Valley of Fire

by Janelle Taylor

  Caught unaware, he whirled and stared down into her intoxicating smile. His blood warmed at the seductive look written there. Her eyes reminded him of expensive, beautiful emeralds. He smiled, thinking the game would be met and won this very night. Perhaps he could get her off his mind then! Like a pesky mosquito, her memory had constantly attacked him since their last encounter.

  Without a word, he reached for her and pulled her into his possessive embrace. They danced around the floor, unaware of the presence of others. He whirled her onto the terrace beneath the moonlight. A cool breeze ruffled her long hair. They danced until the music ended. Still, he did not release her.

  Her heart drummed madly with the danger of this farce. Her respiration quickened. Her gaze fused with his. He watched the moonlight play with her eyes. She could not look away or pull free. She was paralyzed, hypnotized. “I wanted to . . .” She couldn’t remember what she wanted to discuss with him!

  It seemed eons before he slowly pulled her closer and closer until their bodies were touching from shoulder to foot. The heat and contact between them were like an electrical jolt of high voltage. Their lips met, then clung to the other’s. His mouth branded her with his mark of ownership. Denied passions tore at their reason, blinding them to all except this fierce need for each other.

  Time ceased for Brandy. For the first time in her life, she was the heroine in an unwritten novel. She was feeling those same ecstatic emotions she had described many times, but never experienced. Before her was the man of her dreams, as if created by her own pen. In the heat of the moment, his cruelties and doubts were forgotten.

  It was reality; yet, it was a dream. She swayed against his hard body; she totally surrendered her lips and will to him. No one had ever kissed her this way. One was slow and deliberate; another, passionate and demanding. One kiss fused into another, then another, and another until she was breathless and quivering.

  His fingers slid over her bare arms and shoulders, causing her to tremble against him. His lips seared a fiery trail across her face, her throat, and her golden shoulders. His embrace was fierce and possessive, yet gentle and persuasive. She felt drugged by his intoxicating aura, his hungry lips, his tender touch, his warm breath in her ear, his all-consuming maleness, his dangerous proximity.

  “Damn you,” he cursed softly and huskily into her ear. “You’ve been driving me mad for weeks. I want you, Brandy. Hell, I need you,” he confessed, closing his mouth over hers.

  “Steven, I’m so sorry about our misunderstanding,” she whispered against his lips. “Honestly, I didn’t plan any of it,” she was compelled to reveal to him. Brandy made a terrible error when she entreated, “Please don’t print that story, Lance. It isn’t true, and I can prove it,” she vowed, but didn’t mean to prove it in the manner he surmised. She didn’t even realize she was calling him by two names, or the damage her innocent plea had caused.

  He leaned back and cupped her face between his large hands. His gaze probed those lucid, emerald depths for some clue to her heated response to him. Her hands slid under his jacket and she caressed the firm muscles on his chest. His face lowered and his mouth claimed hers once more. She lost herself within his powerful magic. Nothing existed except them and this moment. Nothing and no one until a cutting voice sarcastically sneered, “You were right, Steven, love. She would do anything to halt that story. Such a vivid imagination, Brandy! If this is part of your job, I would do research for you any day . . .”

  Brandy jerked away from him. The look of humiliation and betrayal in her eyes seared into his brain. “The joke’s over, Mr. Winngate. Print your malicious article. But I swear to you I’ll sue you for every cent you have. You aren’t the only one with money and fame. I will see you in Hell before I allow you to blacken my name with those vicious lies. He’s all yours, Camille. You two deserve each other!” She left them standing there, exchanging shocked looks after her biting insult. This battle was childish and ridiculous.

  The remainder of that evening was a painful blur for Brandy. Yet she bravely refused to leave and to grant either of them another victory at her expense.

  Two days later, Steven watched the Tom Hadley Show with intense interest. She did not mention him or the Valley of Fire incident the first time. She appeared totally relaxed and genial during the lengthy interview. The woman he watched on his set was the same one he had met that first morning after her accident. Damn if she wasn’t a blasted enigma!

  The premiere for Midnight Melody was held while she was still in town. Steven glanced up to see Brandy on the arm of the scriptwriter for her latest bestseller. He had made a point of learning all he could about her since that night at Shelly’s. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Unaware of his presence, she was completely at ease, utterly charming to those around her, a breath of fresh air for any red-blooded man. Novel pangs of jealousy gnawed at him.

  She looked like a floating angel in that dress of white silk chiffon with its muted splashes of soft blue, green, and purple . . . or perhaps a fragile butterfly that was too easily eluding his captive net.

  That gown was perfectly suited for her delicate personality. Steven grinned as his keen gaze passed over the bewitching female who was driving him wild with desire. The neckline was low and square with small half-cap sleeves. The area between her bosom and waist was strikingly encased by numerous tight folds of unstitched, diagonal pleats, making her waist seem smaller than Scarlett O’Hara’s.

  The full, flowing skirt was diaphanous gossamer over creamy satin. The delicately transparent overskirt was imbued with soft shades of cerulean blue, forest green, and soft purple. Her golden tresses were secured into an abundance of leaf curls and Grecian ringlets. Sprigs of baby’s breath and short lengths of white ribbon were cunningly placed here and there among her curls. Her cosmetics created a look of fresh and powerful allure. It was abundantly clear Brandy recognized her best points and enhanced them subtly and artfully. Yet, she didn’t appear a female overly concerned with her looks or with using them on unsuspecting men; she appeared to accept her attractive allure naturally.

  “We might be up there next year, Brandy,” Calvin declared optimistically to his ravishing companion. “When Arrows is released, you’ll become a household name, have a gala premiere of your own.”

  She smiled and jested, “I’m already a household name, but I dare not say it out loud for fear of offending someone.”

  “You are too beautiful and cunning, Brandy. The stars will soon bow down to you,” he stated romantically, playing with a tawny curl, soaking up the warmth of her radiant smile.

  “Those in the heavens or those on the silver screen?” she wittily returned. “What movie did you create that marvelous line for?” she teased him. Calvin laughed.

  The night was long, demanding, and glorious. After the showing, they headed to a dinner party at the Connecticut home of Daniel Darcy, the noted movie producer who had purchased the rights to her novel, as well as the one Calvin was working on at present.

  Brandy’s eyes glittered with excitement and pleasure. She had instantly accepted Calvin’s invitation to accompany him tonight. So many things were looking up for her lately: the movie script—thanks to Calvin—had not slaughtered Arrows; Glitter had mysteriously withheld that vicious story for future publication; and she was finally beginning to regain some of her old sparkle and self-reliance. No doubt that story would appear simultaneously with the debut of the Arrows movie. No matter, she had been granted a short reprieve . . .

  Just like the many glasses of champagne which floated around the room on silver trays above the heads of scarlet-jacketed servants, her laughter was bubbly and clear. Brandy had never seen such an array of beautiful, expensive gowns and jewels. She had never experienced a flight of fantasy into the world of the super-rich or the super-powers of the entertainment field. The food was delectable; the decorations were unbelievable; the music was stirr
ing; and the aura was magical and contagious. Perhaps she should feel intimidated or awed by such a blatant show of wealth, fame, and power. But she was far too ecstatic and enlivened to care.

  Brandy slowly and cautiously sipped her third glass of heady champagne, for her nose was tingling a warning to be careful of its potency. Dinner had already been served in several locations in the stately mansion and around the picturesque pool. She had eaten on the terrace which overlooked a lake where the full moon was skillfully swimming. In great demand, Calvin was constantly detained by others.

  Brandy had danced with countless men, some friends and others acquaintances. There were so many people present that she had not seen all of them. Catching her breath on the terrace, she now wished she could stroll down to the water’s edge and intoxicate herself with that stunning view at close range.

  “Always the scenery buff, Brandy? Or is this only a rest from all your many admirers?”

  She jumped, then relaxed herself. She turned and looked up at him. “Have you suddenly become my shadow, Lance Reynolds? Every time I go out, I see you. Why is it we’re constantly running into each other these days? We never did before. Don’t you ever work or travel? And I was having such a marvelous time tonight,” she scoffed irritably, hinting that he would now spoil it.

  His darkened gaze passed appreciatively over her entire body. “I’m much too large to be your shadow, Brandy love. Not that I would object to standing that close to you at times. As for work, I do that every day. I did travel here to New York,” he teased lazily.

  She unknowingly rubbed her tingling nose with her fingers, bringing a grin to his sensual mouth. “I suppose you’re right,” she reluctantly admitted, ignoring his veiled compliment.

  “You look utterly breathtaking this evening. But then, you always do.” His gaze leisurely traveled the translucent, flowing lines of her gown. He reached out and lifted the heart-shaped diamond pendant from her throat and studied it. “Do all these hearts come from countless admirers?” Damn, could he be wrong about this woman?

  She cocked her head sideways and looked up at him. “My, aren’t we the gallant gentleman this evening! Have you doused your fiery flames for tonight, Sir Dragon?” she softly cooed, alarmed more by the real fires which leaped uncontrollably at his nearness and manly odor.

  “I will, if you’ll sheathe those sharp claws, my little golden Kat. I only wanted to thank you for replacing my bike. It wasn’t necessary. My insurance covered the loss,” he murmured, his fingers toying with a golden curl and sprig of tiny white flowers. “I meant to thank you the last time we met, but it slipped my mind.”

  “I always pay my debts, Lance. Officer Connelly was kind enough to secure the correct model and specifications for me. I trust they delivered the right one? It should have perfectly matched the bike which was stripped. It was only right that I should replace it for you. Surely my life is worth a measly FLT-80 Harley-Davidson motorcycle? Replacing it seemed the best way to reward your chivalry. since I so obviously detained and humiliated you that fateful night, or so I was told. Shall we call it even and avoid each other from now on?”

  She started to walk away, needing to leave his masterful aura and disturbing touch. Perplexed by these curious facts, he seized her arm in a firm, but painless, grip. She glared at his hold upon her arm first, then up at him. “Release me this instant, Steven! There’s no way I’ll let you set me up like that again. This cold war between us has gone far enough. It’s apparent we can’t be friends, or even civil to each other. That was the lowest thing anyone has ever done to me,” she hotly accused. “I wish I knew why you despise me so much.”

  “For one thing, I didn’t mean for Camille to disturb us. Another thing, I have some questions for you. You said you asked Officer Connelly to get that information about my bike for you. Was replacing it the only reason for checking it out?” His tone was mocking. Now that he was on to her game, was she merely altering her tactics?

  “Why else would I want such information?” she questioned, sensing a point to his demanding query. She was weary of fencing in the dark with this insufferable and disarming rogue.

  “Why else indeed? Did you know I was the owner of Glitter before I told you?” he probed, imprisoning her gaze.

  “What difference does your ownership make? I’ve already been to see your editor, your publisher, and that vicious reporter Laura McGavin. I offered to let them come to Kentucky to research a true story about me, including all the pictures they want to take! But they’re no more interested in the real facts, which are far less colorful and earthshaking, than you are. It doesn’t make any difference if that story is utterly false. You don’t even care if I sue. You know it could take years to prove my innocence. By that time, terrible damage will be done to my name and reputation. I might be vain, Steven, but a person’s name is her most precious possession. I swear to you I’ll go down fighting you every inch of the way! What have I done to earn this hostility? Kindly remove your hands!”

  “In a moment,” he calmly stated as he tried to analyze this new information. “Why didn’t you mention your recent accident and your new book on Tom’s show?”

  Startled, she faced him fully. This was the second time he had mentioned the show in that strange tone. “Are you kidding? We were both extremely lucky the news wires didn’t get wind of that accident. I can just imagine how it would have been exploited clear across the United States: ‘Wealthy Oil Tycoon Rescues Romance Writer in Distress!’ They would have had a field day with our personal lives. Surely you aren’t planning to add it to that vile story you’re already holding?” she asked in vivid dismay.

  “Certainly not! It cost me a blue penny to squelch it that same night,” he said, letting her in on the reason why it had not hit print.

  “You?” she stammered. Her head was spinning with crazy ideas. Before she could thank him, he made it impossible.

  “As you said, my private life is nobody’s business, including yours, my infamous writer. Have you completed the novel you went to Nevada to research? Let’s see . . . Valley of Fire, wasn’t it?”

  She gaped at him. How did he know so much about her affairs? She didn’t correct his error about Valley. She parried his question with an insult, “You lied when you said Nigel told you about that interview. I had just been asked to do it that same week. Nobody knew about it. How you found out about it, I’ll never know! Do you have other spies like your Laura McGavin? If so, I surely hope their reports are more accurate and civil than hers. As for Valley, I turned it in when I arrived here . . . not that it’s any of your business!”

  “You’ve already finished it and turned it in?” he stormed at her as if she had just hurled a deadly spear at him which he was trying to fend off with the mere force of his voice and anger.

  Alarmed by his inexplicable reaction to that news, she tried to pull free of him. His eyes had gradually darkened with a violent storm brewing deep within him. He seized her wrists, one in each hand, and unknowingly tightened his grip until she cried out in pain. He instantly lightened it, but did not let her go. His strength and mood were potent. He retreated into pensive thought.

  She glanced over his magnetic image. He was wearing a dark suit of expensive material. His cream shirt was custom cut, molding to his torso. His dark brown tie was Italian silk. She irrationally wondered why he wasn’t in a tuxedo or evening attire. Yet, he overshadowed all men present with his elegance.

  “That’s too bad, Brandy. I had planned to trade that manuscript for the Glitter story. I’ve already told them to hold it until I give the okay for its release. If we could have made a deal, I would have canceled it altogether,” he stated regretfully, shockingly.

  “That’s why it hasn’t been printed yet! Why didn’t you call me? What do you want with a draft of Valley?” Why did this mysterious and moody creature demand a manuscript written and sold last winter?

&
nbsp; His smile was deadly and sensual. “For my private collection. It holds special meaning for me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Brandy was astounded and bewildered. “Is that what it’s all about, Steven? My weird accident? Your vile story? Your surveillance? Your harassment? Your eccentric whims? You want a souvenir of your rescue, a treasure of mine? If I had known you wanted it that badly, I would have given you the script rather than a new bike. It’s too late now. Webster has it. It’s scheduled for release within two months.”

  “Then, we’ve both wasted our time and energies. Get it back, Brandy, and I’ll kill the story on you,” he offered once again.

  “It’s too late, Steven. They’re up to galleys now.”

  “Yes, it is . . .” He released her so suddenly that she swayed. She grabbed at the lapels of his jacket. “Just to clear the air, you don’t know why I really want it. Your charges against me aren’t true.”

  Instinctively his arms reached out to catch her. She looked up at him. “I should write a story about you, Steven. I could entitle it Devil Incognito. You’re perfect for that role!”

  “You flatter me, Brandy. Two books about me?” he growled mysteriously. She had plotted, written, and already sold their escapade!

  “Two books? About you? What are you talking about?” she asked confusedly.

  “You’re saying I and our adventure aren’t featured in your last book? Not a single reader will see me as the hero?” he snarled.

  “I must admit you fit the image of most romantic heroes, but not mine. Varian Saar is amber-eyed and blond-haired. Unless you plan to change the color of your eyes and hair, I’ll have to disappoint you.”

  He openly gaped at her. “You didn’t describe me?”

  “Don’t be absurd! I made certain there was no resemblance,” she rashly confessed, then wanted to bite her careless tongue.

  “What about his character? Will I recognize myself there?” he continued, unaware they were discussing two different works.