by Scott, Inara
“So we’ve got thirty days to get two people who hate each other to make hot, sweaty love for the camera, and make it believable and emotional?”
Ryker closed his eyes. “That’s about it. Oh, and did I mention I want the Oscar this time?”
“I seem to recall something about that.”
“Well, in case I wasn’t clear, let me say it again.” He turned his head to study her. “I want that Oscar. Understand?”
The intensity of his gaze trapped her. She nodded mutely.
Abruptly, his expression changed, and he said with an easy smile, “But enough about that. Are you ready for dinner?”
“I thought Amir was setting up some scenes for us to watch.” She put her hands in her lap and tried to ease the rest of her body farther away without catching his attention.
Amusement flared in his eyes. He leaned toward her. “They can wait. I don’t want to look at anything related to Salva’s Revenge for at least two hours. We’ll have an early dinner and watch the clips later. Don’t worry, I’ll still get you to bed at a reasonable hour.”
Every word from his mouth seemed like some kind of sexual innuendo. He was close enough now that she could smell a hint of spicy cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
She resisted the urge to jump up from the sofa. “I’d like to check into my hotel, if that’s okay. Get settled a bit.”
“Fine with me. That will give you time to change into something a little more…hmm.” He curved his fingers around the frayed edge of her T-shirt. “More, feminine, shall we say?”
Alix grabbed the fabric from his hand. “I’m not one of your actresses,” she said. “There’s a reason I’ve made my career on the other side of the camera.”
“But that’s just it. I’ve seen you without the glasses, remember? You’re beautiful. Just as attractive as any of my actresses.” He took one of her hands and slid his fingers around her wrist, taking their measure with his thumb and forefinger. “Fine bones. I take back what I said about you being like a Labrador. That’s just what you want people to believe. I think there’s a greyhound hidden somewhere beneath all these clothes.”
She tugged at her wrist, but he didn’t let go. “I think you’ve got an active imagination.” A quiver of reluctant pleasure tightened her stomach as she took in his words. He was too sensual, too damn intelligent to be shrugged off like she expected. “Where do we eat?”
Just as the tingles from her wrist were growing into electric currents, he released her. She fell into the cushions and rubbed her wrist.
She hadn’t been with a man for a very, very long time. Perhaps that explained why her body was demanding that she fall into Ryker’s arms without a second thought.
“I’ve got reservations at Tiger Lily’s, in West Hollywood. It’s a long drive, but lately it’s the only place I can go and not be bothered.”
Alix grimaced. She had forgotten that they were in Hollywood now, and Ryker Valentine was a household name. There would be reporters, paparazzi, and pictures. She hated pictures. She would be the “unknown guest” accompanying Ryker to dinner. Tabloids would speculate as to who she was and why they were together. Though she had avoided pictures when her movies were released, a few always slipped out. Eventually someone would connect her face with the name Alix Z. And then the stories would get even racier.
Something of the horror of the situation must have shown in her face, because Ryker cocked his head in surprise. “It’s part of the game, Alix. You know that. They’ll take a few pictures, gossip about it for a few weeks, and then it will be forgotten.”
“Of course you’d say that. Every time someone gossips about you, your asking price goes up ten grand.”
He shrugged. “That’s the way the business works. If you can’t handle a little gossip, you can’t handle Hollywood.”
Alix gritted her teeth. She couldn’t handle Hollywood. That was precisely why she’d left. “Fine. But I’d prefer to arrive separately. Call Tiger Lily’s and describe me for them, but don’t give my name. I’d like to try to keep out of the press if I can. I’ll meet you there at six?”
He didn’t move from the sofa, just studied her with that inscrutable black gaze. “All right,” he said finally. “But if you really want to draw attention to yourself, wear that outfit. They’ll love it.”
Chapter Six
“Ryker, darling! So lovely to see you.” Tiger Lily’s was a tiny restaurant with only a handful of tables, located on the edge of West Hollywood and Beverly Hills. Everything in the restaurant had been designed for privacy and comfort, from the silky gold drapes covering the tall windows to the private tables, each with its own flickering candle. Its host and namesake, a leggy blonde with velvety brown eyes, was the daughter of a Mitch Lily, a well-known director and producer. Tiger Lily had the fortune to know most of her clientele well before she opened and used her familiarity with the movie scene to quickly make her establishment a favorite among those more interested in a good meal than a night of seeing and being seen.
Tiger kissed Ryker on both cheeks before leading him to his favorite table, tucked into a dimly lit corner in the back of the room.
“Is my friend here yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.” If she noticed that he hadn’t left a name for his companion, she was far too discreet to mention it. “I’ll keep my eye out for her.” She seated him at the table and handed him the piece of handmade paper that served as a menu. At Tiger Lily’s, the menu changed daily, depending on what sort of fresh produce and seafood were available. “She’s about five foot one or two, you said? Brown hair, glasses?”
Ryker nodded. “She’s a bit shy, so please don’t advertise the fact that we’re together, if you know what I mean.”
She gave him an understanding pat on the shoulder. “No problem. I’ll take good care of her.”
Ryker picked up a water glass and took a long drink. He wondered what Daisy would wear to dinner. A fifties housedress? A burlap sack? He’d never seen such an attractive woman look as unkempt as she’d looked today. That T-shirt…those pants…and the glasses. A smile crossed his face. They were a stroke of genius. There was something defiant about the whole outfit, like she was determined to prove something by making herself as unattractive as possible.
His smile faded as he recalled the atmosphere she’d walked into. Lena and Jake had been in rare form, and he was at the end of his rope, barking out orders like a general. Daisy had clearly been dismayed by the scene. He wondered how tomorrow would go. As sexy as her films were, he simply couldn’t imagine her on the set, interacting with the actors and convincing everyone of her vision. He only hoped Gunther wouldn’t be disappointed if she wasn’t effective.
He heard Tiger greet someone in front. “He’s in back. Follow me.”
“Thanks.”
Ryker turned in his seat, unable to keep his mouth from dropping open when he saw the transformation. Alix’s long hair fell loose around her shoulders, sparkling with color from golden brown to strawberry to chestnut. The glasses were gone, and her eyes, surrounded by thick dark lashes, glittered in the dim restaurant light.
She wore a clingy, emerald green dress the exact color of her eyes. Spaghetti straps exposed lightly tanned shoulders, and a pair of full breasts swayed as she walked. The dress hit her at mid-thigh, exposing sleek legs and sculpted calves above impossibly high silver heels. She moved like a fairy, floating above the ground with her silver shoes and leafy-green dress.
“Ryker,” she murmured.
For a moment, he was too stunned to move. Tiger Lily cleared her throat quietly and then faded into the background. Ryker continued to stare at Daisy until he realized she was waiting for him to rise and greet her. With a quick mental shake, he took her golden elbow in his hands and leaned forward to press a kiss on each cheek.
“Daisy.” His lips burned where they met her flesh, and he had to catch himself from trailing his lips down the hollow of her neck. He breathed deeply of her smell, e
arthy and musky, and an unexpected sensation rippled from his stomach to his groin.
She froze. “Alix,” she snapped. “My name is Alix. I thought I made it clear that I leave Daisy behind when I come to LA.”
“Of course. I wasn’t thinking. My apologies.” He gestured toward her dress. “You changed, I see.”
“I decided you were right. I’d attract less attention like this. If anyone sees us, they’ll think I’m one of your usual tarts. They won’t bother to investigate.” She surveyed the room, hand on hip. With perfect ease, she gave a regal smile to the few who caught her eye, and then sank into the seat across from his, where the candlelight caught fire in the thick gold hoop earrings that tangled in her hair.
“You’ve done this before,” he accused, ignoring the slight. “Where did you get that dress?”
She shrugged. “Gunther and I go out when I’m in town. I have a few dresses that I bring when I come to LA.”
“But—hmm.” He cut himself off, realizing she was enjoying every minute of his shock. He slid into his seat, forcing a casual smile. “I guess now you’ve got me wondering which is the real Alix Z.”
She draped her body against the back of her chair. “What do you think?”
“I must say, I have no idea. You see, I did a little research last week. Or rather, I tried to do a little research. Alix Z, despite her popularity, did an exceptional job keeping her face out of the press. I think I found three, maybe four pictures, two with you wearing those horrible glasses and one from a premier with you in a long-sleeve black dress that would have suited my grandmother. Gunther, on the other hand, was everywhere. You’d think he made those movies, for all the interviews he gave.”
“I didn’t like the attention, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to plug the films. It worked out better that way.”
“How did you convince them to leave you alone?” he asked. “At first, all the papers were speculating about the mysterious Alix Z and trying to get interviews; then there were those few pictures, and then the buzz just dropped off.”
She grinned. “It was easier than you’d think. I realized pretty quickly that hiding wouldn’t work—it only made them more curious. So I did the opposite. I put myself out there, but made sure I was the least articulate, least photogenic person they’d ever interviewed. I was boring, dowdy, and droned on about film theory and aspect ratios. They quickly realized Gunther was the better mouthpiece for our movies.”
“So it’s all a game? The terrible glasses, the clothes—it’s all something you cooked up to fool reporters?” It was completely contrary to his everyday existence—changing oneself to avoid publicity, rather than the other way around—but at least it solved the puzzle. “And you’re still doing it? Even now?”
Alix unwound a linen napkin from her silverware and draped it over her lap. When she shifted positions and crossed one leg over the other, Ryker found his gaze trapped, pinned by that simple motion. It was impossible to reconcile the siren in front of him, with her sleek bare legs and silver shoes, and the dowdy woman in bug-like sunglasses and an oversized parka he’d met on the beach in Oregon.
“I’d been like that for a long time,” she said finally, shrugging her shoulders in a move that sent her breasts bobbing up and down. “Before Hollywood. I just made things a bit more dramatic for the press. It’s not really a game. It’s just me.”
“Not entirely you.” He motioned toward her, indicating with a sweep of his hand her head to her toes. “This is you too.”
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “This is something I can do when I’m forced. The other is what’s comfortable. I don’t like to worry about my looks, Ryker. I know that seems bizarre to you, but it’s the way I am.”
“But you chose those glasses to be horrible. You can’t tell me you don’t do it for them. For the reporters and such.”
“It works on a number of different levels,” she said. “Besides, no one in LA is exactly what they seem. Isn’t your real name Ricardo Valdez?”
He grimaced. “I suppose you have me there.”
“You created a little stir in the Latino community when they found out about that. They said you were trying to deny your heritage.”
“So you do know something about me?”
“The Internet is a wonderful thing.”
“I suppose.” Ryker looked down at the menu, hoping to distract her from further questions about his Latino—or lack of Latino—heritage. “Anything sound interesting? Hazelnut-crusted halibut?”
She pulled her expressive mouth in a moue of disgust. “I live in a fishing village, remember? I’m used to my fish flopping around moments before I eat it. To be honest, it’s the chance for fresh vegetables that has me interested. The grilled vegetable plate sounds perfect.”
He grinned. “That’s the first time you’ve sounded like a normal woman this evening.”
She waggled her finger at him. “Wash out your mouth, mister. There’s no such thing as a normal woman. Now, how about bread? I may crave vegetables, but I’m also starving.”
“I think we can arrange that.” He raised a finger, and a black-and-white clad waitress magically appeared. He beckoned her closer and whispered his request. She blushed, tittered, and scooted off to the kitchen.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to serve that with her phone number tucked in the basket,” Alix observed.
“Bit cynical, aren’t you?”
She waved her hand. “You know how it is in this town. Everyone’s looking to get something, and they’re more than happy to use sex to get it. Let’s just say when I wanted to photograph something real, I didn’t look here.”
He leaned back in his chair, fighting to keep his gaze at eye level. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be so comfortable stereotyping the whole city quite so quickly.”
“Are you going to tell me you think LA is overflowing with true love?”
He shrugged. “As much as anywhere else, I suppose. Which is to say, not much.”
“Oh, right.” She laid one finger on the side of her mouth. “You’re the guy who doesn’t like his sex cluttered with emotion.”
“It isn’t that I think sex should be devoid of emotion,” he said, wrinkling his forehead. “I happen to think sex is much more fun when it’s between two people who like each other. But if you ask me, all the talk of true love and romance just gets in the way. Women get so caught up in wondering if the man loves them that they read emotions into things that are simply physical.”
Alix leaned forward, exposing a delicious eyeful of cleavage. “You really believe that sex is the same whether the people love each other or not?”
“People throw around the word ‘love’ too easily. This whole story about some magical emotion that takes people over and makes them do crazy things is ridiculous. It’s just an excuse for irresponsible behavior.”
Ryker couldn’t believe himself. He was babbling like some baby actor at his first interview. He should have taken control by now, cut off the conversation at the first mention of the word love. But something about Alix’s gentle probing made it impossible not to respond.
“Are you saying you don’t think love exists?”
“I’m not saying there isn’t something to the way people care for each other. But the whole idea of romantic love? The thing all the poets rave about?” He flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s nonsense. Pretty words and not much else.”
Alix frowned. “You’re dismissing one of the most essential human emotions. Love motivates people to do incredible things and has throughout history. Does Helen of Troy ring a bell?”
“Lust,” he said. “Not hard to understand. And for the record, I’m not saying the idea of romantic love can’t make a great story. Take Casablanca, without doubt one of the finest films ever made.”
Alix bit her lip, as if she was considering arguing with him. Then, apparently having thought better, she picked up her glass of water and stared across the table, her l
uminous eyes revealing little of her emotions. “Just not a movie you’re interested in making.”
He shrugged. “Each to his own, I suppose. And what about you? Any more films in your future?”
“Unlikely. I’m really more interested in photography.”
“And you’re working on a book? Those pictures I saw were part of it, I assume?”
She slid her finger around the edge of her glass. “Yes.”
He waited for her to elaborate. When she simply sat in silence, he gestured for her to continue. It rankled that she had him running at the mouth while he could barely extract a complete sentence from her. “And what’s the book about? Sex? Love?”
Alix picked up her glass again and took a sip. “Yes.”
“Do you have a publisher for it yet?”
“No.”
“Are you working on anything else?”
“No.”
Ryker leaned back in his seat. “You like talking about your work, don’t you?”
Alix flashed a quick smile. “Tell me more about Salva’s Revenge. Have Jake and Lena been this difficult all along?”
“No. It’s been challenging, but overall, they’ve exceeded my expectations. But the sex…” He shook his head. “That’s where it all breaks down.” He gave her his most charming grin. “But enough about love and sex. Let’s make small talk, shall we?”
It was too obvious, almost desperate, this need to change the subject. But he was finding it increasingly difficult to talk about sex without thinking about it—and thinking about her, having it.
With him.
Soon.
#
Lena stared at herself in the mirror above the tiny bathroom sink in her trailer, unable to look away from the lines curving around the corners of her mouth. Wrinkles. Already. She was only thirty, and time was already digging trenches into her face.
She pinched the skin under her neck and pulled it forward an inch or so, then let go. For a second, the fold of skin stayed loose, like the waddle of a turkey, before it reabsorbed into her neck. The elastic was breaking down. She’d need a face-lift soon. Very soon. Before anyone could tell what she’d done.
