Fame and Wuthering Heights

‘Oh, so this is my fault now?’ said Sabrina. Dorian noticed that her features had reset themselves to their default position of belligerent defiance. Was this what Saskia was going to be like when she got older?

‘You called him a prick.’

‘He was a prick.’

‘Maybe. But people are angry, Sabrina,’ Dorian said sternly. ‘You must take some responsibility for that. You’re in a position of great privilege, you lead a life most ordinary people can only dream of, and you’ve abused that privilege.’

‘Give me a fucking break,’ muttered Sabrina under her breath.

‘No,’ said Dorian hotly. ‘I will not give you a break. What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t been there just now to help you? To keep that man from attacking you.’

‘I’d have survived.’

‘Like hell you would.’

‘Well, if you hadn’t gone all Lord Capulet on my bodyguards yesterday, I would have had some protection.’

‘And if you would learn to walk away occasionally, you wouldn’t need it,’ said Dorian, exasperated. ‘That’s the last time you leave Loxley Hall unaccompanied.’

‘What?’ Sabrina exploded. ‘You can’t do that! I’m not your fucking prisoner.’

After all the shit Dorian had had to deal with on Sabrina’s behalf today, not to mention just saving her ass from Mr Man United, this was the last straw. Slamming on the brakes, he skidded to a halt just outside Loxley’s gates, leaned across Sabrina and opened the passenger door.

‘You’re right. You’re not my prisoner. If you want to walk, walk.’

‘What?’

‘Now’s your chance. Go back to LA and see if you can find someone else prepared to work with you. Go on. Go!’

The two of them sat glaring at one another in the darkness. For a few awful seconds, Dorian thought Sabrina was going to call his bluff and get out of the car. When she didn’t, he was relieved, but it was a relief tinged with regret. He could tell just by looking at her that she had completely shut down again. He’d lost her. All the progress they’d made this evening had been for nothing. Reaching across her again, he pulled the door closed. Sabrina shrank back against her seat, as if his arm were a rattlesnake about to sting her.

They drove on.

So much for the entente cordiale.

When she finally got back to her room, Sabrina slammed the door and sat down on the bed, shaking with anger. What the fuck? She felt betrayed, humiliated. Rasmirez had tricked her, playing ‘good cop’ so she’d open up to him, which stupidly, stupidly she had, then putting his preachy, you-do-as-I-say hat back on the minute they got in the car. As if it were her fault some yob had attacked her! And what was she supposed to do, sit there and take it while guys threatened and harassed her, accusing her of things she’d never done?

Angrily, she kicked off her shoes and pulled off her clothes, flinging them in a heap at the foot of the bed. There was a knock at the door. Sabrina ignored it.

Rasmirez, come to deliver round two of his lecture. Well he can kiss my ass.

A second knock was louder and more insistent. Furiously, Sabrina walked over and opened the door in her underwear, lips curled and nostrils flared in defiance. ‘What now?’

Vio stood in the hallway in sweatpants and a T-shirt, admiring Sabrina’s semi-naked body for the second time that day. Her bra and panties were both made of sheer lace, so he could see the faint pink outline of her nipples and the dark border of neatly trimmed fuzz between her legs. He smiled appreciatively. ‘Hi.’

Following his eyes downwards, Sabrina blushed. ‘Sorry. I thought you were Rasmirez.’

Viorel’s eyebrow shot up. ‘That’s how you’d open the door to Dorian?’

Realizing belatedly how it must look, Sabrina blushed even harder. ‘Jesus, no! I mean, it’s not like that. Nothing like that. I thought you were in bed, that’s all. Sick.’

‘I was. I heard the door slam. Thought I’d check if you were OK.’

‘I’m fine.’

Indeed you are, thought Vio with a sigh. Three paracetamols and a few hours’ sleep had done little to take the edge off his migraine, but the sight of Sabrina’s deliciously voluptuous body appeared to be working wonders. Locking on to his lust like a missile finding its target, Sabrina stood on tiptoes and reached her arms around his neck.

‘D’you wanna come in?’

She pressed her lips to his and felt her libido release like an opened dam, all the anger and frustration of her evening with Dorian flooding out of her. Clearly, Vio felt it too, kissing her back passionately, his tongue hungrily darting between her lips, his hands warm and rough as they roamed over her skin. They staggered inside, locked together, and fell back onto the bed. Sabrina closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of him, a heady combination of aftershave, sweat and a faintly minty smell of mouthwash. She could feel his rock-hard erection beneath his sweat pants – at last, some good news! – and slipped a hand beneath his waistband, coiling her fingers slowly around his dick, one by one.

Vio groaned. Then, with every last fibre of his willpower, he removed her hand, pulling it back up to his mouth and kissing it. ‘We can’t.’

Sabrina looked at him, surprised. ‘What do you mean? Sure we can.’

Vio sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He frowned, annoyed at himself. ‘No. We can’t. I can’t.’ He shook his head, like a dog drying itself off after a swim, as if he could somehow physically ‘shake off’ his desire for her.

Sabrina pouted. ‘You don’t want me?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Vio truthfully. ‘You’re so fucking sexy it hurts.’

Mollified slightly, Sabrina gave him a quizzical look. ‘So what’s the problem?’

‘You’re my co-star,’ said Vio. ‘I never get intimate with co-stars. Not till after we wrap, anyway. It’s a policy.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Sabrina looked astonished. She tried to think if she’d ever had a co-star she hadn’t fucked. No one came to mind. ‘Why on earth not?’

Viorel shrugged. ‘It’s distracting. It affects the dynamic on camera.’

‘But we’re lovers on camera,’ said Sabrina. ‘Shouldn’t that help?’

‘Frustrated lovers,’ Vio corrected. ‘Unrequited lovers. Heathcliff sleeps with Isabella, remember? Not Cathy.’

‘Oh. So you’d rather fuck Lizzie, you mean?’

Vio shuddered. ‘No. Good God no. Look, it’s not just the professional thing. You know as well as I do, on-set romances can get complicated. Someone always ends up wanting more.’

‘Not me,’ said Sabrina, truthfully.

‘I’m not good at monogamy, even in short bursts.’

‘Perfect. Me neither.’

Vio hesitated. He didn’t doubt that sex with Sabrina would be fantastic. Certainly, there was no one else at Loxley he had the remotest interest in sleeping with, other than Tish Crewe, whom he wasn’t allowed near. None of the make-up or prop girls were even vaguely attractive; the one camera girl, Deborah, looked like a librarian and Lizzie Bayer was borderline retarded. But he knew that the instant they slept together, his relationship with Sabrina would change irrevocably. Whatever she said now, she would end up wanting more from him than he knew how to give. Women always wanted more. It was embedded in their DNA.

‘I should get back to bed.’

Sabrina hesitated. She had zero experience of sexual rejection. What did one do in these situations? On the one hand it was agonizingly frustrating to have to sleep alone tonight. But on the other hand, the prospect of a challenge was novel and exciting. Viorel Hudson had thrown down the gauntlet. Policy, indeed! She would seduce him eventually, of that she had no doubt. And how satisfying it would be when she finally got to watch that vaunted willpower of his crumble.