by Maggie Marr
“I’m pleased Nikki’s agreed to let us help.”
“You’re pleased?” Cici turned forward and reached for a teardrop-shaped diamond the size of her thumb. “I’m ecstatic. Months of this low-rent bullshit and finally, finally, she’ll let us do her some good. I have to give Nikki credit, I read the first draft of Boundless Bound and that script was a pile of shit.” Cici caught Ted’s hard reflection in the pedestal mirror before her. “Nikki’s notes turned Boundless Bound into a thing of beauty.”
Ted’s gaze traveled over Cici’s face and down her neck. Cici turned her head from side to side so Ted could examine the emerald-cut diamonds in her earlobes. “Do you like?” she purred.
“Very much.” His eyes, his tone, his energy indicated that he wasn’t merely discussing the diamonds.
Heat coiled in Cici’s belly. Ted liked every inch of her, every ounce, every piece of her, inside and out. She wasn’t Celeste “Cici” Solange, Superstar with Ted. No, she could be her true self—the self that she reserved for the most private of moments, the self she guarded from the press, from the public, from all but Ted and her closest of friends.
Cici broke his gaze. Her fingers trembled and she flicked her tongue over her bottom lip. He cast a strong spell on her. He had a pull that went deep to her core.
“Have you heard anything more about…” She glanced back into the mirror. She didn’t want to have to say it, they hadn’t discussed Fuckface, or the pool, or Calvin Geckler, or the fear that trembled through Cici when she considered how close she’d come to losing her niece.
“I know the police have an active investigation.”
That wasn’t enough information. Ted employed a near army of private security staff and guards. Cici’s eyes flickered and her brows pulled the tiniest bit closer.
“I don’t understand your nonchalance when it comes to Nikki’s safety,” Cici said. She twirled a million-dollar necklace in her hand. The diamonds glittered over her fingertips. She turned her gaze away from the spread of baubles.
“I am not nonchalant about Nikki’s security, or yours." Ted’s hand landed on her shoulder. "Ever.”
With Ted’s touch of protection and possession, heat seared down Cici's back and arm.
“I am simply…” Cici paused. Her rib cage squeezed and anxiousness bubbled through Cici at the thought of Nikki walking in the world, unprotected. “I’m worried,” Cici said. “I mean, she nearly stumbled upon a very violent act. Ten minutes earlier and she would have been at Fuckface’s”—Cici grimaced when Ted tilted his chin—“I mean Jeb’s house when he was shot.”
“I understand.” He ran his fingertips down her shoulder and a thrill trembled through Cici.
“She doesn’t need to be near that kind of violence”—silence shrouded the horrid thoughts of Nikki’s past that raced in Cici’s head—“again.”
Ted reached for the necklace and slipped it from Cici’s fingers. “I’m monitoring the situation. I’ve taken discreet precautions.” He clasped the diamonds around Cici’s neck.
Cici’s eyes narrowed in the mirror. “What kind of precautions?” She studied the necklace against her décolletage. The diamonds dripped between her breasts.
With a stiff shake of his head and a hard look in his eye, Ted informed her without a word that he didn’t want to provide her with the details of what he’d done. His protection, Cici knew, extended to her maintaining her plausible deniability with Nikki. Cici looked over her shoulder at the tall, solid man behind her. He would rather harbor the information within himself so that if Nikki asked, Cici needn’t lie. She trusted this man. She loved this man. This man loved her.
“I’ll tell you," Ted said, "if you truly want to know.”
Did she want to know? Or did she want to maintain the ability to deny that she knew what Ted was doing so that if Nikki pinned Cici down she wouldn’t have to lie? Cici could lie—she was an excellent liar. She played pretend and she knew how to assuage and minimize and make disappear the simple tells that indicated a lie: downsloped gaze, a twitch of her lip, the rubbing of her hands.
She closed her eyes and opened them. Her gaze again settled onto the luminescent gleam of the diamonds around her neck. Little drops of sparkle. Ted took care of her whether she wanted him to or not. Hadn’t he succeeded in removing a horrible risk when she was shooting Vitriol. He'd used his money, his power, to keep the details of Nikki’s past hidden. He’d been very discreet indeed. But Hollywood, the machine that feasted on celebrity lives, had discovered Nikki’s past. Had used the painful events and the trial to sell toilet paper and garbage bags. The Tattler had found the tale and splashed the event like a bucket of foul-smelling slop upon the world, upon Nikki, and yes, even upon Cici.
“I trust you,” Cici said. She settled her hand over Ted’s, which rested on her shoulder. “She’s my only living relative. She’s my sister’s daughter." Cici swiveled on the chair and looked into Ted’s eyes. “My career means so much to me, but you and Nikki—you mean all that much more.”
A tremor of fear slipped up her spine. There were threats in this world that Ted couldn’t control no matter his money, no matter his connections.
“I know darling,” Ted said. He bent forward and placed his lips on the top of her head. “I do everything to keep you safe and happy, and I know your happiness extends to Nikki. I am keeping track. We are protecting her.” His fingers brushed down the skin of her neck and a flush crept over her skin.
“Boundless Bound is an excellent way to keep tabs on Nikki. There will be complications as far as the press is concerned, but they always find something bigger and then move on.”
“Bigger than me?” Cici said with a hint of a smile.
“Never bigger than you, but my hope is that they move away from you and from Nikki, at least until there’s some sort of break in the case and the killer is caught.”
A shiver rushed through Cici. The killer. There was a killer out there in the world, a killer at large who had shot Jeb Schmaltzer point-blank in the chest when Nikki had been on the way to Jeb’s home.
“I don’t want her that close to danger again,” Cici said. This feeling of helplessness was foreign to Cici, a lost and distant memory. She was so used to controlling her world, her surroundings, those around her, and those she loved. “I wish she’d come and stay with us, at least until they find whomever did this. Until I know she’s safe.”
Ted nodded. His eyes met Cici’s. “I am doing everything in my power to guarantee two things.”
Cici gazed at Ted.
“First that Nikki is safe,” Ted said and brushed his fingers down her bare back.
Her body surrendered to his love, to his power, to the idea that he’d always be there for her with her safety paramount on his mind. She grasped, as if it were quicksilver slipping over her fingers, that thought that Ted could protect her, that he could protect Nikki.
“And second?” Cici asked.
“That you are safe too.”
Chapter 22
The Devil Wears Wayfarers
An icon. A legend. A wicked man with a devil of a smile and black Wayfarer sunglasses. Nikki was thankful for her shades because if Jackson Nichols could see the look in her eyes, he’d eat her for breakfast. And she’d let him. He could lick her up one side and down the other. The man, no matter his age, was drop-dead sexy. Sex oozed from his pores. Perhaps it was the countless women he’d bedded—actresses, models, musicians—there was no woman who was immune.
Stubbornly single since his first marriage had ended with a death certificate, a prison sentence, and a suicide. None of which were Jackson’s but yet, according to Aunt Cici, Jackson carried the scars. Since the demise of Jackson’s first marriage, he’d dedicated his life to the relentless pursuit of women. Even with his robust appetites, Jackson had an uncanny ability to not appear lascivious or lecherous or even depraved. Aunt Cici claimed Jackson’s uncorrupted concupiscence was proof that Jackson loved women. Truly loved women. He loved everything
about the creatures: their ability to breed, their hair, their smell, their pussies, their hormones, and even their mercurial moods. His studies provided him with knowledge. Jackson even came close to understanding the female mind—a feat not for a man without courage. He loved women so much and with such a deep and absorbed passion—Jackson Nichols had discovered early in his life that he could not love just one woman.
There were too many women in the world to commit to one single creature of that fairer sex. Too many exciting conversations to have, too much skin to fondle, too many caresses, too many to love.
The sun held high in the sky. Aunt Cici and Jackson huddled close together on a plush, tangerine-colored loveseat on Jackson’s lanai. She was curled up like a cat and looked nearly ready to purr. His effect on a woman was similar to that of a snake charmer with a cobra. He could coax the most venomous of females to dance to his tune. The two superstars sat so close that no sun filtered between them. Low voices and sultry glances with the occasional laugh decorated their conversation. Nikki squirmed in her seat. The intimacy between the two stars made her uncomfortable, as if witness to an affair. So private was their communication, so intimate their flickered touches, that if Nikki didn’t believe Aunt Cici would never cheat on Ted, she’d be certain that there was a volcanic love affair erupting between her aunt and Jackson.
Nikki turned away from the sultry heat that emanated from the man and looked out over the many-acred estate perched high in the Malibu Hills. Sitting on Jackson’s lanai, you could believe that he owned the world.
“Seems like you little ladies have a lot on your plate,” Jackson said. He reached for a cluster of grapes and dropped one into his mouth. That wicked, wicked smile, like jagged glass laced with sugar, danced across his famous face and never wavered.
“No more than I can handle,” Cici purred.
“Those scum have you in their sights.” Jackson tossed a grape into his mouth and then fed one to Cici. His fingers lingered on her lips. “Fuckers. Easy money for them, five pounds of flesh for us.” He raised one eyebrow and dropped another grape into his mouth. “Any other country and you could sue them for slander.”
Cici shrugged. “I still could. There is not a whit of proof. Not a shred. Lies and falsehoods.” Her fingers swam through her golden locks. “But why? It’s like poking a snake. They’ll soon find another someone to go after.”
“That’s why I love it here.” Jackson stretched out his arms to the valley and the bright blue beyond. “No one can see me.” He turned his gaze to Nikki. “You know, every morning I windbathe." Jackson wiggled his eyebrows. "In the nude.”
Nikki coughed on her water. “Did you say windbathe?”
Jackson nodded. His star power seemed to intensify with her flummoxed reaction. “Benjamin Franklin, Gandhi, huge windbathers. Most brilliant feeling in the world, having one’s balls caressed by the breeze.”
Nikki licked her lips. Yes, the image was now locked in her mind of Jackson Nichols standing au natural on his lanai, arms outstretched, his balls swinging in the wind.
“All of this is my property.” He waved toward the acres beneath them. “And there isn’t a telephoto lens strong enough to take a picture from way down there.” He jutted his pointer finger toward the beach road that wound its way along the edges of the surf. “At least not yet. The fuckers. Let them take it, I say. You fucking want to see me naked? I’ll walk down Sunset Boulevard without my clothes.” He turned his gaze to Cici. “Fuck that—I’ll strip at the Oscars! What would the fuckers do then, do you think? Next time they give me that little gold man, what if I started with my shirt and my shoes and then offed everything?”
“They’d shoot you from the waist up. However, the audience at the theatre would be in for a lovely surprise,” Cici said.
“It is lovely, isn’t it, my darling?”
A sly smiled curled around Cici’s lips.
“Certain you wouldn’t like to see it once again?”
“Jackson.” Cici sighed. Her smile never left her face.
Chemistry bounced between the two icons. Jackson’s eyes stroked her aunt’s body. Nikki had heard the rumors of Aunt Cici and Jackson’s torrid love affair—an affair that had happened a decade before on a set in Spain. Her aunt nestled securely into the attraction between her and Jackson. Jackson’s desire for Cici hung heavy in the air, and instead of pushing away the lust, Aunt Cici stepped into the heat and embraced the cloud of desire as though it were a spritz of thousand-dollar-per-ounce perfume.
When faced with intense attraction from a man, Nikki recoiled. The random men Lacey Solange had brought into their home had etched a lesson upon Nikki’s adolescent soul. Nikki had little ability to protect herself from a man’s desire, wanted or not.
“You remember the scene we shot outside Madrid,” Jackson asked.
A blush crept up Aunt Cici’s neck. “I do,” Cici purred. “Those were good days.”
“Your aunt ever tell you how wild she was? All the fun she used to have before she settled down and married a suit?” While his tone was playful and flirtatious, an impudence underlined his words that underscored his belief that Cici’s marriage to Ted Robinoff was the waste of a truly good woman.
“Nikki, you look just like your aunt did when we made that film together.” Jackson’s eyes appraised her.
Heat flushed through Nikki, his attention an electric touch against her skin. He compared every curve, every crevice, to all the curves and crevices of Aunt Cici. Curves and crevices that Jackson had once upon a time explored.
“Good-looking apples don’t fall far from the tree.”
Nikki reached for her water. What did you say to that—what did you say when one of the sexiest men who ever lived mentioned that you were hot?
“Thank you,” Nikki said.
“You’re welcome,” Jackson said. He nodded his head. A hard shake. “Good girl.” He turned to Cici. “She knows how to take a compliment. I like a woman who can take a compliment and doesn’t give you every damn reason why you shouldn’t give it. For fuck’s sake, take the compliment and run.” He turned his gaze back to Nikki and stabbed a finger toward her. “I like you.”
Nikki’s lips curved upward. She liked to be liked—who didn’t? She wanted to be liked and respected and successful.
“Makes it all the more painful for me.” Jackson reached out and grasped Cici’s knee. “I so wish I could do your film.”
Nikki’s heart faltered. Fear inched into her chest and a hard, tight ball lodged behind her lungs. She glanced from Jackson to Aunt Cici. Cici still wore her killer charm-infused smile.
“But you can, Jackson,” Cici said, her voice a sultry combination of sex and seduction. “You must.”
“Must I?” He locked his gaze onto Cici.
Cici nodded. She grasped Jackson’s hand, which had moved from her knee to her thigh, and clasped it tight between her palms. She stared at him and brought his hand to her lips.
“My darling Cici, you have a prick for your director.”
Cici threw back her head and a giant laugh erupted from her full lips. Her smile devoured her face. “Since when has not liking a director prevented you from making a film?”
“I’m older.” Jackson rubbed the flat of his palm against his chest. “I have less patience. And the desire”—he turned his gaze back to Cici—“my desire to tolerate self-inflated egos just to make a film isn’t as great as it once was.” His eyes scanned the horizon, and he waved his arms at the vast expanse. “I need a good reason to leave paradise.”
“You remember Mallorca?” With Aunt Cici’s question, electric sparks popped between her and Jackson. Nikki squirmed. Sitting opposite the two stars, enmeshed in their sexual chemistry, was like watching soft-core porn. Cici pressed Jackson’s hand to her breast. Cici’s eyes implored him—looked at him as though she wanted him to grab her and fuck her on the chaise on the lanai, right in front of Nikki, in front of the world.
“Oh, Cici.” Jackson’s voice wa
s gravel. Filled with a lusty want.
“I need you for this,” Cici whispered. She leaned closer to him. Cici’s fingertips pushed a wayward strand of his sun-kissed hair behind his ear. “No one else can do this with me. It’s too raw. Too hard. Too… too…” Her voice faltered. A pause. A moment of intense silence that whetted anticipation. “Too… sexual to do this with someone I can’t trust.” Cici leaned closer, tighter to Jackson. Her body melded into his side.
Nikki wanted to look away. Wanted to walk away. Wanted to pretend she wasn’t seeing this physical interaction, this intimate attraction, but she couldn’t. Nikki’s eyes were metal to their magnet. She couldn’t look away from the chemistry, the electricity, the intensity. Heat infused the entire patio. Nikki gulped her water.
Jackson took a giant breath as though quelling his desire, succumbing to where on this earth that they were and finally acquiescing to what Cici wanted. He gazed at the ocean, so blue and so full of pleasure and promise. Finally a sigh broke Jackson’s pause. His gaze refocused on Cici and again the fishhook smile tugged his lip upward. “Baby, back-end points and I’m yours.”
*
Sun danced through the low-hanging clouds and dappled the lanai with shadow. Christina pulled her wool cardigan tighter around her shoulders. Bradford was in a session with his therapist, and she’d been escorted to this spot to wait for him. She stared out over the ocean, which reflected the grayness of the sky.
One of the great tragedies of Los Angeles was the weather. Once you inhabited the southern coast of California you couldn’t appreciate the pure glory of Southern California weather. The bright orb of sun shone down at such an incessant rate that the radiance became a background image for your mind, an image that barely registered. Even in February, when your psyche realized the rest of the world was freezing—bundled in parkas, wearing gloves and mufflers and boots—you still sat on a lanai, feeling a chill despite the wool cardigan about your shoulders, even though the lowest the temperature would dip today was sixty-seven. Only with the dappled-gray sky and the threat of some sort of imperfect weather event on the horizon did Christina realize how much she took for granted the perfection that was a California blue-sky day.
