Valley of Fire

by Janelle Taylor

  Soft emerald eyes met entreating sapphire ones. Her tone was like a silky caress as she replied, “Other than annoying changes in my book for the movie script and a slanderous story which will soon be released by Glitter Magazine, nothing of real importance. There’s no way you can help with those battles, my dashing knight,” she cheerfully informed him, yearning for the return of his arms and lips.

  He chuckled, the mocking sound of it failing to warn Brandy of his quest. “So, Glitter’s after you? You best run and hide, Brandy—they go for blood. Or so I’m told,” he playfully warned. “Any truth to the story, or just spicy gossip?”

  “I’m sure a man in your position has run up against this kind of situation before, a fictitious story which might be accepted by a trusting or naïve public. How did you handle it? Is there any way to stop them?” she inquired seriously, hoping he could suggest a victorious fight.

  Her comments seemed to have some special, enlightening effect upon him. He gazed down at her, assuming he now had his answer for their initial meeting. “Truthfully?” he asked in that stirring accent which reminded her of a Welshman.

  “What else but the truth, Lance?” she softly replied, her breathing altering as she gazed up into his face, her hand reaching up to caress his tight jawline. She wondered at his change in mood; he actually appeared deeply troubled and clearly annoyed.

  “Do what I did,” he advised, coldly ignoring the look of vulnerability and honesty within those green pools. He captured the warm hand which was burning his face, then methodically kissed the tip of each finger. When his tongue drew moist circles in the palm of her hand, she trembled and inhaled. Such a talented actress!

  “What, pray tell, was that?” she asked indulgently, feeling he was playing with her in some inexplicable manner. Her other hand went up to steady her balance against his chest, noting the thudding of his heart. He was so distracting and encompassing.

  Steven hesitated as he observed her. Her eyes were like a lush, green forest which invited him to boldly trespass and to physically enjoy the scenery. There was no mistaking the look within those green depths. He understood why she had sought him out at such an expense, or so he painfully concluded. This game wasn’t getting anywhere; in fact, it was costly. It was time to call her bluff. “There’s one way to control the media—buy them out. I own Glitter Magazine,” he calmly stated, assuming she already knew he was the owner.

  She simply stared at him in total disbelief and shock. He should have guessed from her reaction that she had not known that fact. “You? You own it?” There was no mistaking the triumphant smirk in his eyes or curled upon those sensuous lips.

  Brandy’s mouth fell open in astonishment when he tauntingly accused, “You see, Miss Alexander, I know everything. I know why you were so desperate to meet me. Though I must admit, your method was highly dangerous for both of us. Your time-consuming rescue nearly blew a half million dollar deal. I also know why you’re playing the willing temptress tonight. Your performance is brilliant, but a waste of our time. I don’t interfere with business at Glitter.”

  “You believe I planned all of this?” she demanded. When he nodded and grinned mockingly, she visibly balled her fist to keep from slapping his smug face, digging her nails into her palms. So, her rescuer would soon become her executioner . . . Her eyes went as cold and forbidding as the Arctic Ocean in the dead of winter. “I see,” she sneered contemptuously, barely able to restrain her anguish at this tormenting revelation. Why hadn’t Nigel told her?

  Brandy knew she was playing out of her league. This man was a master of this sport, this cruel emotional game. Even if he had reason to suspect some mischief on her part or to resent her intrusion into his business affairs, his vicious sport was undeserved. It was beneath him. She had been accurate the other night; Lance Reynolds didn’t exist, only the malicious and devious Steven Winngate.

  There was a mental tinkling of fragile glass as he shattered her dreamy illusion about him. “Why did you even bother to save my life out there when you plan to destroy it soon?” she heatedly accused. “I’ve never met a man like you, Steven Winngate, and I pray I never do again. You should go into teaching—you’re quite an education.”

  “The act’s over, Brandy. You can drop the pretense,” he suggested, trying to ignore the expression on her face, one which strangely pulled on cords of remorse. He waited for her to explain, to ask for forgiveness, to admit it was no longer a game between them. They were no longer the strangers who had begun this ruse.

  Brandy’s eyes trailed over him from head to foot. She wanted to make certain she never forgot this treacherous man. Something in his strained expression caused her to say, “You’re right, Steven; the game is over. But I don’t think either of us came out a winner.” With that statement, Brandy turned and walked away without offering an explanation; she didn’t feel as if he deserved one. He had been making a fool of her. For the first time in her life, Brandy had offered her body and soul to a man, and his incisive rejection wounded her deeply.

  Steven watched her graceful departure, the proud tilt to her head. He cursed his blunder. Why hadn’t he forced a confession from her? Why hadn’t he allowed space for a truce? He prayed he wasn’t wrong about her . . . Either she was wily and brazen, or honest.

  Brandy’s mind was whirling with the events which stormed her senses as she sought out Nigel. Wild speculations flooded her spongy mind, to be absorbed there, to saturate it with pain and doubts. Had Steven known about the article before or after her rescue? Had his visits to the hospital been exploratory missions, missions to test her, missions to uncover more dirt to fling at her? No doubt she would read a terribly wicked account of their joint adventure. Had he been carrying a camera on that fateful day? Her imagination was running wild again. She was certain of it when she asked herself if the accident could have been a setup.

  Her eyes searched the crowded room for Nigel, locating him near the bar. She headed to meet him. “I have to leave, Nigel. See you in New York in a few weeks. Thanks for everything.”

  “What happened?” Nigel demanded, aware she was distraught, close to tears. He also knew who had been on the terrace with her.

  “I can’t stay in the same room with a beast who’s trying to smear my reputation. If I don’t get out of here, I’ll probably claw his eyes out. Why didn’t you tell me he owns Glitter?”

  Confused and concerned, Nigel argued, “You can’t just run out like this, Brandy. Tell me what he did,” he coaxed insistently.

  “Back home in Kentucky the only worry I have is what to eat for breakfast. Out here in the real world, it’s whether to battle this dragon or the next. This isn’t for me, Nigel. I’m going home.”

  Nigel followed her to the door. She grabbed her lace wrap and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine,” she told him, but her expression belied her brave words. She hugged him and thanked him again. “Please don’t invite us to the same party again.”

  Nigel caught her elbow to halt her departure. “Give, Brandy.”

  “Another time. Please,” she murmured in a strained voice.

  He kissed her forehead and released his grip. He opened the door, and she was gone. Nigel turned and glared at the man who was poised lazily in the doorway to the terrace, intently witnessing the scene between him and Brandy. The annoyed man headed in Steven’s direction.

  “Let’s talk, Steve. You and I have something to settle,” he stated sternly, then walked outside. It didn’t matter that he and Steve had been friends for years, friends since one of Steve’s investment companies had backed his career. Nigel had told Brandy about Steven Winngate, but they had never met, until recently. Somehow his two friends had never been in the same place at the same time. Oddly, Nigel had been planning to introduce them tonight. They seemed so perfectly suited to each other. Evidently he was vastly mistaken. Did Steve actually own that rag? Did Steve know what they we
re planning for Brandy? Perhaps he didn’t know Steve at all . . .

  Steven glanced at the door where Brandy had disappeared moments ago. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she saw him as the black villain of all time. He pensively rubbed his clean-shaven jawline, then went to join the furious Nigel.

  As Steven approached the stalking man, he was reminded of a caged panther who was eyeing his prey, preparing to spring for the attack. “What the hell did you say or do to Brandy?” Nigel snarled, teeth bared in unleashed fury. “Damn it, Steve! She’s like my own sister!”

  Chapter Five

  Brandy sighed heavily as she leaned back in her desk chair. It was good to be home and to be engrossed in writing. To her, nothing felt better or worse than completing a novel—it meant saying hello to new characters and good-bye to beloved personalities who had lived with her for months. The revisions for Valley of Fire were finished. She finally comprehended why that work had been difficult—Valley’s hero and Lance could be twins, or the same man! She painfully admitted what the new novel Twilight had brought into her life, and what it had taken from it, from her.

  She had not seen or heard from Steven Winngate since the party in Nigel’s suite three weeks ago. She had returned to her hotel room, packed frantically, then caught a flight home. She had fled to safety and to defensive solitude, hoping to forget his magnetic pull upon her ravaged heart. Yet, the passage of time and the distance between them had not helped her. His face and memory still haunted her.

  She packed her suitcase and her briefcase. She caught the early flight to New York City, the revised manuscript in her possession. Within a few hours, Brandy was seated in Casey’s ultramodern office on Park Avenue. As she patiently waited for Casey to skim the final draft, she sipped the cream sherry which Casey had poured for her. She absently toyed with the numerous, permanent pleats of her tomato-red linen skirt. She ran her slender fingers down the broad lapels of her stark white linen blazer, then checked the placement of the red silk tuft in the slash over her left breast.

  At last, Casey glanced up at her and grinned broadly. “You’ve done it again, Brandy—it’s terrific! Just wait until Webster reads this. I can just imagine Jeffery Kearns playing the lead role in the movie version,” she said dreamily, then laughed.

  “What’s next? What about the story on the Viking prince? You could use a long and romantic vacation in the Scandinavian countries. You might locate an amber-eyed, blond hunk,” the sunny female teased her favorite client. “Devon loved the draft of Twilight,” she added.

  Brandy smiled at her overt attempt to lighten her somber mood. “For your information, Agent, my next story will be set on the Great Bear Lake, in the heart of the Northwest Territories. I’ll be leaving after I complete Twilight. My guide just happens to be a giant blond, but he’s not golden-eyed. Plus, he’s very happily married. He’s taking his wife along for protection.”

  They both laughed. “What about coming to a party with me tonight? It’ll be at Shelly’s penthouse. Besides, Nigel’s in town and wants to see you. He’s been worried about you since Vegas.”

  Brandy stiffened. She wanted to decline, but changed her mind. She had been rude to Nigel in Vegas, running out on him like that. If only Lance/Steven hadn’t stunned her with the news of his ownership of the magazine which was seeking to malign her.

  “Sounds like fun. I’ll be there,” she answered swiftly. She could not continually retreat from reality. Why should she permit that arrogant tyrant to rule her life? To make her miserable? After all, she reluctantly admitted he had reason to mistrust her.

  “Do us both a favor, Brandy. Scan the script for Arrows this afternoon. Calvin handled it beautifully. The changes are just fine. It might work wonders on that sour attitude.”

  “All right, Casey. Will he be there tonight?”

  “I think so. There’s someone else you should meet. He could possibly help us with this Glitter problem,” she hinted wistfully.

  “Who? How?” she hastily responded to that good news.

  “Wait and see . . . Be on your best behavior and wear a gorgeous gown.” After lunch, they parted company until later.

  The door was opened to Shelly’s luxurious, lofty apartment. Brandy was shown inside by a butler in a scarlet jacket and black pants. She handed him her lacy shawl, then walked into the large open area, hesitating just inside the archway. Her eyes leisurely scanned the large, crowded room which suddenly made her feel like that small-town girl once more. The elegant décor was almost intimidating and overpowering.

  She desperately needed and wanted her self-assurance and vivacity returned to her. New York City and London, Kentucky seemed eons apart. Sighting several friends and acquaintances, she smiled warmly and slightly relaxed her tense body. Maybe she wasn’t so out of place after all.

  A feeling of resignation washed over her taut body, relaxing it. What did she have to worry about now? The movie script was terrific; her deadline had been met; her next book wasn’t due for ten months. She had worked hard lately, and she deserved some excitement and happiness. All in all, things seemed to be on an even keel. Brandy impulsively decided to stay in New York for a few days: to shop, to see plays, to visit friends, to find the sparkle she had lost somewhere, long before Vegas and Lance, and his wild suspicions and betrayal.

  “Well, well,” a masculine voice crooned softly in her left ear. “Who do we have here—surely not another lovely damsel in distress?” he playfully taunted, wondering how she would greet him.

  Brandy wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She would never forget that heart-stopping, lazy drawl. She stiffened her back and called upon all of her hidden reserves to help her survive this perilous moment. She forced a radiant smile to her soft lips and turned to confront him, using every feminine wile she possessed or had used in her novels. She felt challenged to prove this man wrong about her.

  “Lance,” she murmured softly, as if delighted to see him. “My distressing days are in the past. As you can see, I’m just fine. Since we obviously share so many mutual friends, it’s amazing we’ve never met before. Strange, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to see you again. If you’ll pardon the rush, I have to greet someone,” she excused herself.

  Before Steven could reply, she waltzed away and slipped into the crowd. As he watched her nearly float away from him, he was surprised she continued to ignore and to avoid him. If she was planning to use him to squelch that story, she was playing it mighty cool. Was that her ploy: entice him to chase an elusive butterfly? To feign indifference to him to spark his intrigue?

  Steven was still smarting from that severe tongue-lashing Nigel Davis had given him in Vegas! Since then, he had read the notorious article which had her so distressed. He didn’t normally show any interest in his publishing business—not until it had become a very personal matter, or when he had purchased it to get them off his back. What had she been after in Vegas? Inspiration for Valley or destruction of the Glitter story? How could she instigate and live out her fantasies, then appear so natural, so pure, so softly bewitching, so artless? Why and how could she exploit such private moments and innocent people?

  Strange she hadn’t claimed innocence or abuse. Was she so naïve or vain that she assumed meeting her or supposedly saving her life would alter his judgment about printing that rather nasty story about her private life? But then again, what famous woman wouldn’t fight a story which alluded to her sexual preference for women over men? She did live alone, and she was unattached. But that didn’t mean she hated men, or was overly affectionate to women. The reporter had been cunning with her words: a clear insinuation without stating facts. What would Brandy’s adoring public think about her then? Recalling Brandy’s fiery passion, he felt the implications were false.

  All evening Brandy could feel the warmth and power of Steven’s gaze as it followed her around. He was deliberately trying to ruin he
r, and it amused him to watch her squirm. If only he hadn’t been the one to rescue her that fateful day! Of all people to come here tonight! Why were they suddenly being thrown together all the time? She determined she would not leave this party because of the ruthless, domineering Steven Winngate! Not even that sultry Camille in her sexy—almost wickedly indecent—yellow gown would be permitted to harass her with those glacial sneers in her direction. How could he possibly believe she was guilty of such vile charges?

  Brandy glanced down at her own gown and critically studied her appearance tonight. Made from black peau de soie, it fell to an angle which left one shoulder totally bare, while the other one was only slightly hidden by a large, ruffled shoulder knot. The dress then flowed to the floor with a provocative slash from the hem to midway between her shapely knees and thighs, revealing beautiful legs in lacy black evening hose. The dress and its color were perfect for her, simple and elegant at the same time. Yet, she failed to realize the full impact of her beauty and allure, things Steven was all too conscious of in this enchanting creature.

  As the demanding evening progressed, the angrier she became. Why not speak to him about that vile story? Why not try to make him understand her side? Why not prove to him she was a real woman, not some . . . ? Why not prove she could be just as supercilious as he was? Fiery lights danced wickedly and bravely in the emerald depths of her eyes. She would at least show him one thing—she was a woman, a real woman.

  “Lance?” she called to him from behind. “Could we share a dance and a few words? There’s something I want you to know.”