Diary of a Painted Lady (19 page)

She drew in a breath her shoulders tense. She should have waited until they were alone. Stupid to think he’d accept her decision without an argument. “What happens when you’re working in another part of the world for months on end?” she said in a low voice. “How many relationships in this business fail? It’s even harder when there’s a family to consider.”

Dylan frowned. “You don’t even want to try?”

Antony and Jenny waved from the door, and made their way toward them. “Can’t we just enjoy what we have now?” Astrid said.

“I intend to change your mind.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” Astrid could not share his optimism. She was a realist not a dreamer. She smiled a greeting as Jenny and Antony joined them at the table. Around the room, many women had their eye on Dylan. When they were separated through work, women like Jenny could catch him at a low moment, and some wouldn’t want to let him go. She couldn’t bear to be hurt, not that way. Not after watching her mother suffer through her father’s infidelities.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dylan stretched out on his stomach on Astrid’s bed. She leaned back against the pillows, reading her lines aloud while admiring the curve of his ass in his tight, white jockey shorts.

He rolled over, naked beneath his open blue shirt. All her senses came alive when he was near. He had only to reach out and touch her and she was his. She’d never given all of herself to a man, not even Philippe and it unsettled her. Trying to control her growing passion, didn’t work. She only wanted him more.

“You may come anytime to view my father’s paintings, Mr. Dunleavy.” Astrid gestured where the scene required action.

Dylan prompted her. “I look forward to that, Giovanna.”

She reached the end of the scene, the thought of making love pushing everything from her mind. “Shall we go over it again?”

“Let’s not.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her down.

She snuggled against him. “We’ve been in bed all morning.”

“Have we? I hadn’t noticed.” He gave her a sleepy glance that set her pulse racing. “Funny, I don’t feel at all rested.”

“I’ve never spent the whole morning in bed with a man before.”

He grinned. “Neither have I.”

“Idiot.” Smiling, she swept the lock of hair off his brow and kissed his forehead, loving the feel of his skin and his male smell. “Maybe you should take a nap. A midday nap is good for one. The Mediterranean’s are very sensible in this way.”

He circled her wrists and held her hands above her head. “You want to sleep?”

She smiled and shook her head.

His tongue traced her upper lip. He nibbled at her bottom lip, then his tongue entered her mouth to dance with hers and her stomach clenched with desire. Had she ever felt such a rampant need for sex before? With Dylan it was like a drug. She could deny him nothing. Would she be able to walk away from him?

When he nuzzled her neck, she put a hand up to his cheek. “You haven’t shaved.” But she liked him with a shadowed jaw. It made him look tough. Like James Bond.

He nuzzled her again and she laughed and tried to push him away. “That’s torture. You’re a beast. I bet you were horrid to your sisters when you were a boy.”

“God, Astrid...” His eyes were filled with a deep longing as gazed down at her. It seemed as if he searched into her very soul. She held her breath.

Dylan suddenly moved away from her and sat up. Picking up a glass of water from the bedside table, he drank it down.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, perplexed by the sudden change in him.

“I was thinking about what Blair and Gina had. They were destined to be together. We have something similar don’t you think?”

“It’s too early to say, Dylan.” He didn’t mention love. But she knew he meant it.

He frowned. “This movie will be wrapped up soon. Then what?”

“Let’s wait and see, shall we?” She drew him down to her. “We should rehearse that love scene.”

He smiled and then brought his mouth down on hers, teasingly, probing, thrusting with his tongue, and moved down to gently nibble a taut nipple. She moaned and raked her fingers through his dark hair. His assault on her senses was overwhelming.

“We can’t do this on film.” She gave a laugh which turned into a moan.

He gave a slow, secret smile. “They can edit the explicit parts out.” He turned his attention to kissing her inner thigh. “Like this bit,” he said moving higher.

“Oh, you…oh, yes, don’t stop.”

***

The studio had been cleared for a love scene. In the bedroom set, Dylan Astrid lay together beneath a sheet. Practiced at making love, they knew how to arouse each other with just a touch, and it was hard for him to remember they were in front of the cameras and not go too far, even though they’d joked about it.

He’d heard a few actors had made love before the cameras, but he wouldn’t be one of them. He valued Astrid too highly to embarrass her in that way. But it grew more difficult, even with the director interjecting, spelling out his vision for the scene. He couldn’t help becoming aroused by this beautiful woman. He loved her, he knew it now. He hadn’t been able to tell her, because he didn’t think she was ready to hear it.

He just couldn’t see himself spending the rest of his life with anyone else. But he wasn’t confident he could win her. Astrid was far more conventional than he. She’d met Fabre when she was very young and been with him for years.

Dylan didn’t criticize the man to Astrid, although he didn’t like Fabre, believing him to be a manipulator par excellence. Astrid was loyal. She struggled to end their relationship. He knew better than to say anything against him. It would rebound on him. He had to win her with the sheer force of his love.

He gave a wry grin, the depressing thought of losing her put paid to his erection. Until Astrid took his face between her hands and kissed him, a teasing expression in her eyes as she slipped her tongue in his mouth.

“Vixen!” he whispered, too soft for anyone else to hear, and pulled her close, becoming lost to everyone and everything around them.

“Dylan,” she warned in his ear, no doubt with the feel of his erection pressing against her with only the usual small pieces of cloth to hide their modesty.

“Your fault my sweet,” he muttered with a wry grin.

As the scene progressed, it became almost unendurable. To have Astrid’s soft body in his arms beneath the silk sheets. He counted the minutes until he could get her away from here to his room and do the thing properly.

The word cut came just in time to save him supreme embarrassment. The wardrobe people rushed forward with their robes.

Phew!” he heard the boom guy say to one of technicians, “They’ll burn up the screen.”

The cameramen and technicians were busy with their equipment, and the few crew allowed in, left the set. Astrid ran a finger over his bottom lip. “Naughty,” she said with a grin.

He gazed around to find them alone and slid a hand between her legs beneath her robe.

“I intend to show you just how naughty I can be.”

She giggled and slapped his hand away.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Astrid dressed quickly. She and Dylan were going to Richmond for lunch and a stroll in the park. It was one of her favorite places in England. She loved to sit by the river.

She crossed the hall and after a quick knock opened his door.

Dylan stood with a towel around his waist. He had his arms around Jenny and stroked her back.

Pain struck at Astrid’s chest sucking the air from her lungs. She whirled around and hurried out the door.

She shut her door, and paced, struggling to breathe. Her chest hurt as she made wild plans to flee, only to tear them down. Sobering, she’d knew she had to stay, but would pack up and leave England as soon as the movie wrapped.

Ten minutes later, her door banged open. Dylan strode in swiping his wet hair back from his forehead. He’d changed into jeans and a t-shirt. “What was that about?”

“It is usual for you to receive women in your room wearing a towel?” She was glad her voice sounded unaffected even though she wanted to fly at him.

“Don’t act like a narrow-minded Frenchwoman, Astrid. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I forgot. Jenny is well acquainted with you naked, isn’t she?”

Dylan blinked. “
Touché
.” He folded his arms. “But you really shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Jenny just told me she and Angus have broken up.”

“So she rushed to you for comfort.”

She hated to see disappointment in his gaze. “You might feel for Jenny,” he said. “She’s broken-hearted. She loves Angus.”

“She loves him?” Jenny always seemed so lighthearted about romance. Astrid felt remorseful. She’d been too focused on her own problems to see Jenny’s distress.

He raised an eyebrow. “She came to me for advice.”

“How could you help her?”

“You don’t think I’m the right person to advise her? You might be right, Astrid. I’ve prostrated myself before a woman who doesn’t want me in her future.”

Astrid wanted to scream at the dull ache in her chest. She’d never wished for this kind of love. As wonderful as it was, it brought with it uncertainty, vulnerability and pain. She’d wanted to be free, not tied to a man she loved too much. The prospect frightened her. She was not like her mother. She knew she couldn’t live like that.

“I told Jenny to reach a compromise,” Dylan said. “They couldn’t agree on where to live. He wants her to live in Edinburgh and she doesn’t, but I didn’t see that as a good reason to break up. It they love each other anything can be overcome.”

“Yes. If they love each other,” Astrid said aware of the unspoken plea beneath his words. “Surely they can work it out.”

“Silly woman.” Dylan ran a gentle finger over her cheek. The gesture made her tense muscles loosen. She sighed and placed her arms around his neck.

“I’ll speak to Jenny.” She nuzzled his shoulder.

He stoked her hair. “You don’t trust easily do you, Astrid.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

He took her hands and drew her toward the door. “Come on, let’s go to Richmond. We can have a coffee by the river.”

***

The film was in post-production. All the hard work and disagreements melted away as the cast and crew mingled at the launch party. Astrid prepared to leave. She did the rounds to say goodbye. Dylan was doing the same, slapping people on the back and laughing. He had such an irresistible dynamic vitality. Knowing he would soon follow her to the cottage, she fought to impose an iron control on herself to get through the next few hours. 

Jenny Lane came up to give her a hug. “It’s been great working with you.”

“And you. I hope we work together again soon.”

Antony offered Astrid a glass of wine. She shook her head. “I’m on my way home.”

“Great to have the film in the can,” Mike said.

She smiled at him. He seemed to get more out of this than anyone. It wasn’t work for him, and he suffered none of the pressures that went with it.

“I read in
The Guardian
that one of Russo’s paintings fetched a million pounds at Sotheby’s,” Antony said. “All grist to the mill!”

Astrid nodded. Publicity for the film was very welcome.

“Pity Russo didn’t paint more, but his paintings are considered masterpieces and have left a great legacy,” Mike observed.

“Perhaps you’d like to buy one?” Astrid kidded him.

“If only I had the money,” he said. “Maybe if the movie does well, eh?” 

“I love it that Blair and Gina had such a long, happy marriage,” Astrid couldn’t help adding. It was unlikely to interest either of the men, but she found their love affair inspiring.

“Pity the movie didn’t touch more on how Blair became a force for change in the Irish Government,” Antony continued, warming to his theme. “Fighting as he did for Irish independence and better conditions for workers.”

“Nah. Gina’s the story,” Mike broke in. “As the face of Pear’s Soap, she graced billboards and railway stations everywhere. One of the first supermodels.”

There was so much more to Gina than beauty, Astrid thought. She’d achieved a lot before she died in 1975, fifteen years after Blair. “Don’t forget Gina set up shelters for prostitutes and unwed mothers.”

She hugged them both and moved toward the door where Laurence Gilbray talked to the producer, Harry Sims.

Harry kissed her on both cheeks. “Hope I get to work with you again.”

“Hope I get to work,” Astrid said, smiling.

“It was a fine script.” Laurence said. “We were lucky to get permission to make it.”

“How did you discover the diary? You never told me.”

“My daughter found it in a second hand book shop of all places, where she seems to spend a good deal of time looking for inspiration–she’s a writer. I sent scouts out to find the family. Then I went to Ireland and consulted with them. Apparently, the diary went missing after the house was sold, and they were happy for me to make the film. You shall meet them at the premiere.”

“Did the love scenes with Dylan end up on the cutting room floor?” She almost hoped they had. It still embarrassed her and she’d have to shut her eyes at that point in the premiere.

“Are you crazy?” Laurence’s eyebrows shot up. “Those hot scenes with you and Dylan will ensure the success of the movie and all our careers.”

Astrid left the party and walked to her dressing room. Her assistant had packed her bag.

She took a moment to gaze around the small space that had been like home for months. Trying not to dwell on the ordeal awaiting her in Paris, she shut the door. With a glance at her name still in its slot, she rolled her case out to the waiting taxi.

Entering the cottage, she kicked off her shoes, and padded bare foot to the kitchen. She removed a chilled bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator and opened it.

She’d just poured two glasses of wine when Dylan knocked. She went to open it. He stepped into the tiny hall filling it with his tall frame. She sighed, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Mmm,” she murmured against his ear.

“I’ll second that,” he said huskily and pulled her hard against him.

Astrid tried to detach herself from her body’s swift response to his closeness. “Come and have a glass of wine. We must toast the success of the movie before I leave.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Who sent you that hideous flower arrangement in the hall?”

“Alistair McNaught, with a profuse apology.”

“
Bastard!
”

“He has problems that man. I approve of the movie’s happy ending, don’t you?” Astrid raised her wine glass to him.

He clinked his glass against hers. “You believe in happy endings then?”

“It’s pleases me that Blair and Gina had a long, happy marriage. Eight children!”

“They had big families in those days.”

“Even if I began now I doubt I’d have more than three.”

“Three’s a nice number, but four is better. Have you changed your mind? Would you consider a baby in the near future?”

“Somewhere in my future. Not now.” How beautiful a child of theirs would be, particularly if they had his blue eyes.

“I’ve learned something from this movie,” he said. “What constitutes true happiness. It’s not a glamorous life, or conquests, or loads of money. It’s having that special person by my side, loving me through thick and thin.” He smiled. “And bearing my children.”

She knew his big close-knit family in Ireland influenced him. And though she agreed it was right for him, she wasn’t entirely sure a large family was for her.

He put down his glass and removed hers from her grasp. Placing the glasses on the kitchen bench, he looped his arms around her waist and leaned back with her against the counter. “Can we meet soon? In Paris?”

She shook her head and moved out of his arms, fighting to gain control of her emotions and think clearly. “Not now.”

He searched her face. “You can’t mean you’re going back to him.”

“No, but I need to end it properly, Dylan, I wish you’d understood that.”

Dylan swung away from her. “You won’t leave him,” he said bitterness and disappointment lowering his voice.

“I want some time by myself.” She stroked his cheek. It was hard to make him understand that she needed to learn more about herself. Not to rely on a man. Dylan was so strong and independent. She had a career, of which she was proud, but she’d been first a daughter and then Philippe’s partner, and never alone long enough to understand what she really wanted from life.

He raised a brow. “I’ll accept that, if it’s the truth.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You think I’d lie to you?”

“No, darling. I think you haven’t made up your mind. And I’m trying desperately to help you.”

“That’s true to a point. But you can’t help me, Dylan.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I did for many years.”

He put a finger under her chin and raised it, his blue eyes pained. “You love me.”

Astrid turned away from him. She hated to see him troubled. “Dylan, you have slept with many of your co-stars, including Maureen some years ago, according to Jenny. How do I know I’m not just another?”

He scowled. “What? Are you implying you’re just another notch on my belt? That’s unfair, and it’s wrong, Astrid.” He sounded hurt and bitter. “All that was in the past, before I met you.”

“I don’t regret what we shared,” she said, not wishing to remind him of the night he spent with Jenny. “Not one moment.”

“Why stop now? We are great together.”

“It’s better we don’t make hasty promises we can’t keep.”

“I keep my promises.” He put down his half empty glass. “Okay. I won’t beg. I’ve never had to and I won’t start now.”

“Of course not. You’re a beautiful man. I consider myself fortunate to have had this time with you.” She tidied his dark hair back from his forehead and smoothed his collar. “But perhaps we’re not destined to be a couple. I live in France. My life is there. We are very different.”

“You sound convinced.”

She fought to control her swirling emotions. “I’m not, though.” To avoid the hurt in his eyes she rinsed her glass under the tap. “And now I must hurry.”

He tossed down the last of his drink and dug into his pocket for his keys. A corner of his mouth twitched in that smile that never failed to melt her heart. “We shall be back together very soon, darling Astrid. Interviews, the showing of the film, film festivals, we’ll see a good deal of each other.” His intense blue eyes still had the power to thrill her. “We’ll see what happens then.”

“I believe that’s wise.” She was grateful to him for being reasonable, and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach.

He pressed his lips to hers, caressing her mouth as she stroked the silky hair at his nape. She tasted wine on his tongue, her body responding with warmth and a tug of desire.

Then she let him go.

The slam of the front door broke her trance. She took a deep breath as the roar of his motorbike faded into the distance. It seemed so final. She checked windows and tidied sofa cushions. Blocking their conversation from her mind, she headed upstairs. The taxi would arrive in an hour and there was still some packing to do.

The silver jersey dress, she’d worn their first night together, lay on the bed. She held it to her nose, imagining she could smell Dylan’s aftershave as memories of their passionate union came flooding back. It was plain that what had passed between them had transferred to the screen. She understood why the director and the producer were so optimistic.

Astrid pushed back a lock of hair and applied her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. She was relieved that the movie was finished. She’d loved her character and took something of Gina with her that she wanted to keep: Gina’s passion and determination for a life lived on her own terms.

Philippe would collect her from Charles de Gaulle airport in his Maserati. She’d tell him quietly at home. The word ‘home’ sounded odd now. It would no longer be her home. Philippe would fight her all the way, using everything at his disposal. She tucked her makeup case in her bag, zipped up her Versace luggage then picked up her phone to confirm her flight. As she waited for the flight information, Dylan’s intense, handsome face swam into her vision. She bit her lip hard on the profound sense of loss. Women would already be queuing up to get him into bed. Could any red-blooded man resist that?