by Julie Leto
Great. Just fucking great. Helen made a quick call to Lauren’s publicist, and they hammered out a game plan for how to handle that little bit of choice news once it was leaked to the press, which would be in less than an hour, by normal Hollywood standards. Some cop would think it was funny to list that item in the police report and the rest would be history.
Helen decided to march up the stairs and make sure none of L.A.’s finest decided it would be a fun idea to take the sex toy into evidence or to sell it on eBay.
Once in the bedroom, she spotted it immediately, peeking out from between some pillows.
She leaned forward to get a closer look.
“I think I bought that for her,” she said.
“Why on earth would you do that?”
Helen jumped and spun, expecting to see Aiden behind her. But he wasn’t there. No one was. But she’d clearly heard his voice.
“Aiden?”
She leaned into the hallway. It was deserted. She explored the nearby rooms and found them all unoccupied. Had she imagined his voice?
It was possible, she supposed. She reached into her pocket and retrieved the tarnished gold button Ben Rousseau had given her just a few hours before. Okay, so she’d had two pomegranate martinis. She certainly wasn’t drunk. After her meeting she’d stopped into the hotel spa for a quick manicure and pedicure, allowing herself plenty of time to sober up before she got into the car. Unsure when Lauren was expected on the set and unable to reach her on the cell, she’d swung by the house on her way to the studio, hoping to smooth any residual hard feelings from the night before and to talk to her about Aiden’s long-lost nephew and his request for contact. She’d stumbled onto the break-in purely by accident.
She heard movement downstairs. Just in case some nosy photographer had sneaked past the cops, she picked up a pillow and tossed it over the vibrator.
A voice echoed up the stairs. “Helen?”
“Lauren?”
She moved toward the door and suddenly was overcome by the scent, smell and feel of a man. She stopped dead, then spun around, expecting once again to see Aiden somewhere nearby, but the place was empty. First she’d heard his voice and now she’d recognized his scent?
She clutched the button tighter in the palm of her hand.
“Helen?”
“I’m up here!” she called.
Lauren met her halfway up the stairs.
“What happened? The police said Nigel broke into my house.”
“Good thing Cinda brought back your watchdog. He took a nice hunk out of Nigel’s snooty hide.”
Lauren pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Did Nigel get—”
“The sword? I don’t think so. The police didn’t find anything out of place except your…well, your…”
Why she was suddenly shy, Helen had no idea, but she grabbed Lauren’s arm and marched her up the stairs into the bedroom, where she uncovered the sex toy with a certain flourish.
Lauren cursed, then laughed. “Oh, dear God. Who saw that?”
“All the police who traipsed through this room, I’m assuming. But what I want to know is why you need that anymore when you have the real deal in the form of Aiden Forsyth.”
A rumbling male voice caused an explosion of gooseflesh on Helen’s skin: “I was wondering precisely the same thing.”
Twenty Eight
Helen stumbled backward and fell onto the bed. Lauren, on the other hand, slammed her fists onto her hips and stared into the not-so-empty air. She knew he was probably still ticked off about last night, but that didn’t give him an excuse to give her best friend a heart attack.
“What the fuck was that?” Helen shouted, her voice high-pitched with terror. “That’s the second time I’ve heard Aiden’s voice when he’s not here. Lauren, what the hell is going on?”
Lauren waited to see if Aiden was going to answer again, because if he opened his big mouth one more time she might never forgive him. She dropped her arms lazily to her side and tried to look casual.
Luckily for her, he remained silent.
“What do you mean?” Lauren asked innocently.
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Lauren Cole. You heard him. You had to hear him, unless you’ve suddenly gone deaf.”
Lauren slid onto the bed beside Helen and pulled out her trump card. “Two-martini lunch again?”
With a sputter, Helen tried to stand. Lauren grabbed her by the blouse and, with a quick yank, sent her tumbling back onto the bed.
“You did that!”
“Did what?” Lauren lowered her chin and conjured up her most reproachful expression. “Honey, you really shouldn’t indulge so early in the day, especially with all the stress we’ve both been under. About last night, you know, with David. I was out of line. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t try to distract me with apologies. Where is Aiden? Is he hiding in your closet?”
She leveraged herself off the bed and dashed toward the door to the walk-in, tearing it open and flipping on the light. The spacious room overflowed with clothes and shoes, which Helen tore into as if she were again missing the little Dolce & Gabbana skirt that Lauren often borrowed.
“Where is he?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Lauren replied. “But no more vodka for you before happy hour. You’re hearing things.”
As she slammed the closet door shut, something slipped out of Helen’s hand and clattered across Lauren’s hard wood floor. It was small and gold. An earring?
“What was that?” Lauren said.
“What, now it’s your turn?” Helen snapped, still shaking.
“You dropped something.”
Helen pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. “Must have been my brain, because I’ve clearly lost my mind.”
Lauren threw a reproachful look to nowhere in particular, not knowing exactly where Aiden was. She turned to Helen, who was doing her best to straighten her now rumpled clothes.
“Wait a minute,” Helen said. “Where’s the sword?”
“In my safe. I locked it up before I left. That’s what Nigel was looking for.”
“Too bad he was too late,” Helen gloated. “I don’t know if you heard, but I sold the idea of using the sword to the art director. He wants to see it in person first thing tomorrow so he can run some lighting tests. And he wants to get the prop guys started on making copies.”
“So you showed them the video,” Lauren said.
Helen grinned. “I edited out all the good parts.”
“When did you have time to do all that?”
“While you were still recuperating in the hospital. I figured getting everyone excited about using the sword in the film would not only rub your possession in Ross’s face, but it would keep him from trying to take it back.”
Like her, Helen could be self-absorbed and single-minded when it came to her own success, but when it came to moving heaven and earth to be Lauren’s friend, Helen was the bomb. Lauren’s stomach lurched with guilt. “If you’re trying to make me feel like a bitch for the way I reacted last night, you’ve succeeded.”
“Good. You were a bitch,” Helen verified. “But it’s understandable. You were blindsided by David, and that was my fault. I should have checked more thoroughly into his background.”
Lauren shook her head. “No, there’s nothing you could have seen. Look, he’s a good guy, deep down. He made some mistakes. Haven’t we all? But he did save my life. Twice. I just wasn’t prepared to see him. I reacted badly. I owe him a huge apology.”
Helen didn’t look convinced. “No, you don’t. He could have come clean to both of us about who he really was and what he really wanted.”
Her voice crackled with resentment, so Lauren decided to let the matter drop. More than likely she’d never see David Drake—or whatever his name used to be—ever again.
Helen returned to the bed, this time drawing her legs underneath her, as if she were afraid for her feet to dan
gle too close to the edge. She was creeped out. Lauren couldn’t blame her, Disembodied voices tended to do that to people.
“You really didn’t hear Aiden’s voice?” Helen asked again.
Not wanting to lie outright, Lauren gave an innocent shrug.
“I’m losing my mind,” she muttered.
“You’re just drinking too early. Where’d you go?”
Helen took a moment to accept Lauren’s explanation, lame as it was, then replied, “I had a meeting at the Crown Chandler with a friend of the owner.”
“Alexa Chandler?”
Could this be a coincidence? Helen and Lauren both regularly frequented the posh hotel and its spa, but though Lauren had probably been introduced to the heiress Alexa Chandler at some party or premiere, they did not travel in the same circles, and Lauren couldn’t remember anything about her. How convenient was it that Helen would take a meeting with someone associated with the company that owned the Web site listing Aiden’s family tree?
“Yeah,” Helen replied, still unnerved and glancing around the room suspiciously, as if she expected Aiden to jump out and scare them at any moment—which, Lauren supposed, he could. “I met this professor, Ben Rousseau. He claims to be Aiden’s nephew.”
“He knows about Aiden?”
“Why, is he a secret?”
Lauren forced a laugh. “I mean, he knows Aiden?”
A moment later Lauren felt an invisible hand slide over her shoulder. Her body responded instantly—every muscle warmed to a steady heat, her heartbeat accelerated and her chest constricted with a wash of emotions ranging from lust to regret to worry to love. Yes, love. Or at least a deep, intense caring that made her question everything about her life and ambitions. She hadn’t realized until that moment how desperately she’d missed his touch—missed him. She leaned her cheek down toward her shoulder and inhaled deeply, invigorated by the subtle scent of him lingering in the air: musk and soap and leather and man.
Her man.
“Lauren?”
Aiden’s insubstantial fingers wound into the hair along her nape. When a swish of lips brushed against the exposed flesh on her neck, her insides melted. How could she deny him anything? Ever?
“Lauren?”
She shook off the erotic sensations spiking through her body and cleared her throat.
“Are you all right?” Helen asked.
“Yes,” she said, charging to the bathroom to splash water on her face. “Tell me more about this supposed nephew of Aiden’s. I don’t think he knows he has any family left.”
After staring at her skeptically for a second, Helen proceeded to fill her in on her midday meeting with the college professor and expert in Gypsy lore, and his girlfriend, a paranormal researcher.
“Paranormal, huh?” Lauren asked.
That could not be a coincidence.
“Yeah,” Helen said, though she seemed not to have paid much attention to the girlfriend. “So, the professor gives me this button, but…” She glanced down at her hands. “Oh, shit. Maybe that’s what I dropped.”
They were both on the floor searching when Helen’s cell phone trilled, and she cursed.
“Who is it?”
Helen glanced at the caller ID. “The big, bad wolf.”
“Ross?”
“Think he heard about Nigel?”
Lauren rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, yeah.”
“Then why’s he calling me?”
“No clue. Answer it outside, will you? I’ve had my fill of him today.”
She waited until Helen had disappeared down the hall; then, from her place on the floor, she kicked the door closed. When the latch clicked, she called for Aiden in an urgent whisper.
“Answer me. I know you’re here.”
“Are we speaking to each other yet?”
Lauren sighed with relief. “Of course. Look, about last night—”
“Please, my lady, can we discuss our disagreement at a later time? I am more interested in hearing about my nephew.”
“You think that’s real?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps if I could see the button?”
Lauren dropped flat to the ground and looked under the bed, where she spied her private box open and disheveled. She dragged it out from her obviously inadequate hiding place.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
The pillow on the bed popped to the ground, revealing a thick purple plastic erection pointed out from between her pillow shams. “No more than I am responsible for this. I do not suppose you care to explain the modern usage of such a—”
“No,” she snapped, yanking the battery-powered dildo off the bed and shoving it back in the box. “I suppose Nigel tried to ransack my room in search of the sword.”
Aiden’s chuckle seemed to vibrate straight into her skin.
“I attempted to distract him,” he claimed.
“Yeah, well,” she said, making a mental note to discuss dust bunnies with her housekeeper as she slapped powdery dirt off her hands. “I distinctly remember leaving Apollo out on the patio for the day.”
“Clever dog, finding his way inside all on his own,” Aiden claimed, his innocent tone exaggerated.
She laughed, relieved that her unwillingness to drop her life to shuttle Aiden off to England hadn’t resulted in a loss of his sense of humor. “It’s not under here.”
“Perhaps I can assist.”
She waited, and as if a wave of heat had flashed through the room, she felt a sudden explosion of warmth, followed by the impression that Aiden had just touched her everywhere and nowhere all at the same moment. A tiny gold disk skittered out from behind her dresser. She lifted it into her palm, then held it out to the air.
“Well?”
He was silent for a long moment before he said, “ ‘Tis mine.”
A chill spread through the room, rippling through her with the same force as the warmth had a moment before.”What does that mean?”
“I am not sure.”
The door opened and Helen peeked her head in. “I thought I heard Aiden’s voice again.”
“I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for him,” Lauren replied.
“I’m starting to think there’s something about this guy that you’re not telling me.”
“What did Ross have to say?”
“That you’re needed on the set—with the sword.”
“Now that his minion failed, I suppose he’s going to try to get it back on his own.”
“Ross was never one to get his hands dirty. He didn’t even ask about Nigel. Maybe he doesn’t know.”
“Did you tell him?”
Helen frowned. “That’s so not in my job description.”
“So now I can tell him when we get back to the set?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Lauren felt a little push on the back of her shoulder, and her hand, still holding the button, jumped. “Oh, about Aiden’s supposed nephew. Where is he?”
“Staying at the Crown Chandler, waiting for my call.”
“Call him. And send a car. Have him and his girlfriend meet us on the set.”
“But where is Aiden?
When the urging sensations she’d felt a moment before shifted into intimate caresses, Lauren knew that no matter how they’d argued the night before, Aiden wasn’t about to abandon her anymore than she would abandon him.
“I have a feeling he’ll meet us there.”
Twenty Nine
Through the glass doors in the lobby, Cat watched Ben pace the length of the hotel’s driveway, attempting again to reach his father. They’d called the hotel late last night, with no answer, but had figured Paschal had simply gone to bed. This morning Ben had started to worry. Now that they’d received a call from Helen Talbot, inviting them to the set of Lauren Cole’s latest film with the promise of a chance to meet Aiden as soon as he arrived, they’d been desperate to reach Paschal and share the amazing news.
He’d returned no phone calls and no
one had seen him in days. Every call from Paschal to Ben in Los Angeles had been from his cell.
Ben had left strict instructions for his father to stay put, but that might have been his first mistake. Paschal didn’t like to be bossed around any more than his son did, which was the only reason Cat had been biting her tongue.
Not that she was any expert in interfamily relationships, but Ben’s inability to treat his father as anything but a fragile old man had already taken a toll on the iffy trust the two shared. She didn’t have to use her psychic powers to get the feeling that the more this quest played out, the more tentative the connection between father and son would become. Paschal didn’t have a lot of time left, and she knew from her own experiences that Ben was going to kick himself for years if Paschal died while they were at odds, particularly over something insignificant.
“Ms. Reyes?”
Catalina turned. Amber Rose, the hotel’s concierge, stepped up to her, bearing an overnight-mail envelope. Her curly blond hair was tamed in an upswept do that brought out the startling green of her eyes. It was no wonder the woman had a reputation for providing guests with anything they needed—Cat couldn’t imagine anyone being able to tell the woman no.
“So, how’s your stay so far?” the concierge asked.
“Very productive.”
“Have you managed a trip to our spa yet? Ms. Chandler insisted I comp a full spa day for both you and Dr. Rousseau.”
The idea of lounging in a mud bath or having a couples massage intrigued Cat, but so far they hadn’t had the time. “Maybe tomorrow. We’re keeping fairly busy.”
“So your meeting with Ms. Talbot went well?”
Cat nodded. It had been the one bright spot of the entire morning. “She just called. She’s sending over a studio limousine for us so we can meet with Lauren Cole.”
“That’s fabulous. She’s really down-to-earth. You’ll like her.” As she spoke, she held out the overnight-delivery envelope. “This just came for you at the front desk. You seemed to be on your way out, and I suspected you might want it before you took off for the afternoon.”
