Dying to Have Her (14 page)

“We have different definitions of the word.”

“If you’re upset, I’m sorry. Take it up with Joe.”

“I intend to.”

He reached into the glove compartment and produced a phone. “Go ahead.”

She shoved the phone back at him. “On my own.”

“May I drive without you leaping to your death on the pavement?”

“I wasn’t about to leap to my death on the pavement!”

He turned away from her, revving the engine, guiding the car back onto the road. They drove in tense silence for several miles. When they reached her house, she got out of the car and slammed the door as hard as she could.

He followed. She didn’t stop him. When she entered, she made no attempt to close the door behind her. Instead she stepped aside. “I assume you’re going to check out the place?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

He walked through the house while she stood by the patio doors, waiting. No wonder she had felt as if she were being watched—she was. He reappeared in the living room.

“You keep wearing different clothing,” she told him. “Are you changing in the car, too? Giving the neighbors a chance to peep back?”

“Your neighbors are at quite a distance, but no, I haven’t been changing in the car. There’s been a black-and-white watching your house at times.”

“Great. I feel all warm and cuddly.”

“Yes, well, you should appreciate the fact that both the police and your employers are interested in keeping you alive. Excuse me, will you? I’d like to get some sleep.”

He waved a hand in the air and started for the front door. “Lock it and set the alarm,” he told her.

Then he went out, closing the door tightly behind him. She stood by the plate-glass windows and the door to the patio, staring after him, still frustrated, at a loss. If he wasn’t being such a jerk, she’d have suggested he sleep on the sofa in the den, or even in the spare bedroom.

She picked up a pillow from the sofa in the living room and threw it against the door as hard as she could. Oddly enough, it did make her feel better. She walked to the door, picked up the pillow, and started beating it against the door.

The door suddenly opened, and the pillow hit Liam right in the face. A lock of dark hair fell in dishevelment over his forehead.

Gasping, she stepped back.

He just stared at her, then at the pillow in her hand, then into her eyes. She thought that the smallest twist of a smile tugged at his lips.

“You didn’t lock the door or set the alarm,” he said quietly.

“I—will,” she said.

“Beat up the door often?” he inquired.

“Only when you’ve just departed through it,” she admitted. “That means you shouldn’t just open my door like that.” She smiled, hugged the pillow to her. “Good night,” she said, and closed the door firmly. She immediately locked it and set the alarm.

“Good for me,” she said softly, but her hands were shaking.

She forced herself to go through the motions, shower, teeth, face, and bed, with the remote control in her hand. She turned to the news.

Surely, shattering events were taking place in the world somewhere. But that night they had on a “Hollywood reporter,” a woman with a lot of hair and makeup and twitchy eyes, and she spoke with one of the anchors, giving “gossip” from around town. Naturally, she brought up
Valentine Valley,
and the still mysterious accident that had caused Jane Dunne’s death.

“This
reporter has it from the inside, however, that this accident was no accident! Further details,” she promised with a wink, “when we have them. In the meantime, keep an eye on
Valentine Valley,
where the trailers are now advertising on-screen murder and mayhem! Bad taste, ladies and gentlemen? Yes, but what the heck, this
is
Hollywood, and I’m your one and only Hollywood busybody, bringing you the
reel
scoop.”

Serena flicked off the television.

And lay awake for a very long time, staring into the darkness.

Melinda Guelph pretended to be intensely interested in the magazine article she was reading on skeletons recently exhumed from the Sahara.

Over the edge of the magazine, she watched Jeffrey.

Same old routine, as it had been for all of her adult life. In the bedroom, he removed his watch, set it on the dresser, and unbuttoned his shirt. The shirt fell in the laundry hamper. His shoes were not tossed off, but removed and placed in the closet. He stripped off his socks, but no more. They’d been accustomed to having the twins in the house, so to peel away any more clothing, he went on into the bathroom.

She heard the shower a few minutes later. She laid the magazine on her lap, telling herself that either she had to believe him—or not. She couldn’t go on torturing herself this way.

They had a good marriage. Every relationship suffered a setback somewhere along the line. They had everything in common. They had two beautiful children.

The shower stopped. She picked up the magazine again. A few minutes later, he came to his side of the bed, a towel wrapped around his middle as he put a comb through his damp hair.

“Melinda?” he said after a moment.

“Hm?” She didn’t look up from her magazine.

“Melinda, talk to me.”

“Sorry, I was just trying to get to the end of this article—”

He reached over and took the magazine from her. She looked at him. He stretched across the bed, meeting her eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re trying to avoid me. God, I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve begged your forgiveness. You’re my wife, and I love you.”

“I have never said that I didn’t love you,” she responded quietly.

“No, but you’ve been as far away as the moon.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“Melinda, if you’d been sleeping any closer to the edge of the bed, you’d be on the floor.”

“This isn’t easy, Jeff—”

“It doesn’t get better with you pushing me away all the time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Melinda, I want my
wife.
I want to make love.”

“Like I said, I’m sorry. I don’t intentionally feel this way.”

“Want to give me a chance?”

She hesitated. He had fine eyes and a gaunt but distinguished face. There were a number of gray strands in his hair now—more than just a month ago, she thought. But she reached out and touched his hair. He rose slightly, letting the towel slide away, and pulling the cumbersome sheets and comforter from her length. He paused, watching her, then slipped a hand beneath the hem of her gown, brushing his fingers up her thigh, directly between her legs. She caught her breath.

She thought some of her feeling for him had died. It had not.

He was slim and tight, and had always been a good lover. She had wondered once if he hadn’t researched sex and the female body as carefully as he studied any other interest. He knew not just where to touch, but exactly what created instant arousal
for her.
He was still just as able. Her fingers fluttered to his chest. He stroked her; she opened her mouth, ready to protest again, but he kissed her. And this was her
marriage.
She kept letting him touch her, aware that every second she was giving away more, and that it didn’t matter. A moment later, her nightgown was gone completely.

He was trying to make amends.

He did.

Foreplay was forever.

She wondered if the words whispered so intimately against her flesh were true.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t really care at that moment. Making love was good. An instinct, something needed. She was glad of his flesh, next to hers, the hairy feel of his legs, the panting, the perspiration, the whispers, grunts and groans. She climaxed violently, then felt limp and drained. Usually, she curled next to him and slept that way.

It had been all there but not quite.

She twisted, her back to him.
Let it lie,
she thought.
Let tonight be the start of healing.
But she couldn’t quite let it lie.

“Melinda?” he inquired gruffly.

Her back to him, facing the dresser where his watch lay, where it had lain all the many nights she could remember, she couldn’t help but ask:

“What was
she
like?”

J
OE
P
ENNY LOVED A GOOD
party. He loved well-cut clothing, fine dining, and an excellent vodka martini. All were offered that evening at the home of Eddie Wok, up-and-coming Hollywood director and movie mogul.

Actually, he knew Eddie through Serena. She had met him while giving a class at the film institute years ago, and believing in his passion and ardor for his subject, she had introduced him to a number of friends and gotten him his first job as a production assistant.

Eddie had gone far. Not yet thirty, he had directed two of the biggest box office hits of the last two years. He was young, down-to-earth, a Chinese Dominican with a mastery of four languages and a deep appreciation for the opportunities to be found in the United States. He now attracted beautiful people like flies, and his parties were the best.

Tonight Joe arrived very late, and Eddie said hello with the warm pleasure that was natural with him. Joe saw that Doug was in attendance, as were Jay Braden and Allona Sainge. To his surprise, Jay was with Jinx, the timid young assistant they had recently hired. She looked good, though the party seemed to be overwhelming her a bit. Joe made a point of talking to Jay and Jinx. He tried to make her feel comfortable, and he was pleased, thinking she was glad of the recognition.

He noted then that Doug Henson and Allona Sainge seemed to be with Kyle Amesbury. Good or bad? He wasn’t sure. He made a point of talking to them as well. Allona was trying to tell Doug the real lowdown about growing grapes for wine. He didn’t really want to hang long with the three of them. He didn’t want Amesbury to start his pretentious guff about Haines/Clark pulling out on the show. Amesbury would do it, too. He liked an audience.

Joe waited too long. In the middle of listening to Allona talk about types of red wine, Kyle suddenly turned to Joe. “So you’re holding up?”

“Of course,” Joe said. He really hated the little snot.

“Terribly tragic,” Kyle said.

Joe saw Allona clench her teeth. Kyle couldn’t see her. She caught Joe’s eye, winked, and put her finger to her head as if it were a gun, then blew the tip of her finger as if clearing smoke. He concealed a smile.

“The company is terribly nervous,” Kyle continued.

“Hey, Doug, Allona, can a company be nervous? I mean, does that work, grammatically?”

“A death on the set,” Kyle said with a tinge of anger. “Then your reigning queen in all the newspapers, tête-à-tête with her old flame, the cop.”

“Maybe it’s love,” Joe said flatly.

“Maybe. But the headlines suggest that
Valentine Valley
is a dangerous place to be, in truth. I think the article read, ‘Miss McCormack may be looking to new associates to guard her against very real danger.’ ”

“No one has ever been able to control the papers,” Allona injected. “There’s freedom of speech here, you know?”

“Well, you all could be more careful.”

“Yeah,” Jay Braden said, joining the group. He wore a pleasant smile. Joe knew that smile too well. “We could all watch out who we hang around with. Guys known to offer pleasure palaces in their own homes. Oops … that could be you, couldn’t it, Kyle?”

Kyle stared at him. “Why, really? What have you been up to at my place, Jay?”

Joe looked at his head writer. Doug wasn’t happy. Joe wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling Amesbury was pressuring him and he didn’t want to be pressured.

“Right. I’m damned sorry. Damned sorry. But I can’t turn back time. But I’ll tell you what, Kyle. If Haines/Clark wants to pull out, hell, what can we do? They’ll have to go.
Valentine Valley
is on top of the ratings, and we will stay there. If you all leave, I’ve got a gut feeling there will be other sponsors out there. Didn’t mean to dampen the party here. I’ll move on.” Jinx was staring at him with her eyes really wide. “Honey, you look like a , million bucks tonight,” he told her.

She beamed at him.

“Pretty as a picture,” Kyle Amesbury agreed, as if Joe’s comeback hadn’t meant a thing to him. Maybe it hadn’t. But then he stood, his jaw locked. “Excuse me, Joe, will you? There are some people I have to see.”

He was really angry. Joe wondered if he had just blown his financing.

“Asshole!” Allona whispered when he was gone. She moved closer to Joe. “Weird asshole at that! He wants both Doug and me to have dinner at his place.”

“Just dinner,” Doug said.

“Watch out for him,” Jinx warned. Startled, Joe looked at her. “He has no right to egg you on, Mr. Penny. You’re too decent to everyone.”

Decent? When she said that, he suddenly felt like a dirty old man.

“I wish I were that decent, Jinxy.” He touched her cheek, smiled, and left them. Jay had his hands on her shoulders. Was there something going on there? Jay liked to play the field. Jinx was an innocent in Hollywood. Maybe Jay was just playing big brother.

Joe swept a martini glass from the tray of a passing waiter and moved on.

Around three, the crowd started to die down. By then he’d had more than one very good vodka martini. He’d had …

He knew he’d lost count of his drinks when he realized that he was in the hot tub. A couple of young hopefuls—one blond, one brunette—were with him. Their clothing lay in a disheveled heap. He’d managed to neatly fold his own. Strange that he could drink enough to peel it all off and still fold it so neatly. He had a martini in his hand. He didn’t remember getting that martini either. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Yeah, he could dimly recall laughing, flirting, crawling in. The hot tub was in a little enclave just outside one of the guest rooms. It had been the blonde’s idea. She had started asking him what they were doing on the set now that Jane Dunne was gone. She was subtle. She had suggested the hot tub rather than asking outright for a job. The brunette had supplied the martini he now had. So this was the “casting hot tub,” he thought wryly. So much for hopefuls being lured to the couch.

The blonde was across from him. He felt her toe sliding along his inner thigh. She had talented toes, he thought as she moved them higher. Still, he’d been seduced before. He eyed her over the martini glass and smiled. “What was your name?”