Left Turn at Paradise Read online

  “You’re analyzing things too much,” Grayson said, touching his forehead to hers. “Can’t we just enjoy being together for now?”

  “I don’t think I can do that with you, and I can’t risk my heart on someone who’s not free to risk his.”

  His brows drew together in a fierce scowl. “I’m free.”

  “Really? Are you over Skye?” she asked. “Have you moved on?”

  A long, deep exhale was his only response.

  She’d known the truth, but having it confirmed was like a surgeon’s knife sliding through her rib cage to pierce her heart. “You know I’m right.”

  “I don’t have to like it, though.”

  “And I do?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “He can direct me anytime.”

  Layla whipped around as a woman slipped into the booth next to her. “What?”

  Zara Coleman, a reporter from Sarasota Monitor, had arrived yesterday to do a feature article on the revival of The Paradise. Zara had interviewed just about everyone involved in the transformation of the theatre. Annaliese had declared Zara to be a first class inquisitor, and Gran and Aunt Grace had developed nervous twitches by the time they were done with their joint interview.

  Tonight Grayson had agreed, after much persuasion on Layla’s part, to let Zara interview him. That had been an hour ago. Now, Zara was back and Grayson had returned to working on the lights with Annaliese and Manuel.

  Zara used her pen to point in Grayson’s direction. “He’s your story.”

  Layla blinked, struggling to catch up with the conversation.

  “Grayson?” Layla asked, hoping she’d heard Zara’s provocative statement wrong. “Of course he’s part of the story. We’d never get The Paradise going again without him.”

  Zara shook her head. “No, he’s more than that. He’s a magician. Absolutely spellbinding. For the last two days I’ve been watching him charm the socks off everyone from little old ladies to that mousy assistant of yours who won’t even look me in the eye. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not to mention, he’s delicious. There’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t want all that passion directed her way.”

  Oh, yes, Layla knew very well how intoxicating Grayson could be.

  Blast him.

  “He reminds me of someone, too,” Zara continued. “I can’t quite put my finger on who, but I know I’ve seen that face before.”

  “His ex-wife is Skye Malone,” Layla said, hoping the reporter wasn’t astute enough to match up Grayson’s face with a long-dead movie starlet who’d supposedly never had children. “You’ve probably seen pictures of them.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought, then she shook her head. “Oh well. It’ll come to me eventually. For now, I have to tell you that Grayson Kendall is going to be the center of my story.”

  “I thought the whole point of you coming out here was to feature the theatre,” Layla said. “You know, bringing the Grande Dame back to life and showing how it’s also reviving our town?”

  “That’s one angle. However, I’d be stupid not to put that man front and center, and trust me, I did not get where I am in this business by being stupid.”

  At that moment, Grayson turned his head and looked at them. As if he could hear what they were saying from all the way across the theatre.

  “Maybe we should move to my office,” Layla said.

  “Thanks, but another time. I’m heading over to my room at the B&B now. I have so many ideas running through my head, and I want to get started.”

  Layla tried again to steer the reporter away from her intended target. “Look, about Grayson—”

  Zara smiled. “Don’t worry, Ms. McCarthy. The Paradise and Shellwater Key will get the publicity you want. By the time I’m done, people will be clamoring to get a ticket on opening night. Your director might find himself battling off some over-eager groupies, but I know you’ll do an excellent job of fending them off. You’re quite possessive of your man.”

  “My what?” Layla’s mouth gaped open. “He’s not…we’re not…I mean…”

  Zara laughed. “It’s all right. Just so you know, I’m happily married, although if anything ever happened there I’d be first in line to try and dip my oar in his waters. I don’t blame you for being protective. I’d guard him if he was mine, too.”

  With that parting shot, Zara got in her car and drove off. Before Layla could come up with a chilling rebuke. Before she could deny the truth of Zara’s words…or take the reporter’s so-called oar and shove it up her nose.

  There was no way she could subject herself to any more of Grayson’s charms tonight, so Layla escaped to her office. She spent the next couple hours writing a new press release and making a list of media contacts where she could send it. Tomorrow, she needed to get on the phone and start making pitches.

  She also needed to pin down more sponsors. Hopefully, some of the local businesses would be willing to donate needed items. Not to mention everything associated with bringing the dining room and kitchen into the 21st century.

  Whenever Layla started thinking about how much there was to do, and how much money they were spending without seeing a dime of return, she got the dry heaves. The responsibility of making The Paradise a moneymaking venture sat heavily on her shoulders.

  “You look like you want to take a baseball bat to that computer.”

  She let out a muffled scream and twirled around in her chair. Grayson stood in the doorway. He looked alive. Wired even. Not at all like a man who’d spent the evening wrangling lighting fixtures into submission.

  “If I thought a bat would cancel all our debts I’d wield it gladly,” she said, trying to tell her stupid pulse to slow down and stop reacting to his nearness.

  His brow furrowed. “Are you in trouble? I could help with a loan if you need it.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but it’s not necessary. It’s my businesswoman brain. I don’t like adding up all these numbers when there’s nothing to offset them in the gain column.”

  “I’ve never been called sweet before,” he said, mock outrage clear in his silver eyes. He dropped onto the couch and hooked his hands behind his head.

  “You must be exhausted,” she said. “I don’t know how you’re still standing after the last couple of days.”

  “Adrenaline. Talk to me, please. If I go back to my aunt’s I’ll end up prowling the house.”

  She sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to get rid of him so easily. She searched for a topic that wouldn’t endanger her heart or her senses.

  “All right, tell me how you got into directing. How did you wind up with a theatre in Chicago?”

  He hesitated and then let out a deep, reluctant sigh. “It was my mother’s doing mostly.”

  She leaned forward. “Did she help you start it?”

  “Sort of. It really started after one of my mother’s friends seduced me when I was fourteen.”

  “What!”

  The startled outcry erupted before she could stop it.

  He sent her a sardonic half-smile. “It was very sordid. Very Hollywood. Almost soap opera-like.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking,” she said.

  “Can’t.”

  Bile rose in her throat. “What…how?”

  “Like I said, she was one of my mother’s friends, but in Hollywood friendships are often based on what that friend can do for you. With Victoria Gray it meant they might be noticed by someone important.”

  “Who was she?” Layla asked, starting to shake. “Would I know her?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s…horrible,” she said on a strangled breath.

  “I didn’t think so at the time. A beautiful, sexy, famous woman wanted me. What 14-year-old boy would say no to that? I thought she was the most amazing woman I’d ever seen. Turns out, I was part of a twisted game she and my mother played with each other. This particular woman was as much my mother’s rival as a friend. They often competed for
the same roles, and the competition carried over to other things, like men.”

  “Why did she pick you then?”

  “Revenge. My mother had won a role they’d both been vying for, and I had flown out for a visit. Her friend did what no one else had bothered to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “Figured out who I really was.”

  “What did your mother do when she found out? She did find out, right?”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked, with a sardonic laugh. “That was the whole point of the seduction. To my mother’s credit, she was furious. I’d never seen her in such a rage. It was magnificent, actually. But since she wasn’t a normal mother, she assuaged her guilt by getting me a part in her next movie.”

  “She thought a movie career would solve everything?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, she wasn’t a normal mother. Anyway, I hated the movie business, and didn’t really like acting. I was more interested in what the director was doing. I watched him endlessly, asked questions. Finally, he offered to introduce me to a theatre director in L.A. I worked with him for a few years and then went to NYU. After school, I moved to Chicago and started The Royale.”

  “Why Chicago?”

  “It wasn’t L.A., and it wasn’t New York,” he said. “I was making a name for myself. Enough of one to capture the notice of a rising starlet who was looking for credibility as a serious actress.”

  “Skye Malone.”

  He held out his hands in a helpless, ‘stupid me’ gesture. “After a lifetime of dealing with my mother, I should have known better, but Skye was exquisite. She was an amazing actress, too. There was more to her than sex appeal. Everything about her intrigued me.”

  “The perfect blonde hair, the figure, the Liz Taylor eyes,” Layla said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “No…” he started to deny. Then. “Maybe. In the end, I fell for a woman who was just like my mother. Vain, spoiled, and willing to do anything for stardom. I couldn’t do anything to earn her love, either. Only I didn’t realize it until it was too late. The Oedipus Curse rises again.”

  “How did you find out she’d left you for her co-star?”

  “The same way most of the country did. One of those celebrity gossip columnists.”

  “She didn’t bother to get in touch with you before the news hit?”

  “Why spoil the surprise?” he asked, with so much cynicism that Layla’s heart broke. “She contacted me a week later to apologize. Said she’d outgrown our relationship, and hadn’t known how to tell me.”

  “So, she let the entertainment rags do the talking for her,” Layla said, wishing she could wring Skye’s scrawny neck. Not to mention the woman who had used a young boy so callously. “Did Skye know Victoria Gray was your mother?”

  “No.”

  Layla almost fell off her chair. “You didn’t tell your wife?”

  “I never felt comfortable enough.”

  She gaped at him in utter astonishment. “Shouldn’t that have been a big clue that there was something wrong?”

  He aimed a sardonic smile her way. “What’s that song? When a man loves a woman? Skye could do no wrong.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His smile turned bemused. “What are you sorry for?”

  “I feel like I should apologize for all women. Especially the woman who preyed on you when you were too young to understand what you were doing.”

  “At the time I didn’t think it was so bad. It’s every teenaged boy’s fantasy.”

  “That doesn’t make it right. It makes me sick, and so angry with your mother. I can’t believe she let someone like that anywhere near you.”

  “So you do care?”

  She refused to let him brush her off. “Stop. I’m not your ex-wife or your mother. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

  “What am I pretending?’

  “That you don’t care.”

  He rose from the couch and stalked around her desk with steady, measured steps. He leaned against the desk and pulled her up until she was standing between his braced legs.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone was so outraged on my behalf,” he said.

  “I can’t stand thinking of you going through that at such a young age,” she said, her heart aching for his lost innocence. “I want to take it away.”

  He touched her cheek. “I wouldn’t. My past made me who I am today. It put me on the path I was supposed to be on.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Destiny?”

  “Maybe it’s a higher power than that.”

  Her lips twitched. “To whom have you been talking lately?”

  “I’ve gotten to know our enigmatic carpenter a little bit. I help Noah in the workshop sometimes.” Gentle pressure urged her closer. “You’d be surprised how philosophical you can get with a hammer in your hands.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to do this again,” she said, looping her arms around his neck.

  “I can’t help it. You’re cute when you get outraged.”

  His lips brushed her once. Twice. Then settled to do the job right. Layla was lost in an instant. She’d never felt so consumed before. His arms wrapped tighter around her, bringing her flush against him. He trailed a hand down her spine, leaving a path of chills in its wake.

  Then he set her away from him. So abruptly she almost fell over. She had to brace her hands against the desk.

  “You started it,” she said, struggling to catch her breath. Her control.

  “I know,” he said on a half groan. “I should have known I couldn’t trust myself.”

  She glanced over at him. For once he seemed as dazed as she did. As unsettled by the fireworks they’d generated. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling until thick tuffs stood up. Their eyes met.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t deal with you until I’ve dealt with me, and whatever is left over after my marriage.”

  She nodded. Back to the truth again.

  He straightened, hesitated, and then stepped close again. Framed her face with gentle hands. “I wish I’d met you first.”

  She closed her eyes and drew in a gasp when he kissed her eyelids and then the corner of her mouth. He let her go, and she heard the rustle of clothing, the rasp of shoes against carpet.

  When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Layla hugged the newspaper to her chest as she hurried inside The Paradise. She found Grayson standing in one of the wings on the stage. “Guess what I’ve got,” she called out.

  She bounded up the stairs, only to realize Grayson wasn’t alone. She hadn’t noticed the other man standing further off stage. The two of them were contemplating the metal cranks that operated a complicated pulley system.

  The winches, used to fly in backdrops and other scenery.

  One hundred points for her for knowing that a winch wasn’t a tavern waitress.

  Her smile dimmed only a little. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt.”

  Grayson’s eyes warmed, and she told herself not to read too much into what was, no doubt, a trick of the light. “You weren’t.” He gestured to the man beside him. “This is Carl Burns. He’s a master craftsman. Spent his whole life designing the gear systems in theatres all over the Midwest, including mine in Chicago. He’s retired and living in Tampa now, so I’ve commandeered him to help us get our flies in order.”

  “Sounds kinky,” she teased, resigned to being polite when what she really wanted to do was shove the newspaper under his nose. “We’re lucky to have you.”

  “Did you need something?” Grayson asked.

  She glanced at Carl Burns, who must have gotten the message because he backed up a step. “I have to get some things from my truck and make notes.”

  Carl disappeared and Layla turned back to Grayson. “So, how are our flies? Are they beyond hope?”

  His lips twitched. “Mine’s in pretty good working order right now.”

&
nbsp; She shut her eyes on a silent groan. “I suppose I asked for that.”

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Actually, you haven’t asked yet, but just say the word and we can fix that.”

  “Umm…” She couldn’t speak because her brain had shut off again.

  He pulled her closer and the newspaper crinkled against her chest. He looked down. “What’s this?”

  Saved by the bell. She’d almost forgotten why she’d come racing over. Layla shoved the paper at him. “Zara’s article about The Paradise.”

  He took the page and scanned it, and his brows knit together. “It’s all about me.”

  “That was Zara’s angle. She was very interested in you.”

  His frown deepened as he continued to read. “I never agreed to be your poster boy.”

  “Are you mad?” she asked in amazement. “Because this is great publicity for us. Shoot, you come off as a cross between Machiavelli and Andrew Lloyd Webber. You obviously impressed Zara.”

  He slapped the paper against his leg and looked up at her, eyes blazing. “I came here to escape the attention of the press and now you’ve stirred it all up again.”

  She took a step back to escape the rising anger flowing off him. “Zara barely mentions your ex-wife.”

  “She doesn’t have to. Anyone who reads my name automatically puts us together,” he said, stalking to the edge of the stage. “We could have reporters camped on our doorstep by tomorrow.”

  “I doubt anyone in Hollywood will ever see the Sarasota Monitor. It’s not exactly a national newspaper. Besides, it’s been months. Surely, the gossip reporters have moved on to something else by now. You were never really the center of their interest anyway. It was Skye they wanted.”

  “Thanks.”

  She wondered if he was more upset by the reminder of his life with Skye, a life he could never get back, than by the possibility of someone getting the insane notion to come track him down in Shellwater Key.