Lovers and Liars (51 page)

A
nother extension.

Another Beverly Hills home.

“Bill, goddamn it, go pick that up,” Vince said harshly, snapping. He watched as the gofer ran to pick up some wrappers one of the guys had left lying around. “Doug, when I said sweep up all that debris, I meant it,” he said.

He walked around the wing they had started to frame, making sure they were leaving the site impeccably clean and spotless. Hills people had fits when there was even one cigarette butt lying in the drive—even the service driveway.

He saw a nail and picked it up. A flat tire would be just great. Straightening, he glimpsed long female calves. Standing, he started, did a classic double-take.

The woman was auburn-haired, tall, sleek, perfect in profile, and she was talking to the gardener who had been trimming hedges all day in an elaborate modern swirling design. She was obviously the missus of the house—and what a missus.

Thirty or so, he guessed, maybe close to forty. She had a Jacqueline Bisset look. She dismissed the gardener and turned her head and body slightly. Their gazes met.

Beautiful, stunning, impossibly sexy.

She smiled and strode forward. The way she walked reminded him of someone. An aggressive, confident walk. Her body was strong and athletic. Desire rose.

“Hello, I’m Shanna Jacobsen. Are you the foreman?” Her accent actually had a touch of Ireland. Her eyes were gray, like a winter sea. God, what he wouldn’t give to fuck her.

“Yeah, Vince Spazzio. Please to meet you, Mrs. Jacobsen.”

She looked right into his eyes. “You can call me Shanna—everyone does,” she said.

He hadn’t put his shirt back on, but she hadn’t looked at his chest once. It was disappointing. “Thanks,” he said.

“Let’s discuss some ideas I’ve had since I last saw the architect,” she said, smiling and starting toward the framing.

Vince followed eagerly.

100

M
elody knew she had to be very careful.

Had to stay in character.

She had thought it all out.

Seduction wouldn’t work—it would be too obvious.

“Well,” she said, smiling, “that takes care of that.” She had just removed the last of their dinner dishes. “More wine, Peter?”

“Yes, please,” he said, looking at her intently.

He was sitting on the sofa, relaxed, denim thighs spread. Melody poured the full-bodied Cabernet, leaning close enough to almost touch him. Her hair did. Then she moved to sit next to him.

“Dinner was great, Melody,” Peter said, shifting his arm casually behind her on the sofa.

“Thank you,” she said demurely.

He was facing her. “Quite a package. Even cooks.”

She dropped her gaze.

He caught her chin and kissed her for a long time. He was a good kisser, Melody decided—not that she had very much experience. The kiss was arousing. Not like Jack’s, of course. She stiffened at that thought and the timing was perfect; Peter had just slid one of his large hands over one of her large breasts. He removed his palm and moved away, sighing. “Melody.”

“Peter, please understand,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. “I guess I do.”

This time she took his hand, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not like most of the girls in this town, and I don’t want to be like them. I need to love the man I sleep with.”

Peter half smiled. “Yeah. Well, I guess you can’t blame me for trying.” He leaned closer. His eyes had picked up the tone of his shirt. “You really turn me on, Melody, and that’s not a line.” He kissed her again.

“I guess I’d better go,” he said reluctantly quite a bit later.

Melody wished she could let him stay. She remembered how it had felt to have an orgasm with a man inside her, and God, she needed that again. But The Plan was more important. And he was leaving.
Now
was the time to act.

“Peter, before you go, can we talk business?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

Melody suddenly noticed the outline of a massive erection. The denim hid nothing. Then she realized she was staring, and she averted her eyes, blushing profusely.

“I told you,” Peter said softly, “you really turn me on.”

Melody met his gaze. The sight of
that
had tightened her unbearably, but The Plan was the most important thing in her life. Melody was not experienced, but she was clever. Right now when Peter wanted her he was most malleable. So she looked away at her lap, where she clutched her
hands; and when she spoke, it was in her most fragile, timid voice. “Peter, I need your help.”

He thought her eyes were so guileless, so wide and innocent and blue. “I’d love to help.”

“I need you to get a video for me, Peter.”

Peter listened.

“I know who made it, and he’s here in Hollywood … well, he lives in Bel Air—or he used to. The thing is, he won’t sell it to you or anything. You need to steal it.”

“I see.” Peter studied her. “Why?”

Melody gulped. “Because I’m Jack’s manager and friend and right now he’s very vulnerable and the video is very damaging. I want to destroy it.”

“Porn?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“His past is no secret—at least not the drugs and alcohol. The wild parties? It wouldn’t be the first time a young, good-looking, struggling actor living on the wild side made a couple of dirty movies for a few bucks.”

Peter contemplated the floor, and Melody waited anxiously. “Peter? Are you upset with me?” Her voice was small and childish.

“No.” A half smile. “I admire your loyalty. And I’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you.”

“But my fee is another night like tonight,” he said, suddenly mischievous.

“Dinner?”

“Dinner and your company.”

Melody smiled. “Well, I think that can be arranged.” She hesitated. There was one more crucial thing. “Peter, I don’t want Jack to know about this. He’s so pressured right now. I don’t want him to worry. When it’s all over and I’ve destroyed the video, I’ll tell him.”

“My lips are sealed,” Peter said.

101

I
t was easy to forget his role—his
goal
—and he let himself, because it was to his benefit to do so. It was easy, too easy, to really enjoy himself in her company. She was funny in a very wry way. She laughed at herself and at him. Making him laugh too. She was intelligent and opinionated,
very
opinionated
, but somehow he found it stimulating. They discussed the industry, President Reagan, reincarnation. They argued about everything—with enjoyment. He found, to his complete surprise, that underneath her tough, aggressive facade, she was a romantic; and she found that under his easy, life-is-a-ball charm, he was cynical and wary.

Earlier that evening they had started to get into a conversation that was too risky. She had asked him about
Berenger
. He had tensed, feeling a reflexive anger that he got under control and managed to shrug off. For some damn reason he wanted her to know that the film was good, damn good, and that he had given his best performance ever in it, Oscar-contender stuff. He wanted to share that, wanted maybe to impress her, but he couldn’t—he had to pretend indifference.

“Aren’t you disappointed?” she had asked.

“Oh, sure.” He shrugged. “I got paid.”

Later, cautiously, he asked her if her mother knew about him. He wasn’t sure, but the look she gave him was funny, pointed. “Why would she know you? She hates cop shows.”

“I like the way you stroke my ego, Belinda,” he managed lightly. So much for that! Belinda hadn’t told him what he wanted to know—if Nancy knew they were dating. “Is she still staying with you?”

Another funny look. “Yes.”

This was a problem Jack had been considering. If Nancy saw him, the roof would go down. Belinda obviously had no idea about their brief encounter seventeen years ago. Of course, he couldn’t tell her; it would be taking a needless risk that could ruin everything. But why was his conscience crucifying him for the omission?

She asked him about his past, about the long lean years when he’d been struggling to make it. For some unfathomable reason, he didn’t want more lies between them. He didn’t want to give her the same cock-and-bull bio he gave the world. Instead he casually changed the topic to one he could discuss, one where he had nothing to hide, and he found himself eagerly talking about Rick.

“I’d like to meet him,” Belinda said later, just as they reached her house. They had been strolling along the beach, and now they paused on her back doorstep. “He sounds like a carbon copy of you. Imagine, a chance to meet the adolescent Jack Ford! I’ll bet you were dangerous even back then.”

“Do you think I’m dangerous, Belinda?”

She laughed, a short sound. “Very. Worse—you know it.”

He smiled. “I was a terror,” Jack said, his mind irrepressibly turning to carnal thoughts again. Carnal thoughts and Belinda. “Because I cared only about myself—about what I wanted.”

“And now you care about what other people want?”

“I care about what
you
want,” he said, his tone taking on the rough edge of sandpaper.

“Jack.”

If it was a protest, he ignored it. His hands found her shoulders. “You know I care about what you want.”

She swallowed, tense beneath his fingers. “If you cared,” she managed, “you wouldn’t push me like this.”

“Am I pushing you, Belinda?” he asked, leaning forward, his hold tight now, and nipping her throat. She swayed irresistably toward him. He emitted a groan. He rubbed his face in her bare decolletage; her hands wove into the thick strands of his hair.

“Jack.”

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered, languidly rubbing his cheek against the top part of her chest. “I need you so much. I want you.” Shuddering, he dropped a kiss in the deep valley of her cleavage. Tonight he wasn’t sure he could find the discipline and self-control he’d exercised on their last date. Tonight there would not be any more cock-teasing. “You want me too, Belinda,” he murmured. His mouth moved against her breast as he spoke. She shuddered.

“So good,” Jack whispered, nuzzling her, his hands moving to her waist. “You know how good I can make it. This time, Belinda, I’ll make it even better—I promise.”