The Director's Cut Page 9

David the props handler is obviously overcome with nerves, and Callum introduces himself politely and strikes up a conversation about the movie.

  I turn to Lorna.

  “Do you have any plans for later?”

  I’m wondering if I can squeeze in a drink with her between rehearsing my lines for tomorrow.

  Lorna looks guilty.

  “Um. Yeah. I kinda do.”

  I glance at David.

  “You’re going out with the props guy?” I whisper, leaning in close. That might be a good match, I decide.

  But Lorna is shaking her head.

  “No. It’s not like that. We’re just friends.” She takes a breath. “Ok, Issy, don’t get mad. But Ben is taking me out.”

  “Ben Gracey?”

  Of course I know which Ben she’s referring to. But I’m so shocked, the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Callum turns fractionally at my outburst, and then returns to quizzing David about the props.

  “Yeah…” Lorna is twirling a strand of her Afro hair into a single perfect curl.

  “How did he get here?” I demand.

  “I told him I was out here on the movie, and he flew out earlier today,” says Lorna, defensively.

  “Did you clear it with James?”

  “No… but…”

  “Lorna!”

  “Listen,” she says, her eyes flashing, “Ben doesn’t need to ask permission to fly to Barcelona to see his girlfriend.”

  “You’re his girlfriend now?”

  Something about this isn’t adding up. Why is he suddenly calling Lorna his girlfriend?

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Why is he suddenly so keen?” I ask suspiciously. “I thought he was hot and cold.”

  Lorna’s face tightens in annoyance.

  “It is possible, you know,” she says, “that a man could like me.”

  “I…” I open my mouth to protest, but she carries on talking.

  “We might not be a movie star couple like you and…” she stops herself, seeing my face flash a warning glance towards David.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” she finishes. “Anyway. I told him I was in a movie, and he flew out earlier today. Simple as that.”

  “You told him you were in a movie?”

  Something is beginning to lock into place in my mind.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you say which movie?”

  “Of course,” replies Lorna. “Well. Not the name. But I told him James Berkeley was producing it.”

  My whirling thoughts are fitting together. Ben flew out today. Then a reporter arrived in Barcelona.

  Something tells me this is too much of a coincidence. Ben was one of the few other people who could have made the connection between James and I.

  I know he doesn’t like James. This would be the perfect way to hurt him.

  Suddenly I’m certain.

  Ben Gracey is the leak.

  I need to tell James. Now.

  Chapter 13

  For a long moment, I think James might not open his door. And then the handle turns, and I see his handsome face deep with worry.

  He has his mobile phone in his hand, as though he’s just been making a call.

  “Issy? What is it?”

  I push past him into the room. And when he shuts the door, I turn to make my revelation.

  “It’s Ben,” I say, still slightly breathless from running up the stairs. “I think Ben Gracey is leaking information to the press.”

  James raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He places his phone carefully on a table.

  “I think he’s been getting information from Lorna,” I continue. “I mean…” I hesitate, having not thought this part fully through. “Lorna wouldn’t have told him,” I clarify. “But I think he’s worked things out. Through her.”

  “Are you sure about that?” asks James. He looks as though he’s thinking carefully.

  “Yes,” I say certainly, “I asked Lorna not tell anyone. But I’ve been texting her. All Ben need do is look through her phone.”

  James mouth twists, considering this.

  “Ben flew out to Barcelona this morning,” I conclude. “Just before you ran into that reporter.”

  James bites his lip and begins to pace back and forth.

  “You’re sure he flew out here today?” he says, stopping for a moment to assess my face.

  “Yes. He’s taking Lorna out somewhere this evening.”

  James sits heavily on the enormous double bed.

  “Come here, Issy,” he says quietly.

  Bemused by his tone, I pad over the deep carpet and seat myself beside him.

  He puts his arm around my waist.

  “I don’t think it’s Ben Gracey,” he says, finally.

  My heart sinks. I had been so sure.

  “Why not?” I manage.

  James sighs.

  “I haven’t told you much about my past with Ben. I think I owe you some information. I don’t want you to see him as the bad guy. I behaved badly, when I was younger. He has some understandable antipathy towards me.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes.” James sighs. “Let me tell you a little more. The exercise we just did, with the memories? I’m guessing you couldn’t know mine. Am I right?”

  I nod slowly. Either he stole money from his father’s house or refused to meet his stepbrother.

  “My shameful act was refusing to meet my stepbrother,” says James. His eyes are on mine.

  “You refused to meet with Ben?”

  “No.” James shakes his head. “I met with Ben. But Ben has an older brother.”

  He pauses, and I wait for him to continue.

  “Ben was barely a teenager when his mother married my father,” he explains. “But his brother was a little older.”

  He takes my hands in his and toys with them distractedly.

  “Ben’s brother was in a private mental institution,” he says. His face looks so sad, that I want to throw my arms around him. But I sense he needs to talk.

  “He had a serious mental illness,” he continues, studying my palms. “My father wanted me to go and meet with him. Make him feel part of a family.”

  He’s examining my hands intently, turning them in his.

  “I wouldn’t,” says. “I didn’t want to fly back to England. I was mostly schooling in Hong Kong, and I’d already started hanging with the wrong crowd.”

  He raises his eyes to mine, and they are filled with shame. “It was a selfish thing to do,” he concludes. “It’s one of the reasons why Ben has so much bitterness towards me. And I don’t really blame him.”

  “But why should Ben be so angry that you wouldn’t meet his brother?” I ask, struggling to understand the situation.

  James sighs. “Ben was of the opinion that a stable family unit could help his brother recover. To his mind, I should have been part of the picture.”

  “But you must have been only a teenager yourself,” I say, doing the mental calculations. Ben is only a few years younger than James.

  James nods. “Even so. From what I heard, Ben’s brother gradually deteriorated. Ben blames the fact that he was never welcomed into the family. Partly, he blames me.”

  “But that makes no sense!” I insist, outrage rising up. “Ben has no right to blame you. Your father and his mother divorced. In the end, there was never a family to welcome him into. Who’s to say meeting with you wouldn’t have made him worse, when the marriage broke up?”

  James sighs. He looks tired.

  “I’ve more or less made my peace with it,” he says. “But I do understand why Ben doesn’t like me. It might not be totally rational, but I wanted you to know that I am at least half to blame for how he feels about me.”

  “Wait,” I say, trying to get my head around it all. “Just because you think Ben has a good reason not to like you doesn’t mean he isn’t leaking information. From what you just told me, he has a pretty good moti
ve.”

  “Ah yes,” James gives me an indulgent smile. “There is a little more to that side of the story. But I’m afraid you’ll be frustrated. Since I can’t give you all the details.”

  “Why not?” I press.

  “I’ve already told you why. Do you remember, we had a conversation about Camilla and Ben?” asks James.

  I search my memory. I questioned James about what had happened between them. He told me he would leave it to Camilla to fill me in if she wanted to.

  But I never got around to asking her properly. Camilla left the set before I could quiz her. And with all the drama around the stalker, it all went out of my mind. Until Lorna mentioned Ben today.

  Some friend I am. I mentally chastise myself. I was so bound up with James, I’d stopped paying attention to my friends’ love lives.

  “I remember,” I say hesitantly. “You said you weren’t prepared to tell me what happened.”

  My eyes sweep his face. Will he tell me now?

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” says James. “It would be disrespectful of me to tell Camilla’s story, on her behalf. If she wants to tell you, she will.”

  I can’t deny I’m a little frustrated by this. But I respect him too, for keeping Camilla’s secret so diligently.

  “What I will say,” James continues, “is that what happened with Ben and Camilla is the main reason why I don’t suspect Ben of leaking to the press.”

  My mind is instantly fired with a thousand questions, but I can see from James’s face that I shouldn’t ask.

  “Just take my word for it,” says James. “Ben owes me.”

  What could the reason be? I can’t help but be intrigued.

  “You’re absolutely sure?” I say, staring into his eyes. It had all fit so neatly. I’m not quite prepared to give up my explanation so readily.

  James considers for a long moment.

  “Yes,” he says finally. “As sure as I’ll ever be. You need to trust me,” he adds. “I’m dealing with this.”

  I nod slowly. I do trust him.

  He kisses my forehead.

  “I’d never risk your reputation,” he says. “I’ve got my best people on the case, and we’re doing what we can. We’ll close off the leak soon.”

  His words are reassuring. I give him a little smile.

  “But I think you might have put yourself in some danger coming here,” he adds. His voice has a different cadence to it now.

  My stomach tightens. What have I done?

  “Should I not have come to your room?” I whisper.

  James is shaking his head.

  “Hammering on my hotel room door, in full public view, is not very smart.”

  “No one saw me,” I say quietly.

  “You cannot risk that,” he says, and I flinch at his tone.

  “I’ll remember that in future,” I say. “Don’t be angry at me.”

  James is shaking his head again.

  “I am angry at you, for putting yourself at risk,” he says. The smallest ghost of a smile is now evident on his face. “And then, there’s the little matter of a bet you lost earlier today.”

  I feel myself blanch. The bet.

  I promised he could do whatever he liked with me.

  “And now, here you are,” says James. “You’ve thrown yourself right into the lion’s den. And you’ve made me angry with you as well. Whatever do you think your punishment will be?”

  James reaches to either side of me and pins both of my hands tight to the bed.

  “I take it you remember losing the bet?” he says.

  I nod, feeling my hands pinioned by the weight of him.

  “Don’t try to get away,” he murmurs as I wriggle against the grip. “So,” he adds, “how do you think I should punish you?”

  “I don’t know,” I say weakly.

  A mysterious expression slides onto his face, as though he’s calculating something. And I am struck, suddenly, with our earlier conversation.

  James offered me so much by choosing to open up in rehearsal. And I never thanked him. I was too busy thinking about myself and my own past.

  How selfish of me, when he was giving me such a gift.

  I don’t know how these thoughts are playing on my face. But something in James’s expression shifts, from assessing to certainty.

  He releases my hands suddenly. And I feel as though I have agreed to some unspoken pact.

  “There will be no ropes and no restraints, Isabella,” he says, his voice thick and dark. “You’ve agreed to your punishment when you lost the bet. So I expect you to lie perfectly still whilst I administer it.”

  I feel my eyes widen in shock. What does he mean to do? My mouth is dry.

  “You will be unbound whilst I discipline you,” he continues, “as proof of your perfect submission.”

  My perfect submission. Is that what he wants?

  “What is it you mean to do to me?” The words come out with difficulty.

  For a moment, I think he will refuse to tell me. Then he stands slowly.

  “Wait there,” he says. “Don’t move an inch.”

  I sit frozen as he walks across the huge hotel suite and vanishes into another aspect of the room.

  Then in a moment, he’s back again. And I see in his hand, he’s holding the riding crop.

  Chapter 14

  I feel my breath constrict as I eye the riding crop in his hand.

  “Is that what you’re going to use?” I ask, my eyes following him, and he walks towards me.

  “Yes.” He says the word without emotion or explanation.

  This is it then. This is what he means to do. Am I ready for it?

  We’re a few metres apart now. James stands, the riding crop held slightly apart from his body.

  His demeanour has changed. The crop seems almost part of him. His stance is harder, his expression stern.

  I feel myself swallow.

  James has disciplined me before, but it always felt a little like a sexy game. This seems more serious.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” I ask, my voice quivering.

  “Yes.”

  My stomach lurches. But I catch something in his face, something which suggests that maybe this is a game after all.

  “Badly?” I ask.

  “No.”

  The hardness in James’s face is transfused with a flash of warmth. Then it closes up again, and he’s back in character.

  My eyes fall to the crop, standing rigidly apart from his body.

  I can still refuse. Even with the bet and everything else. I sense this is the moment when I could stop.

  I think back to what he did for me today. Becoming part of his own method. Opening up.

  I set my face. “Then tell me what to do,” I say, mustering up as much bravery as I can manage. My body is already responding to the scenario, flushing me with warmth. But I have no idea how I’ll feel if he actually uses the crop on me.

  James gives me a look of admiration. Then slowly, he raises the crop and taps it against his palm. As though he’s considering.

  Do I want him to do this?

  Deep within me, I feel an insatiable lust roar up.

  I want this so badly, I realise. I want everything about him. And right now, I am prepared to endure pain to get it.

  James smacks the crop against his palm, and the sudden crack makes me jump.

  Once again, feelings of fear flood in. I have no idea what I’m letting myself in for.

  James’s eyes roam around the room, and settle on a small writing desk.

  Using the crop, he points towards it.

  “Walk over to the desk,” he says.

  A thrill of lust and fear mixed pulses through me. It’s such an intense feeling, that when I stand to do as he asks, my legs feel weak beneath me.

  James watches as I pad across the carpet to the desk. I’m wearing the leather knee-high boots he bought me, and it passes my mind that I should have taken them off.

  I reach the de
sk, and turn to him, questioningly.

  “Put both palms flat against it,” he orders.

  Slowly, I flat my palms against the shining wood.

  In a second, he’s behind me. I can feel how hard he is.

  He places the riding crop on the desk. Just a few inches in front of my hands.

  Then he’s hitching up my skirt and roughly pulling my panties down.

  I feel myself convulse at his touch.

  “Keep still,” he says.

  He’s silent for a moment. I feel suddenly shamed and vulnerable to be standing with my panties half down and my skirt hitched above my waist.

  Then I feel his mouth at my ear, and my eyes close. I love the way he smells.

  He leans in front of me and picks up the riding crop.

  “Slide your hands forward,” he whispers, so you’re bent completely over the desk.”

  I push my hands along the smooth wood until my stomach is flat against the desk. My naked behind is now pointing upwards towards him.

  I feel his hand graze over it, and my entire body tingles.

  “Do you want to be punished, Isabella?”

  Do I? I can’t deny the fact, that part of me wants this.

  “Yes,” I admit in a small voice.

  And then I hear the riding crop whistle through the air and connect to my behind with a crack.

  Oh!

  My whole body jumps as the end of the crop strikes. The sensation is completely unexpected. It’s intense, but it’s concentrated in such a small area, that it’s not painful, as I feared. In fact, it’s thrilling.

  I feel my nerve endings come alight in a network of hot pleasure.

  There’s another crack, and I feel the crop hit another area of my behind. I flinch again, as the sparkling feeling radiates out from where I’ve been struck.

  Then comes another. And it’s as though my behind is being brought to another level of sensation.

  Wherever the crop strikes, it’s as though an ice cube has been touched against the skin. The feeling radiates out in a delicious mix of cool and warmth.

  “Open your legs,” says James.

  Is he going to strike me there? The thought is compelling and terrifying all at once.

  Slowly, I inch apart the top of my thighs.

  Thwack!

  I feel the crop hit me between the legs, and I gasp. I feel as though I could have almost reached orgasm in that sudden slight contact. It was such a strong sensation.