and running, stumbling across the loose sand, then heaving himself up onto the sidewalk.
“It only encourages them,” Spence told her. He wanted to chase after the man, rip his camera apart, and pound his face into the concrete. Instead he said, “I’d rather not give him what he needs to cash in.”
“It’s barbaric.” Tasha continued to fume by his side.
Farther down the beach, tourists and locals had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene. Some wore expressions of shock, but thankfully, most of them looked as horrified as Tasha. At least he might win a few local sympathizers. They might protect his privacy after witnessing it being crushed. That happened too. That was the good news.
“I think I’m going to head up to the house,” he said, suddenly gloomy.
Tasha huffed in indignation and disappointment. “We were having fun. I haven’t had fun in…in way too long.”
Spence tried to send her a bolstering smile. He failed. Instead, he marched over to their little camp and started packing up. “We can have fun at the house. Besides, do you really want to stay out here in the sun without a decent pair of sunglasses.”
Her shoulders dropped and she slicked her hair back. “He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day?” she asked, bitter and sing-song.
“Something like that.” He nodded in grim reply.
It burned him up that what had promised to be a pleasant afternoon had been ruined. Too many things about this vacation—for him and for Tasha—were about things being ruined. The worst of it was that now the paparazzi knew he was there.
Chapter Six
Tasha had resigned herself to sharing her dream vacation with a big-time movie star, but she hadn’t planned on spending it with a caged tiger.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and relax?” she asked him a couple days after the incident on the beach as he paced by her reading spot in the den for the dozenth time.
It had started raining late in the evening of their day on the beach and hadn’t let up as they entered the weekend. She’d seen it as a sign to get lost in the pile of books she’d brought with her. Apparently, Spence saw it as a sign to brood. She curled up on the overstuffed sofa in front of one of Sand Dollar Point’s fireplaces. Spence built a small fire, then spent about five minutes on the other sofa reading a script. After that, he got up to tinker with something in the kitchen, then thumped around upstairs for about half an hour, then came back to the living room to interrupt Tasha.
“I’ve tried reading the scripts Yvonne keeps sending me. Nothing is really jumping out at me,” he explained, flopping to sit on the other sofa. He didn’t sit still though. “It’s all the same thing, action heroes and flawed cop-politician-investigators. I would give anything for a seedy pimp.”
“Oh?” she snorted.
“Yeah,” he insisted. “Or a washed up loser or a dorky teacher.”
Her giggles dried up as the truth dropped like a rock in her gut. “Yeah, I guess a dorky teacher would make a change.” She opened her book, intending to ignore him.
“That wasn’t a dig,” he insisted. “You teachers have the most important job of all.”
So everyone told her, but when she was inadvertently lumped in as part of a joke….
“I just don’t think I could stand to read another clichéd alpha hero role, let alone spend months playing one,” he pushed on, probably with no idea how hard he’d hit her nerve. “Every script I read hammers another nail in the coffin of who I’m supposed to be.”
“Who are you supposed to be, Spencer Ellis ?”
He met her challenge with a raised eyebrow. “The hero. Strong, in charge, sexy.”
Her lips twitched back to a smile. “Well, you’ve got one of those going for you.”
“Do I?” He took her bait, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa and putting on the kind of look that would melt any woman at fifty paces.
“Yeah.” She
“It only encourages them,” Spence told her. He wanted to chase after the man, rip his camera apart, and pound his face into the concrete. Instead he said, “I’d rather not give him what he needs to cash in.”
“It’s barbaric.” Tasha continued to fume by his side.
Farther down the beach, tourists and locals had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene. Some wore expressions of shock, but thankfully, most of them looked as horrified as Tasha. At least he might win a few local sympathizers. They might protect his privacy after witnessing it being crushed. That happened too. That was the good news.
“I think I’m going to head up to the house,” he said, suddenly gloomy.
Tasha huffed in indignation and disappointment. “We were having fun. I haven’t had fun in…in way too long.”
Spence tried to send her a bolstering smile. He failed. Instead, he marched over to their little camp and started packing up. “We can have fun at the house. Besides, do you really want to stay out here in the sun without a decent pair of sunglasses.”
Her shoulders dropped and she slicked her hair back. “He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day?” she asked, bitter and sing-song.
“Something like that.” He nodded in grim reply.
It burned him up that what had promised to be a pleasant afternoon had been ruined. Too many things about this vacation—for him and for Tasha—were about things being ruined. The worst of it was that now the paparazzi knew he was there.
Chapter Six
Tasha had resigned herself to sharing her dream vacation with a big-time movie star, but she hadn’t planned on spending it with a caged tiger.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and relax?” she asked him a couple days after the incident on the beach as he paced by her reading spot in the den for the dozenth time.
It had started raining late in the evening of their day on the beach and hadn’t let up as they entered the weekend. She’d seen it as a sign to get lost in the pile of books she’d brought with her. Apparently, Spence saw it as a sign to brood. She curled up on the overstuffed sofa in front of one of Sand Dollar Point’s fireplaces. Spence built a small fire, then spent about five minutes on the other sofa reading a script. After that, he got up to tinker with something in the kitchen, then thumped around upstairs for about half an hour, then came back to the living room to interrupt Tasha.
“I’ve tried reading the scripts Yvonne keeps sending me. Nothing is really jumping out at me,” he explained, flopping to sit on the other sofa. He didn’t sit still though. “It’s all the same thing, action heroes and flawed cop-politician-investigators. I would give anything for a seedy pimp.”
“Oh?” she snorted.
“Yeah,” he insisted. “Or a washed up loser or a dorky teacher.”
Her giggles dried up as the truth dropped like a rock in her gut. “Yeah, I guess a dorky teacher would make a change.” She opened her book, intending to ignore him.
“That wasn’t a dig,” he insisted. “You teachers have the most important job of all.”
So everyone told her, but when she was inadvertently lumped in as part of a joke….
“I just don’t think I could stand to read another clichéd alpha hero role, let alone spend months playing one,” he pushed on, probably with no idea how hard he’d hit her nerve. “Every script I read hammers another nail in the coffin of who I’m supposed to be.”
“Who are you supposed to be, Spencer Ellis ?”
He met her challenge with a raised eyebrow. “The hero. Strong, in charge, sexy.”
Her lips twitched back to a smile. “Well, you’ve got one of those going for you.”
“Do I?” He took her bait, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa and putting on the kind of look that would melt any woman at fifty paces.
“Yeah.” She
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