Lovers and Liars

by Brenda Joyce

  For a long time he didn’t speak. Then he said, his voice barely audible, “That bastard is still after me.”

  57

  She was stunned.

  Not even furious, just stunned.

  Even if she hadn’t been planning on going to the Kellers’ party tonight, she would have come to Aspen now to confront Abe. What in hell was he up to?

  It was only yesterday, the last day of the shoot before the holiday break, that she had first heard the rumors. She’d been sipping a coffee and eating a sandwhich; everyone was taking lunch. She’d been flipping through The New York Times, probably Mascione’s copy. Her friend the gaffer had joined her. Belinda paused when she saw a photo of her parents leaving a tremendous New York benefit ball at the Met. Before she could turn the page the gaffer said, “I wonder if it’s true.”

  “What?”

  “All the rumors.”

  She tossed the paper aside and picked up her sandwich. “What rumors?”

  “The takeover rumors.”

  “What takeover rumors?”

  “Jesus! Haven’t you heard? Word’s out that North-Star’s about to be raided.” The gaffer raised his Coke. “By that guy, Glassman.”

  Her world became deathly still. “What?”

  “He’s been buying up stock like crazy. He says it’s just friendly investing, but everyone I know says he’s gonna take over the studio. Can you believe it? We’re in the middle of a corporate raid!”

  A sick feeling started to well up within her.

  Just what the fuck was Abe up to?

  “So how’s the big-time screenwriter?” Abe asked the minute she stepped inside his Aspen duplex condo.

  “Hello, dear,” Nancy said, an elegant vision in designer jeans and tons of silver-and-turquoise Indian jewelry.

  “Hello, Mom,” Belinda said, and then she turned to face Abe. “Is it true?”

  “You look like you swallowed some turpentine. Is what true? Can’t you even say hi to your old man?”

  “Is it true, Abe?” Belinda grated. “Are you raiding North-Star? Are the rumors true?”

  Abe looked at her; then he laughed. “They ain’t rumors, babe.”

  “You shit!” Belinda ground out.

  Nancy, behind her, went white.

  “Don’t you talk to me that way,” Abe said, hard.

  “Why? Why are you doing it? It’s me—isn’t it?”

  “You?” Abe lifted a brow. “Don’t flatter yourself!”

  He was lying—Belinda knew it. “What are you up to? It’s an awfully big coincidence that you’re taking over a company I’m working for!”

  “Before this raid I already owned eight percent of North-Star,” Abe said calmly. “This was strictly a business deal, and you have nothing to do with it.”

  She didn’t believe him. Did she?

  “Do you think I’m gonna piss away millions of dollars? I’ve been eyeing this company for a long time, Belinda. I didn’t get to where I am today by making stupid personal decisions. Besides, what in hell would I have to gain by taking over North-Star as far as you’re concerned?”

  “I don’t know,” Belinda said. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Abe laughed. “Well, you keep on thinking long and hard, and you’ll figure out that you don’t have anything to do with this.”

  Belinda looked at him. She knew only one thing—she didn’t trust him. She knew him too well.

  58

  “Jack, this is silly.”

  Jack stood bare-chested in the bedroom of the condo he was renting. He rummaged through his suitcase, then pulled out his favorite sweater and pulled it on. “Did you reach anyone, Mel—anyone?”

  Mel stood watching him. Why was he insisting on going to this party now? He had just been devastated. He needed to relax. He needed comforting—her comforting. Why did he have to face the vultures that would gather around him at the Kellers? “No, lack, everyone’s gone until the first.”

  Jack was expressionless, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I sure as hell could use a drink,” he said more to himself than to her.

  Melody’s eyes went wide. She bit her lip, not sure what to say.

  He looked at her, laughing, not a particularly happy sound. “Don’t worry, I need to stay sober to fight fucking Glassman.”

  “Jack, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for Berenger’s cancellation.”

  His gaze, furious, pinned her. “This is personal. Glassman is trying to fuck me—personally. Do you understand?” Before Melody could answer, he was jamming his thumb at her. “Do you know what that film means to me? To my career? The difference between being a teenybopper’s TV idol and a frigging movie star! Movie star! I worked on that film for four months, Mel, four fucking months—and I was good, I mean, damn good! And now, now he’s reaming me, the son of a bitch.”

  “But, Jack, why would he do this to you?”

  “Because I laid his wife.”

  She gasped.

  “Sixteen years ago, Mel. I was twenty-one, for God’s sake. And she wanted it—believe me—badly. Christ, that was the loneliest woman I have ever seen!”

  “Jack, that’s crazy—”

  “Yeah, well, you tell the crazy man that. After I got out of the hospital—oh, I didn’t tell you, did I?” He was bitter. “He had three thugs beat the shit out of me after he found out. I almost died. After I got out of the hospital, I couldn’t keep a job. I kept getting fired. Glassman had one of his thugs chasing around after me, paying everyone off to see I stayed out of work. My spot in acting class had been taken, and the bitch wouldn’t give me another one. A girl I was shacking up with threw me out. Believe me, Mel, I know. He paid her off, the cocksucker. I had about ten dollars to my name, and I was on the streets of New York.”

  “What did you do, Jack?”

  He laughed harshly. “Picked up some rich broad who paid me for fucking her.”

  Melody’s expression was full of pity and compassion.

  “For God’s sake, don’t look at me that way,” he snapped, striding out of the room, brushing past her rudely. “Are you going to get ready, or not?”

  “Yes, yes,” Melody said and hurried into her own room to find something suitable to wear.

  Jack stared at the well-stocked bar. Wanting it. A drink.

  He hadn’t craved alcohol like this, not in years.

  Abe Glassman was not going to drive him back to drink.

  Abe Glassman was not going to destroy him.

  He was going to fight—somehow. After all, he’d been raised on the streets, and he’d been born a fighter. No, Glassman wasn’t going to win—not this time.

  Too much was at stake.

  His career was at stake.

  59

  Jack was having a horrible time.

  But he was dutifully making the rounds, with a pleasant look plastered on his face.

  The Kellers had a mansion on Red Mountain, with two-hundred-and-eighty-degree views of a nighttime Aspen glittering at their feet. The party took up three huge rooms, beginning with a vast stone-floored entryway below a huge skylight. The living room was even larger; it too had stone flooring, and at least a dozen seating areas. There were a hundred people in this room and the dining room, where a buffet that would have done Bel Air justice graced one long, pine-planked wall. The house was typical Aspen, a combination of country and contemporary, stone and wood, huge windows everywhere to show off the magnificent views.

  At least a dozen people had mentioned the Berenger cancellation, showing just the right amount of sympathy. Half of these dozen people reassured him that with editing even the worst of films could be made palatable. Jack smiled and nodded amiably.

  Inside, he was furious. Berenger was good—damn good. He knew it. Everyone who had seen the rushes agreed. And he knew he was great in the film—not good, great. Oscar material.

  The other half of his consolers prodded and pried into his feelings, with barely disguised glee, trying to get
him to reveal himself. He could feel their panting, bated breath. They wanted him to fail. It wasn’t just Hollywood—it was people. They loved a rags-to-riches-to-rags story. It was the best kind of story there was.

  And on top of that, there were a lot of people who were jealous of how big he had made it, and how “fast.” Eleven years of grunt work before having been discovered didn’t count to them. They saw only that he’d had the lead in a series pilot; then eight months later he’d been touted as the Sexiest Man in Hollywood, the network’s Golden Boy. He had signed a new contract (reputed to be half a million a year), been seduced by independents, million-dollar commercials, specials, a lead in a six-hour miniseries. Half of Hollywood hated him and tonight that half seemed to be here.

  He spotted Melody looking very bored as she chatted with a couple he didn’t know. Safe territory, and he headed for it, making his way over to her. “Jesus,” he said, taking her aside.

  “How is it going?”

  “Just great,” he said sarcastically, scanning the sea of people swirling around him.

  “Jack, why are we here? Let’s leave.”

  “So everyone can think I’m afraid to be seen? No, thanks.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Melody said. “Let’s go somewhere quiet and get a bite to eat, just you and me.”

  “I appreciate the concern, Mel,” he said, softening. At least she was in his corner. Melody would never desert him. He took her hand and squeezed it.

  And then he saw her.

  First his eye caught a flash of gold. As if on cue, a couple in his line of vision moved aside. She stood talking to three men.

  Belinda.

  He hadn’t forgotten her. To the contrary. He’d given her more than a few thoughts since he’d last seen her. To be precise, he had been anticipating returning to the set—returning to her. To continue where they’d left off, To finish what they’d started that night so many months ago.

  The gold knit top she wore tonight was very thin, and it clung to her broad shoulders and full bosom. Black leather pants fit like a second skin. Strong and sexy, and tonight she was going to be his.

  She was standing as if poised, laughing now, at something one of the men with her had said. It was her fancy boyfriend, but Jack didn’t give a damn. His heart was thudding, and he could feel a new tightness in his jeans. How had he ever let her get away?

  Nothing was going to stop him tonight.

  Nothing—and no one.

  This was just what he needed in order to forget Berenger. In fact, he had already forgotten.

  60

  Jackson Ford.

  She was already throbbing with sexual excitement, swollen and wet.

  Belinda was having fantasy after fantasy of Ford driving his cock into her, of going down on her, and she was having trouble concentrating on anything. Or anyone. Other than him.

  He was the most magnificent male she had ever laid eyes on.

  And he knew it. There was no doubt of that. The one thing he wasn’t was modest. He flirted outrageously, and the women flocked to him.

  It increased her excitement.

  This was long overdue.

  The past two weeks, since she had last seen him, had been a contradiction. Amazingly exciting—after all, it was her first production. And amazingly boring—without him there. The anticipation, knowing she was going to have him when they went back into production after the holiday, had been so sweet—and so agonizing. Now the waiting was over.

  A while ago she had thought he was coming over to her. Finally. But he had stopped just outside her group, to shake hands and chat and flash his liquid-inducing grin with some Aspenites. He had been close enough for her to see that his cock was bulging very obviously against the tight faded jeans. She had lost her breath, mesmerized by the sight of him, the sight of that. Then he had looked past the woman he was talking to, at her. He had smiled, slowly, dazzlingly. With sheer sexual promise.

  She drifted away from the group she had been talking to, searching for a ladies’ room. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and she had been emitting incredible amounts of high-voltage lubrication. She was going to fuck his brains out tonight. Nothing else mattered, not Outrage, not Abe, nothing.

  Where was he now?

  The house was full of bathrooms, almost a dozen. This particular bathroom belonged to a bedroom and was carpeted wall-to-wall. The Jacuzzi could fit six, easily, and the window surrounding it caught the dazzle of night lights from the town in the valley. She stepped inside, and faced the full-length mirror. Her face was flushed.

  She patted her face with powdered paper, flicked at nonexistent smudges on eyeliner. Her makeup was very dramatic, to go with her mood—sable brown and gold on her eyes, and red, red lips that would look garish on most women, but not on her. She pulled out her lipstick, about to reapply.

  And then she saw him in the mirror.

  Their eyes met in the glass.

  Jack smiled, his eyes moving to her reflection and then roaming down her back and legs.

  She turned around. His gaze settled on her eyes, her mouth, lingering—then her breasts and their pointed nipples straining against the knit top. And lower.

  Belinda swallowed. She was very dry-mouthed. She couldn’t speak.

  Jack took two steps and placed his hands on her shoulders. She could hear his breathing, feel his breath on her forehead. His fingers dug softly into her flesh, kneading. Then he trailed a barely-there finger to her neck, pausing. He briefly looked into her eyes. His finger glided down her chest and into the deep V of her top.

  He ran soft, gentle hands around her back. Setting her on fire. They came back to her shoulders, toyed, moved to her neck. He cupped her face, bringing it close. His eyes, green and hot, held hers. His mouth descended slowly, agonizingly slowly.

  The contact sent her to heaven.

  His mouth moved with an incredible softness, and shudders racked both his body and hers.

  And then he had her in an iron grip, hands moving frantically to her buttocks, pulling her against his massive prick, his mouth bruising hers. Belinda moaned, flinging her arms around him, pushing against him, meeting brutal kiss with brutal kiss.

  He had her breasts in his hands. Squeezing, his tongue deep in her mouth. Belinda pulled on his buttocks, rubbing her swollen, wet pussy against his thick erection, finding a rhythm, whimpering, desperate for the orgasm she was so close to. Searching, seeking, determined. Jack’s hands moved to her buttocks, helping her stroke him.

  He was suddenly gone, and Belinda was bereft. Only to realize he was on his knees, pressing his face against her crotch, his breath fanning her like hot flames. He kissed her through the slick leather, the pressure exquisite, and Belinda was lost.

  “Please,” she moaned.

  She was on the floor, on her back. He pulled off her boots, the hot skins of her pants. With his fingers he parted her thick, wet lips, and then his mouth was there, lapping at her, exploring the deep pink folds. With his tongue he lifted her tumescent cht, trailing along the length of its underside, back and forth. He took it in his mouth, sucking, pulling gently. He flicked the tip of his tongue over it, around it, coaxing it into larger dimensions. Belinda grabbed his head. Moaning and sobbing as the contractions spiraled with a violence she had never felt before. The orgasm lingered for a final, startling explosion and began to fade.

  Her heart was still thudding when consciousness returned. Her eyes flew open, and she lifted her head. Jack was staring up at her, on his stomach on the floor, each of her naked thighs draped across his shoulders, his chin lost in the nest of her pubic hair.

  “Good God,” Belinda breathed.

  “You came too fast,” Jack said. “I’m not through.”

  A rush of indignation. Belinda struggled to sit, but he held her down, with a hoarse laugh, and then the laugh was gone. He lowered his head, and his tongue moved restlessly back into her moist slit, sliding lower, stiffening, plunging into her cunt.

  Belinda moaned. Sinking
into the carpet.

  Voices.

  Female voices, and even as Jack said, “Oh, shit!” and as Belinda realized that the door was opening, it was too late.

  Two women stopped in midsentence, gasping, too stunned to move. Belinda sat with her legs spread and Jackson Ford on his knees, his head poised intimately over her glistening genitals.

  The women ran out.

  Belinda looked at his golden head. It was bobbing up and down—but he wasn’t touching her. Why hadn’t that bastard moved off of her? And then she heard a sound. A strangled sound. He was laughing.

  He lifted his head, and she saw that he was choking with laughter, tears in his eyes. Belinda smiled. Jack rocked back on his heels. Hysterical.

  “Can you imagine!” He sputtered. “Can you imagine!” He was holding onto his stomach.

  Belinda began laughing too.

  61

  Going back downstairs would have amused Jack terribly, if he weren’t so insane with desire for Belinda. They didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to make plans. Jack kept a firm grip on her arm, glancing at her admiringly. Belinda looked like the cat that had lapped all the cream. Not in the least bit embarrassed. In the foyer they waited for her coat.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “My place is out—my father’s there, and we also have company.” She was looking at him out of intense brown eyes. He felt a kind of pang, something deep and tugging and not at all physical.

  “I have to go tell my friend I’m leaving,” he said. He knew that Melody wouldn’t mind.

  “So do I,” Belinda said, grinning conspiratorially.

  Jack found himself smiling back.

  Melody just stared when he told her to enjoy herself and that he’d leave the door open. He was wishing he had come alone, so he could have glorious Belinda all to himself for the entire weekend. They would make love all day and all night—to hell with skiing. Maybe once he buried his dick deep inside her he would never come out. God!

  His ache was bad. What had happened before was only a tease. He needed more—a lot more.