As Maisy Cullinan watched tonight’s most talked-about couple mingle in the crowded ballroom, nausea turned her stomach into a volcano. While they moved around the room, her stare followed, at least until rage blurred her vision. She could almost feel herself ripping out fistfuls of red hair by the roots, scratching those cheeks, tearing off the slutty dress.
She couldn’t believe Reece had brought the tramp here. This was supposed to be their special night. Only the who’s who of Hollywood should have been allowed—movie stars and rich philanthropists, like her. Maisy had the right to be here, bought and paid for. Maybe she hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, but her lottery winnings could be spent just as well as movie money. So she deserved to be among these people. She fit in. The slut in the red dress did not.
“She looks like she belongs in Penthouse, not at a charity dinner.”
“What did you say, darling?”
Maisy flinched, knowing the blonde seated beside her had heard. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name—Candace? Carla?—but knew her husband produced crappy films.
“Oh, nothing,” she said with a bored smile, one she’d seen on other woman and practiced daily in front of the mirror. Hers was probably fine, considering everybody’s looked as fake as their tits and their tans. “I was talking to myself. Don’t you ever talk to yourself?”
“No, I don’t,” the producer’s wife said with a smirk, so condescending. As if Maisy hadn’t paid every bit as much for her plate of food as this spoiled bitch. “But if you were talking about the woman with Reece Winchester, I hear she’s his new, uh, assistant.”
“Assistant, my ass. Abigail’s his administrative assistant,” Maisy snapped. She knew all about Reece’s employees, just as she knew all about his life.
“Abigail?”
Realizing she’d sounded more interested than she should, she said, “I, uh, met her once, when I stopped by Reece’s office.” He had been out of town, on location. But she’d needed to be near him, at least to smell his unique scent, be close to the desk where he worked.
“I see,” the woman said, so pleasant, so phony.
It was so hard to know what to say, and who to say it to. People here weren’t like the ones in Scranton. They were better at hiding what they meant, disguising their meanness behind polite talk. Not that there weren’t mean people in Pennsylvania. Everybody had been mean to her back in the day. Crazy Maisy, they’d called her. She’d slaved at the grocery store six days a week, ringing up their melons and their cucumbers, but she wasn’t even worth saying hello to.
Then she’d won a record-breaking lottery jackpot. She’d suddenly had more friends than Miss Congeniality in a beauty pageant. But she hadn’t given a penny to any of them, and had traded her small life in Pennsylvania for a big one in Los Angeles.
Her windfall had obviously been fated. She’d always known she would end up with Reece, ever since he’d smiled at her from a giant screen. She’d waited, and she knew he had, too. It was why neither of them had ever married, and why his relationships never lasted. They were meant to be together. He was the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with.
“Well, not assistant, I suppose. He’s introducing this one as his new summer intern.”
So he really had hired her, the cheap piece who’d lured him upstairs the other night? She was going to be around him constantly, flaunting herself? Her anger boiled. “No, no, she can’t be.”
“Who can’t?”
She couldn’t even pretend to be friendly. “I’m talking to myself again. Do you mind?”
The woman stood up, so graceful, like she was rising from a couch where some man had been dropping grapes into her entitled mouth. No matter how she practiced, Maisy hadn’t yet been able to copy that languid LA style, and envy made her bitter.
“Darling, you shouldn’t let people know you talk to yourself. You can’t possibly know how wicked gossip can be in this town.” She patted Maisy’s shoulder in pretend concern. “After all, you wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re crazy.”
A roar of denial came to her mouth. I’m not Crazy Maisy! Nobody better ever call me that again. I’m rich, and rich people don’t get put in hospitals and drugged with pills and tied up to bed rails. But she didn’t say anything at all as the woman walked away. Her focus was elsewhere: on her primary enemy.
Whether it was the showy clothes or the hair, the devil who’d caught Reece’s eye now caught hers. The dress was too low, the shoes too high, the jewelry too big and obviously fake. Everything about the woman screamed cheap and poor. How Reece could have been sucked in, she didn’t know. Maybe he was just being protective because of the gunshot.
That gunshot. She gulped, glad Reece hadn’t been hit. At least the timing of that had been good. It had made them stop the hanky-panky they’d been doing upstairs in that private gallery.
It had almost killed her to see them kissing up there. Maisy had left the gallery, needing to stomp and rant because he’d gone upstairs with the woman. So looking up and seeing them in the window had just about made her head fly off.
She pushed the memory back into the darkest part of her brain, where ugly things lived, and focused only on the future. On her and Reece. Miss Red Dress would give him what he wanted—what all men wanted—and then he’d get bored and pull away. He would settle down only with someone who was his equal. Someone like Maisy Cullinan.
Unfortunately, that didn’t ease the sting of the thought of the redhead sharing his bed.
“How would you like her if she wasn’t pretty?” she mused, her stare clawing at the woman’s back from across the ballroom. “If her hair was chopped off, and her skin was scarred, and her fancy dress was ragged and torn, would you still want her then?”
Maisy relished the thought. She imagined the scene, thinking like a film director. And suddenly, one of her excellent ideas popped into her head. She could make it happen.
She’d have to find a place—the bathroom—and would need supplies—from a maintenance closet. It could work, if she could only find a way to get the little tart alone. It might not be easy in this crowd; she would have to think carefully. Even with the best plan, however, she would need some real luck to pull it off.
Then again, everybody knew Maisy was lucky. She was the one-in-three-hundred-million woman, and had the bank account to prove it. If that luck held, by tomorrow the redhead would look entirely different. After that, men wouldn’t stare at her with lust. Only with pity.
* * *
This evening was so not what she had expected.
Jess had pictured a lovely charity event with people focused on good causes acknowledging those who went above and beyond in supporting them. Reading about the three awards being given out tonight—to Reece and two others—she’d envisioned a boatload of tender hearts, floating on a sea of compassion, on a planet of goodwill.
Uh…no. Philanthropy might live in the checkbooks of these members of the LA elite, but their charity ended at their lips.
She’d never been around a cattier bunch in her life. This crowd could give lessons in snottiness to contestants in a reality TV matchmaking show. Considering one such former contestant was here tonight, maybe they actually did.
“You know, I kind of hate you right now,” she murmured as she sipped her champagne.
Reece lowered his own glass, which held sparkling water. Not surprising. Drinking could lead to a loss of control, and publicly losing control was one thing he wouldn’t do. He barely did it privately, judging by how in-check he’d kept himself their first night. She’d been quivering with need. Reece had merely directed the scene. At least until a bullet came through the glass.
Nothing could have prepared either of them for that action sequence.
As for what had happened in the car, well, he’d lost control for a while, as had she. She’d been tempted to tell the chauffer to keep driving forever. But she wanted tonight for Reece, wanted him to get recognition for something other than his incredible looks, his acting, or his films.
“I thought we’d moved past your hatred of me.”
“I said kind of.”
“Moderately better. Didn’t the shoes at least bump me up to more than dislike?”
The kiss in the limo had. She wasn’t going to admit that, however, not when they were in the middle of a crowd and couldn’t do anything about it. “The shoes put you on the pie list.”
“Pie list?”
“I mean, I love cake. But I’ll eat pie. It’s okay. You’re now pie. I only hate certain kinds of it, while I love any kind of cake.”
He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, to be smothered in cream cheese icing.”
Yum. Her favorite. How delicious it would be to lick it off his powerful body.
Annoyed at her own vivid imagination, she forced herself to remember she was scolding him for not warning her about this dumb gala. It had ruined all her illusions. “I can’t believe I actually expected an evening of kindness and shared philanthropy. These people are awful.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Two hundred heads swung and four hundred eyes stared. Jess caught her lip in her teeth, and she could almost hear the whispers from the rich and nosy, people dying to know what had caused his amusement.
“Did you really expect anything else?”
“Actually, yes, I did.”
“Sorry to tear off your blinders, but if you want to work in this business, you should see it as it is. Brutal, cutthroat, seething with ambition and jealousy.”
“Gee, you make it sound so appealing.”
She couldn’t help wondering how old he had been when he’d learned that lesson. Being raised in this world might explain why he was so closed in, so mistrustful. Why he always had to maintain a distance and control his interactions with others. Including women. Including her.
Taking her empty glass away and putting it on the tray of a passing server, he said, “Come on before somebody interrupts to ask what was so funny, and oh, by the way, is dying to tell me all about his new raunchy comedy about a bunch of groomsmen.”
“I think that was called The Hangover. Or Bachelor Party. A classic.”
“Movie fanatic.”
“Guilty.”
As amusement swirled between them, other things came with it. Liking. Even, she thought, the beginnings of trust. So she didn’t ask where they were going and simply went with him when he took her hand. She hoped they were headed for the exit.
Unfortunately, he instead steered her toward the crowded dance floor. Jess tried to change direction, but he was quick to block her path. He swung her into his arms and pulled her along to the music before she could even protest: But I can’t dance!
Only, apparently, she could, at least with the right partner.
They fit together. With this man, her height was not a negative. Their bodies melded, angle to curve, hardness to softness. They were two pieces of a puzzle that snapped together to form a perfect picture. She relaxed in his arms and let him lead her, knowing they were being stared at, but not caring. Besides, it was him they were staring at. Him they always stared at. Women imagined being with him, men just imagined being him.
He was so tall, straight, and masculine. Even wearing a tuxedo, with his thick hair perfectly combed and his jaw closely shaven, he gave off an aura of utter masculinity. Although the clothes were perfect for Mr. Hollywood, she knew he would have looked equally sexy in jeans and a T-shirt. Or an intergalactic space pilot’s uniform.
“I really have to stop thinking of you as Runner Fleet,” she muttered.
“My favorite role.”
“Really? I would have thought he was too funny for you.” Realizing she might sound insulting, she quickly added, “Not that you’re not funny. Well, you’re not.” Bad to worse. “I mean, you play funny well, even though you didn’t do it very often.” She never understood why. He’d been really good. “I just can’t picture it now that I’ve gotten to know you.”
He tilted his head quizzically. “Was there a compliment in there? Or a question? Or are you just calling me humorless?”
“Oh, lord,” she muttered, not wanting to admit her brains were scrambling just being in his arms, smelling the spicy cologne blended with his own unique scent. He was hard and strong, and…and…she wanted him. She just wanted him. She’d been unable to think of anything else except how amazing it would have been to remain in the limousine, exchanging more of those long, hungry kisses, stripping off their clothes, and making love for hours.
Despite everything she’d been telling herself about him, she was caught. Even knowing he had set up their meeting like a puppet master, knowing exactly what was going to happen when he lured her up to the gallery, she would say yes all over again. He’d tempted her with a job, but she didn’t regret taking it. Maybe he’d done the same thing to get her here tonight.
Whatever. It didn’t change a thing. She craved the man.
It wasn’t smart. It definitely wasn’t professional. It probably wasn’t safe for her heart. Or, judging by the icy stares and invisible knives being thrown at her from other women, her body. Nobody had ever accused her of doing the safe, easy thing, however.
He had to know what she was thinking. Only a whisper of fabric separated their bodies, so he must feel her rapid, shallow breaths brushing his neck, and the thudding of her heart against his chest. At the very least, he must have noticed her nipples were hard and her legs weak enough to make her lean into him more than was strictly necessary for the dance.
“Jessica?” he murmured. “Look at me.”
She swallowed hard and lifted her eyes.
“What do you want?”
Everything? Anything? To go back in time to earlier this evening, or to that night he’d kissed her in the lobby? The private gallery where he’d stripped off her dress? Or maybe to the day when she’d first come in and he’d seen her through the security camera?
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” she whispered. “This would have been so much easier if you’d simply come downstairs and introduced yourself on day one.”
He didn’t ask her to explain, knowing exactly what she meant. “Yes, it would have. Believe me, I’ll regret that decision for the rest of my life. So what do we do about it?”
Breathless, nervous, and hopeful, she said, “I think we—”
“Can I cut in?”
Shocked, Jessica swung her head around as a man’s voice spoke from beside them. She felt Reece’s body tense against hers. He went very quiet and very still. Well, more quiet and more still than he usually was. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’ve contributed to programs fighting teen drug addiction for years.”
Good lord, if Reece grew any stiffer, he’d be a board. “Oh.”
“It can’t compare to what you’ve done. Congratulations. Sounds like you’ve made a real difference in the lives of needy kids. Your speech was great.”
“The organization does the great work. I just throw some money at it,” he said.
He still hadn’t let her go, one arm around her waist, a hand holding hers. If anything, he pulled her closer. It didn’t look like he was going to allow the stranger to cut in.
But more, she wasn’t about to step out of Reece’s arms and into somebody else’s. “I’m happy where I am, thank you.”
The stranger laughed. “Touché.”
Reece didn’t relax, eyeing the other man with some unidentifiable emotion. She couldn’t call it dislike, precisely. She’d seen Reece interact with people he didn’t like; despite his acting ability, he could rarely hide it. With this man, it was something else. Something more subtle.
“So, old friend, are you going to introduce us?”
Reece let out a long, slow breath. “Of course. Jessica Jensen, meet Steve Baker.”
He extended a hand, as did she, managing to hide her reaction to his identity. Steve Baker. Childhood actor. Half of the Steve-and-Rachel teen supercouple.
Steve and Rachel had been the king and queen of every tweenage girl’s heart, their “pure” romance unique in Hollywood. Then Rachel had wound up dead in the street. The public had turned on the boyfriend who had supposedly led her down the powdery-white Cocaine Road.
Although still handsome, he’d aged a lot. Redness in his cheeks and on his nose, and deep lines in his forehead, hinted he’d lived hard since his fall from grace. He was also heavy, not the wiry teen he’d been. She couldn’t help wondering what his life had been like in recent years.
“Uh, I remember your TV show, of course,” she mumbled to fill the silence. Baker had played the middle son in a sitcom called Dear Family. She’d never liked it, though much of America had…at least until the scandal. It had gone off the air shortly after Rachel’s death.
Baker, who was probably about five years Reece’s senior, though he looked even older, groaned. “Please don’t ask me to say the line.”
She knew what he meant. His character was famous for asking if he’d been adopted by his wacky family. The line had been repeated verbatim in almost every episode. She’d always considered it lazy writing. “I promise, I won’t.”
“So Reece, if you won’t let me steal her away for a dance, how about a drink? My treat.”
“It’s an open bar,” he replied.
“Okay then, I’ll treat you both.”
His joke landed on the floor between them, the silence thickening like a dry sponge tossed in water. It was noticeable, uncomfortable, and completely understandable. If she were to come face-to-face with someone who might have contributed to her sister’s spiral into addiction and death, she wouldn’t be able to even look at him, either.
“So, uh, are you still acting, Steve?” she asked when the two men stopped talking.
“Yes, I do, overseas. I hope to get back into the spotlight in the US.” He cast a quick glance at Reece. “Maybe you could toss me a bone?”
Reece remained silent.
“Sorry, not the place. I’ll have my agent get in touch.”
She squeezed Reece’s hip to get him to say something. Finally he muttered, “Do that.”
Steve beamed. “Thanks. But seriously, I’m not in town to audition. I have to settle some issues regarding my late father’s estate.”
“Your late father? I’m so sorry.”
Reece’s turn to pinch. He squeezed her waist in warning, telling her to be quiet.
She understood why when Steve responded, “My father was Harry Baker.”
It took her one second and then she put it together. “Oh, God,” she whispered, recognizing the name, of course. How had she never heard the famous Hollywood agent had been actor Steve Baker’s father? She felt like the most insensitive person in the world to have brought up the conversation. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”
“Not a lot of people put us together. He and my mother divorced when I was young. I’d been out of the public eye here, living in Europe for many years by the time he…died.”
The common surname had probably helped, too. Still, it surprised her that someone embroiled in the Rachel Winchester scandal wouldn’t have been of interest to those seeking answers about his father’s death.
She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? “Sorry somebody murdered your famous dad in his Beverly Hills home six years ago.” Or “Sorry the killer got away with it.” God, no wonder the son had stayed away. He’d probably never been able to escape the shadows of his past. And she’d just dragged them out and shone a spotlight on them.
“Please forgive me, Mr. Baker. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.”
“It’s okay,” he said, rescuing her from her own embarrassment.
She doubted the murder of a parent could ever be okay. How could a son live with knowing his father had been found, shot dead, in a pool of blood in his own home? The news coverage had been relentless, the details salacious. It was like a film plot—a murder mystery about a movie insider whose client list read like a who’s who of the industry. The unsolved case had never been far from the public’s mind, kept there by tabloids, or salacious revisits on the murder channels. Nobody had forgotten the story, and she doubted anyone would. It was Hollywood legend.
“I’m in town to deal with the last details of the whole business. My father’s house was tied up in legalities for years. When I was finally cleared to take possession again, I knew it wouldn’t be easy to sell. I think it’s been on the murder tour since the day after it happened.”
She winced at his matter-of-fact tone, wondering how people could be so dark and twisted as to want to visit sites of such horror.
“I’ve finally got a buyer, though. Property values triumph over blood spatter.”
Morbid, though she knew black humor could help. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Me too. God knows I was never going to move into that house again.”
“I can’t imagine what it must be like,” she said, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.
He covered it with his own, and squeezed. “Thank you. I miss him every day.”
She’d lost a parent. More than one, really, since both the mothers in her life were now gone. So she understood his pain and empathized with it. “I’m sure you do.”
“Jessica, it’s time to go.”
Okay, he didn’t like being around the guy, but Reece could have picked a better moment, or at least a slightly warmer tone. The man had been grieving over his father, for heaven’s sake.
Steve immediately dropped her hand. “So soon?”
“Yes, I’m afraid my intern and I were about to leave. Good seeing you, Baker,” Reece said, taking her arm in a firm grip. “We’re going.”
“Nice to have met you,” the man said as Reece ushered her off the dance floor.
He practically dragged her toward their table. “What’s wrong?”
“Other than the bloody scab you just ripped off?”
“I know. I feel like such an idiot,” she mumbled. “I was caught off guard. I didn’t mean to be insensitive or to pry. I had no idea who his father was.”
“Don’t say another word about him,” he bit out from a jaw cut from marble.
Jessica sucked in a shocked breath as he turned into a stranger, an icy man whose entire body was rigid with what she immediately recognized as fury. “Reece, I didn’t mean to—”
“Get your things.”
Her irritation rose. “I’m trying to explain.”
“Don’t,” he snapped, his tension alive and sparking, a live wire on a deadly circuit.
“But—”
“Enough. You’re meddling in things that are none of your business.” When she gaped at him, he thrust a hand through his hair, as if realizing suddenly who he was barking at. He closed his eyes and put a hand over them, rubbing at the corners.
“What’s going on, Reece?”
“I…you…” His hand fell. He stared at her. Without another word, he spun around and strode across the banquet room, ignoring the people who put hands on his sleeve or tried to step in his path. He wasn’t running, merely walking purposefully, like a man on a mission. But something in her knew: He was running from something. Maybe her. More likely the past.
“Oh, God,” she mumbled, knowing it was her fault. By foolishly opening up an entry into Steve Baker’s history, she had also thrust sharp daggers into his own.
It all came back to Reece’s sister. He had to associate Steve with Rachel, and when he saw the man, all those memories flooded in. Steve was a living reminder of the life Rachel had been denied. He’d had years to grow up, to laugh, to love, and to have relationships. While Reece’s sister was remembered only for the swan dive she’d taken in her last moments on this earth.
“Way to go, dumbass,” she told herself, grabbing her purse and going after him.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” a bitchy-looking woman asked as she strode by.
Jess kept walking. Her only response was to lift one hand and flip the woman the finger over her shoulder. Hearing a gasp of indignation, she suspected the message had been received.
Now she had to deliver one to Reece. At least, as long as she could find him.
* * *
Watching Reece ignore everyone and stride toward the exit as the crowd parted like a god was passing through, Steve Baker couldn’t prevent a frown. The stunning redhead hurried after him, trailing like a lackey, when, in truth, Winchester was damn lucky to have the beautiful woman on his arm. But, like all golden boys, he never appreciated anything, never even noticed that he had it all while others had nothing.
“All hail the king of Hollywood,” he muttered, realizing he probably sounded bitter. But if anybody had a right to, he did.
He could have had that life. He should have had it.
Once upon a time, his star had been on the rise, just like the Winchester family’s. No, he hadn’t landed any movie deals, but he would have. He and Rachel were in talks to star in a remake of an old teen beach romance. With their popularity, there’s no doubt it would have been a major summer hit. More, it would have been his chance to break out of the TV sitcom middle-son role and really make something of himself.
“Gone,” he muttered, walking off the dance floor and heading toward the bar. A few people eyed him, trying to place his face. Nobody did. Just another Hollywood has-been hanging around to try to recapture some glory.
He ordered a scotch and lifted it in a toast. To you, Rachel.
God, how he’d loved her.
Everyone had called theirs the teenybopper romance of the decade. It had never felt small or juvenile to him. Rachel had been his whole world. They’d planned to marry, to have kids, to blend their Hollywood dynasty families and produce a new one such as this town had never seen before. She’d wanted all those things as much as he had.
Right up until the moment she hadn’t.
She’d stomped on the dreams, not to mention his heart. While he’d worshipped her as an angel, she’d chosen some new, exciting friends over him, and they’d pulled her into a life of drugs and partying. He never knew who they were. He just knew she’d rejected him, shattered him, and crushed all his dreams, personal and professional. He hadn’t been sure he could survive it.
Then she died. He’d been free of her and the pain. Or so he’d thought. Because he’d suddenly found himself the one blamed. His career disappeared along with his friendships. He’d had to practically flee the country to get any work at all.
Meanwhile, Rachel’s brothers grew and thrived, becoming rich and famous.
He swallowed the alcohol, letting the heat wash down his throat to warm his stomach. Not much warmed him these days, not since he’d been back here, on a quest and learning the truth about all the mysteries that had haunted him for so long.
He knew most of the story now, after speaking to the one person who could tell it to him. He’d been digging to find the rest, unearthing secrets and planning what to do with them.
Funny how the Winchesters were always tied up in those dark secrets.
Funny how they didn’t even realize how much he knew.
Funny they had no idea he intended to expose them and bring their world crashing down.
Funny.
But not.
* * *
As Jessica exited the ballroom, she saw Reece disappear through a set of double doors leading deeper into the hotel. She hurried after him, dodging men who tried to talk to her and women who probably wanted to trip her. Reaching the doors, she shoved through them and found herself in another hallway, much like the last one, with rooms all down the sides. Meaning there were two hallways, exactly alike, separated by double doors right down the middle. Weird.
Ahead of her, she heard a click as one of those unmarked doors closed. Taking a guess on where the sound had come from, she hurried to it. A twist of the knob and she stepped into a supply room with shelves stacked with tablecloths, napkins, centerpieces, candles, and other regular banquet supplies. A tall, shadowy form stood a few feet away. Even in the low lighting, she could see the gleam of his eyes as he watched her come in after him.
“I can’t believe they left this thing unlocked. Somebody shady could steal the silver.”
Nothing.
“Reece, are you okay?”
“You shouldn’t have followed me.” His voice was low, a growl from the darkness. “I needed a minute alone.”
She supposed she should be grateful he’d taken that minute alone in a supply closet and not in his limo. Given his tension, he might have ridden away, stranding her. She didn’t think he would be that rude. Then again, he’d obviously been desperate to get away from Steve Baker.
“I’m so sorry.”
He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Forget it. I overreacted.”
“No, I don’t think you did. I didn’t understand. Now I believe I do.”
“I doubt it,” he said, sounding dry and almost amused in a jaded way. “Go back to the party, Jessica. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“No thanks. I’ll wait for you.” Crossing her arms, she leaned against the wall, too, intentionally matching his pose.
But not for long. He straightened and stepped closer to her, all tension and heat. “Do you ever do what somebody asks you to do?”
Taking a step of her own, she went right back at him, “You didn’t ask me. You told me.” I’ve never responded well to orders.” That could explain why her face was hot and her heart thudding.
His jaw flexed; she could almost hear his teeth grind. “Will you please go back?”
She tossed her head. “Look, dude, I am not walking back into that vipers’ den alone. Those people are toxic.”
“Yes. I suppose we are,” Reece replied with a bitter laugh.
His own character assassination really pissed her off. “Stop comparing yourself to them!”
“You’re right. I’m worse.”
Now hers were the teeth clenching. Frustrated, angry he’d even consider putting himself on the level of the assholes who thought they lived in a world one level higher than everyone else, she grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket collar. “Shut up, Winchester.”
He stilled.
“Shut up and let me apologize. I’m sorry about what happened back there. But I am not going to let you stay in here and fume by yourself. If you want to fume, you’re going to have to do it with me.”
A long pause. Then, out of the darkness, his hand lifted, and he sank his fingers into her hair. He stroked it, stepping closer, and she immediately felt a change in the air. The angry tension had shifted. It had become something…else. Still tense, and maybe a little angry. But oh, there was so much more.
“There are many things I’d like to do with you,” he said, his voice smooth and seductive. He moved again, until his powerful body pressed against hers. “Fuming isn’t one of them.”
She arched toward him instinctively, her hips thrusting against his, and she shivered when she realized he was fully erect, rock hard and massive, beneath those fine tailored clothes.
The passion of their argument had turned into another kind of passion altogether.
Her heart danced, and her blood became a river rushing through her veins to deliver all the cells carrying excitement to her organs. A lot of it went right between her thighs. With nothing but a touch of her hair and his sexy voice whispering seduction, she was wet and swollen, aching with need.
“Oh really?” she asked, trying for light, knowing she’d failed. How could she not? A strong, sexy, angry man was pressing her back into a wall, his dick hard, his hand in her hair, another suddenly landing on her hip, strong and solid. “What, exactly, would you like to do?”
“Your turn to shut up, Jensen,” he said.
She just barely had time to suck in a deep breath before he pulled her toward him and slammed his mouth on hers. She gasped, she groaned, she burned, she flew. Most importantly, she opened her mouth and plunged her tongue against his, hot and demanding. She met his anger and frustration, giving them back to him as pure desire. It wasn’t like the languorous kisses they’d shared in the car earlier tonight. It was powerful and wild, all thrust, sound, and fury. A mind-blown, I-think-I’m-gonna-die, soul-shattering kiss.
Somewhere outside of their small closet, which had grown hot with their passion, a voice called out. Not letting the kiss end, she reached for the knob and flicked the lock.
He still held her by the hip and by the head as they continued the hard, completely unfiltered kiss. He wasn’t hurting her, but he was keeping her exactly where he wanted her. She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried.
Jess had never known how she would feel about being dominated, but the hint of it now thrilled her. She trusted him. Despite his usually gruff exterior, inside Reece was a protector. He would never hurt a woman. Besides, she had nowhere else she wanted to be, and she didn’t want him going anywhere, either. To ensure he didn’t, she reached around and grabbed his fine, taut ass, tugging him toward her, moving her feet apart to make room for him.
“Oh, Reece,” she groaned into his mouth when she felt how perfectly he fit there, in the warm space at the top of her thighs. He thrust against her, and she cried out as his powerful erection hit her in the perfect spot to make her even more crazy and wet.
“Say it,” he ordered as he moved his mouth down to press a hot, wet kiss on the nape of her neck. He scraped his teeth across her pulse point, and she shivered with the need to have his mouth in other places. “Say it, Jessica.”
She knew what he wanted. What he was waiting for. The ball was in her court, and she had to call the play. She didn’t even have to think about it.
“Game on.”
That was all it took. Reece came back to her mouth for another hot kiss as he reached for her dress and yanked it up to her waist. This wasn’t going to be slow and sexy, all strokes and slides. It would be hot and hard, fast and illicit. A wild fuck to slake the desperate hunger for the time being. Jesus, she was out of her mind with excitement.
He reached up and hooked his fingers in the lacy panties, yanking them down until they puddled around her ankles. Kicking them out of the way, she cried out at the feel of his hand between her legs, his fingers dipping between her swollen folds to test how ready she was.
“So wet. So hot,” he grunted, burying his face in her neck as his body shook.
He stroked her clit, firmly, expertly, and Jess came so fast and so hard her legs went weak. He didn’t slow down at all, plunging a finger into her vagina, hard and deep. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as she arched toward his hand.
“More,” she groaned, cooing as he gave her what she wanted—another finger, another plunge, a bite on her neck as he lifted a hand to tug her breast out of the strapless bra.
As he tweaked her nipple, she reached for his groin. He wasn’t, thankfully, wearing a belt, and she went right for the top button. Her hands shook when she realized his damn pants were designer and had a long row of buttons, rather than a zipper.
He worked them open like a pro, flicking them with one hand while he continued to finger fuck her with the other. Then he shoved the trousers down, and he was free, his big, steely cock springing into her palm.
Jess gasped at the power, squeezing it, wanting it. Wanting it now. No more fooling around, no foreplay necessary. They’d been building up to this since the minute she’d felt his eyes on her from across the crowded gallery. She was just patient enough to watch as he yanked a condom from his jacket pocket—jacket pocket? Seriously? This was one confident guy. Not that she gave a damn at this particular moment.
Gripping her waist, her dress bunched around it, he lifted her high. Jess leaned back against the wall, opening her legs and wrapping them around his lean hips. “Now, damn it.”
He came into her with one hard, powerful thrust, groaning with pleasure as all her softest, silkiest parts opened in welcome. Jess wasn’t quite as discreet, and the scream she let out wasn’t a bit quiet. He reacted quickly, covering her mouth with his, kissing her hungrily.
She wished she’d yanked his shirt off. She wanted to scratch him, bite him, and writhe so hard against him they would meld together as one being. But she had to settle for cries and whimpers as he pulled out and then slammed into her again, driving himself up into her core, where no one had ever reached her before. Another orgasm exploded from her sex to her soul, rollicking and roaring in a jubilant dance through her entire body.
“God, Jessica, how I’ve wanted you,” he muttered as he watched her come, obviously feeling her clench and squeeze him deep inside. “Since the minute I saw you.”
She didn’t so much float back from the orgasm as slam down to meet another delicious thrust. “If only you’d bothered to come downstairs and say hello, we could have been doing this every day for weeks.”
“Don’t torture me, woman.” He groaned. “Even my cock could weep at the thought.”
“So let it.”
Naughty whispers faded away as his thrusts got faster and more frantic. It didn’t take long before he let out a guttural groan, buried his face in her neck, and went still. She felt him pulsing deep inside her and sagged in his arms, exhausted, thrilled, sated, and wondering when they could do it again.
“Hate to tell you this…”
He instantly tensed, looking into her eyes.
“I’m going to have to insist you do that to me again soon.”
His hard laughter was louder than her sob of disappointment as he drew out of her and let her down. “Can we get into a bed first?”
She leaned up to kiss him softly. “Maybe the back seat of a limo?”
Just like that, he began to harden again. She almost collapsed. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They quickly straightened themselves up as much as possible in a closet, giggling like teens who’d gone at it right below the noses of the adults. Finally, they emerged from the closet into the dark hallway. They paused to look at each other to make sure there were no telltale signs of what they’d been up to. Ha. Fat chance.
His tux was wrinkled, one of the buttons on his shirt missing. His hair looked like he’d stuck his finger in a socket, and she smoothed it as best she could.
Her own hair was tangled—her little comb useless against the twist of his fingers. Plus her dress hung crookedly. She suspected the hem had torn. Emily would kill her, but she might have to do a bit of sewing repair on it.
“Worth it,” he said, brushing his lips against hers.
“So worth it,” she replied.
As they began walking, hand in hand, she had to make sure he got the message she had followed him to deliver before they’d been so deliciously distracted. It mattered that he didn’t think he couldn’t trust her to know when to say something and when to remain silent.
“I don’t want to rip off any scabs, but I really do want you to know how sorry I am about what happened earlier.”
“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He sighed. “I react badly when I see Steve Baker.”
“I assume it’s because of your sister?”
His next step might have had a hitch, but he ignored it and kept walking. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Everything goes back to my sister.”
His entire life was tied to that night in the Atlanta hotel. Everything before it had been lost. That which came after had made him the man he was now. She wondered if his brothers were the same way, and imagined they were. Reece was the only one who’d gone back into show business, however. It was probably harder on him than the others.
“In case I’ve never said it, I’m so sorry about what happened to her.”
“So am I.” He fell silent for a second, and then admitted, in a low voice, “Despite the stories, Steve didn’t get her hooked on drugs. It wasn’t his fault, and he got a bad rap for it.”
Her turn to miss a step. Reece paused to steady her and they stopped dead in the middle of the hall. “I thought that was why there was bad blood between you.”
“No bad blood. I don’t blame Steve. He’s just a reminder I could live without.”
Of course he was, as she’d suspected earlier. Now, hearing Reece didn’t hate the man, she felt better. She wished the wound wasn’t still so raw he couldn’t even stand to be in the room with Baker, but she knew people reacted to loss in different ways.
“Do me a favor. If we run into him again, don’t bring up the past.”
There was no please. He didn’t say the word. But he’d uttered a plea all the same. Her heart twisted. She knew this man better than she’d ever expected to. There was a vulnerability to Reece Winchester, one he almost never showed the world. She’d caught a glimpse of that man in the car earlier. Still, she’d never imagined hearing such loss-inspired pain from him.
“I won’t,” she said, hating his anguish, yet understanding it, too. Rachel. Poor damaged, lost Rachel. God, if she ever lost Liza, she didn’t know what she’d do.
“Thank you.”
“But, Reece, I have to say this. Holding on to this agony isn’t doing you any favors.”
A long, slow breath eased out from between his lips. “I know.”
“Maybe you could think about letting it go, or even extending an olive branch to Steve. It’s probably what Rachel would have wanted.”
They reached the double doors leading from hallway B back into hallway A. Right before he opened them, he answered, “Maybe. Better yet, maybe he’ll go back to Europe soon and I won’t have to do anything at all.”
As they entered the front hallway, a loud rumble of chatter, champagne-inspired laughter, and music assaulted them. Nobody appeared to notice as they slipped back into the crowd, which was a good thing. She’d drawn enough jealous stares tonight. Now that she actually deserved them, having spent an amazing interlude with the sexiest freaking man she’d ever known, they might sting more. Especially since she looked like she deserved them.
Stepping close to him, she whispered, “By the way, I have a headache.”
“What?”
“Use me as an excuse. I have a headache and we can’t stay for long goodbyes.”
Nodding and putting a warm hand on the small of her back—instantly arousing her again—he led her toward the atrium that served as the hotel lobby. As she’d expected, once they were spotted, he was stopped every few feet. Her imaginary headache might have been a brain tumor, considering how gushingly sympathetic people were once they heard the excuse. If she’d had to stay five minutes more, and be offered any more surefire homeopathic remedies, she’d probably have gotten a migraine for real. Fortunately, they finally did get past the crowd, nearing the exit.
“I’ll have the car brought around,” he said, appearing as relieved as she felt.
“Okay.” Thinking about how long it might be before they got to wherever they were going tonight—even if just for a long, long drive, she said, “You know, while you do that, I think I’ll go to the ladies’ room.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, his fingertips gliding gently across her temple. “While you’re there, you might want to put a cold cloth on your forehead. I suspect you’ll want to get rid of your headache quickly. Before we get into the car.”
A glimmer of sensual knowledge appeared in his eyes, and she sighed, knowing exactly what was going to happen there: everything they had done in the closet. Plus many more deliciously wicked things they had not.
Quivering thinking about it, Jessica began to walk back the way they’d come. They’d been close to the ladies’ room, and she should have used it then. She’d just been distracted.
Long before she got near the facilities, however, she saw a line winding out the door and down the hall. There was no corresponding line of men. Typical.
Noticing the woman she’d flipped off earlier, and not wanting to deal with any nonsense, or with the line, she considered whether she really needed the pit stop.
“There’s another one down the hall of the east wing,” a passing woman said, apparently noticing her less-than-enthused expression. “It’s empty—no one waiting at all.”
About to voice her thanks, realizing there was at least one nice, helpful person around, she saw she couldn’t. The woman had melted into the crowd. Jess had gotten only a glimpse of long, coarse, dark hair with gray streaks.
Heading back the way she’d come, Jess stopped to let Reece know where she was going. Of course, in the ninety seconds she’d been gone, he’d been cornered by a famous actor. Even from several feet away, she could hear the man angling for a role.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, lifting a shaky hand to her temple. “Is the car here yet? I think this headache is turning into a migraine.”
Taking the hint, the actor asked Reece to call him to schedule lunch, looked at her and suggested the best homeopathic guy downtown, and then left them alone.
“Thanks for the rescue. I didn’t expect you back so quickly.”
“I never made it to the ladies’ room. The line was too long with catty women I wouldn’t call ladies. I’m going to go to the other side of the hotel where I hear it’s much less crowded.”
“I’m glad you stopped on the way. Your timing was impeccable. That guy never lets up.”
She smirked. “And that’s different from everyone else here…how? These people are so pushy they might as well be on construction sites moving dirt around.”
Chuckling, he said, “Now go. And I swear I’ll get the car here this time.”
Before they parted again, however, she heard a man’s voice say, “Congratulations, Reece.”
Good grief, were they ever going to get out of here?
About to go into full-on migraine tears mode, she hesitated when a broad smile broke over Reece’s face. Wondering who’d inspired the warm look, she saw an older man, probably in his early sixties, tall and handsome, with thick, graying brown hair.
“Dad,” Reece said, and she almost fell over. “What are you doing here?”
Of course he had a father. Everyone had a father. But his father was here? Now? And, judging by his surprised expression, Reece hadn’t even known?
“Why don’t you tell a guy you’re getting an award?”
“It’s not a big deal, really. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”
“Not a big deal, says my kid the philanthropist,” the older man said as he opened his arms and drew Reece in for a bear hug.
The embrace was so affectionate, a living example of parental love reciprocated. Given what Reece had told her about the way his father and aunt had taken the boys away from the darkness and scandal of their childhoods, she’d been prepared to admire his dad. Now that she’d seen the happiness in Reece’s face, she could easily love him.
“Your speech was great. Brought tears to my eyes.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t come up and sit with us for the whole thing.”
“Ahh, I didn’t have a ticket. I snuck in the back to watch your speech. Been waiting for you to leave—I knew you wouldn’t stay long. I was afraid somebody’d kick me out if I let on I was there without an invite.” His brow furrowed. “Then you disappeared for a while and I was afraid you’d snuck out the back. Not that I’d’ve blamed you.”
Feeling her cheeks warm, Jess waited to see how Reece would respond to his unexplained disappearance.
He merely gaped. “You snuck in? Are you kidding? I could have gotten you a ticket.”
“If you’d bothered to tell me about it, Eddie, I would have asked you to!” The old man cuffed Reece’s shoulder, and she almost giggled.
Then she realized what he had said. “Eddie?”
“Don’t you dare,” he muttered.
“Ahh, this must be the pretty girl who was with you when some lunatic shot at you,” his father said, turning to face her. He examined her carefully, head to toe, not revealing much. Then, slowly, he nodded, and extended his hand. “Edward Winchester. I’m very pleased to meet you. Especially since my lughead son hasn’t told me anything about you.”
Lughead. Eddie. There was almost too much to grasp, and she wanted to both laugh and hug the older man. A smile on her lips, she shook his calloused, workingman’s hand “I’m Jessica Jensen, Mr. Winchester. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Call me Edward.”
They talked for a few minutes, some father-son banter the National Enquirer would probably love to hear. She listened, and then realized the men might want a moment alone.
“I was about to go to the ladies’ room.”
Reece nodded. “While I was supposed to call for the car. Dad, join us.”
“In the ladies’?”
Reece sighed as his father wagged his brows.
“No way,” the older man added. “I met a nice hostess at the restaurant upstairs where I waited out this shindig. I think I’ll go back up there for some pie.”
Jessica and Reece looked at each other at the same instant, and she felt a giggle rise to her lips. “You know, we were just talking about pie a little while ago.”
“Well, why don’t you two join me then?”
“Thanks, Dad, but we don’t want to cramp your style.” Reece’s eyes—those eyes that had once seemed predatory to her and now looked warm—twinkled, and his devastatingly sexy smile flashed. “Besides, Jessica doesn’t really like pie.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, have you discovered a liking for pie all of a sudden?”
She licked her lips. “Actually, pie might just have become my favorite dessert. I’m looking forward to trying all sorts of varieties.”
“Well, then, you’d better get busy tasting.”
Mr. Winchester—call me Edward—looked back and forth between them, not understanding, but not asking what they were talking about. Nor did he ask again if they wanted to join him; the man could obviously read the signals. His smile said he approved.
“It was lovely meeting you, Edward,” she said.
He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her in to kiss her cheek. While close, he whispered, “I like seeing my son smile. He doesn’t do it often enough. So thank you.”
Squeezing his arm, and promising Reece she’d only be a minute, she took another peek at the line coming out of the nearest restroom and immediately headed for the other one. The hotel lobby was massive, with enormous potted plants, flowers, and fountains. But it wasn’t hard to navigate. The building was shaped like a squared-off U, with the elegant entrance at the bottom, and hallways forming the sides.
As she passed the main doors, she could hear voices rising like a giant swarm of bees from outside. They would once again have to run a gauntlet to get to the car. She wondered how many paparazzi would take pictures of her mussed hair and uneven dress. Fortunately, she had a few minutes to prepare herself.
Reaching the other wing, and turning up the hall, she realized the woman who’d given her the tip had been right. It was deserted, and actually a little creepy, considering the other side of the hotel was a zoo. There were many conference rooms, none of them in use at this time of night. Spying a sign toward the back of the corridor, she headed toward it and pushed inside, immediately seeing the outer vestibule area was empty, too. No gossipy women sat together in front of the makeup mirror whispering as they touched up their lipstick. So she didn’t have to worry one of them had a nail file with which they intended to stab her in the eye.
The interior, functional part of the ladies’ room appeared to be empty, too. No attendant was on duty, so she stood at the sink and carefully splashed cold water on her cheeks. Not wanting to keep Reece—and their limo rendezvous—waiting, she went into one of the private wood-slat-framed stalls. If only she hadn’t had sparkling water with dinner and champagne afterward. The dress was formfitting and a challenge to get out of. Probably why Reece just tossed it up rather than taking it off.
Mmm.
The downside was that designers never thought about women needing to pee in tiny cubicles.
Though she’d expected to be alone, a click came from next door. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the bathroom or walk across it. The other person had caught her off guard. Worse, she had ignored bathroom etiquette by taking the stall right beside Jess’s, rather than one of the several other unoccupied ones.
Well, maybe the other woman hadn’t realized somebody else was in here. The cubicles were made for privacy, the doors and partitions going almost all the way to the floor. So she couldn’t have seen Jess’s feet or the hem of her dress.
“Bitch.”
Jess stiffened, not sure she’d actually heard the word. Had someone called her a name, or was the other occupant talking to herself? Or had she merely imagined it?
Confused, she strained to hear. But it wasn’t another whisper that caught her attention. It was a smell. A powerful, chemical scent wafted into the compartment. She noticed it with one deep inhalation. Her dress fell from her hands as she began to cough. Her throat and nose stung as if burned, and her eyes instantly filled with tears. Gagging, she covered her mouth with her hand even as the fumes started to make her feel lightheaded.
She could think of only one explanation. A hotel employee must have begun her nightly cleaning. The gala was taking place on the other side of the hotel; this side was totally empty. Of course she wouldn’t expect anyone to be using this bathroom, and had apparently dumped a gallon of bleach or ammonia into the next toilet.
“Wait, I’m in here!” she called, risking opening her mouth again. She immediately regretted it as her tongue tasted chemicals. She also suddenly felt dizzy and confused, knowing she should be doing something—getting out—but her movements were sluggish.
She shook her head, hard, clearing it briefly, and held her breath. Reaching for the lock, she twisted it, and pulled on the stall door.
It didn’t move.
The door that had swung so freely a few moments ago was now stuck or jammed.
Before she could even wonder why, she heard a gurgle. Liquid suddenly streamed underneath the ribbon of space beneath the bottom slat of the partition. It glided toward her shoes and the hem of her dress. Yanking handfuls of fabric out of harm’s way, she backed into the other wall.
“Stop, please. I’m stuck. I can’t breathe!” Since she’d instinctively taken a breath before crying out, she quickly began to cough.
The employee didn’t apologize or call out reassurances. There was more splashing, as if a huge bucket had been pushed over. Harsh, abrasive liquid streamed in even harder.
She had nowhere else to go; there was no retreat from the puddle now extending to the tips of her shoes. When it rose above the sole and touched her toes, her skin began to tingle, and then to burn. She let out a shocked cry, more surprised than pained, confused about why the woman wasn’t responding. Was she wearing earbuds, listening to loud music while she worked?
Then the voice came again, a throaty whisper. “You deserve whatever you get.”
Understanding slammed into her fume-muddled brain as fear assaulted her.
That wasn’t a janitor. There was no misunderstanding by a cleaning crew about a bathroom still in use.
She’d been followed in here deliberately. She was being targeted by someone—the whisper was deep, but it sounded like a woman trying to disguise her voice.
Jess tried to escape again, pulling hard, and then pounding against the slatted door with her fists to try to break out. Although her hands hurt from the blows, nothing moved. Something was definitely holding the door closed. Someone had her right where they wanted her.
From next door came one more comment. “See if he thinks you’re pretty now.”
The malevolence in the voice chilled her blood, and she was momentarily frozen into utter immobility. Then something alerted her to movement above, and she jerked her head up.
A plastic jug. A rubber-gloved hand.
She knew what was coming.
Pure instinct made her fall to the floor and curl around the commode, covering her head, burying her face against porcelain. She drew in lungfuls of rank air—enough to scream for help with all her might, though she doubted anyone was close enough to hear.
Reece, oh God, please come!
Liquid began to dribble down—cold and shocking. She screamed again as the thick drops landed on her ankle. Then came more, and she tucked in tighter. Splashes soon reached her thigh—soaking quickly through the fabric of her dress.
Then the heavens opened up and a chemical rainstorm poured down on her like a poisonous, biblical flood.