When You Were Mine (Adams Sisters)

by Byrd, Adrianne

  “If you say so.” Ryan thought about all of Zach’s lusty leers, club hopping and lap dances and just didn’t understand the terms of his friend’s marriage.

  “But what about you? You’re forty-five years old. When are you going to find a nice girl and settle down?” Zach asked.

  “Me?” Ryan laughed.

  “Yeah, you.” A glint of seriousness reflected in his friend’s eyes. “Don’t tell me that you still don’t believe in holy matrimony.”

  Ryan reached for another cigar. “Regardless of what most people think around here, Hollywood and marriage does not mix.”

  “I know, I know,” Zach droned. “It’s hard as hell trying to wade through ambitious actresses and gold diggers, but sometimes, man, you just have to take a leap of faith. You know what I mean?”

  He nodded absently and reminisced on a beautiful pair of long, toned legs gliding through a bathroom window. A smile curled his lips.

  “Maybe you have found the right girl.” Zach grabbed his drink and leaned forward. “Who is she?”

  Ryan blinked out of his reverie to notice the Cheshire grin on his friend’s face. “I didn’t say I met someone.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Zach snickered. “The look on your face says it all. Is she an actress?”

  “There’s no Mrs. Right, but I had a good candidate for Mrs. Right Now that I let slip through my fingers,” Ryan said, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

  “Ah, who is she?” Zach glanced around.

  Ryan clammed up and puffed on his cigar.

  “Hey, I thought we were friends?”

  “So did I.” Ryan’s annoyance returned. “The studio promised to green light A Nation’s Defense if I directed Candyland.”

  Zach winced. “Yeah. That was a stinker.”

  “I told you that, when I read the script,” Ryan said. “And every day while viewing dailies.”

  Zach shrugged as his lips sloped unevenly. “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

  That was Zach’s answer to everything and it pissed Ryan off how his good friend was trying to pull the old bait-and-switch maneuver on him.

  “C’mon.” Zach sobered at Ryan’s permanent frown. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. I’m trying to get your finance package together, but you know how slow things work in this town.”

  “I’m only aware of how fast my career is tanking. My first film was nominated for three Golden Globes and now, twenty years later, I’m begging for scraps. What the hell happened?”

  “It’s just a slump. Don’t worry about it. Trust me. I’m going to take care of you.”

  Ryan envisioned a nail slamming into his coffin. “If I had a nickel every time I heard that, I would have my financing.”

  “Very funny.”

  Ryan held up his glass and signaled to the waitress for another drink and then caught sight of the smudge ink of his hand.

  “Oh, no. No, no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He set his drink down and stared at his hand. Just great. Now he had no way to contact Joey--not that she wanted to hear from him.

  “Ryan?”

  “Uh, nothing.” He waved for the waitress again.

  “C’mon. Relax. Have another drink, pick out one of these delectable beauties and let me worry about the money.”

  Famous last words.

  Zach leaned forward. “Now back to your love life. This girl you were smiling about, she’s not one of Rachelle’s escort girls, is she?”

  “What?”

  “Well, that was Kitten you took to the Candyland premier the other night, right?”

  “I didn’t retain the name.” He frowned at his friend. “How do you know her?”

  “How do you think? She’s an--”

  “Actress,” Ryan cut in.

  “Now, I’m not saying there’s something wrong with Rachelle’s ladies, but word is...you’re not exactly using all the fringe benefits her girls offer.”

  “How in the hell do you know that?” Ryan thundered.

  Zach laughed. “Rachelle is infamous in this town. Nice girl from the Bible belt. Never was a good actress, though her skills on the casting couch are legendary. In the end, she’s starred in, like over a hundred films.”

  “Madame Rachelle is Rachelle Tanner?” Ryan asked, stunned.

  “Ah, you heard of her.” Zach took a deep gulp of his drink.

  He most certainly had. And though he never used “the casting couch,” the practice was alive and well. When Ryan finished marveling over this latest tidbit, he noted Zach still waited for an answer.

  “My love life is fine. Thank you for your concern.”

  “Just hit a dry spell, eh?”

  Ryan shifted again. “Something like that. I should cut out of here.”

  “So soon?”

  He glanced at his watch and stood. “It’s 3:00 a.m.”

  “Exactly. It’s still early.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I think it’s time you went home to tucked in your wife.” He winked. “I’ll see you in Italy.”

  “You won’t regret it.” Zach also stood. “Who knows? Once you peek at what Italy has to offer, you might come back home a married man.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Never say never.”

  #

  “Larry, I’m waiting,” Carlina called seductively from her posh pink bedroom.

  Dr. Laurence Benson cupped another hand of cold water from the bathroom sink and splashed it against his face. In the end, it failed to temper his anger or soothe the pain of his throbbing jaw.

  That’s for Joey.

  Who was the famed director to Joey? As the question floated in his mind, he wondered why the hell he cared. Pausing, he examined his jaw and could see it swelling.

  “Laarrrry,” Carlina sing-songed.

  “I’m coming.” He turned from the mirror and cut off the bathroom light. When he strolled into the nauseatingly pink bedroom, he stopped to see his fiancée posed over plush pillows and dressed in a lacy pink peignoir.

  “I hope you like cotton candy.”

  A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he found the sex kitten didn’t successfully erase Joey Adams from his mind.

  What in the hell was wrong with him? Was it possible that he made a mistake?

  “What’s the matter?” Carlina sat up with a pout.

  “Nothing...I just need to make a phone call.”

  She blinked. “Now?”

  He nodded absently and dug his cell phone out of his pants pocket. “Yeah, I’ll go in the living room to make the call.”

  “But--”

  “It will only take a minute,” he said, and strolled out of the room.

  #

  Michael showed up at Joey’s front door dressed in black...which included the silk cap and combat boots. “Let’s rock and roll.”

  Joey, still dressed in her pajamas, blinked numbly at her.

  Michael jabbed a hand into her hip. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind about this?”

  “No...yes.” Joey slumped against the door. “I don’t know.”

  “I do.” Michael stormed into the house. “This man played you, and he’s not going to get away with it. So wipe your face and get dressed. SpongeBob isn’t going to cut it.”

  Michael’s bossiness sprang Joey into action as she acquiesced with a quick nod and rushed to her room. Fifteen minutes later she was dressed and sitting in the passenger seat of Michael’s Volvo.

  “There’s a thin line between love and hate,” Michael said with her eyes locked on the road ahead. “Some of these men would do best to remember that.”

  Joey nodded. “Do we have a plan?”

  “I always have a plan.” Michael turned onto the freeway. “Dr. Laurence Benson will rue the day he crossed an Adams.”

  Glancing over at her sister, Joey wondered for the first time whether Michael was really referring to Joey’s ex-almost-fiancé or someone a little closer to hom
e. “Mike, is everything okay between you and Phil?”

  Her sister clenched her jaw. “Peachy.”

  It was a lie, Joey realized as she studied her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Michael took her exit ramp without a turning signal and Joey quickly rechecked the security of her seatbelt. “Maybe Peyton was right. We are getting too old for toilet papering front yards.”

  “I agree.” Mike took another sharp right.

  “You do?”

  “Yep.” Mike glanced over at her. “I have something better in mind.

  Joey’s stomach clenched with anxiety. Michael’s calmness worried her. What exactly did she get herself into?

  She didn’t wait long for an answer.

  Michael, an artist when it came to revenge, had packed for a masterpiece. Laurence’s high-tech security system seemed to insult Michael’s intelligence, and they were in the house in less than a minute flat. Once inside, they started off with a Michael classic: super gluing everything in place.

  Next, they poured industrial strength blue dye in the hot tub, filtered Nair into all the shampoo bottles, and squeezed liquid soap onto his toothbrush. In the kitchen, they punched holes into cans of tuna and then hid them in different cabinets for a 360-degree stank effect.

  In the garage, since the Mercedes was gone, they poured three bottles of baby powder into the defroster vents of Laurence’s Porsche and then turned the knob so it was set on high defrost for whenever he started the car. Joey wished they had cameras so she could see Laurence’s reaction when he came home.

  It was official: Joey had gone over to the dark side.

  Michael took great pleasure in brushing a thin coat of vegetable oil inside and outside of the windshield and for a final touch: rocks in the hubcaps.

  “Now, let this be a lesson to you, Sis. Never lose your cool, never let them see you cry and never let them get the best of you.”

  Joey nodded, but her curiosity about the state of Mike and Phil’s relationship bubbled to the forefront of her mind.

  By the time they returned to the Volvo parked two blocks away, Joey grudgingly admitted she felt much better.

  She was a criminal...but she felt better…right up until she saw the blue lights flashing behind them.

  Chapter 8

  The morning sun warmed Lincoln’s face as he snuggled closer against Peyton, dreading the prospect of having to get out of bed. Hands down, last night was the best sleep he’d had since the renovation began on their new home.

  A lazy smile drifted across his face as his mind crowded with erotic images of his wife. He had no trouble recalling the taste of her sweet lips or the silkiness of her thighs. In fact, he wanted to bury himself between them right now.

  He squeezed her tighter, drew her back against him, and placed a tender kiss against her lower earlobe.

  “Lincoln?”

  “Hmm?” he moaned.

  “Did you just kiss me?”

  He chuckled softly, squeezed her close. But before he could answer, the heavy baritone penetrated his mind’s purple haze and his eyes widened with a jolt.

  “Linc?”

  “Uh...” Lincoln took in his surroundings. To his horror, it wasn’t Peyton he snuggled against but instead his mountain of a brother-in-law.

  “Lincoln, why did you just kiss me?”

  “Why are you holding my hand?”

  A solitary knock against the door drew the men’s attention, but it opened before either had a chance to react.

  “Linc...” Peyton glided through the door and froze. “What--”

  “Is anyone coming down for breakfast?” Marlin Adams, the family patriarch inquired as he, too, stepped into the room and then stood shell-shocked next to his youngest daughter.

  “Hi, dad.” Flex smiled. “Surprise.”

  The color drained from Marlin’s face.

  Lincoln finally found his voice. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Peyton and her father remained silent and rooted in place.

  “See what had happened was--”

  “He kissed me,” Flex said, and consequently made matters worse.

  Peyton’s eyes shifted to her husband. “You kissed my brother?”

  “I…I thought he was you,” Lincoln offered as an explanation, but could tell by the rise of her eyebrows she found that hard to believe. “Well, I know he doesn’t look like you, but...I told him to sleep on the couch.”

  “I need a drink.” Marlin turned on his heel and marched out the way he came.

  “It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Peyton reminded him.

  “Good point. I better make it a double.”

  Lincoln detangled himself. “Mr. Adams, I swear nothing happened.” He turned toward Flex. “Tell him.”

  Flex smiled and folded his arms behind his head. “Aw, he’ll be fine.”

  Embarrassment blazed up Lincoln’s neck. “Mr. Adams!”

  Peyton covered a hand over her mouth in a sad attempt to muffle a snicker.

  “I’m so happy you find this amusing.” Lincoln jumped out of bed. “This is your fault.”

  “Mine?” Peyton laughed. “I didn’t tell you to put the moves on my baby brother. I knew you were horny, but--”

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he warned, grabbing his robe and rushing out the door. “Mr. Adams! Wait. I need to talk to you!”

  Peyton turned her wide grin toward her brother. “Welcome home.”

  “It’s good to be home.”

  The two collapsed with laughter.

  Joey pried open her wet, swollen eyes only to stare blankly at the ceiling. For a moment last night’s crime spree seemed like a bad dream, but when the unmistakable sound of steel slamming on steel echoed around the stone walls, the truth hit home. It had been no dream.

  Neither was their arrest.

  “We’re entitled to a phone call,” Michael barked to a passing guard. “Both of us!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the guard chanted. “You’ll get your call. Just hold onto your panties.”

  Michael exhaled a long huff. “Can you believe this crap?” she asked Joey.

  “I can’t believe a lot of things right now,” Joey sighed and sat up on the metal bed. Her gaze swept to the small cluster of women in the opposite corner. All of them dressed in rubber-band skirts, too tight tank-tops, and ridiculous high heels. However, one had on a pair of familiar stilettos.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t shut off the alarm,” she whispered toward her sister.

  “I did shut off the alarm.” Michael shrugged. “I just didn’t shut off the second alarm¾the silent one.”

  Joey rolled her eyes and somehow remained calm.

  “I want my phone call,” Michael yelled.

  “The more noise you keep up, the longer it takes to get your call,” Ms. Stilettos informed them in between smacks of her bubble gum.

  Michael’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Well,” Joey sighed. “If we go to jail, at least we’ll be there together.”

  Michael’s gaze cut toward her. “That jerk won’t send us to jail.” A rippled of doubt crossed her hard expression. “Will he?”

  “I don’t know what Larry will do,” Joey answered. The dregs of her sugar-high ebbed away and in its place a maddening headache pulsed. “Are you going to call Phil?”

  Michael’s hands tightened around the cell’s bars. “I don’t know. Then again, San Jose is five hours away--three if Sheldon drives. That’s a long time to wait for another family member to get up here.”

  Joey cocked her head and stared at her sister’s granite pose. “Mike, what’s really going on with you and Phil?”

  Her sister didn’t answer.

  “You know I can keep a secret.”

  For a long while, Michael said nothing, but then when she finally spoke, it was just above a whisper. “Phil and I--”

  “Michael Anthony Matthews and Joseph Henry Adams?” the female gu
ard shouted down the jail’s long corridor.

  Michael wiped her eyes. “Over here!”

  “Michael and Joseph? What are you two¾drag queens or something?” Ms. Stilettos asked, approaching Michael and inspecting her face. “You girls are the best I’ve ever seen.”

  Joey rolled her eyes.

  “You two ladies are in luck. Dr. Benson called from the airport and stated he wasn’t going to press charges.”

  The other women in the jail cell clapped and whistled.

  “Those two were beginning to sound like a soap opera,” one of them griped.

  Michael flashed them a bird.

  Joey ignored them. “Did you say the airport? Is he going out of town?”

  “What do I look like, honey—his personal secretary?” The plump guard sauntered into view as she inserted the key into their jail cell. “All I can tell you is that you’re free to go.”

  #

  Ryan couldn’t believe he paid someone five times a week to torture his body into shape. It was insanity, but also a necessity. The world was a young man’s playground, more so today than any other time, and he was in it to win.

  During his ten-mile run, Ryan thought a great deal about Joey. In particular, her long legs and her mischievous but innocent dark eyes.

  Maybe when he returned from location, he could call an agency or something to find her. He knew her name and he definitely remembered every detail of her face. Was six months sufficient time for a woman to mourn a breakup? If he called too soon he could accidentally be filed into the rebound-guy category, or was it called the transition guy? He never mastered relationship lingo.

  Of course, there was the small problem of her hating his guts, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

  “Good workout,” his trainer, Ken, boasted as they slowed to a stop at Ryan’s front door.

  Ryan nodded and bent low at the waist to drag in a deep gulp of air. He glanced at Ken, annoyed the man didn’t have sweat glands.

  “How long are you going to be gone this time?”

  “Four to six months.”

  “Long time.” Ken smiled. “Do you need me to come and help you keep your regime up?”

  Hell, no. “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “Sure thing.” Ken jogged over to his Mercedes with way too much reserved energy. “I’ll make sure my people call your people,” he joked.