“Veronica, I want you to meet my cousin. Abra, this is Veronica.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. She blushed with pleasure and looked at him with adoring eyes. Abra’s heart pounded. The devil still had the power to hurt her. A server in a black tuxedo approached, offering champagne. Dylan took two glasses from a tray, handing one to Veronica and one to Abra. He took another for himself. “You don’t look like you’re having much fun, Abra.”
She smiled stiffly. “Enough.”
“She’s a budding actress.” His mouth tipped on one side.
“You’re fortunate to have Lilith as your aunt.” Veronica sipped champagne. “She knows everyone in the business.” She looked Abra over and glanced at Dylan.
Lilith called Abra, beckoning her over to meet someone.
Dylan laughed. “Tell her all her efforts are for naught.”
Abra had already turned away, but she heard Veronica. “That’s not very nice, Dylan. Your cousin is very pretty.”
Lilith made the introductions and kept the conversation going. Abra stood with half a dozen people and felt utterly alone. “You look a little wan, dear.” Lilith pretended concern. “Why don’t you go back to the cottage?”
Abra wasn’t willing to do that. Dylan was the only hope she had. She took another glass of champagne and stood near the windows where she could watch and not be noticed. Dylan was playing his games with Veronica, and the girl was obviously under his spell. Abra felt desolate.
“And who might you be?”
Startled, she noticed the man sitting in a chair near the wall. He was attractive and older. She guessed him in his early forties. He rose. He was taller than Dylan, with the broad, muscular shoulders of a mature man. His brown hair had a light sprinkling of gray at the temples. He raised one brow. “Cat got your tongue?”
“My name is Abra.” She didn’t ask for his.
“Abra.” He said the name as though testing it. “An interesting name. Well, Abra, how do you fit in here?” He gave a nod that included the entire room.
“I don’t.” She almost forgot who she was supposed to be. “I’m Dylan’s cousin. From up north.”
“Are you really?” He looked amused. “Dylan’s cousin. From up north. It’s all in the details, isn’t it? Which side of the family?”
“Franklin Moss!” Lilith moved between guests, zeroing in on them. “Darling! There you are! I’ve been looking for you all evening.”
He faced her, his mouth curving. “Who dares hide from Lilith Stark?”
“I was so sorry to hear about Pamela.”
“Ah, Pamela. I’ll bet you were.” He sounded droll. “Pretty girls come and go.”
Lilith grazed Abra with a brief look before she shook her head and gave Franklin Moss a reproving half smile. “You’re not trolling the waters, are you, darling? Everyone here already has an agent.”
Mr. Moss cocked his head and looked at Abra again. “Even Dylan’s cousin?”
Lilith covered her irritation with a lifted hand. A servant appeared like a genie from a bottle, offering champagne. Mr. Moss shook his head and said he was drinking bourbon on the rocks. Lilith told the waiter to get him another. She plucked the champagne glass from Abra’s hand and said, “Naughty, naughty. She’s too young to drink, Franklin, and too young for you.”
“I didn’t know you were so protective.”
“She’s my favorite niece. And yes, she is lovely, and I daresay she has some kind of talent, but she’s going home soon.” She sipped champagne, her eyes fixed on Abra. “Her family misses her.”
“And which family would that be?”
Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve known one another a long time, Franklin. I’m sure you understand.” She tipped her chin. “Now, tell me about Pamela. I won’t be satisfied until I hear every detail from the horse’s mouth. You know I would rather hear the truth from you than depend on gossip.”
“That hardly seems your style, Lilith.”
Her pink lips tightened. “Rumor has it she fired you and went with another agency. I can’t believe that’s true. After all you’ve done for her.”
Abra felt the unpleasant undercurrents and withdrew. Dylan was immersed in conversation with Veronica and several others. Abra felt like a ghost, moving invisibly among the glittering crowd. A few looked at her, frowning slightly, as though trying to place her. She took a cracker with a slice of boiled egg and caviar.
Elizabeth Taylor was stunningly beautiful beside her husband, Michael Wilding, as they talked with Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher. Robert Wagner was even more handsome in real life than on celluloid or a poster.
Abra edged around the various groups, listening to bits and pieces of conversation: actors’ chitchat about auditions gone bad or good, a part they were playing, or talking up their credits to some man in a dark suit, some asking about auditions. She could always spot the studio executives.
Dylan was laughing at something someone had said. He still had his arm around Veronica.
Depressed, Abra quietly slipped out of the house and returned to the cottage. She hung the Grecian gown in the closet, pulled on a T-shirt, and went to bed. She couldn’t sleep.
Dylan came in after midnight. “I need the bed. One last hurrah with Veronica before I dump her.”
A tide of jealousy and hurt swept over her. “It’s bad enough I had to watch you with her all evening.”
“Get up.”
“No!”
“Don’t ever say no to me.” Dylan ripped the covers off the bed. Emotions she’d held in check for months brought her up and at him, hands like claws. She’d never felt such wrath or hate.
Dylan caught her wrists and pinned them against the mattress. “It’s been a long time since you sounded like a jealous girlfriend.” Grinning, he straddled her. “I knew fire still burned inside you.”
She managed to get one hand free and slapped him across the face. His eyes changed. Grabbing a pillow, he covered her face. Terrified, she bucked and fought. Just before she blacked out, Dylan tossed the pillow aside and grabbed her by the hair. “You ever slap me again and I’ll kill you. I could, you know. No one would even miss you.”
Gasping air, she sobbed, terrified. He sat back on her hips. Her muscles stiffened when his hands ran over her body, but she didn’t fight him. “You pretend indifference, baby, but your heart still pounds for me. You still love me. I can still have you whenever I want.”
His weight lifted from her. He sat on the edge of the bed and released his breath. He stroked her hair in a gentle caress, the cruel glint disappearing from his eyes. “You were already burning inside. I just stoked the fire.” He stood, a look of wariness in his face. “Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about you. I feel something, more than anyone else has ever made me feel. Maybe that’s why I’m not ready to let you go.” He sighed as though the admission angered him. He jerked his head. “Take a swim.”
Still shaking, Abra got up. “Veronica knows I’m not your cousin.”
“That’s probably why she’s so intent upon pleasing me tonight.”
She removed her clothing while he watched and put on the bikini he’d bought for her in Santa Cruz. “Have your fun, Dylan.”
“I always do.”
Abra sat on the edge of the pool, shivering, as Veronica came out of the shadows. How much had she overheard? What did it matter other than that she might change her mind about Dylan? Maybe he’d said and done it all for that very purpose.
Fighting tears, Abra slipped into the warm water. Letting out her breath, she sank to the bottom and sat cross-legged on the white gunite. It felt rough against her tender flesh. Her long red hair floated around her like seaweed. Would Dylan care if she drowned herself? Giving vent to her anguish, she screamed under the water, hands fisted.
Her body, traitorous, rose. She treaded water. She felt someone watching her and looked toward the side of the pool. A man stood in the shadows, smoking a cigarette. He tossed it on the cement and ground it out with his foot befor
e going back to the house. He turned slightly before he went inside, his face illuminated. It was Franklin Moss.
Joshua’s face swam in Abra’s memory, his words whispering in the palm fronds stirring in the night breeze. “Guard your heart.”
Too late. She had been so certain when she ran away that she loved Dylan and he loved her. She learned the truth the hard way that first night in San Francisco. What he felt wasn’t love. She’d hoped his lust might turn to something better, something more tender and lasting. She’d given him everything in the hope of that happening.
He said he still felt something. But what? He said he wasn’t ready to let her go. She could hold on for a while longer, hope a little more.
She floated on her back, legs and arms spread like a dead woman, eyes wide open, staring up at the night sky. The air was chilly; the moon was full. Water covered her ears and she couldn’t hear anything except her own mind.
She couldn’t go back to Haven anyway. She’d been such a fool. What was it Mitzi said once? “No man buys a cow when he can get the milk for free.” Even the waitress at Bessie’s Corner Café tried to warn her about Dylan.
I was blind, but now I see. The words of “Amazing Grace” ran through her mind. She’d played that hymn dozens of times. Other lines came, unbidden. She didn’t want to remember them. She didn’t want to think about God.
Thinking about God only made her feel worse.
Zeke awakened in the darkness. His heart hurt. He sat up slowly, rubbing his chest. Turning the Baby Ben, he read two fifteen. He listened intently and heard the twittering hoots of a screech owl in the backyard, but knew that wasn’t what had awakened him. He rubbed his face, slipped his feet into his slippers, and padded into the kitchen. Joshua’s Bible was open on the table, notes jotted in his neat hand. Zeke pressed his fingers against his sternum again, as if he could rub away an old wound.
Is it time yet, Lord? It’s been eighteen months.
Silence.
Is there anything I can do, Lord?
Joshua came into the kitchen, barefoot and dressed in his pajama bottoms. “I heard you get up. Bad dream?”
“No. You?”
Joshua slumped into a chair and raked his fingers through his short hair. “It’s easier during the day. I can focus on work.”
“You work at night, too, in a different way. Our work is to believe God.” He took the coffee from the cabinet. “The battle is always over the mind, Son.”
“Do you think she thinks about us at all?”
“She probably tries not to.”
“I just don’t get it, Dad. She’s known the Lord all her life.”
“She knew what we told her about the Lord, Joshua. That’s different from knowing Him.” He turned on the tap water. “None of us hear His voice until we listen.”
Dylan came and went as he pleased. Sometimes he still stayed all night. “Have you missed me, baby?” At least she could pretend for a few hours someone loved her. Lilith kept him busy with constant demands. He was always on the go, “doing research,” as he mockingly called it. There wasn’t a hot spot or hideaway he didn’t know about. No one could bury a secret deep enough that he couldn’t dig it up. He had spies in private hospitals who called to whisper what star had checked in and why. Lilith made lots of money. Abra wondered if most of it was for keeping certain stories under wrap. She was generous, however, sharing a percentage of her income with Dylan.
“Mother is giving another party.”
Was there ever a weekend when she wasn’t? Dylan had something on his mind, and Abra knew she wouldn’t like it. “Marisa will see to everything. I want you to outshine everyone.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.” He got up and took a shower, dressing in his white tennis shorts and shirt. “I’ll always take good care of you.” He tipped her chin and leaned down to kiss her. “I promise.” He brushed cold fingers against her cheek and left.
Dylan had given Marisa Cohen specific instructions, and Abra found herself wearing a halter-neck Chantilly white dress. “It shows off your tan beautifully.” Abra had been spending a lot of time alone by the pool. “It’s casual for an evening party, which will make you stand out even more. Leave your hair down.”
The telephone rang as she was walking in the door. “Maria is bringing your dinner. Be ready by seven, but don’t come to the house until I call you.” It was almost eight before she heard from him.
She entered through the French doors off the courtyard and found the living room packed with people in formal attire. Women wore floor-length gowns and glittering jewelry; the men wore tuxedos. Her informal white dress immediately drew attention. She spotted Dylan and was wondering what game he was playing now, when a familiar voice spoke from behind her.
“A dove among the peacocks.” Franklin Moss put a cigarette between his lips, inhaled deeply, and crushed it out in a marble ashtray. He exhaled slowly as he studied her face. “You look virginal.” When she pressed her lips together, he shook his head. “No insult intended. Lilith made it sound like you were on your way out the door last time we met. I didn’t expect to see you again.”
She lifted one shoulder. “I’m still in the cottage.”
“Lucky you.” He took out a silver cigarette case and offered her one. She shook her head and said she didn’t smoke. “Smart girl. Nasty habit.” He withdrew one for himself, tapped it on the case. He put the case in his pocket and took out a lighter, glancing toward Dylan. “How did a nice girl like you ever get tangled up with Dylan Stark?”
Nice girl? She almost laughed. “He’s my cousin.”
“And I’m your uncle.” He looked around the room and then back at her. “Lots of uncles in the world. This isn’t the place for you.”
“Probably because I’m not an actress.”
“Oh, I think you are, and better than most in this room, even the ones who get the starring roles. Mind if I tell you something?”
“What?”
“For a smart girl, you are really stupid.”
She turned her head away.
“Why do you stay? Is it his looks? He’s got them in spades, that’s for sure.”
“Love?”
He grinned at her sarcasm. “Yeah. Love.” He chuckled. “Or is he that good in bed?” When she didn’t answer, he gave a weary sigh. “Even when you get the monkey off your back, the circus always comes back to town.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about.
Dylan wove his way through the crowd toward them. “Franklin, good to see you, as always.” He put his arm around Abra’s waist and looked between them as though something shady had been going on. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
“We don’t.” Mr. Moss crushed another cigarette, ready to leave.
Dylan squeezed Abra’s waist. “Franklin worked for one of the most elite agencies in town until one particular actress defected and he got fired.”
“Like mother, like son. You know everyone’s business.”
“Nothing secret about a high-profile starlet diving into an affair with the director of her latest movie. Pretty hard to do damage control after that, wouldn’t you say?”
“Pamela will go far.”
“Do you think so?” Dylan’s expression turned to one of deep sympathy. Abra knew it was all show. “I heard your wife filed for divorce. Which makes me wonder if the rumors about you and your client commingling . . . ?”
The older man’s eyes flickered with anger as well as pain, but he covered his feelings quickly. He shrugged. “As I told your mother, women come and women go.”
“This man is a legend, Abra. They used to say he could take a girl off a street corner and make her into a movie star.”
“I still can, though I’m more selective these days.”
“Found anyone?”
“Still looking.” His gaze drifted to Abra.
“How selective? What are you looking for? Another blonde bombshell?”
“Loyalty.
That’s what I’m looking for. Unfortunately, it’s nonexistent these days.”
“You’re wrong.” Dylan grinned at her. “Abra is as loyal as a Labrador. Aren’t you, baby?” Abra knew what was coming and saw no way to avert the inevitable.
Franklin Moss looked at her again, and not just her face this time. “Does she have any talent other than dogged faithfulness?”
“Her sister told me she plays piano.”
“How well?”
“I have no idea, but she must have been good.” Dylan laughed. “She played for a church.” He let go of her when someone called his name from across the room. He raised a hand in response and called back for them to give him a minute. “Take her back to your place and see what she can do.” He winked. “Who knows? She might surprise you.”
“You think so? I don’t surprise easily.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.”
“Dylan.” Abra hated how small and desperate she sounded. She reached out and clutched at his arm.
He leaned down. “Go. It’s better than being put on a Greyhound bus.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “I promised I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” She watched him walk away, too shocked and hurt to speak. Dylan plucked a glass of champagne from a tray and joined a foursome of beautiful girls.
Abra’s body shook. It was over. Just like that. She’d lost him. She’d known she would. Eventually. Someday.
Not tonight. Not here. Not now.
She’d told herself over and over the day would come, but now that the moment had arrived, the shock set in, the devastation.
“Are you game?”
“What?” Abra gave Franklin Moss a blank look.
One brow lifted. “To show me what you can do.”
What choice did she have? She lifted one shoulder. “I guess.”
“Come on, then. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
CHAPTER 8
Bridge to Haven Page 16
