Chapter Eight

Ella

I don't know what to do… how to behave… what to say.

My body's humming, like I'm on fire, and it's not just with a need for Mac which seems to be ever-present; it's a longing to hear his words.

He hasn't said he loves me, but it feels as though he's skirting around it… like he wants to say it, but is holding back. Maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part, because I'm desperate to say the words myself, and I know if he does, I'll repeat them straight back at him. I suppose I could say them first, but I'm constantly aware of my inexperience, and that I could be overreacting, or at the very least, mistaking lust for love.

I couldn't have mistaken the words he said to me this morning, though. ‘I want you to feel at home here.' He definitely said that, and he meant it, too. Couple that with what he said last night, when he suggested I could go to his place ‘all the time', as far as he was concerned, and I have to wonder if he was asking me to move in with him… and taking the long way about getting there. I wish he could have been more obvious, and just asked me outright. I'd have said ‘yes', without even thinking about it, although with hindsight, I suppose it might be a little impractical, considering I've only just bought and furnished my apartment. But who cares about practicalities? If living with Mac means we get to spend all our time together, and spend more of it doing what we did this morning, then I certainly don't.

The problem is, I can't even ask him what he meant… not because I'm not brave enough, or because I'm scared of his answer, but because we're not alone.

We got so much done yesterday, and the dishes we're demonstrating this week are so simple, that the crew have been able to come in and start work with us already. Mac ran through position checks for the lighting and camera guys this morning, while I prepared the ingredients he'll need later on.

As usual, the first run-throughs will be without food. It gives everyone a chance to check over where they're meant to be, and what they're supposed to be doing. That, of course, includes Vivian, who relishes her role as the ‘guest'. Considering it's October, and that it was overcast, with a chilly breeze when we arrived at work, she's wearing a ludicrously flimsy top that's so low-cut, she's almost falling out of it.

Mac is standing behind the island unit, wearing another of those tight black t-shirts that he hates so much, and the red apron with the show's logo on the front, and he's studying the script, his focus unwavering, despite all the surrounding activity.

I can't stop thinking about how it felt to cling to that perfect body this morning, while he used his fingers and thumb to take me to heaven, or how it felt to take him in my mouth, and watch that look of ecstasy on his face, when his orgasm claimed him. My body shudders, and as though he can sense my silent reaction to the memory, he looks up, his eyes meeting mine, and a slow smile forms on his lips. How did he know? His smile widens and I feel myself being drawn to him, even though I'm rooted to the spot. It's like there's a link between us… one that can't be broken.

"Okay, everybody… places, please." Ruby's voice rings out, making me jump, and Mac chuckles to himself, shaking his head. I narrow my eyes at him, and he tips his head just slightly, both of us enjoying our silent conversation.

People move around, getting into position and I step back so I'm right beside the camera, where I usually stand. Vivian sits up on the stool, her script in her hand, and Mac puts his down on the countertop, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head one way and then the other, like he's preparing himself.

The camera operator beside me lets out a loud sigh and moves aside.

"Vivian… how many times? The opening of the show is meant to be just Blain, standing in the kitchen, so can you please get your tits out of the shot?"

A few people chuckle and Vivian sits back, although she doesn't seem even remotely embarrassed. Mac doesn't appear to notice the commotion and just glances down at his script again, his lips moving, like he's whispering something to himself – his lines, I presume – and then Ruby slaps her hand against the clipboard she's carrying.

"Right… if we're all ready. Cue Blain in… five, four, three, two, one…"

Mac turns to the camera, a smile lighting up his face, and in his immaculate American accent says, "Hi and welcome to this week's episode of Meal Master. I'd like to introduce our guest…" He turns, his smile directed at Vivian. "This is Abigail."

"Hi," she says, beaming at him.

"Where are you from, Abi?"

Vivian glances at her script. "I've just moved to Boston, but originally I'm from Miami."

Blake smiles. "How are you enjoying the weather up here?"

Vivian gazes at him, letting out a sigh… and says absolutely nothing.

"Vivian… keep up, will you?" Ruby snaps and Vivian jumps, looking down at her script for a moment before she raises her eyes to Mac again.

"I—It's a little cooler than I'm used to."

"I'm sure it is. So, what made you choose to come and live here in Boston?"

"I'm studying at Berklee College of Music, and my boyfriend lives here. He already works in the music industry, so…"

"It's a marriage made in heaven?"

"Something like that."

Mac nods his head and smiles. "Okay… so, I understand you've come to us today with a question about eating more healthy meals. Is that right?"

Vivian lowers her head, having to read from her script now, although it hasn't escaped my attention that Mac hasn't looked at his at all.

"Yeah. I've been following a weight-loss plan for a few months, and it's been going quite well, but now the weather is turning colder…"

I wonder about that phrase. I'm not sure when this show will be aired and if the weather will be ‘turning colder' by then, or if it will already be ‘cold', and I make a note to check it with Ruby and Gavin after the run-through.

When I look up again, Mac is speaking. "… and of course, there are plenty of alternatives to salad, although serving something warm with dressed salad leaves is a great option, especially if – like Abigail – you lead a busy life and don't have much time to devote to cooking."

He moves away slightly, and Vivian leans forward, although none of the camera operators seem worried, which I guess means the angle of the shot has changed and she's not in the way anymore. Mac, meanwhile, is describing the first dish he's going to prepare – or at least pretend to – and he pulls a baking sheet closer to him, while looking at the camera and describing how it's best to line it with aluminum foil, because the honey that will be used to baste the chicken can caramelize and stick.

I'm relieved he used the word ‘aluminum' and not ‘tin', or ‘aluminium'. It was something I discussed with Gavin this morning, and although we both worried he might slip up, we decided to take a chance and hope Mac got it right… and he did.

"So, what made you decide to lose weight?" Mac's saying, while he pretends to stir something in an empty bowl.

"I'd always been a little on the heavy side, and decided the time had come to do something about it… for me, not my boyfriend, or anyone else." Vivian's reading from her script again, and sounds as wooden as the chair she's perched on, but when she's finished, she looks up at Mac.

He stops what he's doing and leans a little closer to her. "Good for you. That's the best reason there is, you know?"

"I know. My boyfriend says he loves me whatever size I am…" She lets her voice fade deliberately and gazes up at Mac again, fluttering her eyelashes. "He's always telling me how beautiful I am."

"You shouldn't doubt him."

What on earth possessed Gavin to put that line in the script? It's so sycophantic… although judging from the sparkle in Mac's eyes, and the smile on his lips, I have to wonder… is he acting anymore? Or does he believe what he's saying? Vivian seems to. She can't take her eyes from his.

I've always hated the way she plays up to Mac… even when he was still ‘Blake' to me, but now, it feels so much worse, because he means so much more.

I can't focus, and their words drift over me as I try to work it out. Is he really that good? And if he is, has he been playing a part with me, too?

I've lost count of the number of times I've heard him say that line today… the number of times I've seen him look into Vivian's eyes, his own twinkling with what appears to be admiration. I can't recall how many times I've wanted to run from the room, to be by myself, to work out what's real, and what isn't. My head is spinning and I can't decide what, or who to believe. Did I imagine the look in his eyes this morning, when he told me that what I did to him was perfect and that watching me come was magical? Did I read too much into him saying I was too tempting for him to risk riding down in the elevator with me? Or am I right…? Am I mistaking lust for love?

"Okay, everyone…" Ruby raises her voice and we all turn to face her. "That was almost there. We won't be able to work late tomorrow, because we're all watching the show at five, so I think we'll move into the studio first thing, and start rehearsals at ten. Have a good night, everyone." People start to move around, packing up their things, and Ruby turns to me. "Does that give you enough time to get everything prepared in the morning?"

"Yes. That'll be fine."

"Good. It went well today, don't you think?"

I nod my head, watching Mac out of the corner of my eye. He's studying his script, and Vivian gets up, walking around the island unit, going up to him and pointing to the page. She's standing a lot closer than I feel comfortable with, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he shakes his head, flipping back a couple of pages and saying something to her, although I can't hear what.

I can't bear to watch anymore. I excuse myself to Ruby, and put my notepad on the table, going out of the rehearsal room and along the hall to the ladies' room. Inside, I shut myself into a stall, clenching my fists, telling myself over and over that Mac has done nothing wrong… that this is me, not him.

I hear the outer door open.

"Jeez… who the hell left the window open in here? It's freezing."

I don't reply. I'm not sure a response is expected, but I hear whoever it is closing the window before they enter the stall next to mine.

Suddenly, I remember the note I made about the weather, and I flush the toilet, even though I haven't used it, and quickly wash my hands, for no apparent reason, before rushing back to the rehearsal studio. A few people have left, but I look around, noting that Ruby has joined Vivian and Mac, and that Gavin is still sitting at the table. I dash over to him.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

He looks up. "Sure."

Even though I don't think I'll need it, I grab my notepad from the other end of the table and sit beside him. "It's just that, at the beginning of the show, Abigail has to say a line about the weather turning colder."

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well… if this show won't be airing for a few weeks, then the weather will already be quite cold by then, won't it?"

He frowns, tilts his head and then pulls his copy of the script a little closer, flipping back to the beginning, and then he turns to the second page before he nods. "Yeah… I see what you mean."

"If we take out the word ‘turning', it'll work better, won't it?"

He grabs his pen, scratching out the word ‘turning' and then picks up the script and reads the speech aloud. "How's that?" he says as he finishes, looking up at me.

"I think that works."

"Have I referred to the weather anywhere else?" he says.

"Only where Abigail remarks that it's cooler here than in Miami, but I don't think that matters, does it?"

"No, I don't think so." He stands, putting his pen in his shirt pocket. "We'd better just go tell Blain and Vivian… and adjust their scripts."

I get to my feet, looking over to the kitchen, where Mac is staring at me, looking confused. I follow Gavin, and as we approach, Mac steps away from Vivian, moving closer to me.

"Is something wrong?" he says.

"No," Gavin replies, not giving me a chance to speak. "But our genius culinary consultant here has just pointed out a mistake in the script."

"Oh?" Mac gazes down at me, raising his eyebrows.

"It was just that I noticed Vivian's character has a line about the weather turning colder, and I realized that by the time the show airs, it will be later in the year…"

"And will already be cold," Gavin says, completing my sentence. "We've amended the script, just removing the word ‘turning'."

Mac reaches over, taking Gavin's pen from his pocket, and changes his script, while Vivian goes to get hers from the countertop, and brings it back. She hands it to Gavin, and he takes back his pen and crosses out the word, while Ruby looks down at her clipboard.

"The actress playing Abigail is called Maya Larson." She glances up at Gavin. "If you send me the revised script, I'll forward it to her."

"Thanks." He hands Vivian back her script, replacing his pen in his pocket, and then nudges in to me. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Neither do I." Mac's words take me by surprise and I spin around, gazing up at him. He's smiling down at me, but I can't smile back. I don't feel like I know where I stand with him anymore… not that I really understood it before, but now I feel like I'm wading through quicksand, even though I'm not moving.

"If that's it, I guess we should all head home. We've got a busy day tomorrow." Ruby steps away from the group and Gavin follows. Vivian seems to want to hang around, but Ruby calls her and she reluctantly goes with them… and as everyone else has already left, Mac and I are alone.

I ought to feel relieved about that, but instead I just feel nervous.

"Are you okay?" He steps closer, reaching out to me, but I move away.

"I'm fine. We should probably head home."

I wonder about suggesting that I go back to my place… alone. I could do with some space to think; but we've already got dinner at his, and I don't want him to see through my insecurities again. That's all they are, and I'll get over this… I'm sure I will.

I head back to the table, gather my things and shrug on my jacket. Mac follows, pulling off his apron, which he drops over the back of a chair, and then he clutches up his script and his iPad, and puts on his coat before he follows me from the room in silence.

On the way down in the elevator, I can feel his eyes on me, but we're not alone, so we don't have to make conversation or worry about being in a confined space together.

When we get to the car, I open it, and as we both climb in, he turns to face me. "What's wrong, Ella?"

"Nothing's wrong."

He sighs and I sense he doesn't believe me, but he opens his script and buries his head in it while I drive us back to his place, wondering if I can use that as an excuse to go home after we've eaten. He's got lines to learn and having me under his feet won't help…

I park my car outside his apartment block and get out before he can say anything. He climbs out, too, looking at me over the top of the car, although he still doesn't comment and we enter the building together. He moves toward the elevators, while I go for the stairs, and he coughs, drawing my attention.

"Don't you want to take the elevator?"

"No, thanks."

I put my foot on the first step, and he joins me, still not saying a word as we climb up to the top floor. He spoke yesterday about there not being any tension between us anymore, but right now, you could cut it with a knife… and it's all of my own making.

He lets us in, waiting while I enter the apartment ahead of him, and then closes the door behind us. I feel the tension mounting, but I don't know how to start a conversation with him. I can't think of what to say. Instead, I head for my refuge… the kitchen.

Maybe cooking will help me relax, and I find a large pan in the cabinet and put it on the stove, just as Mac grabs my shoulders, spinning me around.

"We need to talk." His voice is deep, his eyes concerned, and my stomach lurches. He doesn't wait for me to reply, but takes my hand and pulls me over to the couch, sitting me in the corner and flopping down alongside me. Then he turns, facing me, still holding my hand in his. "Tell me what's wrong, Ella. Is it something I've done?"

"Kind of."

He nods his head. "Was it because I agreed with Gavin when he said he didn't know what he'd do without you? Was that going too far in front of everyone?"

"No. It's nothing to do with that."

"Okay. Did I get something wrong in the rehearsals?"

I stare at him for a moment. "Not exactly. Not in the way you mean."

"Ella… I can sit here all day and all night trying to second guess when and how I've screwed up, but it'd be so much easier if you just told me."

I take a breath, letting it out slowly. "I know you're gonna say I'm being silly, but I hate the way you behave around Vivian." There. I said it. Although I'm not sure it helped. Mac's frowning, his brow furrowing.

"Behave? You mean act, don't you?"

"They're the same thing."

"No, they're not. The way a person behaves is about how they conduct themselves. Acting is just pretense." He moves a little closer and reaches up, caressing my cheek with his fingertips, but I pull back slightly and his frown deepens. "Don't you get it, Ella? I might try to behave like the perfect gentleman around you, but I fail dismally every time and end up behaving like a perfect fool. That's what you do to me. You make me foolish and carefree… and so damn happy." He stretches out his hand again, and this time I let him touch me, closing my eyes at the moment of contact. "If you want me to put it another way," he says, and I open my eyes again and stare into his. "With Vivian I'm Blain, the TV presenter… the character I'm portraying. With you, I'm Mac. I'm me."

"But the way you were looking at her… it was like you believed the things you were saying."

He cups my face with his hand, shaking his head. "I didn't. I don't. It's just pretend." He leans in closer, gazing into my eyes. "I'm not pretending with you. I never have. This is real, Ella. Very real." I suck in a breath and he dusts his lips over mine in the gentlest of kisses. "Did that feel real?"

"Yes."

He kisses me again, a little harder.

"And that?" I nod my head. "Good. I don't think I'm capable of pretending with you."

"I don't think I like you pretending with other people."

"It's just a job."

"Have you ever had to kiss anyone, as part of a performance, I mean?"

"Yes."

"And sex?"

"Are you asking if I've ever acted in a sex scene? Because actors don't actually have sex when they're playing a part… you know that, don't you?"

"Even so… have you?"

"No. I've never been in a sex scene. Apart from making those commercials, which were all about bodybuilding, and nothing to do with sex at all, I've only ever acted on the stage. It's never been required."

"But you've kissed someone on stage before?"

"Yes, I have."

"What's it like?"

"It's part of the job. It's no different to shaking someone's hand, or passing them a cup of coffee. The foremost things in your mind are, am I standing in the correct place, are the angles right for the audience, and what the hell is my next line? It's nothing like a proper kiss. Especially not… not one where you actually care…"

He tilts his head, leaning in, and captures my lips with his. Within seconds, I'm on my back, and as he reaches between us, unfastening my jeans, I wonder… does that mean he cares?

"I never thought I liked goat's cheese, but served warm, with that dressing, it's absolutely delicious."

Vivian's reading of her lines is so awful it makes me cringe, although it's nothing like as bad as the way she keeps leaning over, showing off her cleavage to Mac, or the way she takes her time eating the food from the fork, and then licks her lips, slowly and seductively. Nothing's changed about the way she behaves, but I don't feel as insecure as I did yesterday. Last night saw to that.

Mac might have rushed me out of my clothes, but once we were naked, he made love to me so slowly… so tenderly, I couldn't fail to be convinced by how real it all was… or how much he cared. I know he was hoping to set my mind to rest, and he did. And after dinner, he took me to bed and set it to rest all over again.

This morning, as we walked down the stairs together, hand-in-hand, he looked down at me and smiled. "Do you think we'll be able to come home tonight without any dramas?"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep causing problems. It's just that this is all new to me."

He stopped then, and pushed me back against the wall, one hand behind my head, while the other rested on my waist. "You're not causing problems, and even if you were, I wouldn't be complaining. I love the fact that you're new to this… that you've never done any of it before, and I really don't care how much drama you bring to my door."

"You'd just like a break for one night?"

"I think this evening will be dramatic enough as it is."

"Oh?"

"We're watching the show… remember?"

I'd forgotten about that, what with worrying about Vivian, and I nodded my head. "It'll be fine, Mac."

"I hope so."

I could sense his nerves, and leaned up to kiss him before we continued on our way down the stairs again.

Fortunately, we've had a busy morning, so I'm not sure he's been able to worry too much about tonight's screening, but as everyone files out of the rehearsal room for lunch, I go over to him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, before I get the chance.

"I'm fine."

"Better than yesterday?" He pulls me into his arms, looking down at me.

"Much."

He seems more interested in me than tonight's events, and I decide to keep it that way… at least for now. There's no point in reminding him…

"Shall I make some coffee?" he says, and I nod my head, pulling my phone from my back pocket.

"Sure. I've just got to call Hunter."

He frowns. "Who's Hunter?"

"My big brother."

His frown clears in an instant, and I wonder if I'm not the only one who has moments of insecurity.

"I'll leave you to it."

He wanders off to the side kitchen and I sit at the table, connecting my call.

Hunter answers on the second ring, with a surprised, "Hello."

"Hi."

"Drew and I were only talking about you the other day," he says. "We were wondering if you'd emigrated."

"That's hilarious, Hunter. I've been busy, if you must know."

"Doing what?"

"Working."

"I see," he says. "And I guess you're not allowed to give me any details?"

"As it happens, that's why I called."

"Oh?" He sounds even more surprised now.

"Yeah. You see, the fruits of my labors are about to be shown on television."

"On television?"

"Yeah. The veil of secrecy has been lifted, and I'm allowed to tell you that I'm working on a TV show."

"Doing what?"

"My official job title is culinary consultant. It's a cookery show, and the first episode is going to air today at five." I avoid telling him the name of the show, because I know how amusing he'll find it, and how much he'll make me suffer as a result.

"Wow… text me the details and I'll forward them to Drew, if you like."

"Thanks. Where is he at the moment?"

"As far as I know, he's here in Boston. I'd suggest we all get together and watch your show at my place, but I can't."

"Neither can I. I'm under strict instructions to watch it here at the studio with the rest of the crew. What's your excuse?"

He hesitates for a second or two. "It's Livia," he says and I sit up straight.

"Is something wrong? Is she sick?"

"No. It's nothing like that. It's just that…" He pauses again. "I don't think I ever told you that before she and I got together, she was being stalked. It was when you were still in France, and she'd just come to work for me, and…" He stops talking and I wait. "And it was awful," he says. "She was so scared, and I felt powerless to do anything… except pay for a private investigator to look into it."

"Did they find out who was behind it?" I ask.

"They did. It was her former boss."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He was arrested and charged, and we found out today that he's been fined."

"Just fined? That's it? He won't serve any jail time?"

"No," he says. "Because he pleaded guilty and didn't threaten her, he only has to pay a fine."

"That's terrible, Hunter."

"I know. Although his life isn't exactly a bed of roses. His wife left him and he's lost his job… and I believe he's moving out of state."

"At least that's something."

"It is, although Livia can't see the positive side of it at the moment. Hearing the news has brought it all back to her, and she certainly doesn't feel like seeing anyone tonight."

"I can't stay I blame her."

"I'm sure she'll be fine in a day or two, so maybe we can all get together next week? It's been ages since we've seen you."

"I know, but it's gonna have to wait a while… until we've finished filming this season. It's exhausting."

"But you're enjoying it… right?" he asks.

"I am. I don't think I've ever been this happy."

There's a moment's silence and then he says, "There's more to this than job satisfaction. You've met someone, haven't you?"

I glance over at the side kitchen as Mac comes through the door, carrying two cups of coffee. He smiles at me, and I smile back. "I might have done."

"He's with you now, isn't he? I can hear it in your voice."

"Yes, he's here."

Mac puts the cups on the table and looks down at me, frowning, like he's confused.

"Who is he?" Hunter says in my ear, and I chuckle.

"Watch the show this evening, and you'll find out."

I hang up before he can ask anything else and twist my phone around in my hand.

"You told your brother about us?" Mac says, sitting down beside me.

"In a manner of speaking."

"So we're not keeping our relationship a secret anymore?"

"We are here, but…" He grabs me, his hands clasped around my face, and silences me with the deepest of kisses.

I guess that means he approves.

Kennedy is sitting at the head of the table, with Ruby to her left and Mac to her right. Luckily, because he and I came into the meeting room together, I was able to grab the seat beside him, although Vivian tried her best to get there before me. As it is, she's had to settle for sitting on the other side of Ruby and gazing across the table at Mac. At the opposite end of the room, the chairs have been turned around to face the TV screen, and because there isn't enough seating in here, people are standing around the edges of the room, waiting in anticipation.

I can feel the tension pouring off of Mac and I shift my chair just a little closer to his, then reach beneath the table, taking his hand in mine. He looks over and gives me a smile, and I squeeze his hand.

"Told you I'd find a way," I whisper under my breath and he chuckles, just quietly.

There's a general hum of excitement in the room, and Kennedy is looking very pleased with herself. Ruby told Mac and me this afternoon, that Kennedy and a few other people in here have already seen the show, and I guess the smile on Kennedy's face ought to give us confidence.

As the time ticks away to the top of the hour, a silence descends over the room, and you could hear a pin drop when the titles roll. To be honest, I don't like them. They're a little tacky for my tastes, focusing mostly on the ‘Master' element of the ‘Meal Master' name. But that's not my department, and now for the first time, I'm a little nervous myself… about the food.

We're all glued to the screen as the lights come up and the camera zooms in on Mac's perfect face. My God… he really is gorgeous, and there's a collective sigh from most of the women in the room as they all focus on him, and the words he's saying, in his impeccable American accent. I suppose I ought to have realized it before now, but seeing the way he's dressed on the screen, and the way his muscles are shown off to great prominence in that super tight t-shirt, it's very clear the studio aren't even remotely interested in the dishes, or how they're cooked. The purpose of the show is to promote Mac as a sex symbol. Not that he needs any help; he looks incredible.

When the camera occasionally focuses on the food, rather than Mac's face or body, I take the time to check it looks okay… which it does. I also smile to myself when he's shown cutting up the vegetables to be roasted. He looks very proficient, and I can't help remembering the work that went into that first episode, and how annoyed I was at the time by Mac and his lack of culinary talents. Of course, what I hadn't realized at the time was that his talents lay elsewhere… and some of them are evident on the screen, not just in his looks, but also in his acting…

As the show draws to a close and Mac delivers his final lines, while the ‘guest', who I remember was called Lyla, raises a forkful of roasted lamb to her lips, everyone in the room bursts into spontaneous applause.

The people around and behind us draw closer and I let go of Mac's hand, even though he tries to grab it back. Within moments, though, I'm shoved aside as someone steps between us.

"That was great, man… really great."

I don't even know who the man is, but he's clapping Mac on his shoulder, and once he steps back, his place is taken by someone else… and then another, and another, all heaping praise on Mac's performance.

After a moment or two, I get to my feet and step out of the way, moving to the edge of the room, and leaning against the wall, watching while Mac is swamped by well-wishers. I can't even see him properly anymore, but I don't take my eyes from the crowd, which is why I jump with surprise when a voice beside me says, "Well done."

I turn to see Ruby standing next to me. "I don't think I can take very much credit," I say, nodding toward Mac, and she smiles.

"We wouldn't have a show if it wasn't for you. Kennedy knows that… and so does Blain, I'm sure."

I wonder if she thinks I'm jealous of the attention he's receiving. Nothing could be further from the truth. Not only am I thrilled by the response – for him, not me – but I'd hate to be where he is. I'd hate to be the center of attention. I'd much rather hide in the corner… like I am now.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to throw her off the scent a little, so I just shrug my shoulders and she gives me a sympathetic smile and wanders back to the table, into the throng.

It takes a good fifteen or twenty minutes for the fuss to die down, and Kennedy eventually takes control of the room, raising her voice above the chatter.

"I think we can all agree how great the show looks… especially Blain." She turns, smiling at him, her eyes sparkling. "Obviously, we've still got to see how well it goes over with the public, but I'll let you all know the viewing figures as soon as I have them. In the meantime, tomorrow is another day – as they say – and in our case, we're recording the next show, so I think it's time we all headed home and got a good night's sleep."

I push myself off of the wall, making my way back to Mac. Unfortunately, before I can get there, Vivian slides into the seat beside him… the one I was occupying. She leans in close, and as I come up behind her, I can just about hear her say, "My place is only around the corner. I've got some wine chilling and we could…"

I feel my blood boil, but before I can say anything, Mac turns to her. "I'm sorry, but you heard what Kennedy said. We're recording tomorrow, and I'm tired. It's been a crazy day."

She reaches out, as though to touch him, but he pulls away and gets to his feet, looking down at me.

"Ella… there you are. I—I'm just going back to the rehearsal studio to fetch my things."

I nod my head. "I'll come with you."

His lips twitch upward as he kicks his chair aside and waits for me to leave the room ahead of him. Once we're out in the hall, I lean in to him slightly

"I still wanna scratch her eyes out."

"Don't let me stop you."

I laugh and he joins in, and although we don't touch each other, I can feel the connection between us as we pick up our pace and head back to the rehearsal studio.

Once we're inside, Mac closes the door, leaning back against it, and lets out a long sigh.

"God… that was awful."

"The show wasn't. It was good."

"Hmm… I just hated all that fuss."

I move closer to him, resting my hands on his chest as he gazes down at me. "Would you like to come back to my place tonight?"

He frowns. "Don't you want to come back to mine?"

"Does it matter where we are, as long as we're together?"

His frown fades and his eyes light up in the most perfect of smiles. "When you put it like that, it doesn't matter in the slightest, but I'll need to go home first and pick up some clothes. Do you want to give me your address?"

"Why don't I drive you home? You can pack a bag, and then I'll take us back to my place."

He puts his arms around me, holding me hard against him. "That's not even remotely logical. If you're going to drive us to my place, we might as well stay there."

"It is logical."

"How?"

"Because I have food."

He chuckles, nodding his head, and bends to kiss me.

***

Mac

It only takes a few minutes to pack a bag. Like Ella, I've brought a couple of shirts and some spare black jeans, just in case I end up staying more than one night. I also grabbed two of the tight black t-shirts I need for work, which is enough to get me to the weekend. Ella waited in the car, telling me she was going to call her brother, and when I return to her, I can see she's still talking. She notices me coming, though, and pops the boot of her car, so I can dump my bag in there before I get in beside her.

"I don't know why they made us keep it a secret, but I'm glad you enjoyed it."

She looks over at me with a smile and I smile back, resting my hand on her thigh. Her brother's saying something and while she listens, I study her face. I'm still astounded by her beauty every time I look at her, but today there's something different. She seems more relaxed, more confident… happier, and I wonder if that's got anything to do with last night.

She had me scared for a while, when she was giving me the cold shoulder and refusing to talk. I don't take to fear very well, and rather than ignoring her obvious discomfort, I sat her on the couch and she explained her insecurities about the way I have to act around Vivian. I don't think it was me she had a problem with, so much as Vivian, because although Ella asked about kissing and sex scenes, she didn't mention any of the other actresses I've had to perform with while making the show. She can't have forgotten last week, and the ‘lie' I told Bonnie about being with someone else, when she asked me out. It wasn't so much a lie as an exaggeration, because in my head I was already with Ella, but her problem definitely seemed to be with Vivian. I got the feeling she needed reassurance… and I was happy to provide it.

I stopped short of telling her I loved her, in case she thought I was playing games, throwing ‘love' into the mix to cover an indiscreet thought, or word, or deed, with Vivian. Instead, I told her I care… or I dropped a huge hint at it, anyway. And then I made love to her, like I've never made love to anyone in my life. That wasn't intentional or planned in any way. I'd practically ripped her clothes off in my desperation to be inside her. But when she was naked beneath me, it was like I was overwhelmed with love for her… and the need to express it in the only way I could.

I took it slowly, hoping she'd get my unspoken message… and I think she must have done. Why else would she have just said it doesn't matter where we are, as long as we're together?

"Like I told you earlier, it won't be before the end of the season," she says, shaking her head, still talking to her brother. "I know you want to meet him and as soon as we're done recording, I'll bring him down to Newport. Okay?"

I feel my heart swell. She wants me to meet her family?

"Of course we could meet in Boston, but our schedule is exhausting." She chuckles. "I'm not saying a word, Hunter." She laughs out loud and hangs up, turning to me. "Shall we go?"

"Okay."

She starts the engine, pulling out of the parking space. "Did you get everything you need?" she asks, glancing over.

"Yes. Did I gather your brother enjoyed the show?"

"He did. He's dying to meet you."

"So he can make sure I'm good enough for you?"

She takes her hand from the steering wheel, placing it on my leg. "I don't think there's any doubt about that, Mac."

I lay my hand over hers and sit back, letting out a sigh, as I allow my eyes to close…

I come to with a jolt as the car slows, and I look out of the window to see a classy apartment block.

"Sorry… did I fall asleep?"

"Yes, but don't worry. It's been a stressful day for you."

I'm about to reply when she pulls the car into the underground car park beneath the apartments, and I frown slightly. Is this where she lives? It has to be. She's got a code number to get past the barrier.

Should her car have given me a clue that she'd live somewhere like this?

Probably.

I don't say anything, though, and once she's parked, I go around to the back of the car and grab my bag from the boot, getting to Ella's side in time to help her to her feet.

"Thanks." She looks up at me with a smile, and takes my hand, leading me over to the elevator. I start to feel a little nervous when she presses the button, the doors open, and we step inside. My nerves have nothing to do with being in a confined space with her, but with the stylish interior of the lift. The two side walls are lined with wood… real wood, and the one ahead of us is mirrored, reflecting my pale face, as I turn around and Ella presses the button for the top floor. She looks up at me as the doors close, a smile lighting up her face. I know she's thinking over what I said about being in an elevator with her, but I'm beyond confused right now, and can't think about anything other than where we are, and who she is… and why I didn't know any of this.

The lift stops with a smooth sigh, the doors slide open, and I look out onto a wide hallway, which is tiled with grey marble on the floor and the walls. I can see a single door, right at the end, and follow Ella towards it, watching as she pulls a key from her handbag. She lets us in, and I gasp as I accompany her into a large foyer, with closets on either side. She dumps her handbag on the floor, rolling her shoulders as she kicks off her shoes. I copy her, scared I might put a foot wrong, and place my bag behind the door, following her through into an enormous living room. It has pale grey walls, wood floors and white furniture. There are two separate seating areas; one around a fireplace and the other facing a huge television, in a separate part of the room, beyond which the windows overlook the city skyline. To my right, there's a formal dining area, with a table, surrounded by six chairs, and I stand for a moment, trying to take it all in.

"Do you want to come watch me cook?" she says, like it's the most natural thing in the world to live somewhere like this.

"Um… sure."

"I only bought this place because I fell in love with the kitchen," she says over her shoulder as she leads me through an archway behind the dining table, into a kitchen that's probably three times the size of the one we use at work. It has shiny grey cupboard doors, and granite work surfaces, a six-burner hob, double oven and an island unit, with four stools. There's also an informal dining table over by the floor-to-ceiling windows, with dark grey leather chairs surrounding it.

"Y—You bought it?"

"Yes."

"Y—You mean you own this place?"

"Yes." She smiles up at me, going around the other side of the island unit and pulling out a heavy-looking pan, which she places on the hob between us.

I watch as she grabs some onions, a chopping board and chef's knife, and puts some oil and butter into the pan before she looks up at me, her smile fading.

"Is everything okay?"

"I don't know… I guess I'm just a little bewildered, that's all."

"Bewildered?"

"Yes."

"Is this about what happened earlier?" she says, nodding her head as she starts to peel and slice the onions. "Are you thinking about how it felt to watch yourself on television?"

That's not it at all, but I don't know how to tell her I'm struggling to work out what someone like her is doing with someone like me. So, I nod my head.

"Well, I thought you were amazing."

I can't help smiling and even though I'm still nervous as hell, I decide to go with it. "Did I do okay with the cooking? I didn't make myself look a fool?"

"No. You were perfect." She stops, stares across at me and tilts her head, and then leans across, resting her hand on my arm. "In every way."

"As long as I didn't let you down."

She puts down her knife now and comes around to my side of the island unit, waiting until I turn to her, and then she wraps her arms around me, leaning up and kissing me. "Never," she whispers, and I deepen the kiss, hoping to find some reassurance in her lips.

She pulls back far too quickly. "Dinner…" she mutters, and returns to the other side of the island unit, lowering the heat under the pan before she picks up the knife and gets back to chopping.

"If you don't mind me asking… what on earth are you making that needs so many onions?"

She smiles up at me. "French onion soup."

"A recipe inspired by your time in Paris?"

"Of course. As I told you before, I cook a lot of French food… unless I'm in a hurry, in which case I'll usually fall back on pasta, or stir-fries. Besides, I like this recipe because all you have to do is slice up the onions and then leave them to caramelise for thirty minutes or so."

"Thirty minutes?"

Her eyes lock on mine, and she bites on her bottom lip. "Yes."

"So… we'll have some time to kill?"

"We will."

She sucks in a breath, and although I'm still nervous, my cock responds to the thought of how we could fill the next half an hour.

Ella finishes slicing, tips the onions into the pan of melted butter and oil, and stirs them briefly before she puts on the lid, and washes her hands. Then she turns back to me and I hold out my hand. She takes it across the island unit and I pull her around, and let her lead us back into the living room, where she takes us over to the three large sofas that surround the fireplace. It's not cold enough to light the fire, but we sit in the one facing it. She's in the corner, and although I go with my initial instincts and lean over to kiss her, I'm finding it hard to concentrate. Even as my lips touch hers, I can't focus, or feel comfortable, and after a few seconds, I pull back.

"Sorry… I can't do this."

She leans in to the sofa, staring up at me, confusion clouding her eyes. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you."

"What about?"

I wave my arm around. "This, Ella."

"My apartment, you mean?"

"This isn't an apartment. I live in an apartment. This is a palace… and I don't understand. You said working on the show was your first job."

"It is."

"In which case, how can you afford to buy somewhere like this? I can't believe they're paying you a lot more than they're paying me, and I just about get by paying a subsidised rent. So how can you make the mortgage payments?"

"I don't have a mortgage. I bought this place outright."

I struggle not to choke. "Right… because that makes it so much better."

She sighs, shaking her head. "Is this a problem, Mac?"

"How would I know? I don't even understand what this is."

"It's the result of me having inherited a lot of money from my father."

"Okay… before we go any further, can we define ‘a lot'?"

"If you want to. My brothers and I inherited a little over fifteen million dollars each… plus the house in Newport, which we kind of share between us."

I shoot to my feet, unable to help myself. "D—Did you say fifteen million?"

"Yes." She sounds disappointed, and I sit back down again, taking her hands in mind.

"What's wrong, Ella?"

"You. You're gonna go all weird on me, aren't you?"

"I'm trying very hard not to, but it's an enormous shock, discovering that my girlfriend is a multi-millionaire."

Her eyes widen. "Y—Your girlfriend?"

I move closer. "Yes. Isn't that what you are?"

"Do you still want me to be?"

I put my arms around her, and she leans against me. "Of course I do. None of this changes how I feel about you. I'm just a little embarrassed that I suggested you should feel at home staying at my place, when this is what you're used to."

She pulls back, looking up at me. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I love your place."

I look around the room. "Well… I love yours too, so we're even." She chuckles and leans against me again. "If it isn't a rude question, why do you work? You don't need to, surely?"

"No, I don't need to, but my brothers and I have never understood why our father left us his fortune, and I guess I wanted to prove I'm not just some rich kid who can buy her way into anything she wants. I didn't earn any of this, and it's important to me that people realise I'm more than just a bank balance. I'm pretty sure my brothers feel the same. That's why they're so driven, too."

"I see. Tell me about your father. What did he do?"

"He founded one of the biggest advertising agencies in the city… in the whole of America, I believe. At least, it was in its heyday. Hunter runs it now."

"You talk about its success as though it's a thing of the past."

She shakes her head. "Not necessarily. It's doing okay, but when Dad died, it hit a rocky patch. I think Hunter's pulled it back now… or he's getting there. The last time we talked about it, he said he'd picked up some new clients."

"When did your father die?" I ask, caressing her cheek with my fingertips.

"About eighteen months ago."

That's more recent than I'd expected, and I pull her a little closer. "I'm sorry, Ella."

"Don't be," she says, surprising me. "I barely knew him."

"Why not? You'd have been, what… twenty-two when he died?"

"Yeah, but he was too wrapped up in his business and his own life to care about his children." I can hear the hurt in her voice, and I pull her onto my lap, just so I can hug her tighter.

"What about your mum?"

"I don't remember her at all."

"I'm sorry… did she…?"

"She left us." Her interruption surprises me even more than her revelations about her father, and I lean back a little, gazing into her face.

"When?"

"When I was three."

Dear God. I pull her hard against my chest, and feel the sense of abandonment pouring off of her. My parents might have been taken from me, but at least I have a wealth of happy memories to look back on. She doesn't have any of that, and while I may not be able to say as much – yet – I make a silent vow to myself that I will never leave her.

I sense she'd like a change of subject, but I still have so many questions.

"Did you keep your wealth a secret from me on purpose?"

She pulls away, shaking her head. "No, of course not. It's just not something I feel the need to talk about."

"So you keep it from everyone?"

"Yes, I suppose so. No-one in London, or Madrid, or Paris had any idea."

"They didn't guess from the way you lived your life? From the lavish apartments and houses you lived in?"

"Very few people ever came to my apartments. But in any case, I didn't live anywhere lavish. In London, I rented a one-bedroom apartment in Belsize Park. It was only a quick ride on the underground to the cookery school, and it had the best kitchen of all the places that were available."

"What about Madrid?"

"Again, I rented a little one bedroom place. It was in the centre of the city, on the third floor, above a delicatessen. The kitchen wasn't the best, but the delicatessen was fabulous." She smiles and I have to smile back.

"And Paris?"

"I struck gold there."

"Oh? You rented rooms in the Palace of Versailles?"

She slaps my arm. "No… you idiot. I rented a tiny apartment in Montmartre, near to the Sacré-Coeur. The living room had the loveliest arched windows that led out onto a balcony overlooking Paris. There was even a view of the Eiffel Tower."

"And the kitchen?"

"To be honest, with a view like that, for once in my life, I didn't care."

I chuckle, unable to help myself. "It sounds very romantic."

"It was, although I didn't see it that way at the time." She leans in, raising her face to mine, and waits for me to close the gap, kissing her. Our tongues meet, exploring, and she crushes her breasts to my chest… making me feel at home again… even in a palace. After a few minutes, she pulls away again. "Happy now?" she says.

I suddenly hate the thought that anyone else – especially someone at the studio – knows more about her than I do. "Does anyone at work know?"

"Just Kennedy."

"You told her?"

"No. She found out somehow and confronted me about it. Oddly enough, ever since then, she's been a lot nicer to me."

I roll my eyes. "Why am I not surprised by that?"

"Well, I guess she worked out she had no choice in the matter. Unlike you, I might be eminently replaceable…"

"Hey… you're irreplaceable to me."

She smiles, resting her forehead against mine. "Thank you for saying that."

"You know I'm not talking about work, don't you?"

"Yes, but I also know the show is about you, and not me. Even so, I don't think Kennedy wanted the hassle of trying to find someone else who'd do my job for the pittance of a salary they're paying. When she realised I don't actually need to work, and could walk out anytime I liked, I think she decided to play nice. Either that, or it was the thought that I could buy the studio and become her boss whenever I felt like it."

I laugh. "Now, that would be money well spent."

She leans back, looking me in the eye. "I wasn't deliberately keeping anything from you, Mac. It's just that it never came up… and we have been kinda busy."

I nod my head. "I know. And I can understand why you'd be wary. You probably have to be careful of men who are looking to take advantage."

"Advantage?"

I smile at her. God, she can be innocent at times. "Yes, of someone in your position."

She frowns. "It's not that at all. My brothers have said they've often worried about women doing that kind of thing to them… you know, trying to trap them. But I've never even thought about it. I've never been in a position to think about it. Like I said, I'd been waiting for the right man."

"And you still think that's me?"

"Yes, I do."

"So do I. Your money makes no difference to how I feel about you, Ella. I'd still feel the same, whether you had two cents to your name, or whether you were the richest woman in the world."

"I am."

"You are what?"

"The richest woman in the world… I've got you."

She captures my gasp with a kiss, and as I deepen it, holding the back of her head and crushing my lips to hers, I wonder if she already knows how much I love her.

We make it back into the kitchen just in time to stop the onions from burning, and while I sit up on one of the stools, Ella adds some flour to the pan, and then some stock, which she takes from a carton in the fridge, stirring it all around. She grinds in some pepper, and a little salt, tasting it, and then replaces the lid, looking up at me.

"We've got at least another twenty minutes," she says, and I get down from the stool and wander around to her, taking her in my arms. "Do you want to talk some more?"

"No."

I walk her backwards until she hits the work surface behind her, and I lift her onto it, pulling her forward so she's right on the edge. Then I put one hand behind her neck, and lean in, kissing her, while I reach between us, undoing her zipper. We break the kiss, both breathless, and she raises her backside off the work surface so I can pull down her jeans and underwear, and then she sits back down again, waiting while I tug them off and drop them to the floor. She's moved further back, so I pull her forward again, and bend down, parting her legs and flicking my tongue across her swollen clit. She moans, flexing her hips, and I look up at her.

"I thought you said clearing up was the only thing you did well in the kitchen?"

I smile, shaking my head as I stand between her legs. "Not anymore." She stares into my eyes and I don't take mine from hers as I unfasten my jeans…