Exposing Alix

by Scott, Inara

  Ryker hit Pause again. He muttered an expletive under his breath. “I thought they were professionals.”

  “She’s in love with him, Ryker,” Alix said softly. “You can’t blame her for that.”

  “What?” He looked amazed. “She hates him. It’s as plain as the nose on her face. She must still be pissed about that wardrobe girl.”

  Alix shook her head. “I always try to give men the benefit of the doubt, but you really don’t get this stuff, do you?”

  He sighed. “If you’re considering giving me a lecture about true love, you can stop right now. I’m not interested.”

  “Whether you’re interested or not, Lena’s still in love with Jake. She’s terrified to let him touch her. That’s why she looks like that. She’s using her anger to mask her fear. If we don’t figure out some way to get her past that fear, we’ll never get what we need out of these two.”

  Ryker got off the couch and began to pace the room. “So now we’re supposed to be amateur psychiatrists? Matchmakers? Sorry, but I don’t do Dr. Phil on the set of my movies. They’re grown-ups, and they’re making too much money to allow these feelings to get in the way of their jobs. Forget all that, and tell me something I can control. Cameras, lighting, costume, set design… What are we missing?”

  “They’re not just actors, Ryker, they’re people, and there’s some serious stuff going on between them. You think we can just stand there and tell them to forget it, and it will all go away?”

  “So what do you suggest?” He laughed grimly. “We send them out on a date?”

  Alix leaned back against the couch, relieved not to have his body so close to hers. “I didn’t say we had to fix their relationship. I said we had to get her past her fear. She’s an actor—a good actor. We just have to convince her she’s good enough to hide her real feelings.”

  “I see.” He leaned against the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. “And you figured all this out from watching five minutes of film?”

  She shrugged. “I could be completely wrong. Stranger things have happened.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “I don’t think so. I know fear when I see it, but she isn’t scared of him physically. She trusts him enough to fight with him, and that tells me there’s still something between them.”

  “So you’ve watched a bunch of people screw, and now you’re some kind of sexual Sherlock Holmes?” He kept his voice light, but it was impossible to hide the irritation that lurked below the surface.

  Alix bit her lip. “I’m just telling you what I think.”

  He advanced on her a few steps, his mouth curving speculatively. “Tell me, Sherlock, I’ve got some pent-up frustration. Any ideas for getting rid of it?”

  She tried to laugh, though her heart skipped at the look in his eye. “Sorry, I only diagnose actors.”

  “You’re sure?” He stopped a few feet in front of her, head cocked at a questioning angle as his gaze traveled up and down her body. “I bet we could figure something out between the two of us.”

  Alix’s body flushed with heat. She knew she should move quickly, make it clear that she wanted nothing to do with whatever he was offering. Yet she was frozen, unable to tear herself away from the most sexually charged moment she’d experienced in years. “Look, it’s getting late. Maybe we should take this up again in the morning.”

  He took her hand and pulled her to standing. The touch of his palm caught her breath in her throat, and she wobbled on her high heels. He smiled and placed one finger on the strap of her dress, right by her collarbone, and then slid the finger down to the front of her dress. “You know, I’ve been wondering. How many…” He trailed the back of his hand across her bare skin. “How many couples do you think you’ve watched over the years?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked lowly, an uncomfortable prickle tightening her nipples. “What does this have to do with Salva’s Revenge?”

  “I’m just curious. When you’re taking your pictures, you’re watching them, right? They’re having sex in front of you. So what do you think? How many has it been?” His hand crept around to the back of her neck, where he lingered for a minute, tickling the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, and then following the delicate bones of her spine down her back.

  She swallowed hard, willing herself to pull away as his hand came to rest on the small of her back. “I don’t really keep track.”

  “Surely you have some idea,” he said.

  “I’d really prefer not to talk about it. I don’t think—”

  He leaned forward and let his mouth lightly caress the edge of her shoulder. At the same time, he pressed her toward him, bringing their bodies into contact from thigh to chest. Her heart lurched as his lips traveled upward, along the sensitive skin of her neck and the line of her jaw. Desire curled through her body, lingering in the pit of her stomach.

  Finally, their lips met, touched, parted. He was taking without pause, and she was letting him, letting the wet, seductive pressure of his tongue run through her. There was fire inside her, rushing in a torrent from her lips to her legs.

  It was an emotion she hadn’t felt for ages.

  Hell, she’d never felt it before. Not like this.

  He slid his mouth down her neck. “Do you pick up tips while you’re watching? Refine your technique?” he breathed.

  “Ryker—” She meant to tell him to stop, but the sensation of his lips caressing her neck robbed her of breath, of thought. He pressed into the base of her spine, and she molded against him. He returned to her mouth, sucked lightly on her bottom lip, and then opened his lips to take her into a cloud of hot, wet passion. She clutched his shoulder, the muscles beneath her hand hard, flexing as he ran a hand along her spine, tracing the outline of her vertebrae. She had no idea how to tell him to stop, couldn’t even remember why she should. Her voice had disappeared even as her body melted into his sensual assault.

  His hand moved up her side, brushing lightly against the hard peaks of her nipples, and she gasped, the spell finally broken. The pleasure was too intense, her reaction too swift and abandoned to let it continue. She knew what lay at the end of this path, and she refused to go through it again. She put her hands on his chest and firmly pushed him away, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. “This isn’t a good idea. We’re working together.”

  He straightened, his eyes dark, unfathomable. “Look, I don’t like to get involved with coworkers either. But let’s be rational about it. We’re attracted to each other. We’re grown-ups. I think we can handle it.”

  She tried to slow her breathing and act calm. “I’m being practical. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not here for long, and we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  His voice curled around her, deep and sensual, with just a hint of humor. “We can speed things up, if you prefer. I suggest we take our time, personally, but if you’re feeling rushed…”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. She took a step back. “We just met. You don’t know anything about me.”

  He eyed her flushed cheeks, and then his gaze dropped lower, to the hard buds peeking out through the thin silk of her dress. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure that matters.”

  “Of course it matters,” she flared, drawing strength from his statement. “Look, I’m here to make my hundred thousand dollars and get the hell out of LA as quickly as possible. I’m not interested in entanglements. Understand?”

  He assessed her silently and then nodded. “If you say so.”

  He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his eyes. But she knew what would happen if she tried to explain. She’d tell him how she valued her privacy and how she wasn’t interested in casual sex, and he’d look at her with pity and pretend he understood. Meanwhile, he’d be thinking what a pathetic, frigid freak she must be.

  She made her voice firm. “I do. It’s been a long day, and we’ve got an early call tomorrow. Can we just drop it?”<
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  “If you insist,” he said. “The last thing I want is to interrupt your beauty sleep. Six a.m. call. I’ll look forward to hearing your ideas for bringing about this great reconciliation between Jake and Lena.”

  Unsure from his wry smile what he was—or was not—dropping, Alix grabbed her purse from the couch. “Fine. Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her words tripped over each other nervously.

  She caught sight of him staring at her bottom as she bent over to retrieve her bag. His grin widened. “I will look forward to it. There’s nothing I like better than to watch a master working her craft.”

  #

  Ryker walked Alix to her car and then returned to the screening room. He sank down into the couch, smile fading as he focused on the projection screen and the frozen image of Lena and Jake. He jabbed at the remote control until their faces faded away.

  What a night. From Alix’s transformation to that amazing kiss, nothing had gone the way he’d expected. She’d gotten under his skin from the very start with her probing questions about love and sex. He’d turned on the charm then because he remembered from their first meeting that it seemed to fluster her. She’d responded with a mix of nervousness and defiance that he couldn’t help but enjoy. He had assumed a woman with her background would have been hit on thousands of times, but she didn’t have the tough skin or the casual cynicism he would have expected. He certainly hadn’t expected to find a mix of innocence and temptation, all wrapped up together in one saucy package of sultry emerald eyes and smooth skin.

  And her mouth… Lord, nothing could have prepared him for that mouth. Hot and wet, sucking him into a dark pool of passion that he would have willingly drowned in, right then and there. With one kiss she’d turned on his entire body.

  It was remarkable. She was a puzzle, a knot he wanted to unravel more and more every time he saw her. She’d trembled with anticipation when he’d touched her. He’d felt the shiver run through her, seen how her nipples hardened instantly under his touch. Her body didn’t hesitate before reacting, even if her mind told her it should. Her hips had melded with his; her lips teased him with unrestrained passion.

  And she was ready to throw that away because they were coworkers? Because she didn’t want to live in LA? A woman who worshipped at the altar of good sex and made movies dedicated to the art of arousal didn’t have time for entanglements?

  Ryker shook his head. He turned out the rest of the lights in the bungalow and got into his car. If nothing else, the mystery of Alix had momentarily distracted him from the train wreck Salva’s Revenge had become. Hell, he’d be distracted all night long just thinking about the touch of her tongue on his.

  As he pulled out onto the freeway, a smile played around the corner of his mouth. Twice now Alix had pushed him away. One might think he’d be frustrated, embarrassed even. But instead he was strangely energized. He couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow and see what she’d do next. He half expected an entirely different person to greet him in the morning.

  It was as if they were in the first act of a three-act play, and he didn’t know yet how the story would end.

  Though he had a very good guess.

  Chapter Eight

  Alix practically ran back to her car, not stopping until she hit the cool outside air. She fumbled with the car key and slid into the front seat, her hands shaking. Two blocks later, her heartbeat was still racing, and there was a suspicious warmth between her thighs.

  Damn him. Damn him for being just as dangerous as she’d expected. Damn him for giving her that horrible, seductive smile—the one she’d seen him use in all his movies to get the girl into bed.

  And damn her for still wanting him.

  When the light turned green, Alix forced herself to accelerate rapidly and merge into the next lane. She had to stop thinking about Ryker and pay attention to her driving, or she’d end up in a ten-car pile-up on the 101. Then she’d really be the laughingstock of Hollywood.

  Her phone rang in her purse, and she jumped at the sound. She managed to extract her cell just as the call went to voice mail, her car swerving into the next lane. A horn honked, and someone sped by, shouting. She cringed and sank down in the seat. Truthfully, she was a horrible driver. She’d grown up a foster kid in New York City and moved into her own apartment when she was seventeen. She’d never had the money or the need for a car until she moved to LA, after film school. By then it was too late. She didn’t have the reflexes.

  She studiously ignored the honking horns and looked at the phone, half thinking she’d see Ryker’s name on her caller ID.

  It was Gunther.

  Of course, Gunther. She’d promised she’d call him when she got into town.

  She straightened in her seat and adjusted the rearview mirror. As she did, she caught a quick look at her flushed face and shook her head with disgust. Gunther couldn’t see her like this. He would know something was wrong. She had to pull herself together.

  Alix deliberately took five deep, slow breaths. She hit the air conditioning and rolled down the windows.

  Ryker, she reminded herself, was just a man. A man with the face and body of a Greek god, perhaps, but a man. And she had very clear rules for dealing with men; rules that would ensure she never, ever made the same mistakes she’d made in the past.

  Rule one: no sex without love. That eliminated most wannabe actors and directors from the dating pool. Hollywood-types wanted sex, nothing more. In fact, once she made rule one, she didn’t really need a rule two.

  Thirty white-knuckled minutes and two near-collisions later, she pulled up to the gate in front of a sprawling Bel Air mansion. She tapped in a passcode and waited for the heavy iron to retract. When it did, she accelerated up the drive to the front of the palatial, three-story mansion Gunther called home.

  A modern wonder in white stucco and steel, the house flowed in narrow rectangles up and down a sprawling hillside, with expansive views of the city at every level. A series of connected pools surrounded three sides of the building, and the gurgle of the moving water filled the quiet night.

  Gunther met her at the front door. His short, white-blond hair was neatly spiked from his head, his round, smooth cheeks cherubic as always. He wore dark pants and a black silk T-shirt that showed off his physique, which, despite being in his mid-sixties, rivaled many of the actors cast through his production company.

  “I wondered when you were going to show up,” he grumbled. “I finally had to call the studio to see if you had arrived.”

  Alix ran around the side of the car and let him envelop her in a hug. “I’m sorry. Ryker kept me…busy.” The warmth of his grumble made her smile. No one cared about her the way Gunther did. It still felt like a small miracle every time she saw him, and she wondered where her life might have taken her had he not insisted she join his film class.

  Gunther held her shoulders and stepped back a pace. “What on earth are you wearing? Don’t tell me Ryker’s already got you prancing around town in your minidress. That’s a second-date dress, not a first!”

  Alix rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t for him,” she said. “I was trying to blend in. Jeans didn’t seem like the right message.”

  “And the message would be…take me, I’m yours?” Gunther planted his hands on his hips and glared. He had made millions scaring actors, directors, and agents with that stare, but Alix knew there was nothing behind it. At least, when applied to her.

  “I thought you wanted me to go out more. Weren’t you just saying that?”

  “Not without me,” he snapped. “Not with Ryker Valentine.”

  Alix tucked her hair behind her ears and slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow. “I see you’re feeling very paternal tonight. Shall we pour you a cup of warm milk and tuck you off to bed?”

  He snorted but allowed her to lead him back into the house. “Make it a gin and tonic, and then we’ll talk. Now, how was your flight?”

  “A bit bumpy. But I survived.”

  They walked a step
down into a sunken living room. A thick white shag rug tickled her toes through her sandals. The room was stark, white and steel, with an enormous black-and-white picture over the mantel of a large fireplace. The picture was of a man and woman kissing, their faces half hidden by the woman’s hair, which whipped around them as if stirred by a strong wind. The man’s hands cupped her jaw. Her shoulders were bare, their edges blurred by movement.

  Alix winced when she saw it. “Haven’t you taken that down yet?”

  “Oh, hush. It’s some of your best work,” Gunther reproved. He walked over to a wet bar on the other side of the room. “Martini?”

  Alix shook her head. “Not unless you want to peel me off the floor in an hour.”

  “You can always stay here, you know.”

  “I know. But I’m already checked into the hotel.” And she’d never felt comfortable here. She didn’t need to say it out loud. He understood. The opulence made her feel like she was trespassing in someone’s museum. At least hotels didn’t pretend to be a home.

  “I can’t believe you would pick a hotel over me,” Gunther said.

  “It’s the Hotel Bel-Air.” Alix grinned. “How could I turn down such luxury?”

  “You’ll stay here on the weekends, at least.”

  Alix inclined her head back toward the picture. “I heard from them a month or so ago. Apparently they’re expecting.”

  Gunther gave a look that acknowledged her blatant attempt to change the subject, but he did not argue further. “Did you film the conception?”