The Director's Cut Read online

  With one hand, he moves them across my knees and gently over my feet. Then he swings them idly for a moment, and lets them fall to the wooden studio floor.

  He holds one of my knees and slowly pushes the other one downwards, so I am completely revealed to him. The sudden cool air between my legs makes me gasp.

  “So wet already,” he observes.

  I feel myself falter, to be so laid bare to him. Instinctively, I move to close my legs, but he restrains me, putting a hand on my knee.

  “I planned to take a variety of pictures,” he explains, his green eyes on mine.

  His eyes flit towards the riding crop. And then something loads into his expression.

  “I want to make love to you,” he says simply. “Issy, I can’t resist you. Lying here. So beautiful. I love you so much.”

  Whoa. This feels like a complete change in direction.

  He’s asking my permission, I realise, and I open my arms out to him.

  “Yes,” I say, pulling him close.

  His mouth meets mine, and the combined feelings are like an explosion. Lust and love are a heady mix, and as his tongue touches mine, every cell in my body is calling for him.

  “I want you naked too,” I whisper. He moves back slightly, and starts to pulls away his clothes so fast, that I suddenly realise just how much he wants this.

  Within moments, his T-shirt and jeans are on the floor. My hands reach to tug at his boxers, and they catch, for a tantalising moment, at what’s underneath, before he springs free.

  Wow. No matter how many times I see the size of him, it still takes me by surprise.

  He’s breathing heavily, and I feel him, hot on my neck, and he moves back into my arms.

  “Oh Issy,” he groans, and his mouth is on mine again.

  Everything seems to fall away, and for that moment, there is nothing but him.

  Then I feel him hard against my leg, and in the next moment, he is rolling on a condom and pushing himself deep inside of me.

  “Ahhh!” I cry out, and he begins to move. It’s urgent, but not rough. As though he needs my body. I open myself up to him, pushing my hips up to let him in deeper.

  “Wait.” He grabs my hips and lifts me up whilst still inside of me. Then, with his free hand, he pushes a cushion under the small of my back.

  “Mmmmm,” I moan. The cushion has lifted my clitoris to be in contact with him as he thrusts in and out.

  I push even further forward, melting into the feeling.

  “Am I touching where you need me to?” he whispers, slowing down his urgent movements inside of me.

  “Yes,” I gasp, grabbing his hips with my hand. “Please James. Don’t stop.”

  He groans again, and begins moving faster. And with every thrust, I feel something build from my clitoris through my entire body.

  James’s hand moves up the side of my neck, to hold my head, and his mouth is close on mine, following my every movement.

  Then his thrusting seems to hit a new place, and all at once, I explode. My body pulses, and my hands clutch at his hips.

  I cry out, and as I do so, James moans, and I feel him come inside me.

  Then he’s holding my face in his hands, staring into my eyes.

  “Oh Issy,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too,” I answer, losing myself in his green eyes.

  We lie like that, across the chaise lounge, tight in one another’s arms.

  My eyes flick to the riding crop on the floor, and James catches the gesture.

  “Don’t think you’ve got away without your punishment,” he warns. “This is just a reprieve.”

  “Oh really?” I let my bare foot caress the side of his leg.

  “Yes,” he says. “I’ve still got a lot planned for you, Isabella Green.”

  Chapter 9

  We emerge from the artist’s studio onto the sunny backstreet. And it’s as though the mood of the whole day has shifted.

  The last hour has loosened our tensions, and we could almost be like any other holidaying couple as we fall out into the Barcelona sunlight with our arms around one another.

  James turns to me, and his face is beatifically calm. His green eyes are alive.

  “I think this is the happiest I’ve seen you,” I smile at him.

  “Really?” He pulls me a little closer against his body. “This might be the happiest I’ve been.”

  His eyes fix on mine, letting me know I’m part of the reason. And I grin back at him. We’re lost in straight-out beaming at one another, for a second.

  “I’ve only got you to myself for another hour or so,” says James. “Let’s do something a normal couple would do.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  He grins. “I honestly have no idea. I’ve never been in a normal couple.”

  “That makes two of us,” I admit.

  James steers me around in a full 360 turn and begins walking me away from the seafront. “Actually, I don’t want us to be normal,” he says. “But I’ll settle for happy. I want to take you somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s a famous park a few blocks north of the city. We can leave the car here and have a walk around it.”

  “Sounds very normal,” I say approvingly. “I accept.”

  “Not quite,” he admits, “It’s a Gaudi park. Gaudi the artist. There’s a lot of interesting sculptures and art.”

  “Oh Mr Berkeley,” I tease, “of course it’s not just an ordinary park. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

  The entrance to the park is like a themed tribute to quirkiness. Two giant Hansel and Gretel style buildings sit on either side of the entrance, complete with white terracotta roofs which look like icing. Up ahead, I can see two huge curving sets of steps lined with colourful tiled murals on either side.

  “It’s amazing,” I say to James, taking it all in. It’s quite the oddest and most interesting park I’ve ever seen.

  With the bright blue sky overhead, the park entrance has a surreal feel. As though we’ve stumbled into a Spanish version of paradise.

  “Do you like it?” asks James, steering me through the entrance.

  “I love it,” I admit. “It’s almost too much. But not quite.”

  “Sounds like a girl I know,” says James, echoing his words from one of our first dates, after he rescued me in Camden.

  I laugh and lean in closer.

  “It feels like so long ago,” I say, “when you first said that to me.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” says James, raising an eyebrow. “If anything, you’re careening towards the right side of too much.”

  I laugh again and let my gaze wander up the winding curved stairs ahead, to the riot of greenery at the top.

  With my arm looped through James’s, this feels like heaven. I close my eyes for a moment, not wanting the feeling to end.

  James turns me on his arm and tilts my chin so I’m gazing into his eyes.

  “Happy?”

  “Did my great big grin give me away?”

  He laughs and gently kisses my mouth.

  “I’m so grateful,” I say, “for you flying Lorna out here. You didn’t have to do that. It was amazing.”

  “Good,” he says. “I know I didn’t have to do it, Issy. But I’m glad I did.”

  “Was it expensive?”

  He frowns a little. “I would have flown her out here a thousand times over,” he says, “just to see the look on your face.”

  “Oh Mr Berkeley!” I laugh. “You say the nicest things.”

  “It’s true,” he says. “Seeing you so happy. It felt like a privilege that my actions could do that.”

  He looks down suddenly, and I sense it’s time to change the subject.

  Oh James. Your demons again?

  I remember what James said when the stalker was loose. That he fears everyone he cares about gets hurt. And I still don’t know what painful part of his past caused that.

  But
James also said he felt he could protect me, after the stalker was caught.

  Are his insecurities coming back to haunt him?

  “Hey,” I say, an idea forming as I spot a mosaic temple construction at the top of the steps. “How about a little bet?”

  “Oh yes?” He releases me a little from his arms, his eyebrows raised in amusement. I feel the dark shadow of his mood slip away.

  “If you lose,” I continue slowly, “I get to do whatever I like with you, this evening.”

  I see his breathing tighten.

  “And if I win?” His voice has thickened.

  I pause, letting the words sink in.

  “You get to do whatever you like with me.”

  “Whatever I like?”

  “Yes.”

  He grins wickedly. “I’m looking forward to this evening already.”

  “You have to win the bet first,” I remind him.

  “What are your terms?” he says, his voice filled with mock gravity. But his eyes are deadly serious.

  I turn my head slightly, taking in the view from the top. And then I back away from him, slowly.

  “See the summit?”

  “Yes.”

  I smile at him, backing away further, and then I turn and run.

  “First one to the top!” I shout over my shoulder. And then I race full pelt for the top of the steps.

  I hit the first few steps at speed, weaving in and out of the day trippers and tourists. The steps are just narrow enough for me to take them two at a time.

  I know I’ve got a great lead, and it’s only when I’m halfway up that I risk a quick look behind me. It’s then I realise that James is faster than I gave him credit for.

  Damn. He’s closed a lot of the distance already. I dig in and keep my pace. I have good cardio from all my time in the dance studio, so I know I can beat him.

  Close but no cigar, Mr Berkeley. I’m a fast runner.

  I’m all but grinning to myself at the thought of it as I power up the steps. I can’t wait to see his face when he loses.

  I’m still taking the approach two at a time, steaming past the baffled tourists who are meandering up at their own pace.

  He must be closing in now, but my lead is too good. I let my breathing deepen, panting as I take the last few steps. I’m only a couple of strides from victory.

  And then suddenly, James is ahead of me, bounding up the last part of the stairs. He grabs me full by the waist as I get within one step of the top and spins me bodily around and upwards to the top.

  I am shrieking with shocked laughter as he lifts me up the last two steps.

  “You didn’t think I’d let you win, did you?” he growls, whirling me around by my waist. “Not with a prize like that.”

  “Put me down!” I laugh.

  “Oh Isabella,” he says, setting me to the floor but keeping his arms around me. “You have put yourself in serious danger.”

  “Oh have I?” I push a lock of dark hair out of my face.

  He kisses my mouth, slowly.

  “Yes,” he whispers, pulling back a little. “But I’m guessing you knew that before you started the bet.”

  He shakes his head. “Gambling with me over a running challenge, Isabella. Very foolish.”

  “How come you run so fast?”

  “With an opportunity like that at the finish line?” He grins. “I would have won with lead weights on my legs.”

  We wander through the rest of the park, conscious that our time together is drawing to a close. James has scheduled at actor’s meeting this evening, in lieu of dinner. He’s already explained to me that food will be provided, but the main agenda will be work.

  I sigh at the thought of giving him up. Even for a few hours.

  Now seems like the right time to bring up the Natalie issue. So I raise it tentatively.

  “I saw something,” I say, “in Natalie’s bag.”

  James’s face flickers.

  “Oh?”

  “Natalie had some… medication of some sort,” I continue. “She seemed quite keen to hide it.”

  “I imagine you would too,” says James levelly, “if you were taking medication for a mental health issue.”

  His voice sounds calm, but there is just a touch of danger behind it. As though he’s warning me not to push the issue further.

  I weigh up what I saw, and what he’s telling me. James knows then, that much is clear, that Natalie is using prescription drugs. So I’ve nothing more to worry about, I suppose. Though I can’t help but have a lot of questions.

  How can James work with her, when she’s taking drugs – even prescription ones?

  “Natalie can be difficult to understand,” says James, conceding to my unspoken curiosity. “At the moment, she needs medication. Your friend Lorna has medication for her diabetes. I don’t see the two issues as particularly different.”

  He sighs. “I’m hoping that Natalie will become a little more likable. Right now, she’s battling some serious issues.”

  I feel a childish stab of jealously that he seems to know so much about Natalie. But something in his tone warns me not to ask any more.

  We’ve walked back onto the main street now, and there’s a large elaborate church just across the street.

  “You want to go in?” asks James. “It’s beautiful. Inside.”

  “Sure,” I shrug, happy to have a reason to change the subject. The church is Catholic, which is my mother’s religion. I’m not a devoted practitioner of Catholicism, but I feel comfortable in Catholic churches.

  We cross the road, and James pulls out his phone and clicks it to silent as we near the entrance.

  I cross myself as we enter the church, and James smiles at me.

  Inside is quiet, peaceful. And I feel myself slip into a thoughtful mood with James beside me.

  All this devotional beauty has put me in another frame of mind, and I find myself thinking seriously about our future together.

  In the short time I’ve known James, I’ve fallen for him hard. There is no question in my mind that I am deeply in love with him.

  Of course, I’ve never thought about marriage, or what it might be like to live with him. It’s too soon.

  But I’m suddenly realising, with a kind of shock, that I can’t imagine my future without him. The church seems to be prompting these thoughts, and I don’t try to dispel them.

  We walk through the nave, keeping a silent respect for the church. And come to a standstill in front of a collection of flickering candles.

  “Would you like to light one?” asks James quietly.

  My mother and I always used to light a candle for my father. It’s been years since I did that. But standing with James, I feel strong. I feel as though I want to remember some of the things I tried so hard to forget.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  James pushes a handful of euros into the box and passes me a candle.

  Keeping my gaze centred on the flames, I tilt my wick into the fire and watch as it blazes to life. Slowly, I press it into place, amongst the other burning lights.

  As I watch it burn, a few faint memories of my father swirl in my brain. I let them rise and fall in the candle flame. Thinking of him feels comfortable.

  Then unbidden words pop into my mind that I haven’t heard for a long time.

  Papa. Why did you leave us?

  The memory shocks me so rigidly, my entire body freezes. Then I see that beside me, James has lit two candles and is placing them reverently with the others.

  Two candles. One for his mother. Who is the other one for?

  Suddenly I know, and the thought fills me with horrified outrage.

  The ex-girlfriend. The one who died.

  I know I should feel respectful for his loss. But the anger rises up so quickly, I hardly know where it’s come from. All I know is that I don’t want this. I don’t want these feelings which come so thick and fast when this man is here.

  Why is he always making me think about painful
memories?

  And before I know what I’m doing, I turn and race out of the church.

  “Issy!” James is stumbling after me as I run, blinking into the sunlight. “Issy! What’s wrong?”

  He catches me in his arms, and I wriggle to be free of him, but he’s too strong.

  “I don’t want this!” I shout, not caring who hears. “I don’t want any of it!”

  “Shhh.” He pulls me closer, and I feel my body begin to convulse in sobs.

  “It’s your stupid method, isn’t it?” I accuse, although some of the anger is coming out of me now. “Your acting method. You want me to feel… All this pain.”

  I am struggling to breathe and get the words out through the sobs.

  “Well I… Don’t. Want. It!”

  I take a deep, juddering breath, and James holds me close. I don’t know why, but I let him.

  “Issy,” he says softly. “This is nothing to do with my method. I wouldn’t do that. Not without telling you.”

  “Then why?” I accuse. “Why take me in there and let me see that?”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and his face shows confusion.

  “You didn’t like me lighting two candles,” he says slowly, as though working something out.

  I say nothing in reply.

  “Listen.” He pulls me away from him a little, so he’s looking in my face. “I respect the dead, Issy, and I like to honour those who have passed. But I have never felt about anyone, living or dead, the way I feel about you.”

  His face is so sincere, that I give another sob. And then I’m halfway between laughing and crying.

  James’s face breaks in slight relief, but there’s still an anxiety there.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say. And I don’t. This laughing, crying mess, is not who I usually am.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” says James. “You’ve just never let things out, that’s all.”

  Is that true?

  But I don’t have time to analyse what he’s saying. In the next moment, he’s pulling me back inside the church.

  “Quick, Issy,” he hisses. “Get inside.”

  “What? What is it?” I can hardly make sense of what’s going on before I’m dragged back.

  “What?” I repeat as I’m physically bundled back inside the large church opening.