by Jane Porter
Her eyebrows arched, but she took another bite of salad instead of replying. It seemed safer to eat the sweet-tart vinaigrette salad than discuss his expertise in fake breasts and lips.
“Can I have a word with you alone? In private?” Wolf suddenly growled into her ear.
She turned toward him, apple and cheese skewered on her fork. “Why?”
His dark eyes snapped with fire. “Alone,” he repeated. “In private.”
Wolf stood up, pushed his chair back and took her by the elbow.
With his hand on her lower back, he pressed her through the restaurant and down the hallway until he found a small alcove by the pay phones.
“What are you doing?” Wolf demanded, turning on her. “What game are you playing?”
Alexandra shook her head, nonplussed. “Game? There’s no game. I was having dinner, talking to Will—”
“Will’s pathological. He has to get in every woman’s pants.”
She jerked her head back as if slapped. “Well, he’s not getting in mine, and we were just exchanging a few words. Pleasantries, that’s all.”
Wolf’s features tightened. “He was looking at you as though he’d devour you any moment.”
“If you didn’t notice, I was devouring my salad.”
“You’re supposed to be devouring me.”
Alexandra gasped with outrage and shock. Her jaw dropped, her eyes grew wide. And then she snapped her jaw closed and came out swinging. “Sorry, Wolf, but I’m afraid I don’t have the experience!”
She gave him a shove, her hand connecting with his chest, and she’d pushed at him so hard her wrist did a painful little snap, but he didn’t budge.
Wolf felt her hand hit his chest, but he didn’t move a muscle. He couldn’t. He was wound too tight.
No one and nothing got under his skin, not anymore. He wanted to believe that, but since meeting Alexandra Shanahan, she’d lived under his skin.
His gaze swept her face. “What do you mean that you haven’t the experience?”
Her dark blue eyes snapped at him. “I mean that I’m not an actress and I haven’t devoured lots of men and I can’t do whatever it is you want me to do.”
“Are we talking oral sex or intercourse?”
He watched, fascinated, as a wave of color stormed her cheeks.
“And that,” she choked out, tendrils of hair falling around her face, “is none of your business.”
“Just like my sex life is none of your business.”
“That’s because you have one and I don’t!”
He leaned toward her, trapping her between the pay phone and the wall. “You could.”
Another wave of color surged through her cheeks, darker, hotter than before. Her blue eyes shimmered. “It’s not in our contract,” she said through gritted teeth, nose in the air, cocky as a little girl in a denim skirt and cowboy boots.
“No,” he muttered, “but this is.” He closed the distance between them with one aggressive step.
Alexandra’s heart thumped wildly and she pressed backward, her hands behind her, knuckles tight against the wall. He loomed over her, so tall, so big, so much more powerful, and it wasn’t even his height that made him strong or his frame but the force inside him, that fire. He was alive and intense, engaged and aware.
She didn’t want him to kiss her, didn’t want him anywhere near her. But once his head dipped, it was like last night at Casa Del Mar’s Veranda lounge.
Bolts of electricity shot through her, and that was even before his mouth completely covered hers.
And then when his lips did take hers, she felt the electricity again, hotter, brighter, sharper.
He felt good. He felt amazing. Unreal.
Her mouth softened. The pressure of his lips increased and her heart raced, fast, faster, as fire and hunger whipped through her.
She groaned as he parted her mouth with his tongue, groaned again as his tongue flicked the inside of her inner bottom lip, tasting her, teasing her, making her want more of him.
This wasn’t a kiss, she realized, dazed. This was his first step in seducing her, taking her, and he intended to do it. Despite the contract.
But would that change when he realized she really was as inexperienced as she said?
Back at the table, Wolf sat with his arm draped over the back of Alexandra’s chair. And her chair was close to his—so close that no one could mistake his actions for anything but a sign of possession.
He was claiming her, marking his territory, letting the other men know to stay away and letting other women know he was taken.
Alexandra, he noticed, didn’t like it.
“You might as well put a Sold sign on me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he answered, smiling faintly at her pink-cheeked indignation. He’d never met a woman who blushed so much—or made a simple blush so alluring.
Studying her profile, he found it hard to believe she was as inexperienced with men as she claimed. How could she be when she was so ridiculously pretty?
He looked at her thoughtfully, almost clinically, trying to understand what it was about her that made him want to put that Sold sign on her.
Maybe it was that leggy tomboy stride of hers, or her mouth that was endlessly expressive, sometimes set, sometimes pursed, sometimes smiling most beguilingly.
Wolf didn’t know which he liked better—that full mouth with the tiny indentation in the bottom lip or the midnight-blue eyes set so wide beneath winged eyebrows.
Or her sharp mind and sassy tongue.
His sardonic smile stretched.
She was a breathtaking combination of girl and woman, funny, sensitive, proud, uncertain. Unlike the women in Los Angeles who pursued him, women who blatantly advertised their interest and availability, Alexandra didn’t project her sexuality. It was hidden, secret, and yet when he kissed her, she became a different woman.
She became his woman.
It was as simple as that.
Later, as they drove from Spago back to Alexandra’s house, she sat as far as she could from Wolf in the snug sports car and kept her eyes firmly fixed out the passenger window.
Wolf had reached a whole new level of despicability. He’d shown his true colors, behaved like a member of the animal kingdom more than once.
“You’re still upset about the kiss,” Wolf said.
His nonchalance only antagonized her further. “Everyone noticed your behavior at dinner.” She threw him a disgusted look. “You kept your arm on my shoulder throughout the meal as though you were afraid I’d bolt away any minute.”
“I wasn’t afraid you’d run away. Your heels are far too high—”
“Wolf, don’t play the charming-Irishman card right now, okay?”
“And I like touching you,” he continued smoothly as though she’d never interrupted. “You’re my girlfriend. It’s my prerogative.”
“And that’s how it felt, too. It was your prerogative to touch me. Your prerogative to kiss me. Your prerogative to do whatever you damn well pleased.” She finally turned to face him. “Next time why don’t you just pee all over me like an alpha wolf should.”
He’d pulled up in front of her house, and turning off the engine, he flashed her a lazy white-toothed grin. “Hmm, kind of kinky for a girl without much experience, but if that’s what you want—”
Alexandra threw the door open and jumped out of the car before she had to listen to another word.
And as she undressed for bed, peeling the smart, sexy black dress off, Alexandra wanted to scream with frustration. Spending time with Wolf was hard, far harder than she’d even imagined. It wasn’t just one thing, it was everything. He wasn’t just physically gorgeous, his personality was huge, his charisma larger than life.
He was far more than she could handle, and she’d known it, she’d known it from the beginning, but she wanted that promotion. She wanted it badly.
And unless you’d been a little girl who’d grown up o
utside a small town, you didn’t appreciate that for girls in small towns opportunity meant a job at Wal-Mart and success meant one day owning your own car free and clear. Unless you’d been the only girl in a family of overbearing brothers, you didn’t understand the value of dreaming, and dreaming big.
Unless you’d listened to the sound of television late into the night, the canned laughter on TV shows and overly loud commercials the only sound in your house after everyone else had gone to bed, you didn’t know the definition of escape.
You didn’t know how important it was to get away and become someone else, something better, something more.
But Alexandra knew all these things, had lived all these things, and she decided years ago she’d have a different life than her mother, her father, her brothers. She’d do it differently than the people who seemed to just get swept along by life.
She wouldn’t be swept along. She’d do the sweeping.
She wouldn’t ever make anyone take care of her.
But Wolf Kerrick seemed determined to change all that. In fact, if she let herself really think about it, it felt as though Wolf Kerrick was sweeping her.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEXANDRA’S FIRST thought on waking was that she needed to call Wolf immediately, before she lost her nerve.
“We need to talk,” she said crisply, her tone no-nonsense when he answered the phone. “You hired me to make things better, not worse, and it’s important we find a way to keep our public appearance positive.”
If she’d caught him off guard, he gave no indication. “I agree,” he said.
Alexandra couldn’t read his inflection. “I can’t help your image if we can’t even communicate,” she continued stiffly. “So I propose we work harder at creating clearer communication channels.”
“Communication channels, yes.”
She understood then that he was, without a doubt, mocking her. And Alexandra knew that she had a choice—she could call him on his attitude, thus detouring from the purpose of her call, or she could let his sarcasm slide. She chose to let his sarcasm slide. “Before we go out again,” she persisted, “and before we make another appearance, we need to choreograph the evening.”
Wolf cleared his throat. “Are we entering a dance competition, by chance?”
Alexandra chose to ignore this bit of sarcasm, too. “I need to know before we go places what you expect and how we’re both to behave. I can’t wing it anymore. I’m not an actress and I can’t improvise the way you can.”
There was silence on his end of the phone and the silence seemed to stretch endlessly.
Exasperated, she closed her eyes, counted to five. “Did you hear me?”
“What?” he asked innocently.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You’re right.” And then his tone changed, his rough voice deepened. “So let me make this easier. We’ve a premiere Saturday afternoon. It’s a matinee since it’s a children’s film. I did the voice for one of the characters and I’ve promised to be there. You’ll attend and—” he broke off, hesitated as if searching for the right word “—pretend to enjoy me.”
Alexandra flushed hotly. “That’s not exactly the choreographed routine I was imagining. It sounds more like a set of military orders.”
“But at least you know my expectations.”
“And what about mine?” she flashed, furious that she was losing her temper yet again but unable to stop it. He had the most negative effect on her. From the beginning he’d annihilated her self-control.
“Well, you can expect to have your photograph taken, and expect to stand by my side and expect to be paid.” He paused. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” she choked out, hanging up.
The rest of the week passed too quickly for Alexandra’s taste, knowing that on Saturday she’d be with Wolf again, attending the premiere.
She’d only been seeing him a few days, but already she was exhausted, worn out trying to juggle work responsibilities during the day and appearances with him.
Fortunately she was looking forward to the film. Even though it was only a matinee for The Little Toy Solider, the newest Pixar animation, Alexandra was looking forward to seeing exactly what happened at premieres.
She’d read about them for years in People magazine, seen the photos of celebrities attending, and now she was finally going to one.
Even better, it was the premiere of an animated film—Alexandra’s secret favorite. Back before her brother Brock had been widowed, she used to go into Bozeman, Montana, with his late wife Amy and their kids to see all the Disney films. In her mind, Saturday afternoons were made for movies, and she was glad to be going, eager to see just what kind of cartoon toy soldier Wolf’d be.
A stylist arrived at Alexandra’s house early Saturday morning, bringing with her several wardrobe options. Jointly Alexandra and the stylist settled on the low-hipped sexy charcoal trousers cinched by a wide gray croc belt with an enormous round pewter studded buckle. On top she was wearing a burnout velvet tank in a color somewhere between lemon and mustard, topped by a fitted cropped coat of the same rich, saturated color.
She’d accessorized with sleek pewter heels and a chunky two-strand gray-and-white alabaster necklace. Her hair had been flatironed and it hung smooth and sleek past her shoulders. Makeup was even more subtle: pale foundation, lightly lined eyes in gray pencil, lots of mascara and a soft, neutral lip color called Naked for her mouth.
When Wolf arrived at one to pick her up, he was dressed casually elegant in jeans, a white dress shirt and a dark gray Armani jacket. He wasn’t behind the wheel today. Instead he had a driver and a limo, important for the red-carpet arrivals.
He was cool and distant during the ride, and Alexandra sat opposite him, savoring the last bit of privacy before they stepped onto the red carpet and into the flash of a hundred camera strobes.
“I almost forgot,” Wolf said, reaching into the limousine’s side console. He handed her a clear glass tube the size of a rolling pin filled with gold confetti and a single sheet of rolled parchment paper.
She tipped the cylinder to watch gold glitter emerge from the sheer strips of shimmering confetti. “Not another invitation.”
“With me, of all people.”
She gave him a dark look and tipped the cylinder yet again but at a shallower angle, fascinated by the glitter clinging to the insides of the tube. “So what’s this an invitation to?”
“It’s for Matt Silverman’s fiftieth birthday party.”
“Ah.” Matt Silverman was the most innovative director and producer in the business today, and everything he did—whether it was a futuristic sci-fi or a historical drama—became a blockbuster, guaranteed to garner a half dozen Academy Award nominations, including the coveted Best Picture. “When is it?”
“Thursday.” Wolf glanced out the window. Traffic was slow through the 405 and 10 intersection. “It’ll be a big party. Black-tie, live band, sit-down dinner in his Bel Air estate’s garden. Nearly everyone in the business will be there.” He leaned back against the seat, smiled crookedly if not a bit wearily. “But we’ve got to get through today’s premiere and parties first.”
She nodded, noticing the shadows under his eyes. “Do you ever get tired of the parties and events?”
The creases deepened at his eyes. His expression turned wry. “All the time.”
“But …?”
“Every movie needs publicity, and publicity requires me being out there, doing the interviews, the talk shows, the premieres, the award shows, the parties and fund-raisers.”
“And that doesn’t even include making the films or the weeks on location,” she added.
“You’re right, it doesn’t.”
She’d never really thought about the life of a star like Wolf, imagining that fame, fortune and success made life easier, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. “No wonder you’re not in love with your career.”
He s
hrugged. “It’s a job, and I understand it’s a job.”
“You don’t make it look like a job. You’re incredibly talented.”
His expression almost gentled. “You don’t have to make points with me, Alexandra. I know how you really feel.”
She waved her hand, batting away his comment. “If you made one less film a year, that would be less PR, fewer interviews and press junkets and parties, right?”
“One would hope.”
“So do that. Make one less film. Or two. Find a way to have more time for yourself. I’m sure there are things you’d like to do.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but his dark eyes were deep, intense. “You’re sounding an awful lot like you want to save me. But, love, I can’t be saved.”
“Yes, you can.”
“This isn’t a challenge, Alexandra.”
She pressed her lips together, held tight to her opinion—and her temper—realizing now wasn’t the time to debate him.
Instead she changed topics. “So what would you do if you had more free time? Would you pick up a hobby? Want to travel? Are there places you’re anxious to go? What’s top of your to-do list.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ending world hunger.”
Alexandra did a double take. Was he serious? She couldn’t be sure, but he wasn’t smiling, wasn’t making light of his lofty ambition.
“Erasing Third World debt,” he continued.
She simply stared at him.
“Stopping the spread of AIDS in Africa.” His hard features softened, his expression turning rueful. “Sorry you asked?”
There was something in his face she’d never seen before, something behind the slightly bored, rather cynical mask he usually wore. Something fierce and raw and real. Real. For the first time she saw a man, not an actor or star.
Alexandra felt a tug inside her chest, a twinge of muscle that was almost pain. “No.”
And then whatever fierce, raw emotion—passion—she’d seen disappeared, replaced by that public mask he wore to keep the world at bay.
With mask firmly in place, Wolf turned, glanced out the window and spotted the crowds lining the sidewalks. “We’re here.”
The morning after the premiere, Wolf flew to New York for a Monday-morning appearance on Good Morning America to promote The Little Toy Soldier and then an afternoon taping for the David Letterman show at the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway between Fifty-third and Fifty-fourth Streets. If things went well, he hoped to have dinner with friends Tuesday and then return to Los Angeles Wednesday morning.
