Heartthrob (33 page)

“I couldn’t choose my own wife,” he told her, his voice thick with a huskiness that acting couldn’t re-create. “I can’t choose who to love.”

Her hands were shaking, too, as she gathered up her ointments and salve. “I can’t, either,” she said tightly. “But you don’t see me lying down and dying.” She stood up. “I’ll be back later to put on more ointment.” She turned away from him but then turned back. “Stay alive. Because as long as you’re alive, there’s hope.”

Jamaal shook his head. “What good is hope going to do for
me
?” he asked softly.

She turned and went out the door.

There was silence as Jamaal watched her go, as his eyes filled with tears.

Slowly, he closed his eyes and turned away.

“Cut,” Victor whispered.

The room stayed silent.

Jamaal opened his eyes to see Susie peeking back in the door, her eyes wide. He wiped his face, wishing he could crawl away somewhere and just cry for about two hours.

But still no one moved.

And then Victor cleared his throat. “Well,” he finally said.

“Well,” Kate echoed weakly.

Jericho laughed aloud. “Well,” he said, “That was friggin’
great
!” He turned to Kate. “What do you think? Was it okay for that kiss to be there?”

She chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about it. Let’s go with it for now—it’s clearly making this scene work, and we can always edit it out.” She turned to Victor. “Is that okay with you?”

“Absolutely.” Victor clapped his hands. “Let’s set up for a different angle. I want to get a close up of that kiss. You kids up for doing that again without a break?”

Jamaal looked at Susie. Her eyes were still wide, but she shrugged. “Sure.”

Jamaal cleared his throat. Kiss her again. “Yeah. Sure.”

And for the first time in his acting career, he found himself praying they’d screw up—and have to do at least fifteen or twenty takes.

Kate stood behind the camera and watched her lover kiss another woman by the light of a fire.

They were filming the flashback scene—Laramie and his dead wife Sarah’s wedding night.

Jed was freshly shaven, his dark hair gleaming and clean, tied neatly back in a ribbon. He was dressed in a dark coat and a snow-white shirt—a far cry from the ill-kempt broken Laramie stumbling drunkenly around the Willet farm in the dark, or even the recently sober, emotionally raw-edged Laramie he played later on in the movie.

Kate had to admit that Naomi Michaelson was a perfect Sarah. With her long golden curls and her sweet face, she was the quintessential demure bride, dressed in a pure white gown.

As Kate watched, Jed gracefully slipped out of his jacket and shirt, then leaned forward, firelight gleaming enticingly on his well-oiled muscles as he kissed Naomi again. No. Wrong. Laramie kissed Sarah. This wasn’t real. It only looked real.

As Jed looked deeply into Naomi’s eyes, he unfastened the front of her dress, lightly trailing his fingers across the now-exposed tops of her breasts. The look in his eyes was pure desire, and Kate wanted to look away.

It was so realistic. So intense.

So familiar.

Jed kissed the actress again, pulling her down with him onto the floor, out of the shot, leaving the camera to zoom in slowly on the leaping flames.

“Cut, and wrap for the night.”

Naomi pushed herself tiredly to her feet, but Jed didn’t move until Kate came to look down at him.

“I have got the worst damn headache in the world,” he said from his prone position on the floor.

He sat up slowly, moving gingerly, stopping to close his eyes and press his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He looked pale beneath his tan, his face suddenly drawn.

It was remarkable, really. A minute ago he’d been fine—or
acting
fine, Kate realized.

She crouched next to him and pushed his hair back from his face, placing the palm of her hand against his forehead.

He was on fire.

Kate stood up. “Annie!”

Her assistant materialized next to her.

“What’s the name of that doctor in town who agreed to be on twenty-four-hour call for a screen credit?” Kate asked.

“Slocum.”

“Call Dr. Slocum and have him meet me and Jericho in Jericho’s trailer in fifteen minutes.”

“Whoa.” Jed pulled himself to his feet. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“You’re sick,” she told him.

“It’s nothing,” he protested. “I sometimes get sinus infections. They give me headaches. It’s no big deal.”

“Didn’t you just say it was the worst headache you’ve ever had in your life? And I assume it didn’t start two minutes ago. Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?”

He used his fingers and thumb to apply pressure to his eyebrows. “Because it’s no big deal.”

“Jed, you’re practically white, it feels to me as if you’re running a fever of at least a hundred and two and—”

“So what if I’ve got a little headache? I’m an actor. I can act healthy. It’s no big deal.”

“Now it’s a
little
headache, huh? Were you feeling all right this afternoon, working that scene in the slave quarters, with Susie and Jamaal? Or were you feeling badly then, too?”

He straightened up and smiled, and the lines of fatigue and pain faded from his face. “Look, I’m fine, see?”

“You’re
acting
fine.”

“Are you sure? How do you know I wasn’t just acting sick a second ago?”

Kate stared at him as he headed out of the room, to the area of Brandall Hall they were using as a temporary costume and changing room. She didn’t know. Except … She chased after him. “Because you’re running a fever, that’s why.”

Jed stepped out of his pants right in the middle of the room, tossing them to a nearby costume assistant. Another was right there, handing him his shorts and T-shirt. He pulled them on. “It just got a little warm in there. Hell, I was playing a love scene with the director’s girlfriend—in front of an open fire in the middle of the summer.” He lowered his voice. “Not to mention the fact that
you
were watching. That made me sweat a little, too, you know.”

Annie appeared at her shoulder. “Dr. Slocum will be right over.”

“Call the doctor back, Annie,” Jed ordered. “I don’t need him.”

Kate shook her head at Annie, then followed him out of the plantation hall. The night was uncomfortably humid. It had rained about an hour ago, and steam and mist were actually rising from the still soggy ground. In the dim light, it was spooky.

She caught up to him easily as he headed toward the minivans that would take them back to town.

“I’ll feel better after I take a shower,” he told her.

“And I’ll feel better after the doctor takes a look at you.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Kate, damn it—”

“Jed, what exactly is the problem here?”

He spun to face her. “I don’t want to be responsible for creating delays in the production schedule!”

He was serious. He was standing there, sick as a dog but determined to go on working because he didn’t want to be a burden to the production.

“Oh, Jed,” she said softly. “It’s not your fault if you’re
sick.
” She put her arms around him, pulling him close. God, he was hot to the touch. He’d already sweated through the back of his T-shirt. “No one expects you to be able to work while you’re running a fever.”

“I have to be better than what everyone expects.” He pulled back slightly, and she could see the pain from his headache just from looking into his eyes. “I have to be …”

For several long seconds, Kate thought that Jed was going to continue, that he was actually going to tell her how he felt. For a moment she thought he was going to be honest, both with himself and with her.

Reality blurred when she was around him. He was such a convincing actor, she never quite knew what was real and what was not.

Did he really feel the intensity she saw when he looked so deeply into her eyes as he made love to her each night? Or was he merely playing the part of a lover—the way he had been with Naomi in front of the camera just minutes ago?

Everything Jed did was all so perfect—too perfect. Far too often, he was just a little too controlled.

Kate believed he was holding back when they made love, that everything he was really feeling was hidden deeply inside of him.

And love was never, ever mentioned.

Of course, she wasn’t about to bring up the subject, either, even though—when she let herself think about it—she knew she loved him. He was living energy, pure lightning trapped and shaped into human form. He could say more with one look, one smile than a hundred other men could, even if they started at sunset and talked until dawn. How could she not love him?

But how
could
she love him?

She still didn’t know who he was.

He still sometimes slipped into the character of Jericho Beaumont, movie star. Even though he rarely did that while they were alone, it seemed as if he were staying in Laramie’s character more and more these days. It was as if he’d realized how much Laramie appealed to her.

As if he thought she wouldn’t notice the way he was hiding behind the persona of a fictional man.

Jed hid so much—even from himself. There was so much darkness and pain and anger still inside him, yet ever since that morning he’d told her about his brother’s death, he hadn’t talked about anything even remotely as personal.

Of course, she was a fine one to talk. He’d asked her—more than once—about eighth grade, and she’d avoided
that
magic trip down memory lane with a vengeance.

Jed looked over to where some of the crew members were coming out of Brandall Hall, and he pulled back, stepping discreetly out of her arms.

“I’ll shuffle the schedule around,” Kate told him. “We can put off shooting the scenes with you and Susie building the hiding place for Moses. I bet Susie could stand to have a few days off, too.”

“All I want is to take a shower, and go to bed. I don’t even need any aspirin. All I need is you, a boom box, and a Garth Brooks CD, and I guarantee you, I’ll be feeling no pain.”

Kate had to laugh. “Jed!” She felt her cheeks start to heat.

Something softened in his eyes as he smiled at her. “How can you still blush after what we’ve spent the past week doing?”

“Come on,” Kate said. “Let’s get you home.”

S
usannah slowly slid her window open a crack and put her face close to the screen. “Jamaal.”

“Yeah.”

“Do me a favor,” she breathed almost silently. “Go to the other window and look in—but don’t let my father see you. See if he’s watching TV.”

“Sounds like the TV’s on …”

“I know. But … Just check and see if he’s fallen asleep. Please?”

“As you wish.”

Jamaal disappeared into the shadows, and Susannah went to stand at her bedroom door, listening intently.

Last night, her father had been restless. He’d kept knocking on her door, asking her questions. Stupid questions about some of the scripts he’d received from her agent—scripts that he wanted her to do, like
Slumberparty Three.

Jamaal had tapped on the screen while she was talking to her father, and she’d nearly had a heart attack. But her father hadn’t heard. And when Susannah had finally been
able to close and lock her door, much to her intense frustration, Jamaal was gone.

It was possible that her dad suspected she’d been sneaking out. Or maybe he was just acting weird because her mother had called. He always got even more uptight after talking to Riva on the phone. Of course, she’d called to speak to Susie—not that Susie had gotten a chance to talk.

She heard the sound of Jamaal touching the screen again, and she went back to the window.

“He’s not asleep, but whatever’s on, he’s into watching it,” he whispered.

She shouldn’t do it. She shouldn’t risk sneaking out while her dad was still awake. Especially since she had this gut feeling that he was on to her.

And, God help her, she didn’t want to have to face the brunt of his rage. Rage for doing something that she had every right to do. She was nearly sixteen. She should be able to take a walk at night if she wanted to. She shouldn’t be stuck in here, hiding and scared like some little helpless kid. She shouldn’t be forced to sneak around.

And her need to see Jamaal had grown out of control. She burned to see him, to talk to him. And maybe—please God!—to recreate some of those kisses they’d shared in front of the camera two days ago.

Susannah pushed back the curtain, and silently opened the screen.

She slid out into the night, and Jamaal caught her, holding her tightly as she closed the window. As he lowered her to the ground, Susannah looked up at him.

For a heart-stopping moment his face was a matter of inches from hers. And for a fraction of a second, she knew that this was it. He was going to kiss her again. Not as Moses kissing Jane, but as Jamaal kissing Susie. He was going to kiss her, and hold her close and tell her that he loved her. And, oh, God, she was going to tell him that she loved him, too.

But instead, he stepped back, away from her and made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “What was up last night? I came by three times, but you didn’t come to the window.”