Loveplay. Diana Palmer
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surface with a long finger. “I started out playing a squirrel in our third-grade play, and I was hooked. I’ve never wanted to do anything else. I studied and worked and eventually became the practically unknown actor you see before you.”
“That’s not true,” she chided. “You were on one of the soap operas, I heard.”
“For six weeks, until they killed me off.” He propped his face in his hands. “I die well, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Too bad you have to do it offstage in this play,” she murmured on a laugh.
“I thought I’d do it with sound effects,” he said with an evil glint in his eyes. “Screams and groans and thuds, that sort of thing.”
“Cul would kill you,” she suggested.
“He already wants to, I think.” He watched her quietly. “But he’s really after you, lady. I’ve never seen a director ride anyone as hard. What have you done to make him so antagonistic?”
“I breathe,” she said simply. “It’s something I’d rather not talk about, anyway. Would you like some cake to go with the coffee? I just happen to have two slices left.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate,” she said.
He grinned. “My favorite.”
She dished it up and he poured the coffee into the thick cracked mugs she’d found at a second-hand shop. “Isn’t this fun?” she laughed as they sipped and ate. “There I was, living on Park Avenue in a luxury apartment, wearing leather coats and buying silk lingerie…and I never knew what I was missing.”
“Must be hard,” he said with real sympathy.
She considered that, stirring her coffee idly, with a spoon after she’d added cream. “Do you know, it isn’t? I think I had my values all mixed up. Money and power and getting ahead were all I thought about. I’ve been noticing—forced to notice—how people live around here. It’s pretty sobering. I think I’ve changed directions, all at once.”
“Yes, it does make you think, when you see people so much less fortunate,” he admitted. “I haven’t had the kind of life you’ve had, not yet. But I hope that if I ever do make it, I won’t forget who I was.”
“I can’t see you forgetting,” she said, and meant it. “But you’re supposed to say `when,’ not `if,’ you make it.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I guess so. I get discouraged once a week and have to drown my sorrows in cheap wine.”
“We all get discouraged, it comes with the territory. Just don’t ever give up. Think through it. That’s what I’m trying to do. I like to picture how it will be on Christmas Day this year.” She sighed. “I’ll have paid off my tax bill, I’ll be in a hit play, and happy as anything.”
“No man in that picture?” he asked softly.
She shook her head with a tiny smile. “Nope. I’ve never inspired a man to propose. I don’t see it happening.” Not ever, because of the scars Cul had left on her. But she wasn’t telling that to a relative stranger.
“You might be surprised one of these days.” He finished his coffee. “Well, I’d better run. If we’re lucky we may actually get some sleep before rehearsal tomorrow. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Come again,” she invited, her smile genuine. He was a nice man, and she liked him.
He nodded. “I’d like that. Good night, Bett.”
“Good night.” She closed the door behind his tall figure and sighed. It had been nice to have company.
* * *
After that, she and David became good friends. But their association had a devastating effect on Cul. He glared daggers at them every single day.
It didn’t help that being around Cul was bringing back old, unwanted sensations. He could look at her and make her tremble. She hadn’t counted on that reaction when she’d auditioned for the play. She hadn’t counted on the fact that he might want to direct it himself. She should have thought it through.
One night as they were leaving the theater she stumbled over a metal chair, and Cul caught her just in time to keep her from having a bad fall. She looked up into his green eyes and saw an expression in them that made her heart run wild. His hard fingers on her back held her close for an instant, while his eyes went to her soft mouth and stared at it. It was like being kissed; she could almost taste his lips as she had so many years before.
“Getting careless, Bett?” he asked under his breath. “Don’t fall, darling, it’s not the kind of part you can do with a broken leg.”
“I won’t,” she said unsteadily, and tried to smile.
He studied her slowly. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” she said.
But this time he wasn’t letting her talk him out of it. He herded her out to his Porsche and put her in the passenger side. Now what was she going to do, she wondered wildly. How could she let him see where she was living? The humiliation would be terrible.
“Come on, coward, direct me.”
She drew in a steadying breath. “Queens.”
He glanced at her, frowning. “I thought you lived on Park Avenue.”
“I did, while I was making money,” she said wearily. “I made a huge payment on my tax bill, Cul. I had to budget. The apartment—at least, my half of it—had to go.”
“Were you living with a man?” he asked.
“Janet would hate being called a man,” she said through her teeth. “And who I live with is none of your business.”
“It was once. I almost asked you to move in with me, six years ago.”
That was shocking, and her eyes told him so. “Me?”
“You.” He glanced at her mockingly as he navigated a turn. “If you hadn’t been a virgin…”
“Have you always had this hang-up about inexperienced women?” she asked bitterly.
“Just with you, oddly enough. I didn’t want to take advantage of what you felt for me. Especially since marriage wasn’t in my vocabulary.” He glanced at her again. “It still isn’t.”
“Don’t imagine I’m any threat,” she said as coolly as she could, clutching her purse on her lap. “I’m a career woman all the way these days.”
“You’re an up-and-coming star,” he agreed tautly. “I went to see you in that last Lewis play. You were good. Damned good.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, dazed. He didn’t give praise easily. In fact, he rarely gave it at all.
“Now where to?” he asked.
“Left, then right at the next corner,” she directed.
He pulled up in front of her apartment building and glared at it. He cut off the engine and pocketed his key.
“Cul, don’t come up,” she pleaded.
“I want to see.”
There was no arguing with him. Resignedly, she led him up the long flight of stairs to the door of her apartment. His face was rigid as she unlocked it and let him in.
His green eyes swept the surroundings with obvious distaste. “My God,” he breathed.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she defended, dropping her purse onto the couch. “It’s warm and dry, and I have neighbors who’d come running if I screamed. Besides, if you remember, the apartment I had in Atlanta was much like this.”
“That