And so were women.
Since his confessions yesterday, Cesca had tried a few times to mention his family, and he’d cut her off. Made a joke, changed the subject, pressed his lips to hers. Anything to quieten the incessant thoughts in his brain. Reminding him that making himself vulnerable only led to pain.
In Hollywood, vipers wore pretty clothes, and whispered sweet things until you spilled all your secrets. Here in Italy? He didn’t think so. But it didn’t stop him panicking every time she mentioned his family.
Cesca’s eyes fluttered open. She caught his gaze, a slow smile breaking out across her lips. Her hand brushed against his chest. ‘Did I fall asleep?’
He took a deep breath, returning her smile. ‘You did.’
‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me.’
Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘That was the least rude thing you did all night.’
She coughed out a laugh. ‘Sam!’
He liked this part. It was as easy as the sun rising in the morning. They talked, they laughed, they made love, and it all felt so natural. It was the thinking he didn’t like, the analysing. Having to face things he’d long since tried to ignore.
The answer was simple, really. He wouldn’t do it. Better to concentrate on the here and now. To kiss those luscious lips that were curled up in front of him. To ravish Cesca’s naked body as she curled against his own.
Her hand fluttered down from his chest, along his abdomen and between his thighs. Sam closed his eyes as she wrapped her palm around him, her thumb caressing his tip as he hardened in her grasp.
Letting the excitement wash over him, Sam reached for Cesca, drawing her to him so he could kiss her hard. The worries of a few moments before washed out of his mind on a tide of lust, replaced by a need that pulsed through his body.
He wanted her. Now. Everything else could wait.
25
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date
– Sonnet XVIII
Cesca stopped typing, sat back and stared at the screen. A shiver snaked its way down her spine, lingering at the base, making her shift in her chair.
The End.
She’d done it. OK, so it was only a first draft, and more than anybody else she knew it needed a lot of work, even with Sam’s editing. But to see those words written on the screen was almost impossible to take in. She’d never thought she’d type them again.
She blinked a couple of times, her eyes watering with emotion. She didn’t like crying – she never had – and to do it over a play seemed stupid. And yet still they formed, little droplets pooling at the rim of her eyes, threatening to spill over any moment.
‘Are you OK?’ Sam asked, alerted no doubt by the silence from her lack of typing. ‘Shall we take a break?’
Shaking her head, Cesca swallowed the lump in her throat before answering him. ‘I’m OK, I think. I just . . . ’ She trailed off, needing to check the screen again, to persuade herself she’d really written those words. ‘I just finished the first draft.’
His laughter sounded relieved. ‘I thought something terrible had happened.’ He squatted beside her, reading the words out loud. ‘The End. That’s fantastic.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So did the main couple get together?’
Cesca tipped her head to the side. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘Yes I would, and I’m going to find out. And if you ended up tearing them apart just for the sake of dramatic impact, I may have to rewrite it for you.’
She grinned. ‘You old romantic. Who would have thought the hard-nosed Hollywood actor wanted a happy-ever-after?’
‘I’ve got a vested interest in this,’ he reminded her.
‘You have?’ She was teasing him, her eyes dancing as her gaze caught his.