Authors: Inara Scott
The kiss was different from the night before. Sudden.
Intense. A depth of passion swept from her lips to her toes. He traced the edge
of her bottom lip with his tongue, sucked gently on the plump flesh he found
there, and then plunged into the opening beyond.
His arm clasped around her waist, fingers tickling the sensitive
skin of her stomach. Impatient, he tugged the bulky fabric of her shirt aside
and reached for that bare skin. A soft moan came from somewhere. Alix realized,
almost as if in a dream, that it came from her.
He continued to bathe her in his kiss, stroking and
licking, until she clutched his shoulders and pressed her hips closer to him,
zinging sensations running up and down her spine, lingering in her breasts.
“Is this what it should feel like?” he murmured, trailing
kisses down her neck. “Or perhaps this?” She arched her back, unable to think
about what she was doing, what
he
was doing. His teeth found her nipple,
biting softly through the fabric of her shirt, and her hips jerked in time.
She closed her eyes, fighting for control. “Ryker, what
are you doing?”
“Experimenting. I can’t direct something if I don’t know
how it feels.” He cupped her buttocks in his hands, drawing her closer. She
could feel his hardness nestled between her legs, and it sent her reeling.
She gasped. “I thought we weren’t going to do this.”
“Do what?” He stroked her stomach.
She sucked in her breath. “This,” she said. “We weren’t
going to do
this
.” She intended the words to come out firm, but they
sounded breathy and uncertain. “We’re coworkers, remember?”
He recaptured her mouth and sent her senses reeling with a
series of long, slow kisses. “That’s exactly why we need this. You’re going to
show me how our movie should be shot.” He tugged at the elastic containing her
hair, sending it cascading around her shoulders. He tangled his fingers in its
length. His fingers at her scalp produced a whole new series of tingles up and
down her body. “As coworkers.”
He gazed into her eyes, his dark liquid stare so intense
and pure she couldn’t look away.
“I wanted this for Jake and Lena,” she said, “not us. We
aren’t the actors, Ryker.”
“I know.
They
can barely stand each other.” As if
to prove how different they were, he pressed her more tightly against him,
leaving no doubt what bumped against the sensitive nub between her legs. She
widened her stance, needing to feel pressure there from his body. Needing more.
Except she didn’t want more. She wanted to be left alone.
She wanted to work on the movie and then go back to her book, her pride and
sanity intact. Messing around with Ryker would leave both in question.
He ground gently against her, and she gripped him tightly,
realizing almost as an afterthought that she was clutching him around the neck
like she was drowning. Then he kissed her again, this time slowly and deeply,
until her entire body went soft and limp in his arms.
He pulled back, surveying her flushed, dazed expression
with satisfaction. “I think I’m finally starting to understand what you want.
We’ll try that with Lena and Jake later this afternoon.”
#
Alix made a point of blocking all memory of the incident
in the park from her mind, choosing to believe she and Ryker had simply seen a
couple kissing and then walked calmly and casually back to his car. Perhaps out
of pity for her wounded pride, he allowed her to perpetuate this myth, never
mentioning what had really happened in the week that followed.
Unexpectedly, given the potential for rising tension
between them, things on the set improved. Alix fell into a routine of waking
early and meeting Ryker on the set to talk about plans for the day. They would
rehearse or shoot film and then view the dailies together before they called it
a night. Things started to click. He could see the same flaws in a scene that
she did. He knew what she was trying to achieve, even if he couldn’t get there
himself. Together, they coaxed and cajoled Lena. Alix played good cop to
Ryker’s bad. They tried to give Lena opportunities to take control of her
scenes, to use the acting talent they knew she had.
Little by little, things got better. It wasn’t what they
wanted, but it was better.
But the attraction between them only got worse. Sexual
tension simmered silently, just below the surface of everything they did. Ryker
didn’t try to kiss her again, but it took no more than a meaningful look or the
brush of his hand against her thigh or the touch of his hand on her waist and
Alix was left struggling for control. He was seducing her, little by little.
She knew it, but she was helpless to fight it. If anything, his control only
made it worse.
So her heart leaped unsteadily when, on a Friday
afternoon, he invited her to come to his house for a walk on the beach. Noise
from some unexpected construction in the road opposite their soundstage had
marred three takes in a row, forcing an early end to the day while one of the
production assistants tried to figure out who to bribe to get the work moved to
July.
“I know you love the beach,” Ryker said, his gaze dark and
inviting. “I’m making you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“But we’ve got work to do here,” Alix replied, a lump
forming in her throat at the thought of them alone, in his house.
“I’m the director,” Ryker said. “If I say it’s time for a
break, it’s time for a break. Tell you what, if you really want, I’ll have Amir
make a tape for us, and we can watch some film while we’re there.”
What could she do? She was terrified, yet unable to think
of any good excuse to say no. Unable, or perhaps unwilling. Underlying his
invitation had been just the hint of a challenge. And Alix had never been good
at stepping down from a challenge. Besides, she told herself, she hadn’t spent
any time at the beach since she’d arrived in LA two weeks before, and she
wanted desperately to see the ocean. She grabbed her rattiest, most unattractive
sweatshirt and bug-eyed sunglasses and met him at his car.
She was not a Ryker Valentine groupie, she told herself
sternly. If he made a pass at her, she would find the will to say no. Her pride
demanded it.
Situated just off the winding Pacific Coast Highway,
Ryker’s ranch-style beach house was nothing like what Alix had expected. The
exterior was plain, even drab, with gray cedar shake siding and a row of small
windows looking toward the road. A long driveway protected by a broad iron gate
led down to the house, flanked by tufts of brown grass, gnarled cypress trees,
and exposed rock. There were no flowers or soft touches; the house blended into
the landscape as if it were a part of the cliff on which it sat.
But the interior could not have been more different.
Instead of Gunther’s white walls and creamy shag rugs, there were wood floors
with colorful throws. The living room was full of overstuffed leather chairs
that felt as comfortable as they looked. It was all carefully decorated, but it
was vibrant with life and energy. And dominating every room were huge bay
windows with stunning views of the ocean.
Alix hadn’t realized, until that moment, how much she
missed the ocean. In her years of living on the beach, it had become a part of
her, from the sound of the waves to the smell of salt in the air. Despite the
obvious luxury, and inescapable fact that this was
Ryker’s house
, she
was instantly, perfectly at home.
Ryker threw his keys onto a dark walnut end table by the
front door. “What can I get you to drink?”
Alix walked over to a set of french doors. She pushed
gently on the brass handles, and the door swung open to a flat grassy area that
seemed to hover above the pristine, empty beach below. A long rectangular
swimming pool dominated the far side of the yard, with a hot tub on one end.
She breathed deeply of the ocean air and felt a weight
lift from her shoulders. “Club soda?”
Ryker flashed an unexpectedly warm smile. “After the week
we’ve had, I’d expected something stronger.”
Alix grinned, almost giddy with pleasure at the sight of
the blue water stretching to the horizon. “Right now, things don’t look so
bad.”
Ryker stood at her side and pushed open the other side of
the double doors. “That’s exactly how I felt the first time I walked into this
house. Like it didn’t matter what else was happening in my life. Once I was
looking at the ocean, I knew everything would be okay.”
His voice was soft and warm, and the intimacy of the
moment caught Alix off guard. She spun around, needing to put at least a few
feet of distance between them. “Where’s the kitchen? I can help myself to that
drink.”
Ryker gestured toward a small flight of stairs that led to
a hallway. “Kitchen’s that way. But you’ll never find anything useful in there.
I have no idea how to cook. The only thing I keep stocked is the bar.”
Along one wall of the living room there was a row of dark
wood cabinets topped with a polished wood counter. Ryker opened one
glass-doored cupboard, withdrew two tumblers, and set them down on the counter.
He poured them both club soda, added two olives to each glass, and threw a few
handfuls of crackers onto a silver tray.
“Voila,” he said, extending the tray with a flourish.
“Dinner is served.”
Alix giggled and took her glass from the tray. “Remind me
not to come for a visit when I’m hungry.”
Ryker gave her a playful leer. “I never said I couldn’t
satisfy a woman’s hunger.”
She clutched the cold, wet glass, the laughter fading as
Ryker focused his attention on her lips. She swallowed nervously.
“Ryker?”
An endless moment passed, and Alix watched Ryker’s eyes
flick from her face to her chest and then back. He set the tray on the counter.
This time, she thought, she would be stronger. She would
push him away before things even got started.
Then why did you come?
A voice in her head mocked.
You
know why he brought you here.
He took a step toward her.
She took a step back.
You know what he wants. You want it too.
He took another step. He was so close she could make out
the long, dark lashes that surrounded his eyes and smell his warm skin.
At that moment, in a stroke of divine intervention, the
phone rang.
Ryker cocked his head and studied her with a rueful smile.
“I should get that. It could be the studio.”
A cordless phone blinked from a table in the hall beside
the front door. Ryker turned his back to her as he picked it up, the breadth of
his shoulders startling under the crisp fabric of his shirt.
“Hello? Oh, Rosa… No, I didn’t forget… Of course… Yes,
yes, I know… Look, I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?” His voice had changed
from inviting to curt and coldly efficient. He angled his body toward Alix, his
eyes raking her as he spoke. “Yes, I’m bringing someone… All right. Good-bye.”
He hung up the phone. “That was my sister. She’s having a
dinner party tonight, and I promised I’d go. And bring a date.”
“Oh.” Alix tried not to look disappointed. She set her
glass down on an end table. “Well, you can drop me off at the studio. I’ve got
plenty of work to do.”
“You’re the date.”
She cocked her head. “Really?”
“Really.”
A funny feeling tickled her stomach, a mix of anticipation
and horror. She looked down at her jeans and baggy sweatshirt. “I’m not sure
I’m dressed for it.”
He frowned. “Traffic’s going to be hell. We won’t have
time to swing by the hotel. I’ve got a few things in the spare bedroom.
Something should fit.”
Alix blinked. “Of course. I mean, who doesn’t have a few
extra outfits in the closet. For the opposite sex.”
His lips twisted in an approximation of a smile. “You
never know when you’ll need it. Follow me.”
The upstairs hallway was decorated with original prints by
several of her favorite photographers—Laboznikov among them. They were
arresting images but hardly optimistic, from a man on a bicycle in front of a
line of broken-down apartment buildings to an empty field littered with trash
with a lone tree growing in the middle.
“Are you a collector?” she asked
He shrugged. “I pick up things when they strike me.”
The spare bedroom was dominated by a king-size bed covered
with a quilt made from seemingly random geometric shapes and a cacophony of
colors. Though it had no discernible pattern, the mix of hues and shapes was
soft, peaceful, and extraordinarily beautiful.
“What an amazing quilt,” she said.
“My sister Rosalia made it.” He pointed to a wedding picture
of a beautiful young black-haired woman. “That’s Rosa.” A line of other
pictures in brightly colored frames decorated the dresser and bedside tables.
There was a picture of an older man and woman; Rosalia with babies on either
hip; and school pictures of young men who had to be Ryker’s brothers. In one
tall, wooden frame there was a photo of a woman who looked to be in her late
teens, holding a newborn infant. “And the rest of the family.”
He opened a closet where a number of shirts and pants hung
in a neat line. Alix tried to avoid getting too near to him. They were, after
all, only a few feet from a bed. But he made no move to approach her, looking
out the window with shuttered eyes that gave no hint as to what he was
thinking.
He gestured toward a closed door. “There’s the bathroom.
You’re welcome to take a shower if you’d like.”
She shook her head. It was impossible to imagine being
naked in the same house with him.
“I’m going for a quick swim. Make yourself at home. I’ll
meet you downstairs.”
She nodded and waited until he had left the room to look
through the closet. The clothes were casual, a few pairs of jeans and trousers,
simple knit shirts, and one tiered peasant-style skirt. The sizes were a bit of
a puzzle—they were a mix of comfortable size eights and tens, hardly
supermodel garb. Also interesting was the discovery of a playpen at the back of
the closet, and a stack of baby-girl clothes. She shook her head at that. It
was impossible to imagine Ryker holding an infant.