Exposing Alix

by Scott, Inara

  Idly, she flipped through a basket filled with magazines and books. An oversized, soft-cover volume caught her eye. It was a collection of modern photography that she knew well. Laboznikov had been editing it when she was in school, and it included one of her own photographs. Bemused, she set the book on her lap and let the pages fall open to a thin leather strap that served as a bookmark.

  It marked her picture.

  It was one she had taken during Elias’s class on photographic techniques. She had focused on the puckered skin of a woman’s areola, barely including the edge of her nipple. A man’s thumb lay on the side of the nipple, curled possessively around it. Her skin was pink, the areola brown.

  Ryker had been checking up on her.

  She turned back to the basket and found an old copy of Film Quarterly, also familiar because in it, an NYU film student had written an article analyzing her erotic movies. This too was marked with a sticky note. Alix placed it on top of the book and flipped through the pages, feeling an unexpected surge of pride. Perhaps Ryker understood better, now that he’d read the article. Her movies were about more than getting off lonely women. They were about vulnerability, real emotion, and pure, honest pleasure.

  With a hopeful sigh, she leaned back into the buttery-soft leather chair and began to read.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryker focused on the feeling of the cool water against his skin and tried not to think about the nightmare that was only a few hours away. Naturally, he had forgotten about Rosalia’s dinner party. Perhaps forgotten was not the right word. Blocked, maybe. That would be more accurate.

  Rosalia had a family dinner at her house in Boyle Heights once a month. She was the oldest daughter, the matriarch now that Mama was gone, and she took her duties seriously. One had to be brave—or perhaps a little stupid—to reject her invitations. So Ryker attended her dinners, along with his father and four siblings, and hated every minute.

  The jokes about his work, his house in Malibu, and his “movie-star” lifestyle never seemed to cease. Never mind that they’d all accepted, at various times, his offers of money, jobs, and connections. Each still had his or her own source of criticism.

  His stepfather, Emilio, believed no good could come from the loose morals of the movie industry.

  His half brothers couldn’t understand why he didn’t party more and why he didn’t bring them along when he did.

  Rosalia nagged him incessantly to stop dating actresses and models, who she assumed were the equivalent of life-size Barbie dolls. Even worse, to Rosalia, was the fact that none of the women he’d dated had any trace of Latino blood. Rosalia took her Mexican heritage almost as seriously as her matriarchal responsibilities.

  Ryker had tried attending dinner alone, but that backfired. The last two times he’d shown up without a date, a young, unmarried girl with dusky skin and huge brown eyes had mysteriously appeared at the table next to him. It didn’t seem to matter to Rosalia that the women were all ten years his junior and painfully shy. She just kept throwing them his way.

  What would she think of Alix?

  He did a neat flip turn and pushed off on the side of the pool. He still didn’t know quite what to think of Alix, except that when faced with the prospect of suffering through another endless, painful dinner with his family, having her by his side made it sound almost bearable.

  She was good with the actors. Alix could fade into the background when they were shooting in a way he never could, getting out of the way of the actors when they needed their space and then filling them up when they were ready for direction. She never got angry or frustrated, never yelled like he did or stamped around when things didn’t go her way. She just smiled a Mona Lisa smile and kept on working.

  He had to admit, watching the couple in the park had been a unique experience. Though he had little faith that they had seen true love or any similar nonsense, he had gotten insight into the look Alix was trying to create. There had been something intense in that moment, something palpable and significant. He chalked it up to honest sexual desire, though admittedly, there was something unfamiliar about it. Something he didn’t see in the eyes of his actors.

  Seeing through her eyes had been a powerful experience. A powerful and arousing experience. He could no more have walked away from her at that second as he could have jumped off the narrow path into the canyon below. He covered it with humor and focused on seduction, but the truth was that he’d wanted her badly.

  Still did, actually. He understood that she wasn’t inclined to fall into bed with him. Or rather, her mind wasn’t so inclined. Her body clearly was. So he was taking it slowly. There was no need to rush. He wanted her more every day, but next time, he wanted her to come to him. And she would. He had no doubt that she would.

  Meanwhile, Alix’s presence on the set was proving surprisingly valuable. Ryker found himself arguing with her just to see how her mind worked. She thought out every move in advance like a savvy professional, every piece fitting into the big picture she had developed in her mind. He’d never worked so closely with someone before, and it was surprisingly comfortable—even enjoyable. Though he didn’t always agree with her, she always made him think.

  He stopped for a moment to adjust his goggles and looked up at the window of the spare bedroom. He pictured Alix standing there, gazing down on him as she had when he first entered the water. Even the memory of her eyes on his body sent the blood rushing to his groin.

  Thank goodness the pool was cold.

  He did five more laps and glanced at his watch, realizing he’d have to get ready soon, or they’d be late. If only he could stay here tonight and focus his attention on Alix. If only… Ryker forced himself to work out his frustration with another lap. His stepfather would pick up on his temper right away. Emilio had been harping on Ryker to control his temper from the day he moved in with Ryker’s mother. Which, naturally, had only pissed Ryker off more. As an adult, he was glad for the discipline he’d learned from Emilio, but it had done nothing to foster a relationship between them. Instead, he’d learned to develop a hard shell to slip behind whenever Emilio began to nag or Mama looked at him with those big sad eyes.

  Ryker found himself in that shell more and more these days, every time he went to dinner with the family. It was a comfortable place, that shell, a place where he didn’t have to feel anything, where he could watch from a distance and nothing they did could affect him.

  Sometimes he found himself wondering what it would be like to just be himself around them. But when they were around, he didn’t even know what that meant. Was he Ryker or Ricardo? The boy he used to be or the man he had become?

  He held his breath, swimming the length of the pool as fast as he could, slamming into the tiled wall on the other side and jerking up his head, gasping with effort. Flipping onto his back, he stared up at the clear blue sky. It was one night. A few hours. Maria and Rosalia both had young kids. The night always ended early. He would survive.

  Ryker pulled himself out of the water and grabbed his towel. He looked back up at the window, but she wasn’t there. He imagined her showering, emerging from the bathroom naked, breasts swaying as she walked. Tonight was the night. She’d wanted to come here. She wanted him.

  By the time the sun went down, his family would be a distant memory. Alix Z would finally be his.

  #

  Alix lost track of time as she became absorbed in the article about her movies. A feeling of nostalgia overcame her as she studied the still shots and remembered the process of shooting those films. Some days, filming an intense sexually explicit scene was the last thing her actors wanted to do. It had fallen to her to think up tricks to get them back in the mood. Soft lights, music, the right foods… She’d done anything she could think of to foster the romance. It didn’t always work, and that was okay too. She’d learned that being the director didn’t mean she was God. Some days you stumbled onto the magic, and some days you worked for it.

  “Basking in your glory days?
” A deep voice startled her back to awareness.

  She jumped, spilling a trickle of club soda down the front of her blouse. “Damn it, Ryker! You shouldn’t sneak up…” Her words trailed off as she took in his appearance. He must have come right from the pool, because his dark hair curled in sleek waves around his ears, and a few drops of water slid down his forehead. A white towel had been wrapped around his narrow waist, accentuating the soft brown of his skin and the hair that ran in a line from his chest to his groin.

  She cleared her throat. “…on a person like that.”

  “You know, we do have a few minutes before we have to go.” He raised a suggestive brow.

  Her skin felt as if it might spontaneously burst into flame at the suggestion. She backed against the chair and tucked her feet under the soft fabric of her skirt, forcing her mouth to repeat the words she’d practiced. “Ryker, I apologize if I’ve misled you, but I’m serious about keeping things between us purely professional. We’re clearly not compatible, anyway, and—”

  He cut her off with a raised hand. “Not compatible? That whole ‘coworker’ thing was crazy enough, and now you’re going to tell me we aren’t compatible?”

  She had the feeling she’d just waved a red cape in front of a bull.

  A hot, mad, Latin bull, with narrow hips and a rigid six-pack of muscles running down his stomach.

  Alix shook her hands in front of her. “Look, we disagree about everything. I’m a hopeless romantic, and you’re as pragmatic as they come.”

  “Our bodies,” he said softly, “are compatible. You can’t argue with that.”

  Alix gulped. “We need to focus on business. Salva’s Revenge. Lena. Jake. Figuring out how to get them to the next level. That’s where our energy needs to lie.”

  Ryker’s hand rested casually on the towel that was tucked around his waist. He ignored her agitation, continuing to examine her face with a slow, measured gaze. The buzz of the telephone interrupted the adrenaline rush that had her heart beating like a rabbit. He did not move to answer it. After a few rings, an answering machine picked up.

  “Ryker? This is Rosalia. I hope you’re not picking up because you already left. You know Papa hates when you’re late. Look, I need a couple of bottles of wine. If you get this, can you pick them up on your way over? Thanks.”

  Alix stared at Ryker. The moment between them passed as quickly as it had come.

  “I guess we don’t have time after all. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Mercedes purred smoothly as they pulled slowly down the circular drive toward the highway. Ryker’s eyes remained bleak and cold. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Gunther and the speculation about Ryker’s relationship with his family. Apparently things weren’t bad enough to keep him from a family dinner, but, judging from the muscle jerking in his jaw and the hard set to his shoulders, they weren’t good either.

  The silence stretched out between them.

  “Family dinner, huh?” she finally said. “How often do you all get together?”

  He twisted his mouth in a semblance of a smile. “Whenever Rosalia tells us to.”

  Alix smiled back, though he didn’t sound amused. “Is she the eldest?”

  “After me, yes.”

  “How many other siblings do you have?”

  “Four.”

  She thought about the pictures in the bedroom, and the homemade quilt on the bed. “You must be very close.”

  He gave a snort. “Right.”

  Alix stared out the windshield, acutely aware of the tension emanating from the large, male body beside her. They merged onto the freeway, and she tried not to flinch, because suddenly they were surrounded by traffic, cars and trucks coming from all sides at astonishing rates of speed. The low-slung Mercedes seemed only a few inches from the ground, and each time a giant SUV roared past, she closed her eyes.

  “Don’t trust my driving?”

  Alix tried to force her fingers from clawing the door handle. “I’m a New Yorker turned Oregonian—the worst possible combination. I don’t trust anyone’s driving.”

  He glanced into the rearview mirror and executed a lane change with the precision of an Indy 500 driver. “I thought New Yorkers had no fear.”

  “Just the crazy ones who actually learn how to drive. Folks like me take the subway and let the cabbies do the driving.”

  “You don’t know how to drive?” For the first time since they’d gotten in the car, the hint of a smile curved around his mouth. “How are you getting to and from your hotel?”

  Alix scowled. “I can drive. I hate it, but I can drive.”

  The smile widened. “Are you one of those people who goes twenty miles under the speed limit and slows down for green lights just in case they might change?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tell me about New York,” he said. “We’ve been working together for almost two weeks, and I don’t know any more about you now than I did when we met. Where did you grow up?”

  “The Bronx. Brownsville. Harlem. I moved around a lot.”

  “Your parents didn’t want to settle down?”

  “My mother left me at the hospital where I was born. I bounced around foster homes, mostly.”

  “Oh.” He appeared to contemplate the information, shooting quick glances at her as he continued to weave around the traffic. “That sounds tough. I grew up in South Central, but at least it was all in one spot.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “There’s good and bad to moving around. The good thing is, when things get really bad, you know they won’t last forever.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. So how did you end up getting into photography? And don’t try to duck the question.” He gave her a preemptory glare. “This time, I’m not giving up until I hear the answer.”

  Alix laid her head against the seat and closed her eyes. She wasn’t used to talking about herself, and the words seemed to stick in her throat. She imagined the first camera she’d ever held, a gorgeous old Nikon that weighed enough to leave a bruise around her neck when she wore it too long, and let the memory propel her speech.

  “We had a young, do-good teacher at my high school who got a grant to run an elective art and media class and handpicked a few kids to participate. I think she was probably related to someone in the business, because she got some famous photographers and directors to donate their time. I had pretty good grades and had taken a few art classes, so they put me in. Elias did a section on photography, and Gunther did one on film.”

  “I thought Gunther lived in LA—what was he doing in New York?”

  “He started in New York with theater and artsy stuff. He didn’t move to LA and get into the movies until I went to college. I lived with him for a few weeks before I moved into my own apartment my senior year.”

  She didn’t mention that she’d moved in with Gunther after she’d lost the baby, or that he’d helped her pay for that first apartment. Or that she was grateful, every day of her life, for that do-good teacher.

  A car cut in front of them. Without missing a beat, Ryker slammed on the brakes, swerved, and narrowly missed a collision. Alix winced and sank deeper into her seat. Subways might have their own problems, but at least you didn’t have to worry about being turned into an accordion by some three-ton SUV.

  “So you took a class in high school—what happened after that?” he asked.

  “They decided I had some potential. Elias gave me a camera and told me to pick out subjects I found interesting. There was a church across the street from my house, and I had a habit of sneaking in and watching when they had weddings. The priest started to recognize me. When he asked me what I was doing there, I offered to take pictures at the ceremonies, if they’d let me sit in the church. I did a few couples, and they liked my work. It snowballed after that.”

  “You photographed weddings. For Elias Laboznikov.” He shook his head in amazement.

  “You say th
at as if there’s something wrong with wedding pictures. I photographed people who happened to be at a wedding. They were incredible subjects. There aren’t many times in people’s lives when their emotions are so close to the surface.”

  “How about funerals? Did you sneak into those too?”

  Alix snorted. “When you grow up the way I did, you don’t need to search out misery. Joy and love, on the other hand, are a little harder to find.”

  “I suppose. And the sex? When did that come in?”

  She paused, trying to decide how to answer the question. Over the years, she’d found people fell into two general camps when it came to hearing about her work. The first group, which was by far the largest, really just wanted to hear about the movies. They didn’t care about the philosophy behind them. The second group was interested in the philosophy but didn’t necessarily appreciate the work itself.

  Ryker reached over and patted her leg. “You’re doing very well,” he said. “Just keep talking. It isn’t so hard now, is it?”

  Alix blushed, the warmth of his hand on her leg making it difficult to speak. Somehow, she had the feeling Ryker didn’t fall into either camp. He seemed more interested in her than the photos or the movies. That was something entirely new.

  “By the time I graduated from high school, I had made a little business for myself. I got a scholarship to college and paid for living expenses by photographing weddings. And then I had this idea that people might pay me to go on part of their honeymoon with them. I mentioned it to Gunther. He talked to some actors who loved the idea. It was a pretty good gig—I’d take pictures of them on location somewhere, and then I’d leak the pictures to the press over a couple of weeks while they went elsewhere. It gave them some privacy, and I got to travel and take pictures. One of the couples asked me to film them having sex. They were a particularly uninhibited pair and yet truly loved each other. I said yes and was completely fascinated with what I saw.”