Chapter 4

Aurora

Flashes of two bodies twisted together, desire unfolding in my core, and I opened my eyes, too afraid to move. What the hell did you do, Aurora? It wasn’t my mother’s voice, at least. Sometimes, when I’d made a crappy decision, my conscience would wear her motherly tone and masquerade around in my mind all day.

A one-night stand—I’d never had one before—and with an actor. Unadulterated shame burbled inside me. I winced, turned my head slowly then sighed.

The bed was empty. Rumpled sheets and one pillow hanging off the side of the mattress.

Thank god. Hopefully, it’d all been a highly erotic, satisfying dream, and I hadn’t sold out for one night with a superhot celebrity.

I sat up and gripped my forehead, half-expecting a hangover to compensate for my shit decision-making skills. But faced with him, faced with that crystal blue stare, I’d been overwhelmed.

That was it. I’d lost my senses for a little while. That or it’d been a dream. Please, god, let it have been a dream. I can’t let anything compromise my plans here. I can’t let my guard down after all this time.

A crash rang out from the kitchenette, followed by a muffled curse.

I froze, fingers on my temples. He was still here. The actor was still here. That’s what I’ll call him from now on. That way, I can separate myself from what I did and what I’m feeling.

“Feeling! Don’t be ridiculous.” It came out as a whisper.

I scrambled out of bed and cast around for my nightgown. Nope, screw that, if I had to go out there, it would be fully clothed with a friggin’ iron-cast bra and a chastity belt.

I opened my set of drawers, the portable one my mother had used, and drew out some underwear, a maxi skirt, and a plain white cotton tee. I’d have to settle for this.

Sunlight peeked through the blinds, and I shifted them aside, caught a view of the forest nearby, leaves glistening from last night’s downpour. No photographers or journalists.

I hop-skip-jumped into the clothes, ran a brush through my hair, wincing at the knots then walked to the door. Was it possible to do a walk of shame in one’s own home? Apparently so.

A deep breath, two counts, and I entered the dining area.

Jarryd Tombs—so much for calling him ‘the actor’—stood topless in front of the coffee pot, fingering his chin and frowning. That hooked nose—a Ryan Gosling bend to it—always drew my attention. What should’ve been an imperfection was a defining feature and unbelievably attractive.

Mistress, my cute calico kitty, wound between his suit-clad calves and meowed.

“I hope she’s not giving you too much trouble.”

Jarryd jumped, and a bag of coffee grounds flew upward. “Chee-rist!” He caught it mid-air and spun on the spot. “Is that a fortune-teller thing? Sneaking up on people like that.”

“Yeah, same way being arrogant is an actor thing,” I replied.

Jarryd’s expression softened. “I’m making coffee. I already gave your cat some Kibble.”

Her bowl was empty in the corner. Apparently, Mistress had already pigged out and come back for seconds.

“Thanks,” I said. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got places to be.”

“Are you OK?” He squinted at me. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

“Yeah, fine. I—uh—I’m not used to this kind of thing, is all.” I pointed at him and then at me.

“Coffee?”

“No, sex.” I blushed immediately. “No, I mean. I—I haven’t done it in, you know. Oh, my god.” Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Jarryd’s half-smile was both sexy and mortifying. “You haven’t? Well, it didn’t seem that way.”

“What are you trying to say?” That I was a slut for doing that? Shit, I was probably another notch on his belt. Yet another forgettable groupie girl who’d thrown herself at his feet. Ew, ew, ew. That made me die a little inside.

“Relax,” he replied and put down the bag of grounds. He stepped over Mistress’s tail and drew close, bringing the fire yet again. “I’m saying I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being with you last night.”

I nodded stiffly. “I did, too. But you don’t have to do this. The coffee and so on.”

“I want to do it. And I want to make you breakfast, too. Do you have eggs? Bacon?” He glanced around. “Shit, are you a vegan?”

“Why, because I wear skirts and read palms?”

“You read palms?”

I swallowed. “Can it with the stereotypes, and I’ll let you make me breakfast. There’s bacon in the fridge.”

“Let me?” Jarryd grinned again. “No one lets me do anything.”

“What a sad life you must lead.”

His expression clouded, and I instantly regretted saying it. I’d meant it in jest, but the reading from last night screamed back—the Tower, upheaval, and his current state of being, the Seven of Cups. The cards said he wasn’t happy, and that change was on the way. Sudden change.

I always believed the cards, so why didn’t I want to believe them now?

“Bacon in the fridge,” he said. “Eggs too?”

“Yeah. And bread on top of it. I don’t like icy slices.”

“Who does?” Jarryd marched to the fridge and busied himself with the ingredients for breakfast.

My cat finally deigned to greet me. Apparently, the actor was a pussy magnet. OK, cheesiest mental joke ever. I picked up Mistress and buried my nose in her fur, watching the actor between her ears.

This was the last thing I’d expected. Surely, he had better things to do than staying here with me?

“You mentioned you were here scouting locations?” I asked.

“That’s right,” he replied, ass out and head in the fridge. I admired the posterior dimensions then shook my head and put down Mistress.

“What’s the movie about?”

Jarryd straightened with a carton of eggs in one hand and bacon in the other. “It’s called Pride’s Death. It’s a romantic thriller. My first shot at writing, directing, and producing one in this specific sub-genre. It’s complicated. It’s supposed to be about a small-town girl who gets caught up in a love triangle with a serial killer and a hometown boy.”

“Supposed to be?”

Jarryd put down the ingredients and shrugged. “Yeah. Supposed to be. As I said, things are complicated. I won’t bore you with the details.”

I hesitated. Wouldn’t bore me, or thought I couldn’t be trusted? Ironic, since I was the one who had a lot to lose here. “What made you choose Moondance?”

“I haven’t chosen it yet,” he said, firmly. OK, definitely hit a nerve there. “I came to check it out because a friend suggested it. I’m not sure it’s the right place. I’m not even sure about the script anymore.” The last sentence had been said to himself.

“Oh, that’s—OK. I guess I don’t know much about that type of thing.” Understatement of the century. I wasn’t a movie fan. I’d never gotten the chance to develop a taste for any genre. Books were my primary mode of entertainment. And sometimes, when I was in a naughty mood, I played Candy Crush on the sly.

“You don’t? I guess you wouldn’t,” he said and opened the cupboard over the sink. “Where are the pans—ah, never mind. Found it. So, why are you in Moondance?”

“It’s the only place I’ve called home for more than six months,” I replied, easily. I didn’t have to tell him all the details. “I lived here when I was younger. After that, I pretty much traveled around the state. I came back because I was tired of the lifestyle.”

“Tired of it,” Jarryd said and placed the pan on my portable stove. “I can’t imagine getting tired of this. Able to move whenever you want, do what you want, no one telling you where to go, what meetings you have, whether you should wear that shirt to that event.”

“It must be super difficult for you,” I said, in a monotone.

He paused and gave me the side-eye. “You’re right. I’m being ungrateful. I have a better life than most, and I appreciate that. But sometimes…” He raised both hands and strangled the air. “Sometimes, it gets frustrating.”

I softened a little. I could imagine that. I’d experienced enough judgment and disdain. I wouldn’t handle that on a grand scale.

“So, this is what you do?” Jarryd asked and fiddled with the clicker on the gas stove. “Travel around telling people their futures?”

“Giving readings,” I corrected. “And it was what I did. Now, I’d like to settle here in my—”“

Jarryd’s cell phone erupted to life on the table behind me, and I squealed.

“Shit,” he said and brushed past me, pressing his front to mine. “I should never have turned the damn thing on this morning.” He lifted it and grimaced at the caller ID. “I’d better take this.”

I scooted over to the stove and gestured to the side door of my RV. “Go ahead.”

Jarryd didn’t hear me. He’d already swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. He clunked open the door and stepped out into the mud. The door swung shut behind him but didn’t close all the way.

“Rod,” he said, voice carrying in from outside. “Yes, I couldn’t talk last night. I was in the middle of something important.”

My stomach did a girly dance. Important, ha!

A pause outside. I clicked the dial on the stove but didn’t put any real energy into it.

“You’re kidding.” Jarryd’s tone deepened—anger. “She did? She called you? Rod, I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

This didn’t sound like a conversation I should eavesdrop on. Then again, eavesdropping in general was a no-no.

“Oh, well, of course, that’s a sane thing to do. I’m sure the fact that it was Felicity Swan calling you had no impact on your reaction to the situation. You’re an investor, Rod. I’m the one producing this movie. She has no say over where it’s filmed. She shouldn’t even be on this trip.”

Felicity Swan. Now, that name did ring a bell. Another A-list celebrity and one I knew too well. Felicity had gone to school with me, right here in Moondance. And she obviously had something to do with Pride’s Death and Jarryd Tombs.

I pressed my hand to my stomach. Nausea slammed home.

“No, no, no,” Jarryd said, outside, and lowered his voice. “You know as well as I do that that’s over. I’m not going to rationalize my decisions for her benefit. And you’re better than this. Since when are you Felicity’s errand boy? She doesn’t need to know where I was last night.”

My intestines tied themselves into knots.

I stepped back from the kitchen counter and walked sideways, one step, two, three. Jarryd’s voice faded. I entered my bedroom and rushed to my dresser. Opened it, drew out my cell—a smartphone I’d picked up secondhand a couple months ago—and switched it on.

“Please, please, please,” I whispered. I’d already done something totally out of character for me. One-night stands were unheard of. They weren’t in my repertoire. It couldn’t get worse than this.

The cell switched on and let out a tremendous welcome tone. I panicked and juggled it from one hand to the other then found the option to put it on silent mode. I opened the Internet browser and typed out the names with shaking fingers.

Fiblitcy Swxn and Jarid Dombs

Remarkably, Google figured out what my listless thumbs couldn’t translate.

Showing Results for Felicity Swan and Jarryd Tombs.

Headlines jumped out at me, dated from months back, right up until today.

The most recent ones screamed the same news over and over again.

Jarryd Tombs and Felicity Swan: Hollywood’s Hottest Couple Call It Quits!

Two Weeks On: Felicity Swan Insists She’s Fine

Felicity and Jarryd: Separated for Good?

Where Have the Star Duo Disappeared To? Both Out of the Limelight since the Breakup.

“No,” I muttered and sank onto my bed. The scent of us, of my perfume and his cologne, with the musk of his skin, rose from the sheets. “I’m an idiot.”

It didn’t matter that he’d broken up with her. This was way too complicated. And I wasn’t the type of woman who slept with a guy who’d just left a relationship. It was—what was it? This was new territory for me.

Whatever it was, last night had clearly meant nothing to him, and I couldn’t hide the fact that it’d meant more to me. The only other man I’d slept with had been a boyfriend, and one I’d fallen for.

Oh, god, and it was Felicity Swan. My memories of her weren’t vague. She’d grown up in Moondance but starred in movies from a young age. She’d left a couple months after I arrived, at the age of sixteen, beckoned by Hollywood. She was a treasure in this town. Moondance’s favorite woman and, now, a star. A star whose ex I’d slept with in my RV!

“Disaster,” I said. “This is a disaster.”

It’d be hard enough for me to achieve my goals in Moondance without this hanging over my head. If the locals got wind of it, they’d do whatever it took to stop me from buying property here. Not that I could afford it yet.

Disconnected thoughts raced through my mind. Dots connecting and separating. Panic. Palms sweating.

I switched off the smartphone, got up, and stowed it in its usual hiding spot. I only ever used the damn thing for emergencies or binge Candy Crush in moments of weakness. You have to get rid of him. Get rid of this before it’s too late.

Five years since I’d last lived in Moondance. I’d hoped five years would’ve been enough to dull memories of me and Mom for the residents. Not for me, no, never for me. And now this.

Don’t panic. Stop panicking. You’re fine. Just get rid of him. The situation isn’t as dire as you think it is. I would’ve given anything to have had my mother saying the words to me instead.

The side door of the RV creaked, and I squeezed my eyes shut. He was back inside.

“Aurora?” he called out. “Where is she, Mistress?”

The kitty meowed in the next room.

“Coming,” I said and cleared my throat. “Just a sec.” I smoothed my palms over my loose cotton shirt then moved out into the dining area. My bare feet scraped across the carpet.

“There you are,” he said, still topless and breathtaking. Why was this painful? I didn’t know him. It’d meant nothing. Nothing! “Time to get cooking. How do you like your eggs?”

“I think you should leave,” I said.

Both Mistress and Jarryd looked at me as if I’d lost my shit.

“What?”

“I said, I think you should leave. I’m grateful for your effort here but we don’t need to make this into something it’s not.” I was stiff as a board. “We had a good time, and that’s over now. I’m sure you have things to get to, and I do, too.”

“Aurora—”

“Leave, please,” I said, and a note of plea entered my voice. I hated myself for that but I wasn’t the commanding type.

Jarryd was stunned. He put down the pack of bacon and stepped back from the counter, nodding once. “Yeah, all right. My shirt.”

I swept it off the table and held it out to him. He took it from me. Our skin didn’t connect.

Jarryd Tombs tugged on the shirt and grabbed his jacket from the sofa. “Thanks for everything.” And then he was out the door and gone.

I let out a long, low sigh and clung to the table. I should’ve been relieved. One less problem to deal with. Except the only emotion I could identify was disappointment.

I sat down and buried my face in my palms. This should never have happened.