed whether she liked it or not, so she decided to
make the first move.

“Thanks again,” she said, “and
I’ll see you.”
 
She stretched up
onto her toes on manage to plant a kiss on his jaw.
 

Brad looked a bit surprised, but
did nothing except pat her on the shoulder and disappear out the door.
 

Zaira shut the door and
sighed.
 
So she had been
right.
 
He was afraid of women who
made the first move.
 
But why?
 
The lack of the thrill of the
chase?
 
Or did something else
trouble him?
 
Perhaps she had been
right about her first assumption, the every first time she’d met him.
 
He was shy and insecure, and far from
having an exaggerated sense of his own importance, did not see himself as
anything special.

And of course, Zaira couldn’t
blame him if the stories about his barbaric father were true. Cormac Clarke was
supposed to hate his son to the point of not even wanting to be in the same
room with him.
 
But again, this
could be explained as two proud men trying to find a place for themselves in a
very competitive career. The aging father was bound to resent his son, but also
be easily disappointed by him.

Lastly, Zaira concluded, there was
his money.
 
She remembered all too
well when she and Jonathan had been living the high life, that they had been
surrounded by men and women all to anxious to flatter them, even go to bed with
them.
 

Zaira thought briefly that
Jonathan, weak as he was, had probably indulged in some of these flings, more
for the purpose of furthering his ambitions than any lecherousness in his
behavior.
 
Indeed, as a lover he
had been only adequate, certainly never very much interested in that side of
life.
 
As he had grown more and
more hard-headed and ambitious, they had grown more and more apart, and then of
course she had been away in England for almost three years on and off.
 

She could sympathize with Brad’s
caution where women were concerned, for she had learnt the same lesson
herself.
 
It was easy to be
temporarily dazzled by someone, and do something both would regret.
 
And it was easily to be taken in by
money, fame, prestige, but again, if there were no real respect or love between
two people, it became an empty and hollow life.

Perhaps it would be different for
herself and Brad once he had moved in.
 
Zaira reminded herself that she had not been entirely honest with him,
for there was still the matter of her identity as Zoe Dominick to clear
up.