Corrupted--A Scorching Hot Romance Page 8

  “I’m Raphael by the way,” he says. “The director is Marci. She’s a bit of a tyrant.” He scrunches up his face, like he’s just eaten something distasteful, but it’s clear how much he admires and respects Marci. “Being a perfectionist and all.”

  “I understand.” I run my hand over a sewing machine and check the thread. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist myself.”

  “We really appreciate you doing this.” His gaze strays, and I spot a pile of clothes, all in need of fixing, in one way or another. These kids really are on a tight budget.

  I jump to help. “I can work on all these.”

  His shoulders relax. “Really? It’s not too much to ask?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Bethany has been a bit of a flake and we need this done right if we want to enter it into the film festival next year. We’re all film students from UCLA, if you haven’t figured that out by now. This project is for our six-week program here in Cannes.”

  My heart leaps. I’m elated to be a part of something important like this. “That’s fantastic.”

  He exhales and scratches at his face, little white fluff from the beard is stuck to his skin. “It will be, if we can get it done.”

  “I’ll work as fast as I can.”

  “We’re shooting some other scenes tomorrow, so we won’t need these ones until the next day.”

  From the corner of my eye, I spot the script. Christmas isn’t my thing, but maybe I’ll glance through it later. “I’m going to do my best to make that happen, then.”

  His eyes narrow in on me. “Really? Who are you?”

  “I’m...nobody.”

  “Why would you help?”

  My phone rings, and I glance into my purse to see that it’s my father calling. I told him I was visiting a friend in Florida for the holiday. He’s probably calling to check in on me. Ignoring it, I turn my focus to my new friend. “The better question is, why wouldn’t I?” I say, and don’t bother telling him I’m doing this for me as much as for them. But I love the arts, can sew and I need to do something with these idle hands. “Get undressed, Santa.”

  “Jeez, you didn’t even offer to buy me dinner first.”

  I laugh as he grins at me and slips out of his jacket. “I can do this really fast, so you can get back out there.”

  “No worries, she’s on to another scene.”

  “Okay.” I spread the jacket out on the table to examine the work that needs to be done.

  “Let me at least get you another coffee.”

  I reach for my purse. “I’d really appreciate that.”

  He holds his hands up to stop me. “It’s the least I can do.”

  I smile as he disappears out the back way, and I take a deep breath, a sense of purpose building inside me. This is going to be fun. I sit myself down, and get to work, stopping only when Raphael returns with my coffee, and before I know it, the day has gotten away from me. I reach for my coffee, which is stone-cold, when someone clears their throat at the door behind me.

  “You’ve been working so hard, everyone thought you could use another cup.”

  Startled, I spin, and my hand goes to my chest. “Cason,” I say. “You scared me.”

  His smile dissolves and he pushes off the doorframe. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” I say quickly as his long legs close the steps between us. My gaze rakes over him as he approaches. He’s now dressed in jeans and a dark wool coat. One of his designs, no doubt. My brain buzzes, the sexy look setting off fashion ideas inside my head. Ideas he’d probably never want to hear. “It’s okay. I was just so lost in my thoughts.” He stops in front of me, his big frame eating up the small room and overwhelming me. My breath flutters and I ask, “I... How long were you standing there?”

  “A long time, actually,” he says, a softness to him that I haven’t seen in years. It slides over my skin, and my cheeks warm, despite the chilly room. “Your coffee is still warm though.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I don’t know.” He hands me the coffee, a smile on his face as he looks at the old sewing machine, and I get a sense his thoughts are elsewhere. “I guess it was just your concentration. I remember when you used to get like this in college.” He taps the sewing machine. “I’ve never seen such focus, Londyn. You by far, were the most determined woman I’d ever known. I always admired that about you. Did you know that?”

  “No.” I gulp, pretty sure he has no idea how much that compliment actually means to me. “Thank you,” I say quietly, then another thought hits. If he thought that about me, why did he say I was a joke, a silly little rich girl. I want to ask, but I’m not sure if I want to hear his answer, and I’m not ready to leave this place if we get into an argument. It’s crazy and not a great idea, but I want my full two weeks with him. Things have been easy with us, and I want to savor that for as long as I can. “Wait, how did you find me?”

  “I was worried when you didn’t show up back at home.”

  Cason was worried about me? That thought curls around me like a warm blanket, and hugs so tight it squeezes the air from my lungs.

  Breathe, Londyn, breathe.

  “I wandered the streets and asked people.” He steals a glance around the small space. “Heard you volunteered to help with the costumes.”

  “Yeah, their designer is out sick.” I shrug and pat the pile of clothes beside me, but I brace myself inside. Is he going to think I’m ridiculous? “They’re students. I thought I could help.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought you might have been abducted by aliens.”

  I chuckle. “Wow, aliens, huh? I never knew you had such a wild imagination.”

  He wags his brows at me. “I guess we’ll have to see about rectifying that,” he says, his voice full of promise and dirty innuendos.

  “When you put it that way,” I say, trying to keep the mood light.

  His teasing smile dims and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his amusement dissolving like honey in hot tea. “What you’re doing here. That’s really nice.”

  I study him, warmth traveling all the way to my curled toes. “You don’t think it’s silly? That I’m silly?” I ask, his words from all those years ago still cutting deep.

  He frowns, the worry lines in his forehead intensifying, and I can practically hear the gears churning. What, were those harsh words not important enough to remember?

  “Of course not,” he says. “Why would you even say that?”

  “No reason,” I answer, not wanting to dredge up old memories, and reopen old hurts. The truth is we both messed up.

  “Next time just leave me a note or text me, okay?” he says.

  “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” I glance at my watch and my eyes bug out of my head. “Ohmigod, the time.” Panicked, I glance back up at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I should have been back by now.” The man bought me in an auction for God’s sake. I’m supposed to be his companion, not run off and disappear for hours. I’m probably violating the contract and giving him grounds to ship me back home.

  “Hey,” he says, his gentle voice cutting into my thoughts. He pulls up a stool and sits, and my gaze rakes over the concern in his face. When he looks at me like that, like I’m the most important person in the world to him, it creates a deeper intimacy that goes well beyond what we shared this morning, when he was inside me.

  Keep it together, Londyn.

  He paid for you and simply wants his money’s worth. As that harsh thought leaves a bitter taste on my tongue, a breeze blows in through the open door and a chill moves through me. The temperature was well above the normal for Cannes in December when I left the villa this afternoon, but has since dropped. A cold front must have moved through, and I’m definitely not dressed appropriately. “It’s okay. I found you. You’re safe. That’s what matter
s.”

  I take a gulp of my coffee, giving my heart a second to settle. “I totally lost track of time,” I say.

  “Actually, I’m kind of glad this happened.” He shakes his head and grins. “You have no idea what it’s like to see you work.” He reaches out, tucks a wayward strand of my hair behind my ear, and his closeness teases my senses. “I just... I forgot how much I liked this about you.”

  A little bubble wells up inside me, the way it always does when I’m doing what I love. “This is what I was meant to do,” I say, the excited fire in my belly flaring as I glance at the pile of clothes in need of my attention. I root through them. “I love fashion, fabric and creating.”

  The smile he aims my way pierces my heart. This is the Cason I remember from our youth—vulnerable, a little off his game and a whole lot of sweet. How could I have hurt the one guy who was always so nice to me? I don’t deserve these two weeks with him. I don’t deserve any of his kindness.

  “I know you do, and I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t expect you to sit idle for two weeks. It’s not who you are, and I should probably send—”

  I take hold of his coat, grip the lapels, as lightning bolts of worry burst through me. “I don’t want to go back,” I blurt out. If I leave, I won’t get the rest of the money, and I’ll be damned if my father is going to marry me off in a merger. But I can’t tell Cason that. He hates my father, rightfully so, and if he knew his money was actually going to help his businesses, he’d kick me to the curb faster than my father stole his app idea. But there are other reasons I don’t want to leave, more important reasons that hit close to my heart.

  His warm expression changes, worry pushing back the smile. He waves his hand in front of my face. “Hey, where did you go?” he asks, the genuine concern in his eyes, and the tenderness in his voice, nearly bringing me to tears. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that, the last time someone cared about me or my well-being. Actually, maybe I can. Maybe it was back in college with this sweet man. Which makes the things he said about me all the more hurtful, and a bit confusing actually. I guess he was just playing with the rich brat. Having a good time talking about her with his friends behind her back.

  “I’m here,” I say, not wanting to talk about my father. “And here is where I want to stay. I want to help out with this film, if you don’t need me for anything in the day, maybe I could spend a few hours here.”

  I hold my breath, a part of me desperate to hear him say he does need me.

  The words don’t come. Instead he gives a small chuckle and says, “I wasn’t going to send you back. Actually, if you have the time, I’d like to show you some of the designs Luis sent me. You have a great eye for fashion.”

  “Really?” I shake my head, positive I’m hearing things.

  “Sure.”

  My heart wobbles, and stupid tears prick my eyes. I swallow against a painful throat, and work my words past the lump forming. “I would love that.”

  “It’s settled, then.”

  He’s about to stand, but I tug on his coat. “Cason.”

  “Yeah?”

  I inhale a sharp breath, and as I let it out, I work to keep my voice steady when I say, “I’m... I’m so sorry.” His head jerks back and his dark brown eyes move over my face as I say the words that should have been spoken many years ago. “So sorry...for everything.”

  He looks at me for a long, still moment, his expression blank, unreadable. As the quiet fills the room, takes up space between us, the muscles along his jaw clench. I stare at him, trapped in the emotions passing over his eyes. Pain, sorrow, regret...loss. My body convulses, and I briefly close my eyes as my head spins, lost in a vortex of sadness and guilt. After a long moment, he scrubs his hand over his face, nods and stands.

  He taps the pile of costumes, and I look at those big hands that touched me with such heated skill this morning. “How about you gather this stuff up and finish at home.”

  “I can’t do that.” I swallow and push my next words past the lump in my throat. “I don’t have a sewing machine or any supplies.”

  “You will,” he says matter-of-factly. “By the end of the night, you’ll have everything you need. I promise.”

  This time my throat completely closes over and it takes all my strength to lift my trembling body from the stool. He’s wrong about that. I’ll never have everything I need. There is one big thing missing from my life that I’ll never have, and his gaze is currently roaming over my face.

  Turning from him before he can see my shaky smile—the man has always been great at reading other people’s emotions—I gather up the clothes. He helps me and puts them in a plastic bag and I scribble a note to let the crew know that I’ll bring them back as soon as I fix them. Before we leave, I snatch a script from the pile on the table for a little bedtime reading.

  “If there is something specific you need, just let me know. I’m not an expert on sewing machines or anything like that.”

  “Cason, you...don’t have to do that,” I finally manage to say after finding my voice. “I can come back here tomorrow, and use this machine.” Okay, yeah, sure it snagged up on me more times than I can count, but he does not have to buy me one.

  “Yes, I do. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Still bossy, I see.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s what I know.” I blink up at him, my heart pounding at his generosity. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He wags his brows playfully and a streak of need sizzles in my blood. “I can think of a few ways.” I grin at his teasing words, and appreciate how he’s working to lighten the mood between us. “Besides, maybe I’m doing it more for me than you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He grins, and gives me a nudge. “You’re kind of hot when you’re focused.” He laughs and releases a measure of tension in my shoulders.

  “Always watching me when I don’t know. That’s kind of perverted.”

  “I know, right?” he says, his voice full of playful tenderness.

  He shrugs out of his wool jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. I sink into the warmth as he puts his arms around me, his big body dwarfing mine. Secure in his arms, with the strength of his body flooding my system, he leads me out of the building and onto the street. He puts his hand on the small of my back, his touch achingly familiar, warm and comforting. I never found my place in this world, never felt I belonged, but Cason has always represented safety and security, something I never had with anyone but him.

  “Christmas, huh?” he says, breaking the quiet between us as he gazes at the script sticking out of my bag. “The one holiday we’d both rather avoid and here you are in the thick of a damn Hallmark movie.”

  I laugh, and give him a sidelong glance. My heart quivers a bit. “Next thing you know, I’ll be wanting to put up a tree,” I say and brace myself for his reaction. When I was a kid, my mother always put up a huge evergreen. It was lush and gorgeous, with frosted tips and blue and silver bulbs. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near it when I was a child. Sadly, she’d never hung the decorations we made in middle school. Apparently they clashed with the professionally decorated tree that was on display like a Picasso at the Guggenheim, but still...unlike Cason, I had a tree and even though there weren’t people around it, there were tons of presents beneath it. I would have preferred it the other way around.

  Cason’s brow furrows and his lips curl in distaste. My heart goes out to him, wishing I could smooth away the years of loss and loneliness. If I could, I’d go back in time and change what happened to him. Losing your parents so young, and at Christmastime no less, is a double dose of pain no child should ever have to endure. Then to be tossed around from home to home. But maybe when I’m here I can somehow help him create
new traditions. Happy ones. Then again, he might not want any traditions with me, but what about his sister? I’d love to do something, anything, to make this time of year a bit easier for them. With Peyton in New York and him here though, it’s an impossible task.

  “Would a tree be so bad?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says flatly, his eyes trained on the sidewalk.

  Teasing, but half-serious, I say, “You’d probably hate me if I snuck one into your living room.” I snort at that. “What am I saying, you already hate me.”

  His head lifts and his eyes slowly move to mine. “Is that what you think, Londyn?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cason

  LONDYN’S LUSH LIPS curl in a know-it-all smirk as she nods her head and declares with authority, “Uh, it’s what I know.”

  I shake my head at that. Since I first brought her home, she’s been making some pretty big assumptions, telling me what I think, adamant that she knows the reasons behind my actions, when really, she has no idea. How could she, when I don’t. Christ, I’m supposed to be the one in charge, the one who knows what they’re doing, and I’m walking around with my head in the clouds not knowing which way is up or down.

  The thing is though, I want to hate her. I really do. She gutted me back in college and started dating some asshole from the right side of the tracks, someone Daddy approved of. Why she cares what her old man thinks is beyond me. He never gave her the praise and encouragement she needed, or deserved. I guess that’s how it is with parents though, and I wish I knew that firsthand. No matter what, a kid will fight for their respect and approval, whether the parent warrants it or not.

  Maybe someday her father will wake up. Hell, maybe someday Londyn will. I truthfully wish he could see what I saw today. The concentration, the small smile on her face as she donated her time to help some college students. There aren’t too many people I know who’d bother. That was beauty in its purest form. So yeah, while I want to hate her, I can’t. In fact, the second I saw her sitting there, happily working with some antiquated sewing machine—totally in her element, even in a cramped room that could pass as a closet—something warm and needy flared inside me, something I refuse to put a name to.