"So, did you start that rumor or not?" she asked.
He knew she referred to the sex tape the reporter had pestered them about. "I might have."
"Flint?"
"Okay, I did. Well, not me personally. But it came from my camp, so to speak."
She shot him a teasing smile. "You're such a dog."
"Hey, it's my job. I can't help it."
The gated door opened, and they stepped inside. "There's a security camera in here," she said. "Gee, maybe we ought to make love."
He looked around but didn't see anything that resembled a camera lens. "Where is it?"
"I was just kidding."
"Now who's being a dog? You know how aroused I get in elevators."
They reached the fourth floor, but neither Flint nor Gina made a move to leave.
"How aroused?" she asked.
A shiver slid straight down his spine. "You have no idea."
"I know how wild you are, Flint."
"Do you?" he countered. Although she wore a fairly conservative dress and a camel-colored jacket, the knee-high boots were enough to spark his imagination. "Are you wearing hose, Gina?"
She shook her head, and his gaze roamed over every inch of her.
"So your legs are bare?"
"Yes."
"Are you wearing panties?"
She gnawed a little nervously on her lower lip, and the innocent gesture excited him even more.
"Yes," she said. "I'm wearing panties. Do you want to know what color they are?"
"No." He moved closer, backing her against the elevator wall. "I want you to take them off."
She watched him through anxious eyes, then she reached under her dress and removed a wisp of material.
He got a glimpse of white cotton and pink lace before the panties disappeared into her purse. How tidy she was, he thought. How provocatively proper.
Unable to wait another second, Flint kissed her. Her apartment was just a few feet away, but he had no intention of spoiling the fantasy.
As she moaned against his mouth, he unbuttoned her jacket so he could bring her closer, so he could feel her heart hammer against his.
Their gazes locked in a flash of gold, in a spark of blue violet. She unzipped his pants, and when she pushed his underwear down and stroked him, fire erupted in his veins, bursting like a sea of liquid heat.
Desperate, he bunched her dress to her hips.
And then they made love.
Hot, wicked love, with their clothes on.
Blinded by passion, he thrust into her over and over again. She felt warm and slick, so wet he nearly lost his mind.
The fantasy raged out of control. He knew this was more than just sex. This was need. And it burned all the way to his soul.
As she wrapped her legs around him, he battled with the fear of losing her, with the knowledge that he didn't have a choice but to let her go.
Reaching behind her, he released her ponytail. And when her hair spilled over her shoulders in a riot of curls, he tugged her head back and kissed her. So hard, he nearly swallowed her whole.
From there, they moved, viciously, violently, craving a release. They bumped into the elevator buttons, and the gated door opened and then closed, reminding them of where they were.
Gina's eyes, those stunning violet eyes, sought his just once, before she tore the front of his shirt and cried out in orgasmic bliss.
He fought to stay focused, to watch her, to make her climax again, but he was too close. Too aroused. Too damn hungry for fulfillment.
With a rough, jagged curse, Flint damned his addiction and tumbled into the sweet, satisfying abyss of the woman he couldn't keep.
* * *
At Flint's house, Gina unpacked her toiletries. The master bathroom had double sinks with plenty of room for two people, but she couldn't resist placing her cleansing creams and cosmetics next to Flint's shaving gear. Seeing their personal items side by side almost made them seem married.
Married?
She gazed at her reflection. Was she crazy? Having fantasies about being married to Flint? He'd invited her to stay with him, but that hardly spelled commitment.
He came into the bathroom and she felt flustered, afraid he'd figure out what she'd been thinking.
"Are you almost done?" he asked.
She didn't turn. She could see him in the mirror, standing behind her. "Yes."
"So, you unpacked your clothes already?"
"Yes," she said again. He'd given her ample closet space. He'd even cleared a dresser drawer for her.
"Hey, look, we have the same toothbrush." He picked up the electric plaque remover she used.
"A lot of people have those," she said, telling herself he'd offered to share his quarters with her because the sex was so great, not because he craved emotional intimacy.
"Yeah, I guess they do." He slipped his arms around her. "I built a fire downstairs. Why don't you come down and have a cup of hot chocolate with me?"
She met his gaze in the mirror. She could hear the wind howling outside. The calm day had turned into a dramatic night.
"Gina?"
She leaned against him. He felt so strong, so perfect. "I'll be down in a minute, okay?"
"Okay."
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and left her alone with her thoughts.
She splashed water on her face, hoping to wake herself. She wasn't sleepy, but she drifted somewhere between a dream and reality.
Heaven help her, she thought, as she dried her face. Coming here, staying with him was a mistake. Yet she wanted to be with him, to sleep in the same bed, to share the same bathroom, to pretend they were truly a couple. Which was a foolish, impossible notion. Her relationship with Flint was scheduled to end in less than a week.
Then don't fall in love with him, she told herself. Don't let it happen.
With silent trepidation, she went downstairs, then managed a smile when she saw Flint's dog.
The white and tan pooch ran to greet her, twirling and hopping in an excited circle.
"Now, where has your master been keeping you?" she asked, kneeling beside him.
"For the most part, he lives outside," Flint said, rounding the corner. "But that's his choice. Russ likes to patrol the yard. He thinks he's a Doberman or a Rottweiler or something."
Gina laughed. Anyone could see that Russ was a Jack Russell terrier that probably didn't weigh more than fifteen pounds.
"He thrives on action and adventure. Don't you, boy?" Flint picked up his pet, and Russ barked and grinned at Gina.
Within no time, the wannabe guard dog departed through a doggie door in the kitchen, eager to return to his post.
Gina watched him go, then helped Flint prepare the hot chocolate.
They settled in the living room, where a fire blazed warm and bright. Gina curled up on one corner of the sofa, and Flint sat next to her.
"Doesn't Russ get cold outside?" she asked.
"He has a custom-built doghouse, and he seems satisfied with it. But if he gets cold, he comes in."
She sipped her drink and stared at the flames, at the sparks of red and gold. Was Flint that casual with all his companions? Were his lovers free to come and go, too?
"I was thinking of commissioning Lewis to paint that portrait," he said.
She turned away from the fire. "What portrait?"
"The one of us from the tabloid picture. I thought it would be cool to actually have a painting done."
Stunned, she blinked. "Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just did."
Instantly, her heart hurt. She didn't want to be a trophy. A conquest. An illicit memory for him to hang on the wall for everyone to see. "Do you have a painting of Tara around here somewhere? Is she part of your art collection, too?"
He set his drink on the table, nearly spilling it in his haste. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? That I commission portraits of all my lovers?"
She gave him a tight stare. "Don't you?"
He stared right back. "No."
"So, are you finally admitting that you and Tara were lovers?"
"Yeah, that's right, I am. But I don't see why it matters. I mean, who cares?"
Gina drew her knees up. She cared. She shouldn't, but damn it, she did. "Were you in love with her?"
When he didn't answer, they sat in silence, their gazes locked. The flickering firelight shadowed the sharp angle of his cheekbones, and she resisted the urge to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin.
"Flint?" she pressed, as a woodsy aroma scented the air, making the romantic atmosphere seem like a lie.
Finally he said, "Yes, I loved her. But I try not to think about it. Especially now."
"Why? Did she hurt you?"
"Yes, but I haven't spoken to her in years. I was tempted to call her right after I met you, but I decided not to."
"Will you tell me about her?" She needed to understand who Flint Kingman was and what Tara Shaw really meant to him.
"I—" He paused to clear his throat, then started over. "After I graduated from college, Tara contacted my father's company, looking for a PR consultant to boost her image, to prove that a woman could still be a sex symbol in her forties. Dad was going to send another consultant, but I insisted on taking the job."
"Why?" Gina asked. "Because you were attracted to her?"
"No, that wasn't it. I thought she was pretty, of course, but I never envisioned sleeping with her. I took the job because Hollywood fascinated me, and I wanted to be part of that world."
Gina studied him for a moment. And then suddenly she understood. "Hollywood represented your mother. It was Danielle you were searching for."
Flint nodded, then blew a rough breath. "I wanted to feel close to her, to experience what drew her to Hollywood."
"And did you?"
"Yeah, I guess I did. But I ended up falling for Tara, and that was the last thing I expected to happen."
Gina's heart clenched, but she told herself to ignore the pain. "Did Tara love you?"
"She said she did. But after we were together for a while, she told me it wouldn't work. The age difference bothered her." He reached for his cup, took a drink and set it down. "And now that I'm older, I realize she was right. We wouldn't have made it. It wouldn't have lasted."
"I'm glad you told me," she said. "That you were honest."
"That's not all of it, Gina. There's more."
She looked up. What else could there be? What was left? "I'm listening."
"Tara wasn't just my lover. She was my friend, the first woman I'd ever confided in. I used to talk to her about my mom and why Hollywood meant so much to me."
"And what did she say? How did she respond?"
His voice shook a little. "She told me that the movie industry could be superficial and cold and that I should be proud of the fact that my mom left it behind to get married and have a child."
"And are you?"
"I used to be. But I'm not anymore."
Gina looked into his eyes, and she knew he was going to reveal something that made him ache inside. "What is it, Flint?"
"My mother's death wasn't an accident. She committed suicide."
Oh, God. Dear God. Danielle Wolf, a beautiful young woman with everything to live for, had taken her own life? "How can you be sure?"
"About a month ago I overheard my father and my stepmother talking about Danielle. It was the anniversary of her death, and I guess it triggered some emotion in my dad." He glanced at his hands, his expression tense. "I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but I couldn't turn away. And that's when I learned the truth."
"But she died in a car accident. How can that be suicide?"
"She ran her car off the road on purpose."
Gina tried to search Flint's gaze, but he wouldn't look up. "How can your father be sure?"
"Danielle left one of those pathetic suicide notes, asking him to forgive her."
She blinked back her tears, knowing she couldn't let him see her cry. "Oh, Flint. I'm so sorry. Did you talk to your dad about this?"
He glanced up. "Yes. And he's making excuses about why he lied to me all these years. He said he was only trying to protect me, but that isn't fair. I had the right to know."
"I can understand why your father didn't tell you."
"Really? Well, do you know what Danielle's note said?" he countered. "That she killed herself because of me. She couldn't handle being a mother. She couldn't cope with the pressure of taking care of her own child. But when I was little, my dad told me that she adored me, that she loved me more than anything. He let me grow up believing a fairy tale."
Gina's eyes filled with tears, and this time she didn't blink them away. She knew Flint wanted to cry, too, but he kept himself rigid instead, his arms crossed protectively over his chest, his features guarded.
"My dad said that Danielle got really depressed after I was born. She even admitted that she was a better actress than a mother. Apparently she regretted leaving Hollywood to get married and have a child."
Everything inside Gina went still, including her heart. Suddenly she knew why Flint refused to marry a woman focused on her career.
Someone like me, she thought. Someone who claimed she could conquer a demanding job and still raise a family.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have burdened you with this. There's nothing you can do."
"Oh, Flint." Caught up in his pain, she reached for him. And when she stroked his hair, he put his head on her shoulder.
Later, much later, as the fire burned low and the wind raged against the windows, she tried to think of a way to truly comfort him, to help him feel whole, but she couldn't. So she simply held him, realizing she was deathly afraid of admitting that she loved a man who might reject her.
* * *
Ten
« ^ »
Flint and Gina had been coming home from work early every day this week, but Flint hoped Gina would be running late this afternoon. He didn't know how to tell her that he wasn't comfortable bringing her to the powwow, so slipping off and leaving a note seemed easier.
He opened the cedar chest at the foot of his bed and removed his regalia, then placed some of the components in a garment bag and divided the rest between a hard suitcase and a leather satchel. A few minutes later he unwrapped his bustle, set it on the bed and assembled it.
The large, U-shaped bustle, which emulated the tail of an eagle, was designed to break down for easy transportation and storage.
As he fitted the pieces together, he checked each feather. He'd acquired the golden eagle feathers from Nísh'kí, and he considered them a priceless family heirloom, the most prized belongings he owned.
Ready to get underway, Flint slipped on a pair of jeans over his bike shorts, then turned to find Gina standing in the doorway. He hadn't heard her come in, nor had he sensed her presence.
"Hi," she said.
She wore a sleek black business suit and a feminine blouse. Her hair, twisted into a ladylike chignon, shone soft and pretty.
"Hi." He repeated her greeting, wondering how he was now going to pull off the great escape.
She looked at the bed. "Oh, my. What is that? It's beautiful."
"It's a bustle, part of my regalia."
"Your regalia?"
"I'm a powwow dancer. I've been dancing since I was a kid. But I don't compete, not anymore."
Her eyes searched his. "I've never been to a powwow. What are they like?"
That, he thought, was a loaded question. If he invited her to go with him tonight, he wouldn't have to answer it. She would be able to view the festivities firsthand.
"A powwow is an Indian gathering," he said.
"I know. But what goes on?"
"A lot of stuff."
"Stuff?" she repeated, clearly disappointed by his lame explanation.
"Yeah, you know. Dancing. Food. Crafts. Some of the bigger powwows are affiliated with rodeos, and the celebration will last for a week."
"That
sounds fun."
"The one I'm going to tonight is just a one-day event. There won't be much fanfare," he added, playing it down. "It's sponsored by a small Native American church."
"Is the public welcome?" she asked. "Or is it a private gathering?"
"It's open to the public, but this event doesn't get a lot of guests. Mostly it's the churchgoers who attend."
"I didn't know you belonged to a church group."
He pulled a T-shirt over his head and then laced up a pair of tennis shoes. "I don't. My grandmother asked me to join her there."
Gina sat on the edge of the bed. Although she eyed his bustle with quiet longing, she didn't disrespect him by touching it.
"Do you want to come with me?" he asked, suddenly unable to exclude her.
"Really? Oh, I'd love to."
"Okay, then. Change into something casual, and we'll get going."
He could handle this, he told himself. Although he'd never brought any of his lovers to an Indian gathering, he'd danced in front of plenty of spectators. He wasn't making a commitment to Gina. He wasn't asking her to join his scared circle, to become a permanent part of his life.
"I'll load the Tahoe," he said.
She removed her jacket. "You have an SUV?"
He nodded, realizing she hadn't seen the Tahoe. The garages on his property were separated, so he didn't park his vehicles together. "I don't take the Corvette to powwows."
"Why not?"
"Because like most of the other dancers, I get ready in my car, and the Vette is a bit cramped."
"It didn't even occur to me how or where a dancer would change."
"It isn't very glamorous," he told her.
She removed her shoes, then unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. "I think it sounds perfect. Sort of romantic and gypsylike."
Their eyes met, and suddenly Flint got an overwhelming urge to hold her. He moved forward, reached out and took her in his arms.
She responded in kind, latching on to him the way he clung to her.
He ran his hands down the sides of her body. All she wore was a silk blouse, lace panties and a pair of thigh-high hose, attached to one of those sultry little garter belts. "Will you make love with me?" he asked.
She brushed her mouth against his. "Right now?"
SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL Page 11
