PERHAPS IT WAS HER imagination, but Sophie felt as though the dynamic shifted between them after that night. There was something more in Lucas’s eyes when he looked at her, and certainly she felt a definite lurch in the general region of her heart when she looked at him. Their friendship had deepened. They’d acknowledged their mutual unwillingness to hurt each other.
They valued each other.
She woke on the last morning of their third week together with the thought fully formed in her mind. As usual, Lucas was still sleeping beside her, and she rolled onto her side to watch him. He had ridiculously long eyelashes for a man, and when he slept they brushed his cheeks. With his guard down, she could imagine him as the boy he once was, and she felt a tug of sadness and regret for the difficult path he’d had in life. He’d made so much of himself, and he’d come from such a hard place. He had a lot to be proud of, but she knew he didn’t see it that way.
Not that they’d talked about the book again, or his dreams. And he hadn’t had another nightmare, although she suspected the two stiff whiskeys he’d taken to drinking before bedtime had something to do with that.
Unfortunately, the rest of the world could not be blocked out so readily. She knew from conversations—arguments—she’d overheard him having with Derek that he’d had interview requests resulting from the biography. The moment he returned to Sydney, he would be inundated with media. And she had no idea how he was going to deal with any of it.
But, of course, as he’d made quite clear, that wasn’t any of her business.
Unable to resist touching him, Sophie traced the curve of his ear. They had one week left together. The thought made her stomach muscles tense with anticipated loss. It was going to be hard to walk away from him, from their time together. But she was under no illusions—their time together would end. She hadn’t become that foolish, at least. Hadn’t taken that last, perilous step toward inevitable pain.
In the meantime, they had seven whole days to spend with each other, and she planned to relish every minute of every hour.
Accordingly, she woke Lucas in the nicest possible way and they had drowsy morning sex, slow and sultry. Then she cooked them both breakfast, and afterward they lay on the couch doing a crossword puzzle with the morning sun streaming across their bodies.
She lay lengthwise with her bare feet in his lap, and he rubbed her arches absently with his free hand as he contemplated the folded newspaper.
“Twenty-five down. We’re looking for an African animal in five letters,” he said. “You’d think they could be more specific. That’s a big continent we’re talking about there.”
“Try hyena,” she suggested. “Or tiger.”
“Tigers are from India,” he said.
“Really? Oh, yeah. Of course,” she said.
He flashed her a smile and rubbed her arch again. “Hyena fits, though.”
“See? There is method in my madness,” she said.
He was about to read out the next clue when his cell rang. He scowled.
“If that’s Derek calling me to hassle about those scripts again…” he muttered as he reached to grab his phone off the coffee table.
Sophie watched his face as he took the call, trying to sort out his relationship with the much-maligned Derek. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Lucas seemed to disagree with his manager on a whole host of subjects—how much press he should be doing, what kind of movies Lucas should be making and all the St. Barnaby’s stuff being at the top of the list. Perhaps, she mused, they had one of those jostling male relationships, like Tom Cruise and Cuba Gooding Jr. in Jerry McGuire.
“Adele. How the hell are you?” Lucas asked, the scowl on his face turning into a smile.
Not wanting to eavesdrop, Sophie started to stand so as to give him privacy to take his call, but Lucas’s grip tightened on her feet and he shook his head at her, indicating the call would only take a minute. She settled back onto the cushions and reached for the crossword puzzle.
Deliberately tuning out his conversation, she’d filled in the top right-hand corner of the puzzle before she heard something that made her stiffen.
“Tomorrow night? God, I’d forgotten. Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he said. “What time do you want me?”
Sophie felt an absurd lurch of dismay. Lucas was going to leave.
God. It was over. She’d thought they had another week, but he was about to pull out now and, somehow, she had to find the strength to shrug it off and act as though it didn’t matter.
Carefully she schooled her face into what she hoped was a carefree expression as he wound up the call. It took all her strength of will to glance at him casually when he finally put the phone down.
“We’re looking for a vegetable with six letters,” she said.
But he was looking apologetic, and she knew the time for cozy crossword puzzles was over. A tight feeling banded her chest and she let the paper drop into her lap.
Here it is, the big goodbye, she thought.
“Soph, that was an old friend of mine from drama-school days,” he said. “She’s an artist now, and her latest exhibition opens tomorrow night in Sydney. Unfortunately, I promised her months ago that I’d be there.”
“Sure,” Sophie said with a shrug. “I understand. You have to head back a little early.”
She started moving her feet off his lap again, but Lucas frowned and wouldn’t let go of her ankles.
“No. I’ll go back for just the one night—it’s only an hour or so by car. And I want you to come with me,” he said.
She stared at him, aware that a dangerous relief was surging through her veins. “Really?” Her voice was high with relieved incredulity, and she gave herself a mental slap. Dignity, girl. Have a little dignity.
“Of course. I’m not going to leave you here on your own. And I’m not giving up the rest of my time off, either.”
“I’ll have to stop by my apartment to grab something to wear,” she said, thinking of her good pair of black heels and her all-purpose little black dress.
“We’ll make a day of it, and I’ll take you shopping,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not buying me a dress, Lucas,” she said repressively, although a little part of her quite liked the idea. Too many viewings of Pretty Woman, obviously.
“Fine. But I still want to take you shopping,” he said. “Donatella says I have a good eye.”
She stared at him, pretty sure that the Donatella he was talking about usually came accessorized with a Versace after her name. Every now and then she forgot who he was and what he did. He’d become so human to her, so normal and flawed like everyone else in the world.
“I’m not wearing anything with safety pins holding it together,” she warned him.
“We’ll see.”
He snatched the crossword puzzle back, giving her a dark look when he saw how much she’d done without him.
“What can I say? I have a good vocabulary,” she said.
“You have a dirty vocabulary,” he corrected her.
He bent his head to the page, and she studied him covertly from beneath her lashes. She was going to Sydney with Lucas. They were going to a flashy event, and she was going to be his date. More importantly, they were taking their relationship beyond the confines of this house and the Blue Mountains. After their single foray into the nearby mountain town of Faulconbridge that first week, they’d stuck to the estate. They had everything they needed shipped in—food arrived on a weekly basis, and a discreet, virtually invisible cleaner whisked through the house magically every other day. There was no need for anything else, since they’d been so wrapped up in enjoying each other.
Now the bubble was about to burst. Not quite permanently—not yet. But soon, it would all be over.
Probably that was a good thing, given how dismayed she’d felt when she’d heard Lucas committing to attending Adele’s opening. The wash of regret and hurt that had swept over her had been far stronger than anything she’d anticipated. Maybe she was a lot more foolish that she had been prepared to admit to herself, after all. Maybe—
“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, and Lucas glanced up from the crossword. He cocked an eyebrow at her in query, and she waved a hand back toward the newspaper.
“Come on, what’s the next clue?” she asked.
It was too late to pull out now. The damage was already done. She might as well enjoy her time left in the sun.
LUCAS PRESSED the accelerator to the floor and shifted down a gear. Beside him, Sophie turned her face into the wind, her short, bright hair a ruffled mess, her face all but swallowed up by her Jackie O sunglasses.
“You look like a mad squirrel in those sunglasses,” he said.
“Funny, I was just thinking that you look like a racing ferret in yours,” she said, eyeing his sleek, modern frames disparagingly. He laughed, and realized that he hadn’t looked forward to a public event as much in a long time. Usually he turned up, smiled, chatted to whoever was important or beautiful, then got the hell out as quickly as possible—usually to find somewhere noisier where people were wearing less clothing and drinking stronger drinks.
“I forgot to say, Derek’s made an appointment for me at the hospital this afternoon,” he said. “They want to check on everything.”
Sophie looked at him, a worried frown appearing between her eyebrows.
“You haven’t exactly been resting your knee,” she said, clearly thinking of some of their more recent bedroom activities. “I hope it’s all right.”
“It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he said, amused by her concern. “All that exercise has been good for it, I’m sure.”
They bantered and teased one another the rest of the way into the city, and nearly a full hour and a half after their departure they were pulling up outside his Double Bay harborside home.
“Every time I catch a ferry across the harbor I look at these houses and wonder who is lucky enough to live here,” she said as he drove his car through the automatic garage door.
“Now you know,” he said. “Nicole Kidman is around the point a bit. And Russell Crowe has a pad on the end of the Woolloomooloo pier.”
“Cozy. I suppose you have Trivial Pursuit nights and whatnot?” she asked, poker-faced.
“All the time. And key-swapping parties.”
She gave him a dry look at that.
“What? It’s true, I swear. Keith Urban is a tiger in the sack,” he said.
She punched him for that one, and he ruffled her hair in retaliation. That led to a heated, heavy petting session in the dark quiet of his garage. He had her in his lap and his hands under her tank top when someone cleared his throat loudly.
Sophie stiffened and blushed furiously as the overhead light came on.
“Lucas. Great to see you,” Derek said, but his eyes were on Sophie as she slithered from Lucas’s lap to her own side of the car, furtively rearranging her clothes all the while.
Lucas frowned. As usual, Derek’s timing sucked large.
“Derek,” he said.
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Derek said pointedly to Sophie.
It was Derek’s business to mind Lucas’s business, but he bristled at the speculation in the other man’s gaze.
“This is Sophie,” he said. Derek didn’t need to know any more than that. Certainly he didn’t need to know that Sophie was the chef that Julie Jenkins had hired. Somehow he knew Derek would find that piece of information highly amusing.
“Hi,” Sophie said, looking up properly for the first time and giving a tight, embarrassed little wave.
Derek frowned, and Lucas knew exactly what he was thinking, the same thing that he’d thought when he first met Sophie: that she was nothing special.
How wrong could one man be? Thank God he’d had a chance to look twice, past the expectations created by too many years surrounded by silicone, BOTOX and the latest fad workout.
“Come on, Soph. I’ll show you around,” he said, getting out of the car and pulling his crutches from the space behind the driver’s seat.
“I’ve got some papers for you to sign,” Derek said, falling in behind them as they entered the house. “And Steven Spielberg wants to do a phone conference on the Scott Frank script at eleven.”
“No can do. I’m taking Sophie shopping,” Lucas said as he led Sophie into the living room.
He watched as she took in the stark white walls, modern art and sleek leather furniture. She glanced into the next room, spotting the vast glass-topped dining table, more white walls and more modern art. She didn’t say a word, or frown, or even purse her lips. Still, he knew she hated it. And, looking at it all with new eyes, he could see why a warm, vibrant person like Sophie might find his house a little…sterile. Maybe even cold and unwelcoming.
Derek was making impatient noises behind them, and Lucas swung around to face him.
“Look, I’m still on a break until next week. You shouldn’t have made any commitments without asking me first. Just tell Steven I’ll call him next week. He’ll be cool.”
“I can go shopping on my own. I don’t mind,” Sophie said, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“See? Sophie’s fine with it,” Derek said.
“But I’m not. Reschedule,” Lucas said. He wasn’t about to dump Sophie like a hot potato because Hollywood beckoned.
Derek shot Sophie a frustrated look as he headed for the door. “Fine. I’ll see you this afternoon at the hospital,” he said.
Sophie pulled a face once they heard the front door close.
“He’s not happy,” she said.
“Tough. He’ll own me again next week. This week is mine,” he said.
Reaching for her, he pulled her close. “You hate my house, don’t you?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.
“Why do you say that?” she said. As a stalling tactic it was masterful, but he was on to her.
“I can tell.” He nipped at her earlobe.
“The view is fantastic. Awesome,” she said, her hands curving into his butt to pull him closer.
“Very diplomatic.”
“Do you like it?” she asked. “Surely that’s the most important thing.”
Lucas lifted his face from her neck and glanced around again. “Not really. But I guess I don’t spend enough time here to care.”
“So you’re based mostly in L.A., then?” she asked.
“I’m based wherever the next film is being shot. Actor’s curse.” He shrugged.
Her eyes were solemn as she looked at him. “That must get lonely. Never having a place that’s all your own.”
He could see what she was thinking, the connections she was making, and he pulled away from her.
“I’ll show you the bedroom,” he said, leering at her comically. “Then we can hit the shops.”
She eyed him seriously for a long beat before nodding. “It’s your show, lead on.”