A Brand New Ending (Page 32)

She ignored his stirring words and put her plate on the table, desperate to change the subject. Hearing about his screenplay made a whole bunch of messy emotions roil up inside of her.

“We need to focus. I’ll get the paperwork.”

His hand shot out and clasped around her arm. The shocking warmth of his skin sent heat rippling down her spine. “Why haven’t you remarried or settled into a relationship with a man who can give you everything I couldn’t?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She gritted her teeth and tried to pretend his touch wasn’t burning into her flesh, her heart, her soul. “Work replaced you, too,” she said.

“So you haven’t dated anyone since returning home?” he asked, his voice insistent.

“My affairs have been short, sweet, and with a timed ending. But that had nothing to do with you.”

He leaned in. Moss-green eyes seethed with intensity. “Bullshit. You can’t get over me just like I can’t get over you. We’re still married. We’re together in the place we first fell in love. What are you fighting so hard to protect? Why can’t you take a chance with me when you have nothing to lose?”

If she moved one more inch, his lips would be on hers.

If she moved one more inch, he’d kiss her and touch her and drag her into bed, where they could both finally forget.

If she moved one more inch, she’d get a second chance.

Trembling, she managed to pull back and stand up.

“I have everything to lose,” she said simply. “I’ll get the papers.”

“The first one.”

She paused. “What?”

Masculine frustration pumped around his figure, then he let out a breath like a sigh from the soul. “The first lawyer. Collins. We can use him.”

“Fine. I’ll give him a call and let you know.”

“I’ll clean up.”

Ophelia nodded and walked back inside. But for the rest of the day, his words echoed in her head with haunting insistence.

He was such an ass.

Kyle sat in the chair and stared at the fire. His plan had been so fucking simple. After the intensity of last night, he figured he’d back off a bit and keep things light. Chat her up. Flirt. Make her laugh. Remind her of how good they were together, whether it was in the kitchen or just hanging on the porch talking. By the time they were done, she would’ve forgotten about the stupid lawyer and felt a bit safer in his company. He’d meant to play the charmer, soften her up, and make his move in the next few days, when it was harder for her to remember what she was fighting him for.

Yeah, goodbye to that big plan.

First he’d told her about the damn story line. Then he’d gotten broody about the past and spooked her all over again.

No wonder she freaked out.

He had to back off no matter how hard it was.

The work was bringing up emotions he hadn’t counted on.

How could he have forgotten the easy way they’d been together—both mind and body?

Nearly a decade of chasing the ghost of what Ophelia had made him feel had eventually turned him numb. Finally, he was waking up. His muse, his heart, his hunger for something more than he’d settled for after she’d left him.

His thoughts crashed together in a tsunami, giving him a slight headache. Go slow, his inner voice warned again. Let her catch up.

He needed to show her it wasn’t too late. The longer he stayed here, the more he realized their story wasn’t finished. And at the end of his three months, he had no intention of leaving her behind.

Not this time.

The buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down and swiped the screen. “Robbie. Good to hear from you.”

“Been waiting for you to check in. You’ve gone dark on me, man. We’ve got some stuff to discuss.”

He settled back in the chair. “Can’t do much until I’m done with this script. Told you that before I left.”

His agent snorted. “Yeah, yeah. The secret project you’re all pumped about. That’s great, but I need you to fly back this weekend. Something big is going down, and you need to be here.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

“Cal Jenkins wants to talk to you about writing the screenplay for his next movie. We have a small window of opportunity this upcoming weekend to schmooze him. So get your ass on a plane, and let’s lock this fucker up.”

Kyle closed his eyes. Dammit.

Jenkins was one of the most successful directors of action films. His work was brilliant, sharp, and full of violence. The idea of cementing a relationship with Jenkins would put him at the top of the Hollywood food chain.

“You’re kidding me. He actually asked to speak to me about it?”

“Just got off the phone with his agent. The party is at his mansion, but it’s a small crowd, so we can talk work. When can you get here?”

His thoughts whirled. His immediate reaction was to tell his agent Hell yes! and book the next flight out. But as he thought about the bigger picture, he realized he couldn’t leave. Not now.

He’d reached a turning point in his book—and with Ophelia. After telling her he’d changed, how could he casually fly off and interrupt their time together? Also, as brilliant as Jenkins was, his movies were not Kyle’s preferred genre. He needed to move away from being typecast, and the story he was writing was his opportunity.

He couldn’t fuck this up.

“I’m sorry, Robbie, but I’m gonna have to pass.”

A shocked silence buzzed over the line. His agent’s voice came out squeaky. “Tell me I didn’t hear that correctly. Tell me I need some goddamn hearing aids, Kimpton. Tell me!”

He gritted his teeth and hung on to his resolution. “I can’t walk away from this project right now, and I have stuff going on here. Plus, Jenkins isn’t my goal. I’ve told you that before.”

“You can get to your goal after you accept your Academy Award next year!” Robbie yelled. “Get your ass on a plane, man. Please. I’m begging you.”

“Sorry, I can’t. Give him my apologies and make sure he knows I’m grateful he thought of me. Do your job. I gotta go. I’ll check in with you later.”

He clicked off before his agent had a meltdown, then buried his face in his hands.

Who would’ve thought he’d be turning down a Willy Wonka golden ticket? A few years ago, he would’ve sold his soul for such an opportunity. But now, everything seemed . . . different. Chasing after directors and new ways to achieve fame didn’t seem as important any longer.

He had to keep his gaze on the prize. The real prize.

Ophelia.

The book.

His future.

Ophelia stared at the second cooling pecan pie and wondered if she was losing her mind. She’d been so upset after the whole encounter with Kyle, she’d retreated to her safe place.

The kitchen.

Wrapped in the warm glow of flour, sugar, and chocolate, she’d pounded out her frustration on the dough and wielded her mixer like a weapon. By the time the two pies slid out of the oven, she’d felt as if she’d completed a workout at the gym.

She let them cool on the counter. It was always a good idea to have some desserts in the freezer for emergencies, especially for impromptu celebrations or sick calls.

Her mind flashed to Patrick and how he’d looked arguing with the EMTs. She’d tried to call him yesterday, but there’d been no answer. The man’s image had been haunting her lately, and though she wanted to tell Kyle about his dad’s health scare, she knew it wouldn’t matter. An apology and time still couldn’t take away the memories of the anguish he’d wreaked on his only son.