An army of assistants scattered like ants, doing their best to get out of her way. Figures, Layla thought. Good help was hard to find in Los Angeles, even if you paid top dollar. And Layla Hollister never paid a penny less. It wasn’t her fault. Her ex-husband had spoiled her, and now he’d pay for her affliction.
Dearly.
“And can someone bring me my fucking phone? I need to make a call.”
She looked up at the sky to spot the sun and adjusted her chaise lounge accordingly. Late afternoon rays were still strong enough to get some color. She tucked her short blond hair behind her ears and undid the top of her Versace bikini. “Three o’clock here, six in New York,” she mumbled, drumming her freshly manicured fingers beside her.
She should have heard from Harvey by now. When he called earlier, he promised some big news on the way. Something about a backroom tryst with a lady in a convenience store. She smirked at the thought. It almost seemed like a lame attempt to make her jealous. Hell, she’d be anything he wanted her to be, as long as the pervert got the job done. Honing her acting skills wouldn’t hurt in the least.
“Did I hear you were looking for me?” Marcy stepped out the sliding glass doors with a tray of margaritas and Layla’s rhinestone cell phone. She set them down on the table and pulled up a chair of her own.
“I don’t suppose it’s possible that the phone rang, and I missed it?”
Marcy brushed her short, dark hair aside and shrugged. “Not that I heard. But I was out walking the Spelling’s Pomeranians.”
Layla leaned back on her chair and sighed. “Ty’s been with that red-headed whore for two days. What is it about that woman that sucks people in?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s a manipulator, Marcy. She screwed me out of the role of Lexie Love, and she’s been screwing me ever since. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be married, and you and I wouldn’t have to live like paupers.” She wiped a smudge from her Waterford crystal glass. “At the very least Ty would have been on board with an open marriage.”
Marcy chuckled then slid her sunglasses over her eyes. “Fine, but if this little revenge scam of yours is going to work, you better light a fire under Harvey. He has some good leads, right?”
“Who knows,” Layla said. “Last night when he called he was in the middle of a snowstorm, bragging about his stalking skills, and today I got the Quickie-In-The-Back-Room story. He says he has a few tricks up his sleeve.”
“Considering his past history, I don’t doubt it,” Marcy said. “That’s why I don’t think you should trust him.”
“I’m not. My deal with Harvey is cash on delivery. I don’t pay unless he produces. And believe me, I’m hard to please.” Layla took a gulp of the drink and licked the salt from her lips. She wasn’t stupid. Ty was the last man who’d ever take advantage of her. Hell, she had made drastic lifestyle choices to ensure that. More than once Marcy tried to cool her down about the whole thing. She was more interested in living a quiet life and moving on. But Layla didn’t see this arrangement as permanent. The only thing she now considered a lifetime commitment, was to herself.
Marcy sat up and turned to look at her with sad brown eyes that reminded Layla of her furry clients. “Look, I don’t know if this is more about revenge for the pain Carrie has caused you or just plain old extortion from your ex-husband. But if your plan is to make Carrie’s life a living hell in effort to force Ty’s hand, you better up the ante. The divorce is already final, and the only way you’re ever going to see another red cent from that man is if you scare it out of him.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you all along,” Layla said. “The key to Ty’s wallet, and my vindication, is all centered on one objective. Ruin Carrie Ann Langley. Believe me, if Ty ever thought that woman was in danger, he’d pay top dollar to prevent it.”
“Well then,” Marcy chirped, raising her glass in toast, “I think you have your plan of attack.”
“Always have, honey. Hand me my cell phone. It’s time to give Harvey a little pep talk.”
Chapter Six
Ty surveyed the scene around him from his perch on the top rung of the ladder. Ghostly clouds swam across a silver moon, casting shadows over the tin barn roof. It was dumb and incredibly unsafe to do a job like this without the advantage of daylight. One false move and he could maim himself with a nail gun, or plummet thirty feet to his death. The snow pack was too thin to offer much buffer if he slipped.
It was frigid, hardly above ten degrees, but tonight he found the cold more refreshing than torturous. The moments on the couch with Carrie awoke an acute need to expend some energy. Now. Not that banging a hammer was the activity he had in mind, but it would have to suffice. The alternative was unquestionably and painfully out.
Holding himself back wasn’t something he was used to. He didn’t have to, and most times he didn’t want to. It had been a while since he even cared about a woman’s perspective or making love verses getting laid. He shook his head and laughed at himself. “Making love” was a phrase he only used when he was paid to. It seemed like a legend or an old wives tale. In his whole life, sex had been purely a physical act, a stress reliever, a mind clearer, a cure for whatever ailed him.
That is, except with Carrie Ann.
“Making Love” was the only way he could describe what passed between them when they were together. It was always sensual and intense. Like a piece of them fused into something greater than each alone. He missed that. But Carrie had a tendency to follow her emotions, to be whimsical and impulsive. At times she could be her own worst enemy. And for a woman as incredible as her to give herself to a jerk like him, it required at least a little more than a few naked moments of consideration.
He positioned his feet on the top step of the ladder and anchored himself against the roof. The impact of the hammer hitting steel echoed in the darkness. When he reached in his jacket for another nail, he heard a squeak and the moan of snow, grinding under the ladder’s legs.
It was too late to right himself. On the way down, his arm seized with pain, like something sharp had sliced it. He landed on the snow with a thud, sending the powder into the air like a cloud. For a moment he stayed on his back, trying like hell to find a breath. When he did, he cursed and rolled over, his eyes staring straight at the leather toe of someone’s work boots.
“Well, if it isn’t the world renowned film star Ty Hollister,” the man taunted. “Good thing you can act. Looks like you’re pretty much a screw-up at everything else.”
Ty tried to push himself up from the snow, but his arm gave way. It hurt like hell, a fact he was sure would please Russell Haines. Ty painted on his most sincere smile as he forced himself to his feet. “I didn’t hear you pull up. I thought Carrie went there to take dinner.”
“I walked,” Russ said. “Real people like us don’t need eighty thousand dollar automobiles to get around in a few inches of snow.”
The moonlight bounced off Russ’s bald head, and his beady dark eyes simmered in medium-boiled anger. Ty didn’t think a reunion with Lizzie’s husband would be pleasant. The last time they saw each other was at the hospital. Russ dropped him with a right hook.
“So Lizzie told me you came up to visit. What the hell for? Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
“This is none of your business, Russ.”
“Yeah, just like it was none of my business five years ago, right? I had to watch my wife clean up your mess. She gave up her job and her place in the city to look after Carrie Ann.”
“I did Carrie a favor by leaving, and you know it,” Ty said. “If I stayed the press would have been on to us. Carrie didn’t want it in the papers, and you know for damn sure her parents didn’t.”
“She had to go through labor.”
“I know.”
“She had to push a dead baby out all by herself.”
“I know!”
Russ cocked his head in mock confusion. “And you think fixing a broken roof is going
to make up for that?”
Ty had no right or way to defend himself. In fact, he couldn’t agree more with Russell’s assessment. He was a coward.
“Carrie was inconsolable for weeks,” Russ said. “Lizzie couldn’t even get through to her. Her parents. Nobody. What the hell were you thinking?”
Again Ty didn’t have an answer. Of course, he could have told him how he snuck back in to check on Carrie, and the kindhearted nurse who slipped him the piece of paper. Hell, he could even tell him about the business with her father. But defending himself wasn’t a priority. Not then, and not now. He did what he did because he believed it was in Carrie’s best interest. If Russ didn’t see that, the hell with him.
“If the Deacon was here, he’d run you out of here so fast.”
“Well, he’s not, and Carrie is a grown woman. If she wanted to toss me out she would have, believe me.”
Russ stared at him through the cloud of his breath, then stalked toward him until they were nose to nose. “Don’t think you can come around here and charm her like you did before. She’s not one of those tramps you run around with.”
“Damn right she’s not.”
“You think you’re entitled or something just because you’re rich and famous. Well, around here that doesn’t mean shit! People like you don’t impress people like us.”
Ty’s blood bubbled under the surface. His skin crawled, his heart hammered. His gloved hands fisted at his sides.
“You know, Hollister, you’re nothing but a poor piece of trash that got lucky. You found a weak woman to use and abuse, and when things got too tough you skipped town. You never deserved Carrie Ann, and you damn sure didn’t deserve being a father.”
The words socked him square in his gut. A sucker punch he wholly deserved, but he couldn’t squelch the reflex to respond. His fisted right hand zipped around, blasting Russ in the jaw. He fell back in the snow, and Ty rushed him, pulling him back up by the collar, and throwing him against the barn wall.
“You think this is like one of your movies, don’t you?” Russ sputtered. His eyes bulged from their sockets. “You’re the hero, and I’m the villain, and you beating the crap out of me will make everything better.”
“It would make me feel better.”
“That’s what it’s all about with you, huh? Instant gratification. Just as long as she’s a good lay you’ll stick around!
Again Ty lashed out, this time a blow square to Russ stomach. He tumbled to the snow, landing on his back.
“You’re a waste, Hollister.” Russ panted as he struggled to his feet. “You’re nothing but trouble.”
Ty’s knuckles burned from bone hitting bone, and in a weird, twisted way, he liked it. Russ brushed the snow from his jacket and rubbed his already purple face. At the moment Ty had no regrets, except maybe that he didn’t nail the other eye as well.
“I won’t tell Lizzie or Carrie about this,” Russ said. “Oh, and you might want to get a doctor to look at your arm.” He nodded to Ty’s left side. “It looks pretty bad.”
Ty watched Russ disappear into the woods. His arm throbbed with stinging pain, and he smelled blood. The bitter stench that usually meant a serious wound. Good. The worse the better. Maybe if he was lucky he’d bleed to death.
When he went back inside, he peeled off his blood-soaked jacket. The cut on his arm was deep, needed stitches probably. It hurt like hell, too. He glanced around the empty kitchen until his gaze settled on the liquor cabinet in the great room. He fished out a brand new bottle of scotch. Not bothering with a glass he took a long gulp, then a few more until the pain dulled to that nondescript constant ache that somehow always plagued him.
Trouble found him again. Not that he tried hard to hide from it. Hell, Russ only pointed out the obvious. He sat down in front of the fire, remembering the last time he saw Carrie in the hospital. It was after the scene with Russ. He snuck back in the hospital and peered through the door. Carrie was asleep, tired from the induced labor, but alive and for that he was thankful. But the baby...
He couldn’t resist seeing her just once. A sympathetic nurse brought him to the baby’s room. She was wrapped in a blanket and still warm to the touch.
He pretended she was sleeping.
It was all his fault, regardless of what happened with her father. He failed Carrie, something he promised he’d never do. He figured staying around would only make it worse, so he took off. But before he left, that same nurse slipped him a piece of paper, and he slipped her his money clip. After a trip to the tattoo parlor and a good few weeks in a drunken stupor, he attempted to put his life back together.
The crack of the fire snapped him out of his thoughts, and he lifted the bottle to the light. It was half gone, and still he could think clearer than he wanted to. He took another swig and dragged himself up the stairs.
He pushed the bedroom door open, and reached for the light switch, but stumbled. The lamp beside him fell to the floor and shattered into tiny pieces. He laughed, then hated that he did. A shock of anger zipped through him, and he hurled the bottle of bourbon across the room. It smashed against the antique wall paper, dripping down the wall in muddy trails before settling on the newly refinished hardwood.
Destruction. What he did best.
With clumsy coordination, he pulled his duffle bag from the closet and jammed in the clothes Carrie had neatly unpacked. He threw it over his shoulder and pulled the car keys from the outside pocket. If he left now, he’d be back to the city for last call.
“Ty?”
Her voice. Her sweet buttery voice that stirred every part of him. He turned, and through his blurred vision, he saw her standing in the doorway.
“Tyler? Are you okay? The barn ladder was in the middle of the lawn when I pulled up, and I saw blood next to your tools. I thought something happened.”
Ty moved away from her, when she stepped in the room. He could tell by her face she smelled the liquor, and he could see the disappointment in her eyes when she spotted the broken lamp on the floor. “What’s going on in here?” She stared at the glass at her feet. “How did the lamp break?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He tried to push around her to the door, but she jumped in his path.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m leaving. You don’t need me here.”
“That may be true, but you don’t need to drive out of here like a drunken maniac either.” She snagged the car keys from his hand and stuffed them in her pocket. Again he tried to shove around her, but she wedged her hand against the doorframe. “You’re not going anywhere but to bed, Ty. I’m not letting you leave like this.”
God she was sexy. A fucking angel. Those little pink lips, and those deep blue eyes. He remembered what it was like to slide himself inside her. How wet and tight she was. How she'd moan and whisper his name. How he’d come so hard the room spun.
Just like it was now.
He dropped his bag and grabbed her, pushing her against the wall. He lifted her body so she was closer to eye level, his lips almost even with hers.
“Put me down.”
“Then quit acting for me. Like you care what happens to me.”
“I do care about you,” she said. “Now, put me down.”
“You sure you want me to do that, Carrie Ann?” He raised his knee, pressing it in between her legs.
“You need to call it a night.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” He touched her cheek, running his fingers down her flannel shirt, across her breast. “I know what you really want. Just like what all the girls want.”
“What?”
He waited for her to get angry but she didn’t. Her self control excited him. Almost as much as the thought of making it unravel. “You liked it when I fucked you, didn’t you? Remember how wet you got? I could make you drip.”
“Stop it...”
“And you were so tight. You remember how much you liked my cock inside you, baby?” He lowered his lips to her ear,
and his insides bubbled with heat. “You want it now, don’t you?”
“Let go of me, Tyler.”
“Come on, baby. You wanted it earlier.”
In that instant, he caught a knee in the groin, followed by a fist that landed square on his mouth. He catapulted clear across the room and landed face up on the bed. His eyelids fluttered before falling shut.
“You sure have a way with words, Hollister.”
When he opened his eyes, minutes, maybe hours later, Carrie sat beside him on the bed, her hand pressed against the bandaged wound. The flannel shirt and overalls, she had on earlier, replaced with a white lace nightgown. Her strawberry hair fell loose and long around her. At first he just stared at her, unsure if this was a dream or reality. But when their eyes met, heat raced through him. And suddenly, he was aware of just how real she was.
“You okay?” Her gaze focused on his arm. “This thing doesn’t want to stop bleeding.”
“Huh?”
“This is the second time I’ve dressed it.” She cast him a disapproving scowl. “I don’t think the alcohol in your system is helping your cause.”
He couldn’t agree more. His stomach lurched, and the stench of antiseptic burned his nose. When his eyes finally focused, he noticed the low burn of the fire.
“And in case you don’t remember, the fat lip is my doing. I would offer my apology, but you deserved it.”
He ran his tongue over the fresh scab. He’d forgotten about her years of martial arts training during the run of “Undercover Heat.” Her dancing skills made her a natural, and despite her size she packed quite a punch. Or kick for that matter. “Sensei Bill would be proud,” he said. “You still have a mean right hook.”
“I keep up on the skills. It’s good for self-defense. There’s a lot of crazy people out there.”
The wrinkle in her brow indicated she was referring more to the nut in front of her than anyone else. “Carrie, I’m sorry. You know I’d never hurt you, right?”
“I think you scared yourself more than me,” she said. “You know the first time I came in here to check your arm, you were tossing and turning. It was almost like you were having a nightmare or something.” She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. “You want to talk about it?”
Undercover Heat Page 8
