Authors: Michelle Betham
‘She still loves you, Michael.’
He took a long sip of bourbon but said nothing, still staring straight ahead of him.
‘So, I see we’ve got the reappearance of the beard,’
India
said, changing the subject, her voice shaking Michael back to reality and he turned to look at her again, her eyes fixed firmly on his.
‘Don’t you like it?’ he asked, rubbing his fingers over his rough chin.
It was only a small goatee beard but it actually knocked years off him rather than the other way around.
India
shrugged again.
‘Doesn’t really matter whether I like it or not, does it?
I’m just pointing it out because you always seem to have one when you’re directing a movie.’
‘You noticed that, huh?’
She was still looking at him.
‘I notice a lot of things, Michael.’
For a few seconds nobody said anything as they just stared at each other, the air heavy with something neither of them could describe, but it was
India
who broke the silence again, taking one last swig of beer as she stood up.
‘Come on.
You’re taking me to dinner.’
‘I am?’
He hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud but she’d caught him by surprise.
Again.
She turned around and looked at him, smiling that smile that he loved beyond anything else.
Because he loved
her
beyond anything else.
Always had, always would.
‘Yeah.
You are.
Unless you’ve got something else you’d rather be doing.’
He smiled too, quickly finishing his drink, slamming the empty glass back down on the bar.
‘No.
Absolutely not.’
‘Come on then, Walsh.
And you’re buying.’
***
Dominic settled down on the huge white sofa in his penthouse apartment at The Amber Palace – his new home for the duration of his time filming here in
Las Vegas
– and began flicking through the magazine he’d picked up at the news stand in the lobby.
He didn’t really need to do any more research on Michael and India Walsh but this magazine had caught his eye because the cover carried a picture of them when they’d been together.
Married.
One of
Hollywood
’s hot-shot couples.
There was still this air of mystery shrouding their high-profile divorce seven years ago that meant neither of them were ever far from the headlines, especially now as they prepared to make this movie together when both Michael’s relationship with Layla Boyd and India’s marriage to JJ Foster seemed to be coming to almost simultaneous ends.
Coincidence?
Who knew?
They had a kid together; maybe they just wanted to work alongside each other to give
him
some time with mom and dad.
Dominic turned to the page that carried the article on India and her decision to return to Vegas to make this movie after her last successful Nevada-set nineties comedy,
The Wedding Convention
, in which she’d starred alongside Kenny Ross.
There were more recent pictures of her inside the magazine, but in all of them she was alone.
No sign of her now estranged husband, JJ Foster.
‘You are one hot lady,’ Dominic whistled, his eyes going straight to a black and white photograph of India leaning back against a palm tree in an almost transparent white floaty dress that the photographer’s wind machine had obviously deliberately whipped up around her toned thighs, her perfect breasts visible through the paper-thin material as she stared into the camera through sexy, smoky eyes.
It was hard to believe she was forty-two-years-old and the mother of two kids.
JJ Foster must be sick at the thought of losing her.
A feeling the world knew Michael Walsh was more than familiar with.
So, was directing her in this movie Michael’s way of winning her back?
It certainly seemed as though
India
had left that part of her life well and truly behind her, but whether Michael had done the same was another matter.
But, for the next few months at least, Dominic was going to be in close enough proximity to keep an eye on things because, as far as he was concerned, Michael Walsh had already had his go.
Now it was time to give somebody else a chance.
And it would be no more than Michael deserved.
***
‘You and JJ couldn’t work things out then?’ Michael asked as he and
India
walked along the palm-tree-lined path that led through the gardens of The Amber Palace, back towards the separate but neighbouring private villas they were staying in for the duration of filming.
She looked down at the ground as she walked.
The few glasses of wine she’d had over dinner had gone to her head a bit and she felt a little unsteady on her feet.
‘Don’t ask obvious questions, Michael.’
‘I’m sorry… I know it can’t be easy, going through this divorce…’
‘It’s a hell of a lot easier than the last one.’
He’d almost asked for that and he shut up, realising that to push anything would only go against him.
Even though he really had no idea what he was heading towards, exactly.
She stopped walking and sighed heavily, pushing a hand though her hair.
‘Look, I’m sorry too, okay?
I didn’t mean to bring all of that crap up again, it’s just that…’
‘Just, what?’ Michael asked, noticing the way her eyes couldn’t seem to meet his anymore.
She shook her head, almost as if she was getting rid of any ideas she had about doing something she might regret.
‘Nothing.
Come on, we’re almost at my villa now.’
They walked in relative silence until they reached the door of
India
’s four-bedroomed private villa.
‘Thank you,’ Michael said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he willed her to look up at him, willed those incredible eyes of hers to meet his one more time.
‘For what?’ she asked, rummaging round in her bag for her key.
‘Jesus, I swear I’m getting worse for forgetting where I’ve put things.’
‘For tonight.
It was… it was nice.
Being able to talk to you, alone.’
She looked up at him sharply, dropping her keys as she did so.
She crouched down to retrieve them, losing her balance as she stood back up and he reached out to grab her as she fell against him.
‘You okay?’ he asked, still holding onto her arms.
She nodded, pushing her hair back off her face, her eyes slowly meeting his again.
He loosened his grip on her, trying to read a situation he couldn’t quite get a handle on.
‘Too much to drink, that’s all.
I haven’t been out in a while and… I guess I’m just not used to it.’
She turned away and he felt an almost crushing disappointment rush over him, like someone had kicked him hard in the stomach.
‘
India
…’
She turned around, and this time when she looked at him he was almost certain he could see it – that spark, that look.
Maybe he was imagining it because it was something he so badly needed to see but, no.
He was sure.
Or as sure as he could be.
‘Goodnight, Michael.’
He shook his head, determined not to lose this moment because he wasn’t sure they’d ever get another chance to be alone like this after tonight, not once Reece and Ethan and God knows who else arrived tomorrow.
What did he have to lose?
She could only push him away and he was used to that.
It wouldn’t kill him if that was her reaction.
He’d survive.
It wasn’t like it was something he wasn’t used to.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes, her surprised look replaced now with one of suspicion.
‘Why?
It’s late, Michael.
Ethan’s arriving early tomorrow…’
He made his move, sick of skirting the issue, sick of pretending it wasn’t happening because it was, and he was going to face it head on.
Whatever the consequences.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she asked, taking a step back as he walked straight past her into the villa, closing the door behind them.
‘I love you,
India
.’
She ignored the comment, keeping her eyes on him as she spoke.
‘I’ll ask you again, Michael.
What the
hell
are you doing?’
‘You
know
what I’m doing, honey.
You know.’
‘Do I?’
She was slightly angry now.
How dare he assume anything anymore.
She was over this.
She was over it.
She was over
him
.
‘You know, baby.’
She turned and walked away from him, into the kitchen, but he followed her, and she’d known he would because she hadn’t thrown him out.
If she really hadn’t wanted him there she would have thrown him out, wouldn’t she?
‘We’re getting on okay now, aren’t we?’ Michael asked, watching as she leant back against the breakfast bar, her eyes on his all the time even though her arms were folded against her in that almost defensive manner.
‘That doesn’t mean anything, Michael.
We learnt to become friends, that’s all.
We learnt to be grown up about the situation.’
He moved closer, praying she wouldn’t turn away from him again and she didn’t.
She kept her eyes on his as he walked towards her, unfolding her arms, and he was almost certain now.
Certain that he could do this.
Certain that she would be okay about it.
‘I’m really looking forward to working with you again,
India
; you know that, don’t you?’
She nodded, the intensity in his eyes boring right into her very soul.
He was doing it again – wearing her down, draining her energy, pulling her in, and it wasn’t going to happen again.
She hadn’t come this far only to take a hundred steps back.
‘You sap every ounce of strength out of me, Michael, and I hate you for it.’
He smiled, reaching out to touch her cheek with the palm of his hand, her skin so soft as he stroked it gently.
‘Do you want me to go?’
‘I want you to go,’ she repeated.
‘Now.’
But, did she?
Did she really?
Sliding a hand into the small of her back he pulled her against him, ignoring her request, lowering his mouth down onto hers in a kiss that lasted just seconds but it was enough, because too much time away from her, too long without her had meant he needed her like a drug he couldn’t do without and just the tiniest of touches could satisfy him.
He was addicted, and he needed that fix, no matter how brief.
‘
That
is never going to happen again,’
India
whispered, angry at herself for letting it happen in the first place.
It was a sign of the old weakness returning and she’d promised herself that would never happen.
Not again.
Not after everything she’d been through.
‘So, like I said before, I’d like you to go.
Now.’
‘
India
…’
She walked away from him, pushing a hand through her hair, refusing to look at him.
This conversation was over.
The situation was done.
Finished.
‘Now, Michael.
I’d like you to go now.’
What else was he supposed to do?
Stand there and force her to be with him?
Considering their history that would be the worst thing he could ever do, but knowing that she didn’t feel the same way that he did, it hurt like hell.
Coming here, knowing he was going to be working with her, so close, every day, he’d thought – he’d stupidly assumed – that she’d see things his way.
Assumed she’d see that what they’d had was worth fighting for, when she so obviously didn’t.
‘I’m sorry,
India
…’
She swung round to look at him, folding her arms again, the look in her eyes one of determination.
Michael Walsh would not take her down, not again, not this time.
She could do this, she could fight this.
She could live her life without hoping he might one day come back into it, because she needed to feel that to give her any chance of really moving forward.