It's my fifteenth trip over the pond. I've been staying with cousins near and far, throughout Ireland, gearing up for a whirlwind tour of my newest book. At the moment, I was lodged with my current man, ensconced in his picturesque cottage in the hills. We were packed and ready for the next leg of my trip, three days in the Highlands of Scotland, so he could go back to work.
He'd been asking me for the past three months to come see his work. Since he usually works half naked and covered in fake blood, I was ready and willing, now that my new contract was nailed down. We flew into Glasgow, met the hired car, stowed all our bags and relaxed during the hour drive.
He made it a point to notice the little patch of rose flowers, the stone graveyard high on a hill, the little things lots of others don't pay attention to. Those same little things that were slowly but surely, wrapping around my battered excuse for a heart, making my brain fall into a stupor.
I snuggled into his shoulder, listening and watching out the window, enjoying the warm cocoon we'd woven around us. Almost in love again, you fool. I thought to myself, watching fields go past, seeing the blurs of purple heather, red azaleas.
I tried to push that pesky memory of Kian back into its lock box, but it exploded into my brain, flinging bits and pieces of the three and a half months we spent on his tour of Europe.
I saw the bouquet of wildflowers he'd picked, the petals still pressed between the pages of my family bible, the flicker of candlelight over his face as he made passionate love to me, through the wild thunderstorm.
Finally, I beat these wonderful, painful, aching memories back, locked them up and threw away the key.
I looked up into Phelan's strong, calm face, seeing his steadiness, his surety of self, his adoration of me in his eyes.
"Almost there. We're on the outskirts of the city." He rumbled against my forehead, pressing a kiss beside his words. "Twenty minutes, unless we hit traffic." I was excited to see what a television set up was like, inside and out. More excited to see Phelan half naked and covered in fake blood.
He rambled softly, telling me about the nearby village, the little pockets of heaven he'd found and wanted to take me to. I could feel his enthusiasm slowly filling the car, my heart, as he described the waterfall he'd found. "...and when we're tired from swimming in its pool, we'll lie on its shingle and make love until we can't anymore."
"Phelan, you're insatiable." I had to laugh, sitting up, smiling into his warm brown eyes.
"Yes, with you." He growled through a smile.
"We'll be there for days." I snorted, making him laugh.
Our driver pulled through a chain link gate with a security guard and pulled beside a long low trailer. Phelan led me out, into the fresh, clean air of the Highlands. Our bags were being seen to by a few interns as he went into the trailer, checked in sort of.
He took my hand as we walked toward the actual set, leading me past the main hall. I goggled at the size and scope of the details embedded in them. He led me into a huge, fancy shmancy motorhome, which he introduced as his home away from home.
All our bags were already sorted out and put away, as I turned in a circle, seeing the living space, a couch and a couple of chairs with a table beside where the driver would sit.
"This, though, is the piece de resistance, come see." He led me to his bedroom, which was mostly bed. "Biggest bed I could fit in here." His voice was husky in my ear, his lips soft at my throat. "Come try it out." His hands had already slid my jacket off and were busily sliding under my sweater, grasping and kneading my breasts.
"Oh, Phelan, mmm." I gave in to his mouth, losing myself in this passion, in this wonderful pleasure.
"I can't get enough of you, Dari. Come to bed." I was ready and willing, when a knock sounded on the door. "Damn. I'll be right there." First it was the producer. Next, came the make-up girls, snickering and giving me half-hearted dirty looks.
It was parade day through his motorhome. Everyone, right down to the animal handler came by. By then, it was late and travelling had caught up with me, so I snuggled into his bed as he kept on with whoever was out there now. I felt him slide in beside me and curled up around him.
He rolled me onto my back, slowly sinking into me, filling me completely. He drove me up, tossed me through the crashing waves of orgasm as he rode me roughly. I let loose a low howl as he plowed and plundered me into more and more crashing waves. I hung on limply, reveling in his stamina, his prowess, his enthusiasm. I felt him stiffen, jerk, come in me, collapse.
I felt adored and special, loved even, but I knew something was missing, something small, but very important. Phelan shifted onto his side snuggling me close and warmly, slipping into sleep beside me.
I woke up alone, in his huge bed. He'd given me the rundown of what his schedule would be like, so after glancing at the clock beside the bed, I knew he'd more than likely be on set, rehearsing. I showered, had breakfast then wandered out to explore.
I listened carefully, hearing faint shouts and clanging steel, and headed in that direction. The cast and crew were about a quarter of a mile from where the trailers were parked, in a wide open field, enacting a war scene.
I spotted Phelan in a blink. He was swinging a war hammer with a fierce scowl on his handsome face, looking so delectable splattered with fake blood. I stood in the crowd behind the cameras, watching avidly, listening as the director shouted out instructions. I felt someone sidle up beside me, glanced over to find Kiandra MacQuarrie, the female lead, standing beside me, watching me.
"Good morning." I said softly.
"Good morning. How do you like it so far?" she asked, gazing steadily at me.
"It looks extremely difficult but it's still thrilling."
"It is. Phelan's never brought anyone to the set before."
"I didn't know. Is it prohibited?" I asked, feeling a frisson of worry.
"No, it isn't. It's just that the hours are interminably long. Most people think its all glitter and red carpets, servants and special treatment, which it's not. Shooting days are pretty frustrating, at best. We all get irritable and overtired, pissed off for some small mistake, another take. So far, only Thierry's wife has managed to stay with him without fighting. My own lover won't come back, he says that the real me gets lost when I'm on set."
"A warning? What? Be patient? Go home?" I asked, turning to see her beautiful face, calm and composed, but shuttered.
"Something like that."
"Never fear, I'm only visiting before I start my tour. I'll try not to be too much of a distraction." I don't know why what she said pissed me off but it did, like I was here just to fuck everything up.
