"All right," she said softly. "Lunch tomorrow. Someplace discreet," she added, hurrying on to explain before he could ask. "I don't want to give the tabloids any grist for the mill, not with Cameron's wedding only a week away."
Zeke was silent for a moment, digesting that. "Are we going to tell Cameron about this?"
Ariel bit her lip, unsure of how he would take what she was going to say. "I'd rather not. Not yet. Not until we know what, or if, anything's going to change between us. It wouldn't be fair to raise her hopes, especially not now, when she's got so much else on her mind. This is her time, not ours."
Zeke nodded, accepting the wisdom of that. He was sure things were going to change between them, and change drastically, but Ariel was right. Cameron's wedding came first right now, and nothing would be allowed to overshadow or spoil it. He'd be a gentleman, keeping things low-key and discreet until Cameron was safely wed and away on her honeymoon. But after that, all bets were off. He wanted Ariel back, and he was going to get her.
"I know just the place for our first date," he said. "It's small, out of the way and very discreet."
* * *
"Nice place," Ariel commented as they entered the neighborhood bar the next afternoon. The decor was primarily black-and-white, rather Art Deco in feeling, with polished brass railings and dark wood to soften the color scheme and keep it from appearing too stark. The walls were lined with framed publicity stills from the twenties and thirties, most notably Errol Flynn and other big male stars of the era. "It's just what the doctor ordered," she said as they settled themselves into one of the booths that ran along the wall. "Small, out of the way and—"
"So much for discretion," Zeke muttered, catching sight of the young blond waitress who was hurrying over to greet them. They were about to be recognized.
"Mr. Blackstone," she said, her face lighting up with obvious pleasure at the sight of him. "Welcome to Flynn's."
"Actually, it's Smith." He tugged the bill of his black L.A. Raiders cap down so it shadowed his face and hunched one shoulder, doing a deliberately bad imitation of a movie undercover cop trying not to be recognized. "John Smith. And that's my snitch." He gestured toward Ariel, who sat across from him, hiding behind a pair of large, tinted sunglasses that obscured most of the top half of her face. "Ruby LaSalle."
Sammie-Jo Sheppard didn't miss a beat. "Well, Mr. Smith. Ms. LaSalle," she said, just as if she'd hadn't recognized the famous television actress. "What can I get you to drink?"
"I'll have a beer. Miller Lite. Ruby?"
"A glass of Chablis."
"And could we get some of those pretzels I see at the bar to munch on while we look at the menu?" Zeke said, giving the waitress one of his effortlessly engaging smiles, the one that asked for special service and offered thanks at the same time.
"Sure thing." Sammie-Jo nodded and hurried away to fill their order.
Ariel hooked a finger over the tortoiseshell nose-piece of her sunglasses and pulled them down at bit. "Friend of yours?" she asked, giving him an arch look over the rim.
Zeke shot her a quick glance across the table, trying to gauge her expression. "Barely an acquaintance," he said, hoping they weren't going to have another discussion about his so-called harem. "I met her for the first time a few days ago at the Wilshire Arms. There's nothing more between us than that."
Ariel smiled to let him know she'd only been teasing. "I wasn't suggesting there was," she said easily, and pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head.
Ladies' man he might be but she'd never heard anyone accuse him of robbing the cradle—and the waitress was younger than Cameron. She reached out and picked up the narrow, laminated card that stood in the middle of the table. It was shaped like a cocktail shaker, with a list of exotic cocktails and coffee drinks on one side and a menu on the other.
"Here you go." Sammie-Jo set cocktail napkins, drinks and a small basket of pretzels in front of them. "I don't mean to hurry you," she said, nodding toward the menu Ariel held, "but the kitchen's only open for another twenty minutes." Her smile was bright and apologetic. "You caught us at the tail end of our lunch service."
"Is this the entire menu?" Ariel asked. "Or just the appetizer list?"
"That's it, I'm afraid. I keep telling Eddie—" she motioned toward the bartender with a tilt of her head "—that we should have some crudites or a small salad or something on there. But he said they tried that once and ended up with a kitchen full of wilted lettuce."
"What's the matter with the menu?" Zeke asked, reaching out to pluck it from Ariel's fingers.
"There's nothing on it that isn't deep-fried or covered in sour cream and melted cheese," his ex-wife lamented. "Or both."
"Don't tell me you're worried about a few grams of fat," Zeke teased, giving her an appreciative leer.
"I have to start shooting the new ad campaign for Gavino in two weeks. One of the dresses they want me to wear is short, black and made of Lycra."
"Oh, well, in that case." He put the menu down. "We'll just have the drinks." He looked up at Sammie-Jo. "And the check."
"The drinks are on me," Sammie-Jo said, giving him a wide, blindingly sweet smile that positively radiated gratitude and youthful sex appeal. "A small token of my thanks."
Five seconds of ponderous silence descended in her wake. Zeke reached out and picked up his beer, burying his nose in the glass for a long swallow, wondering why he felt so damned guilty all of the sudden. He had nothing to feel guilty about.
Ariel ran her fingertip around the rim of her wineglass, watching him, wondering if his uneasiness meant he'd taken to robbing cradles, after all, and hating—absolutely hating!—that she felt threatened by a woman young enough to be her daughter.
"A token of her thanks?" she said carefully, when he put his glass down.
"I arranged for her to audition for a bit part in my next movie. She's an actress."
"And?"
"And what?" he snapped, restive and resentful under her accusing gaze. "C'mon, Ariel, give me a break. She's younger than Cameron."
She raised a delicate eyebrow. "I was wondering if you'd noticed that little fact."
"Of course I noticed. Dammit, I'm not some kind of pervert who preys on young—" He stopped and took a deep breath, willing himself to get past the anger. And the hurt. "Look, sweetheart," he said, his tone deliberately even. "I know we have a ways to go on the trust issue here, but could you give me a little credit for basic decency? I don't fool around with women who are young enough to have gone to school with my daughter. And I don't come on to one woman while I'm out with another."
"Then why were you acting so guilty?"
"Because as soon as she smiled at me like that, I knew you were going to start jumping to conclusions."
Ariel sighed and looked down into her drink. He was right. She had jumped to conclusions. He hadn't reacted to the gorgeous young waitress any differently than he did to any of Cameron's friends. He'd been friendly and charming because that's what he was. She was the one who'd acted inappropriately by reading more into the situation than was there. She felt like an idiot—a jealous, green-eyed idiot. She hated feeling that way.
"Ariel?"
"I'm sorry," she murmured, still staring down into her drink. "I was out of line. You didn't deserve that." She lifted her gaze without quite lifting her head, looking up at him through a concealing fringe of lashes. "Could we just forget it?" she asked sheepishly.
"It's forgotten." He reached out, covering her hand where it lay on the table, stilling the restless movement of her fingers. "Why don't you drink your wine so we can get out of here and go someplace else for lunch?" he said, giving her fingers a quick, encouraging little squeeze. "There's a restaurant called the Happy Sprout not too far from here."
Ariel turned her hand over, twining her fingers with his when he would have drawn away. "And the Wilshire Arms is right next door, isn't it?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he said, just as softly. "It is." He waited a beat, f
or whatever she wanted to say next, but she just sat there, staring down at their entwined fingers. "Ariel?"
"We could get something to eat there, couldn't we? You have food in your refrigerator?"
"Yes, of course, but..." He squeezed her fingers again, silently demanding that she look up at him. "Last night you refused to go there with me because of the bad memories."
"I know. But that was last night. And today... well," she sighed. "Today I think it might be time to face some of those memories and try to put them in perspective. I lied when I said they were all bad. They aren't all bad," she admitted, her eyes still lowered, still staring at their clasped hands. "Some of them are very, very good. It's time to face that, too, I think."
"Well, since we're being honest here, I guess I should admit that I lied last night, too," Zeke confessed. "You were right—I had every intention of trying to seduce you if you came to the Wilshire Arms with me." He reached across the table with his free hand and lifted her chin, making her look at him.
Ariel caught her breath, waiting, her gaze riveted to his, knowing there was more by the burning look in his eyes.
"I still intend to," he said, feeling obligated to give her fair warning. "If you'll let me."
Ariel's heart seemed to stop for a second, and then it took up a faster rhythm, slamming against the wall of her chest. "And if I won't?"
"Then we'll just have lunch."
Their gazes held for a second or two longer, blue eyes staring into brown—hesitant, wary, longing.
"I won't do anything you don't want me to do," he said. "And I promise, whatever happens, I'll take it slow. Trust me."
Chapter 12
They entered the Wilshire Arms through the wrought iron gate of the quiet courtyard instead of the lobby, in an effort to avoid running into anyone who might recognize them. But they needn't have bothered. The building was nearly empty, snoozing in the peaceful and placid quiet of midafternoon when the people who lived in it were gone for the day. Carl Mueller was on his knees, weeding an overgrown bed of hibiscus. He looked up as they passed, following them with his pale gray gaze as they made their way across the sun-scorched concrete. They didn't glance at each other as they walked down the hall to apartment 1-G. They didn't talk. They didn't even touch.
They didn't have to.
The air between them was charged with electricity, thick and heavy with the anticipation of what might be, seething with memories of what had been before, connecting them as surely as if they had still been holding each other's hands.
Inevitably, they were both remembering the first time they had made love. The same place. The same time of day. The same season of the year. She had been in a quiet panic, both excited and frightened by what was about to happen. He had been uncharacteristically nervous, afraid his eagerness would scare her off before he even got her inside the apartment.
Nothing had changed.
Stopping in front of the door to 1-G, Zeke unlocked it, pushed it open and stepped aside, extending his hand to usher her in ahead of him. For a moment, he was afraid she wouldn't enter, but she took a quick breath and stepped over the threshold.
She didn't know what she had expected. The smell of incense, maybe, underscored by the distinctly sweet scent of marijuana. The pulsing sound of Steppenwolf or Three Dog Night rolling down the hall. The black light posters of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and The Grateful Dead that had once decorated the foyer wall. But the apartment was cool and quiet, the air smelled faintly of potpourri and lemon oil, and there was a Georgia O'Keeffe where Jimi Hendrix had been.
Ariel turned around, not sure whether she meant to make some comment about the changes he had made, or bolt out of the apartment. But Zeke had already closed the door. He stood there, his Raiders cap held loosely in his hands, his back to the door, watching her as if he knew she was thinking about running. He had her now, and he wasn't about to let her go, his steady look said. Not until they'd come to some kind of deeper understanding.
Ariel turned away without a word and started down the hall. She could feel his gaze on her as he followed, and she shivered, the feeling rippling down her spine as if he had actually reached out and run his finger down her back.
The living room was a curious, unsettling blend of the past and the present. She slipped her sunglasses off, twisting them between her fingers as she looked around the room. The tall arched windows were the same as the first time she had been there; the wooden shutters; the shabby-genteel, old world charm of the place; even the old Victorian pewter mirror on the wall were all the same. But the beaded curtains were gone; there were no lava lamps or garishly colored beanbag chairs; the secondhand sofa and cable-spool coffee table had been replaced by simple Mission furniture and soothing colors that didn't overshadow the natural elegance of the space.
"It's lovely," she murmured, unable to think of anything else to say.
"I'll tell Patsy you said so," Zeke said as he reached out to relieve her of both her tan leather shoulder bag and the sunglasses that dangled, unheeded, from one hand. He set them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, along with his Raiders cap, and crossed over to the built-in bookcases that housed an impressive array of audio-video equipment and small objets d'art.
Without asking her what she'd like to hear, or taking the time to make a careful selection, he inserted a CD into the player and pushed the On button. He'd played Creedence Clearwater for her last time, she remembered, at decibel levels loud enough to be heard in the next apartment. This time the music was classical, something soft and romantic, just loud enough to be heard under the hum of conversation. If there had been any conversation.
They stood there with the width of the room between them, staring at each other, like two tongue-tied teenagers, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
He wasn't so far removed from the young man he had been, Ariel thought. Standing there, with the soft light from the window at his back, he might almost be the boy she had first fallen in love with. His gleaming sable hair was a little gray at the temples now, his shoulders were heavier, and the shirt tucked into his snug, faded jeans was made of soft expensive white linen instead of tie-dyed cotton. But nothing else seemed to have changed. He still stood in that cocky hip-shot stance, he still exuded raw sex appeal and bad-boy charm, he still made her heart flutter in her chest like a wild bird.
Zeke couldn't believe she was finally here, in the apartment where it had all started, standing in almost the same place she had stood before. She was wearing pale summer sky blue this time, instead of daffodil yellow, a deceptively simple sheath of a dress in a slightly nubby fabric, sleeveless, with the collar turned up against the back of her neck and a row of tiny wooden buttons running all the way down the front to the gently flaring, calf-length hem. Her pale gold hair was cut in a simple sophisticated style that fell to her shoulders from an off-center part instead of cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. But she still looked as fresh and innocent as springtime. And she still had that same startled doe look in her big blue eyes.
She was twenty-five years older now, he marveled, a woman instead of a girl, but that look was exactly the same. And he was an experienced man instead of a cocky boy, but it affected him exactly the same way. He crossed the room toward her.
"Why don't we see what's in the refrigerator?" he said, snagging her around the waist as he headed for the kitchen. "I know there's fresh fruit and yogurt, at least."
But this time, instead of letting him propel her along in his wake, Ariel hung back. "I'm not really hungry, after all," she said. The truth was, she didn't think she'd be able to force even a single bite of food past the tightness in her throat. She was too nervous to eat.
"Would you like some wine? Or some mineral water?"
"No."
He shifted his hold on her, turning their bodies so that they stood face-to-face with his arms around her and his hands clasped loosely at the small of her back. "How about a Coke?" he suggested softly, remember
ing the first time and what they had—or, rather, hadn't—had to drink.
Ariel shook her head.
"No lunch," he said lightly, rocking her from side to side in his hold. "Nothing to drink." He touched his forehead to hers. "Does that mean it's all right if I try to seduce you now?" he whispered.
Unconsciously, Ariel's tongue snaked out, moistening her bottom lip. She hadn't expected quite so direct an approach and it left her speechless. "Ah..."
"Ah?" He pulled back and smiled at her, the look in his eyes wicked and tender at the same time. "Is that a yes or a no?"
Ariel opened her mouth to answer him, but the words wouldn't come. To answer in the affirmative would be to make herself vulnerable again, to admit that she wanted—needed—what only he could give her. She didn't want to need him. But to say no would be a bald-faced lie—one she couldn't bring herself to utter.
She lifted her gaze to his, instead, silently offering what she was too afraid to put into words, hoping he would simply understand and take it. Take her. If she didn't say the words, if she didn't admit to her intemperate, unreasoning need for him, then maybe it wouldn't be quite real. Maybe she could pretend that she wasn't on the verge of committing herself—once again—to a man she didn't trust.
"We could sit on the couch and neck like we did the last time. Remember?" He bent his head, nuzzling aside her collar to press a soft kiss on the side of her throat. "You were so sweet, and so scared."
Ariel managed to shake her head at that, but gently so as not to halt the gentle exploration of his lips along her throat.
"Are you scared now?" he murmured.
"No," she said, but it was a lie, just like the last time. She was terrified. More now than before, because now she knew how much he could hurt her. The thought made her tremble.
Zeke lifted his head to look at her. "Have you changed your mind, sweetheart? Would you like to just have lunch, after all?"
Seduced and Betrayed Page 15
