But before he could begin to process that phenomenon, a short bald guy with a reddish-gray goatee came sweeping toward them, crowing, “Celia, my darling-you look incredible! I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you.”
With a trill of laughter and a light and musical, “Hello, Arthur, I’m glad to see you, too,” she floated away from Roy’s supporting hand and moved forward to meet the bald guy. They exchanged air kisses, and then Celia turned to Roy. “Darling, I want you to meet Art Milos. This is his house. And his party. Art, this is my friend, R. J. Cassidy. He’s Canadian.”
She said it all with a smile so playful and eyes so serene, Roy felt confused and a little bit foolish-sure, now, that he must have been mistaken about the trembling.
He shook his host’s hand and-remembering to whisper-produced some apparently adequate answers in response to the man’s standard questions: Canadian, huh? What part? What business are you in? Where did you two meet? At least he hoped he did. If anybody’d asked him, he’d have been hard-pressed to remember one word of what he said. His eyes and most of his mind had wandered off with Celia as she moved into the crush of people, pausing to speak to someone, then moving farther afield to take two wineglasses from a tray borne by a passing waiter.
“What is it?” he asked in a growly undertone when she returned to hold out one of the glasses to him.
She was already gulping from the other like a thirsty child. She considered, licking her lips. “Chardonnay, I think.”
“You don’t suppose they’d have any beer?” Though he said it in a whisper, Milos, who was already moving on to the next arrival, evidently heard him anyway, and turned back long enough to point toward a wall of arches that opened onto a stunning view of the L.A. lights.
“Foreign, domestic and weasel piss-otherwise known as lite beer. Bar’s outside on the patio.” And he was gone-swallowed up in the crowd.
“That’s for me,” Roy muttered. Celia, having drained the first glass of wine, smiled at him gaily, shrugged and took a sip from the other. “Back in a minute,” he said under his breath, and as he began to make his way toward the arches, he was thinking, I’m here five minutes and I already feel like I’m making a prison break.
Outside, he found the bar with no trouble and selected a bottle of Mexican beer. While he waited for Celia to join him, he strolled across the tiled patio, carrying his bottle of beer in his usual way, close to his chest. One of those aluminum and canvas affairs had been set up to keep out the rain, and there were several tall aluminum outdoor heaters holding off the December chill. Between them, people stood around in small groups, laughing and talking in the mellow light of torches…drinking…a few eating-nobody smoking, though, he noticed. In Hollywood, evidently, healthy living was In.
Some of the people gave him curious looks as he passed; a few nodded and smiled, just in case he was somebody important. Most ignored him.
He saw some people he recognized, and some others he thought he probably ought to have recognized, if he’d been more up on the latest goings-on in the world of entertainment. But it wasn’t his world. Truth was, he felt more out of place in it, more conspicuous and exposed, than he ever had mingling with street thugs, underworld bosses and international arms dealers.
Wondering what was keeping Celia but reluctant to go back inside where the bulk of the noise and the crowd were to find out, he wandered to the edge of the patio, to the point where it dropped away in an impressive series of Spanish-tiled terraces, hot tubs, pools and fountains toward a carpet of city lights. Tonight, the distant spangles seemed to blur and shimmer in the lightly falling rain, and Roy found himself thinking about another night not so long ago, a warm, clear night, when he’d stood on a hill above Los Angeles Harbor with Max, talking of boats, and unthinkable acts of terror.
Was it only coincidence that a cold, damp breeze should skirl in out of the darkness and rain just then to find its way under the collar of his new leather jacket and make him shiver?
“Darling-there you are!”
Something leapt inside him at the sound of her voice. As he turned, he wondered if it would show in his eyes. Prayed it wouldn’t.
An instant later, that momentary spark was snuffed out, and a professional chill settled over him; his body stilled and his features froze into what he prayed would be an unreadable mask of calm. Impassive as a granite statue, he watched the small group of men come toward him. They were swarthy skinned and darkly dressed, and at their center, Celia, laughing and lovely, looked like a shimmering golden topaz set in onyx.
The man beside her caught and held Roy’s attention first, possibly because he had one arm draped around Celia’s shoulders. He was tall and, Roy supposed, would probably be considered handsome, in an exotic sort of way, with a hawk nose, gleaming black eyes and a perfectly trimmed goatee. (And what was it with these Hollywood people and goatees? He was glad he’d won the argument with Celia on that score, at least, and was, for the moment, clean-shaven.) He didn’t know whether it was the damned goatee or the arm around Celia that irked him, but he felt a sudden primitive urge to slug the guy.
Still…he wasn’t the reason Roy had gone still as stone, with every nerve and sinew vibrating with a primitive cognizance of danger. After the first second, his eyes had moved on to the four men arrayed in a rough semicircle behind Celia and her escort. They were much alike, of a type Roy happened to know well. Though formally dressed in seemingly identical dark suits, gleaming white shirts and black neckties, there was about them a certain alertness…and something more. Ruthlessness and even cruelty…a suggestion in their taut muscles and impassive faces of violence kept under tight rein.
And one of them, at least, he’d seen before. It had been dark that night, but he’d known he’d never forget the face of the man who’d shot him on the deck of the yacht Bibi Lilith.
“Darling…” It was Celia’s voice again, breathless and tipsy, reaching toward him across the black, echoing void that had opened up in his mind. He focused on her and saw her hand extended gracefully toward him. “This is…” she sang the name, punctuating each syllable with a wave of her nearly empty wineglass “…Prince Abdul Abbas al-Fayad-but everybody calls him Abby-don’t they, darling?” Her laughter was a silvery sound that twanged against Roy’s razor-edged nerves like aluminum foil on a sensitive tooth. “Abby, this is my friend, R.J., from Canada.”
“Your highness…” Roy returned in a grating whisper, smiling a clenched-teeth smile, extending his right hand. At the same time, he caught Celia’s outstretched hand with his left. He heard her breath gust sharply as he pulled her to his side.
Seemingly oblivious to that not-too-subtle demonstration of possession the prince raised his eyebrows and waggled a finger at his own throat. “Your voice-it is…?”
“An injury. It’s getting better…slowly.” His voice would have been sandy, he thought, even if he hadn’t been playing a part. He considered it a wonder his vocal cords worked at all.
Danger. Suddenly it was all around him; he could feel it. Inside his new designer clothes he was cold…sweating. Images…sensations still fresh in his memory played again in his mind. The searing pain of the bullet ripping through his flesh…the blackness of the water, the deathly, mind-numbing cold…
Had the bodyguard recognized him? There was no outward sign in those impassive black eyes. Don’t look too closely. Can’t risk looking him in the eyes. Mustn’t give him the chance to look too closely at me…
“R.J. and I met in the hospital-in rehab,” Celia said, and reached up to kiss his cheek.
He didn’t know where the impulse came from. Some primal directive of male biology predating civilized competition by millennia, maybe? He felt her lips brush his cheek, her breath warm and smelling of wine. In the next instant, he’d hooked his arm around her waist and brought her hard against him, turned his head and caught her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss.
He felt her lips…their warmth, flavor and texture…burst under his like ripe f
ruit in the heat of summer. Sensation flooded his senses and, for a moment, drowned all thought, infused his system like a potent drug, leaving him shocked, reeling, disoriented.
It lasted no more than seconds. Not nearly long enough…much too long. What the hell was that? What did I just do?
She swayed a little when he released her, as if something she’d been leaning against had been removed suddenly.
“Darling-” Incredibly, her voice, her lowered lashes, her smile, still seemed sultry, sexy, intimate. Then she lifted her lashes, and he saw that behind their camouflage her eyes were fierce and bright. With confusion? Anger? And yet…when she continued, her voice and smile gave no sign. “Abby’s been telling me all about his boat. He has the most amazing yacht…”
“Really?” Mentally reeling himself in, Roy showed the prince his teeth.
With Celia tucked close against him, he could feel the tension humming in her body. Or maybe the humming was only in his. Every nerve, every instinct was telling him to run like hell, to get away from there before he was found out. Any moment now, the prince or one of his bodyguards would see through his charade. If they haven’t already. How could they not?
He’d never felt so exposed.
Meanwhile, maddeningly, Celia was chattering away, oblivious to the danger, asking questions about the yacht in her sexy, sultry voice. And Prince Abdul, dividing his attention between both members of his audience, was regaling them with the boat’s dimensions and specifications. Roy tried to listen with the right amount of interest, just a touch of awe, but he was restless and on edge. It was hard to concentrate when all he could think about was the danger he’d put Celia in, if, in fact, he’d been made. And when and how he could end the interminable small talk and get the hell out of this place.
At the same time, inexplicably and unforgivably, but in a very visceral way, he was thinking about the kiss. Thinking…not with his mind, but with the elemental pulse-pumping, heat-making part of him…about the thump in his belly…the fire in his loins. And how much those parts of him wanted to feel like that again.
Be careful, the thinking part of him warned. Don’t let them know you’re edgy. Don’t let them see you sweat. They’ll know something’s up. And for God’s sake, don’t let them get a good look at your face.
Celia’s shoulders were rigid against his arm as he turned her slightly and, with a casually possessive, almost languid motion, lowered his head to one side of hers. With her face between his and the bodyguards’ watchful eyes, as the conversation continued, he lazily stroked her hair with his chin…blew his breath along the intricate whorls of her ear…
He felt her shiver. Swaying, as if in a dance, she contrived to turn her head toward him, her smile quivering at the corners, her eyes questioning. But when he tried to explain silently-I have a reason…play along…please…trust me!-he could see the desperate appeal in his eyes bounce off the confusion and anger in hers, like pebbles thrown against a wall.
Or had it? A moment later, she managed to deftly and charmingly bring the conversation to a close, by waving gaily to some distant someone and explaining to the prince, with a wry smile and rolled eyes, that she’d promised her agent she’d say hello to this certain producer… The prince, being familiar with the ways of those in The Business, laughed and kissed her cheek, shook Roy’s hand…and he and his retinue moved on.
So did Celia and Roy, making their way with excruciating slowness through the crowd on the patio, then the living room, pausing often to exchange gracious greetings, introductions, small talk and good wishes with a whole lot of beautiful and famous people, much of which, to Roy’s mind, even seemed sincere.
Meanwhile, his neck, shoulders and jaws screamed with tension and a feral desire to bolt for the exit like a spooked deer. He could feel a similar tension in Celia whenever he touched her, a kind of minute vibration running like an electrical current through her body, and he marveled at how relaxed she appeared, how naturally she moved through what to Roy seemed an impossibly complex and utterly alien world.
Then he thought, She’s an actress. She’s in her element. These are her people.
Besides, he told himself, she doesn’t have to worry about a killer recognizing her face.
It was while they were making their way through the entryway, saying their goodbyes, waiting for Celia’s coat, that Roy caught a glimpse of her in an ornate, Spanish-style mirror that took up most of one wall, some distance away. For a moment he thought, Who’s the old guy with her? And he was actually glancing around when the realization hit: Holy… Jeez-it’s me!
Okay, so he was an idiot. As the tension drained out of him, he felt shaken and foolish. What had he been so worried about? It was just as Celia had said: the way he looked right now, his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.
Chapter 11
Celia sat hunched in the passenger seat, listening to the steady thump of windshield wipers and fidgeting to hide the shudders that rippled through her from time to time. She could feel Roy’s glance dart her way, but kept her eyes steadfastly focused on the raindrops that spangled the Land Rover’s windshield and hood like diamonds.
Stopped for a light on Sunset Boulevard, hands relaxed on the wheel, he looked over at her and said quietly, “You’re not sayin’ much.”
She looked at him and lifted a shoulder. The last thing she felt like doing was talking. Her mind felt drained…empty…exhausted. And yet her body was humming with tension, with an excess of energy, as if, she thought, forces beyond her control, alien forces, had taken it over.
“You did good,” he went on, and she could hear the wryness in his voice. “Damn good. Surprised the hell out of me, in fact.” The light changed, and so did the direction of his voice as the Land Rover moved forward. “You might just be a natural.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly, and she was thinking that a week, even a day ago, she’d have been quivering like a puppy over a compliment like that.
Instead, anger rushed over her unexpectedly, making her feel off balance, the way a wave did when it swirled and sucked around her feet, then slid dizzily away.
“Apparently, I have a few things to learn.” She’d meant to say it lightly; the tight, hard edge she heard in her voice, and its tendency to tremble, shocked her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on controlling both the anger and the trembling.
Roy’s chuckle was oblivious. “Maybe one or two.”
“About working with you, I mean.” Her voice was hers again, light and only mildly curious. “For instance, what was with that kiss? Some kind of ploy, I suppose, but you might have given me some warning.”
She heard a soft snort and then, for a long, unbearable time, silence. Ashamed of the need, she managed to steal a quick look at him before setting her gaze on the windshield again. When she swallowed, she was surprised at how much it hurt.
Finally, he exhaled and said in a low, half-muffled voice, “Yeah…well. Didn’t have much time to discuss a game plan with you. It was the best I could come up with at the moment.”
“Really? Game plan…for what, exactly? I mean, I know I’m supposed to be your mistress, but the rest of the evening you barely touched me. Was that kiss just a declaration of ownership for Abby’s benefit? ‘Hands off, this woman is mine.’? Not that I mind-it’s definitely not the first time I’ve been kissed according to script. I just like to know my motivation.”
“For God’s sake,” Roy said harshly, his body leaning toward her as he took the hard right turn onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “Not Abby-the bodyguard. I was trying to keep him from getting a good look at me. And…like I said, it was the only thing I could come up with at the time.”
“The bodyguard?” She stared at his profile, grim in the highway lights.
“I was afraid he might…I was afraid he’d recognize me.” His voice sounded tight, as if his teeth were clenched. “He’d seen me before-on the boat. He was the one who shot me.”
She paused to let that sink in, and to consider wheth
er it made any difference. Deciding it didn’t, she said, “And…the thing with my hair…and my ear?” Breath, in mysteriously short supply, sifted from her air-starved lungs.
He glanced over at her and lifted a shoulder. In the erratic light, his face seemed like a mask. “Like I said.”
She sat for another time in silence. The rain was coming down harder, now, the way it can in California, sluicing over the windshield and side windows and curtaining them inside in their own little bubble of quiet, alone with the tension of misunderstanding and a thousand unspoken thoughts.
She drew a breath. “He wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“Yeah,” he said, somewhere between a drawl and a growl, “I think I know that…now. Can’t say I did then, though.”
She listened to the echoes of irony. Though far from being an apology, it made the silence seem less electric, somehow.
After a while she asked carefully, “Is it always this-” she coughed “-forgive me, but are you always this nervous when you go undercover?”
He gave an unexpected bark of laughter. “You wanna know the truth? This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done-bar none.”
She stared at him. “Seriously? Why? These are just…people. Showbiz people. Actors, directors, producers. It’s not like they’re…dangerous.” She listened, head tilted wryly, to a replay of that, while Roy echoed her thought.
“I can think of at least one who is.”
He drove for a while without speaking, then threw her a frowning glance. “I don’t know if I can explain or not, but…see, normally, if I’m going to be ‘made,’ it’s because of some screwup on my part-not doing my job right. Those things I can pretty much control. My face…well-not much I can do about that. I’ve never had to worry about being recognized before. I guess I felt…I don’t know…naked. You know-exposed.”
Naked… Celia stared straight ahead through the rain and didn’t say anything. Her throat felt achy and tight.
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