Exposing Alix

by Scott, Inara

  Perhaps Botox and a face-lift. And a tummy tuck. She turned to the side and studied her reflection again. Of late, that had been softening as well, the formerly taut flesh of her stomach and waist losing the definition it once had. Despite the Pilates, the running, and the god-awful workouts with her sadistic trainer, everything was beginning to sag.

  She was getting old, and everyone knew what happened to actresses when they got old.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “What?” she snarled, not looking away from her reflection.

  “Lena, it’s Jake. Can I come in?”

  Her heart skipped. “Jake?” She looked around frantically, seeing stacks of unworn clothing on the couch, dirty clothes in a pile by the door for the laundry service, the remnants of her dinner salad on the fold-out table, and worst of all, the wrapper from a clandestine miniature chocolate bar on the counter beside the sink. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  He pulled the door open, and, as it always did, the sight of his virile masculinity hit her like a wave, sending a rush of heat from her toes to her fingertips. His body hadn’t changed much over the years. He was the same height, probably the same weight. But his muscles no longer had the roundness of youth. They were hard, defined like rigid bands of steel. Even under his T-shirt and jeans she could see them, the vee of his lower abs beckoning until she itched to touch him, to trace the lines of those muscles.

  “Someday, sweetheart, you’ll have to start locking your door.”

  She shook herself from her reverie and pulled the lapels of her robe more tightly together. He’d probably gone right from the set to the gym, like she should have, because his hair looked freshly washed, and his three days of stubble had been carefully trimmed.

  God she hated him. She hated him from the edges of his square jaw to the soft contours of his sensual mouth. The mouth that drew her eye every time he walked in the room. The mouth that had kissed her today with such passion it had taken every ounce of her will not to respond.

  The mouth that had kissed so many other women, with the same fake passion.

  “If I’d known you were coming, I would have. What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you would have gone home hours ago.” She stamped over to the refrigerator under the counter and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water. What she really wanted was a beer. And a full-size chocolate bar.

  “I didn’t have the heart to face the traffic. What about you?”

  “I had calls to make. Besides, I needed a shower. For some reason, I always feel dirty when I leave the set these days.”

  Jake sighed. “Lena, I thought we were over this. It’s been ten years. You can’t still be holding a grudge.” He followed her, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. The move accentuated his biceps.

  He did it on purpose, she had no doubt.

  “Actually, I can.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “Was there anything else? I need to get dressed and hit the road. Can’t miss any of my beauty rest, you know.” Breathe deeply, she instructed herself. But nothing seemed to dull the painful awareness that he was only a few feet away.

  That his legs were spread a casual distance apart.

  That her body could fit between his legs.

  His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand what happened. It isn’t as though we haven’t worked together before.” He reached out a hand and ran it up and down the length of her arm. Her dressing gown was made of fine silk, and when he pressed the soft fabric against her flesh, it felt cool, then hot.

  “That was different,” she said, swallowing convulsively, unable to move. “We didn’t have to, to…”

  He tugged gently on her arm. She took an unwilling step toward him, heat rushing from her stomach to her cheeks. He tugged again. She moved closer. His calloused hand passed through her hair, and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes.

  “No, Jake,” she whispered, her hand coming to clutch the sides of her robe, which felt ready to fall open at any moment. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “I still want you, Lena. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Can’t we put the past behind us? We could start over. Try again.”

  Goose bumps rose along her arms and legs. He got to his feet, and she inhaled sharply, her nipples pebbling under his steady gaze. He tangled both hands in her long hair, gently rubbing her temples with his thumbs. Her eyelids drooped.

  “Lena,” he breathed, his mouth a bare inch from her ear. “Don’t you remember how good we are together? Don’t you remember how I made you scream?”

  She whimpered, unable to do more to free herself from the spell he had laid. His lips followed a moment later, starting with the vulnerable flesh behind her ear and cascading down her neck to the hollow at the base. His mouth was warm and gentle, his lips achingly familiar. Large, strong hands traced a path of fire along her back until they reached around to circle her waist. Then she felt his thumbs brush lightly against the undersides of her breasts.

  “Ahh,” she exhaled, jerking at the shock of pleasure at his touch.

  “We could do it again. We could be that way again.” The words were halfway buried in her flesh, his mouth swooping lower to touch her collarbones and then glide back up her neck to the edge of her jaw.

  He was approaching her mouth. If he touched her mouth, she’d be lost.

  “Jake, stop.” She put her hands against his chest, but that was a mistake because then she was flooded with all new sensations: his muscles, the heat and strength of them exploding under her fingers; the smooth cotton of his shirt teasing her, begging her to lift it, to put flesh to flesh. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” she said, her voice half sob, half moan.

  “Leave you alone? I go to sleep, and I think about you. I wake up, and I think about you. I need to kiss you, Lena. You’re driving me crazy. You’re so cold, but I know that’s not you. It’s killing me.”

  Without warning, his mouth covered hers, and time stopped. It was a familiar dance, yet totally new. She was hesitant, stiff. He spent minutes just softening her lips with his coaxing and teasing, until they parted and his tongue darted inside. Then they were dancing and spinning, heat like fireworks popping and fading, only to explode even higher and brighter a second later.

  “Why can’t we do this for the cameras, Lena? Isn’t it all still here?” He paused for only a moment between kisses.

  Like a rush of cold water, the magic was gone.

  She pushed against his shoulders, hard now, all business. “This is about the movie, isn’t it? You’re trying to get a better performance out of your leading lady and thought perhaps if you seduced her, you might get that performance.”

  “No, no!” He looked appalled, and Lena had to remind herself that he was an actor—his profession hinged on being able to deliver performances like this. “I just don’t see why… Shit, Lena. I’m serious about this. I want to give it another try. Not because of the movie, just because of us.”

  “Right.” Her mouth twisted in a cynical smile. “So we get together while we’re filming the movie. Our love scenes get hotter. The public gets a great story about reunited lovers, and the movie gets a better buzz. Very smart. I only wish I’d thought of it myself.”

  “That isn’t it. Not at all,” he ground out.

  “I’m just wondering how long it lasts,” she continued. He clenched his jaw, an expression she knew from years of experience meant he was genuinely upset, but she was unable to stop the words flowing from her in an angry torrent. “How long until you replace me with someone younger and cuter? How long till you find some new twenty-year-old you can’t resist? Will you dump me straight off this time, or shall we try a three-way first?”

  “You’re sick,” he said, thrusting his hands deep in his pockets as he turned away. “You’re a gorgeous woman, at the top of your game. You’ve got everything, but you can’t trust anyone. Poor little rich girl. I made a mistake back then, okay? I kissed a girl, and it wasn’t you. B
ut that’s all it was. A kiss. A mistake that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me being a stupid, immature idiot. But you’re so damn insecure you’ll never see that, will you? Fine. Forget I tried.”

  He stalked out the door without another look.

  Lena slammed the door behind him. “Fine,” she shouted to the empty room. “Just fine! I didn’t need him then, and I don’t need him now.”

  She paced up and down the trailer, recounting all the reasons she hated him, all the ways he’d hurt her, reminded herself of the anguish she went through with every tabloid picture that surfaced of him kissing That Woman, lips planted on hers at exactly the same angle he used on Lena. The hurt had never gone away, really, and when she conjured it up, like this, it spilled out in dark, black waves until she was filled with it, filled with the righteous anger that told her he was a jerk, a cad, an ass of the first order, and she was better off without him.

  But she couldn’t stop the tears. They started in a steady trickle, then a deep, indrawn breath, and finally she collapsed on the sofa, holding a pillow over her mouth to muffle the sound. She couldn’t trust him. She could never trust him.

  Not again. Not ever.

  Chapter Seven

  Alix followed Ryker’s vintage-looking Mercedes as it pulled away from Tiger Lily’s. She wished he drove a flashy sports car so she could hate it and hate him for having it, but he didn’t. He was far too interesting to fit into any of her stereotypes, no matter how much she wanted to place him in one. Throughout the meal, just when she thought she’d figured him out, he’d surprise her. Like what he’d said about Casablanca—how could a man with a heart of ice appreciate one of the most romantic movies of all time? And the way he made sure she had bread, and frowned and apologized when his cell phone rang during dinner.

  Little things.

  The way he’d stopped pouring wine for them after one glass because he didn’t want to drive under the influence.

  The way he’d smiled graciously and signed autographs for a table full of gawking tourists, deflecting attention away from her subtly. He had not made a point of excluding her but nonetheless shielded her from scrutiny.

  He held the door for her.

  Stood up when she excused herself to go to the ladies room.

  It was like having dinner with Prince Charming, not a swollen-headed movie star. Which irritated her to no end.

  They were back on the Bolvana lot by nine. The sun was falling behind the horizon, and the heat of the day had quickly dissipated, leaving behind a cool stillness. Ryker pulled into a space in front of the dun-colored bungalow that held Gunther’s offices. The building was apparently intended to look like a single-family home, though the generic brown exterior and bedraggled hedge did little to further that image.

  Alix parked and walked over to his car, feeling ridiculous in her miniskirt and heels. She’d bought the dress a year ago for the sole purpose of placating Gunther. Every time she visited him, he nagged her incessantly to dress up and go out to a few parties. Finally, she’d agreed. She’d told herself the dress was just another way of blending in, another costume she needed to learn to wear. As Ryker had pointed out, she attracted more attention when she dressed in her usual jeans and T-shirts than when she dressed to the nines, and she had to admit, it was nice to feel feminine once in a while. But unlike her dark glasses and baggy shirts, it was a costume that never quite seemed to fit. She always felt on the verge of tipping over in her high heels and had to fight the desire to hunch over and shield her breasts from view.

  Ryker held up a ring of keys. “Gunther lets me use his viewing room when we’re shooting. It’s more comfortable than watching the dailies in the editing room.”

  Alix nodded. She was nervous, more nervous than she’d been in a long time. Ryker wasn’t one of the male floozies who’d hit on her hundreds of times before. He was an electric male, dominating her gaze with broad shoulders and narrow waist, dark honey-colored skin, and sensual lips.

  He touched her back and guided her into the building. Currents of heat ran from the edges of his fingertips through the soft silk of her dress.

  Alix bit her lip and nursed the tiny cut she inflicted with a worried tongue. They were here to work. Ryker knew that as well as she did. Other than his eyes straying occasionally to her cleavage—which, she had to admit, she appreciated—he had been a perfect gentleman at dinner, giving no hint that he wanted anything more than to establish a good working relationship.

  Thank goodness.

  The interior hall was dark, but Ryker strode forward without pause, guiding Alix with a touch on her elbow. They passed two opened doors and then entered a room with a collection of tiny lights glowing from a console on the wall. Ryker hit a switch beside the door that illuminated a bank of bulbs above a large screen. A couch sat in the middle of the room, flanked on either side by a black leather Eames chair and a matching upholstered armchair. A tall counter with a smooth marbled surface curved around the far left corner of the room, with three silver barstools guarding the front. A crystal decanter half filled with amber liquid sat on one end.

  Ryker picked up a remote control and motioned for Alix to sit down. “Gunther brought me here when he introduced me to Garden of Eden. It’s quieter than the editing room and much more comfortable.”

  She looked around the room for a moment and contemplated sitting in one of the armchairs. Too obvious? Pathetic, that she couldn’t even sit next to him without panicking? She steeled her courage and plunked down in the middle of the couch. Surely he wouldn’t sit next to her. Surely he’d take one of the armchairs.

  “Like to take your half out of the middle, do you?” he said, voice low and amused as he wedged himself between her and the side of the couch.

  Alix scurried as far away as she could, though it gave her only an additional foot or so of room. Goose bumps rose on her traitorous skin. She pulled her knees together and tried for calm. “So, what are we watching?”

  He pushed Play and then immediately froze the film. A still image of Lena, wearing a low-cut black nightgown and lying across a crumpled bed, filled the screen. “This is the scene where Lena tricks Jake to get him in her room so she can seduce him. We first shot this scene about a month ago. I knew it wasn’t right, but when Gunther saw it, he nearly flipped.” The teasing light faded from his eyes as he stared at the screen. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and jabbed the remote control with one irritated finger. “Might as well get this over with.”

  Jake entered the room, gun drawn. “I heard something at the window,” he growled.

  Lena crawled out of bed, rubbing her eyes as if she’d just awakened. She stretched, arching her back and forcing her breasts to strain against the top of her gown. “There’s no one there. It’s just your imagination.”

  He turned, gaze immediately falling to her breasts. She looked away as if embarrassed, but the camera caught the hint of a smile on her lips, hidden behind a black waterfall of hair.

  “Imagination, huh? I suppose my imagination has been working overtime lately.”

  She laughed, a breathy, nervous sound. “About what?”

  “You have to ask?”

  She peered out from beneath her hair, seeking and tentative. “But the other day, you…you asked what I knew about Paulo, and I thought…”

  He stood over her, a full head taller. With one hand, he reached out and touched her arm. “I need to find out the truth, Salva. It’s my job. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

  She closed her eyes, swayed, brushing her breasts against him as she turned back toward the bed. “But you don’t trust me.”

  He paused and then slowly shook his head.

  She placed her hand on his forearm, a breathtaking picture of vulnerability. “I don’t care. Just kiss me. Please kiss me.”

  Jake stared at her, jaw flexing as if he fought some inner battle. Then, eyes open, he slowly lowered his mouth.

  She leaned against him, sliding her hands up a
long his chest. Their mouths meshed, and he groaned, burying his hands in her hair. His mouth slid along the edge of her jaw, then dipped lower, tracing the edge of her collarbone. She offered herself to him, shaking her hair behind her like a cloud and arching her back to press her chest closer to his. Without pause, he took what she gave, pulling the thin spaghetti straps of her nightgown over her shoulders and exposing her perfect white breasts. His fingers moved over the hard brown peaks, and she moaned.

  “NC-17 rating okay with you?” Alix asked.

  “We’ll edit out the racier stuff.”

  Jake returned his attention to her mouth. Bodies intertwined, they fell backward on the bed as he licked the edges of her lips, slid his tongue between them, claimed her like a prize.

  That was when it all began to go wrong. What had been an ordinary love scene, albeit one without much emotion, turned into a battle. He struggled to maintain control while she fought back, her mouth moving faster than his, her tongue slipping between his lips, her fingers catching him around the waist. Though to the casual viewer it might not have been noticeable, to Alix it was almost painful to watch, their bodies full of barely repressed anger, any hint of romance diluted by the far greater sense of fury. When he covered her with the weight of his body, it was an act of dominance, not passion, and when she rolled him onto his back and straddled him, it was tit for tat, push for shove.

  Alix watched for a minute before she covered her eyes and waved a hand at the screen. “Is it all like that?” she asked, her voice muffled behind her hand.

  “We did a number of takes,” Ryker said wearily. “That was the worst. By the end of the day, they’d worked through a lot of it and had reached a truce, I think. All I can say is that it didn’t look quite that bad when we were filming.”

  She observed him from the corner of her eye as he slumped back against the cushions. He rubbed his eyes and slouched down farther into the couch. He hit Fast Forward, and the film spun through a number of versions of the scene, then changed to a kitchen. Lena sat on a kitchen counter, laughing. Jake leaned between her legs. Ryker hit Play, and for a minute, the couple looked happy, their cheeks resting against each other. Jake eased his fingers through her hair, from her temple to the side of her neck. He took one long black curl and wound it around his finger. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and she froze. The look of ease disappeared, though she tried to maintain the same expression. A cold, tight smile replaced the sensual heat of the moment before.