Authors: Michael Craft
Desert Spring (3 page)
I asked, “Sour stomach? Perhaps you should eat something. There's a late buffet supper; they're setting up for it now.”
He smiled through a frown. “Thanks, Claire, but I'm just not hungryâno appetite lately.”
With a touch of apprehension, I noted, “This has been going on for several weeks. Shouldn't you see someone?” By “someone,” I meant “a doctor,” but I didn't want my concern to sound inflated, and besides, I'd offered this advice before. Though I considered Spencer a friend, I doubted that he would appreciate the pestering of another “carping shrew”âthe term he had often used to describe his wife.
“Yes, yes,” he said, “all taken care of. It's nothing.”
“Mr. Wallace,” said Tanner, “can I get you some more tomato juice?”
“Why,
thank
you, Tannerâyou'll go far in this business.” Har-har. “It's a Virgin Mary. Just ask the young lady at the bar.” He handed Tanner the glass.
thank
you, Tannerâyou'll go far in this business.” Har-har. “It's a Virgin Mary. Just ask the young lady at the bar.” He handed Tanner the glass.
“I'll take care of it.” Tanner excused himself.
“Wait up,” said Manny, following Tanner toward the doors to the living room. “I could use a refill myself.”
Tanner asked his fellow actor, “Will you be staying in the desert long?”
“Afraid not,” replied Manny as they stepped indoors. “I'm driving back to LA first thing in the morning ⦔
Watching them disappear into the crowd, Spencer said, “I must say, Claire, you certainly have a knack for sniffing out talent. You, too, could go far in this business.”
Wryly, I told him, “I already have.”
“I meant the
picture
business.”
picture
business.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Ah!” Spencer poised a finger in the night air. “Speaking of pictures, did you find my gift?” His brows arched expectantly.
“Sorry. I've been distractedâthe party and all.”
“Of course. Let me show you.” He offered his arm and escorted me toward the living room.
“It's a picture?”
“Another photo for your collection. Not very inventive of me, I admit.”
Just as we reached the house, we encountered Kiki and another DAC faculty member, Lance Caldwell, coming out to the terrace. Seeing us, they stopped in their tracks.
Spencer eyed Kiki askew for a moment. “Good evening, Miss Jasper-Plunkett. I trust you're well.”
“I am, thank you. Never better.” Her tone was flat, almost cold. Conspicuously, she neglected to return the courtesy of wishing him well.
I had no reason to expect antagonism between Kiki and Spencer, but Kiki gave the clear impression she was miffed. Odd, I thought. So had Brandi Bjerregaard. So had Glenn Yeats.
Kiki brushed past us, out to the far edge of the terrace, jangling her bracelets as she strutted into the night, leaving us with Lance
Caldwell. A composer of great acclaim, he had lent luster and credibility to the music program at our fledgling college. Unfortunately, his talent was matched by his ego, which required constant stroking. I had done a fair job of this while cajoling him to compose the incidental music for our previous production,
Laura.
I had introduced him to Spencer at the show's opening, where they had greeted each other with words of mutual admiration.
Caldwell. A composer of great acclaim, he had lent luster and credibility to the music program at our fledgling college. Unfortunately, his talent was matched by his ego, which required constant stroking. I had done a fair job of this while cajoling him to compose the incidental music for our previous production,
Laura.
I had introduced him to Spencer at the show's opening, where they had greeted each other with words of mutual admiration.
“Caldwell,” Spencer now greeted the composer with no enthusiasm.
“Wallace,” the composer returned the frosty greeting. Then he nodded to me and whisked past us to join Kiki, who gazed into the swimming pool as if mesmerized by the soft, rippling light.
Was it my imagination, or was
everyone
miffed? As Spencer led me indoors, I asked, “What was
their
problem?
everyone
miffed? As Spencer led me indoors, I asked, “What was
their
problem?
He arched his brows innocently. “Was there a problem? I didn't notice.”
I smirked. “I don't know how you could miss it.”
His shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Claire. I'm not myself tonight. Feeling cranky.”
“You've seemed out of sorts for weeks. You really ought to eat. You've been losing weight.”
He shook his head. “Is there such a thing as male menopause? Everything seems different, and worse. Guess I'd better get used to itâold ageâbut I didn't think it would hit at
sixty.
”
sixty.
”
“You're
not
old,” I assured him. I was only six years behind him, and I felt that I'd entered my best years.
not
old,” I assured him. I was only six years behind him, and I felt that I'd entered my best years.
With a tired smile, he asked, “Could we change the topic? It's depressing. Let me show you that photo.”
“With pleasure.” I took his arm as he led me to the fireplace.
Propped on the mantel near the other photos that hung on the wall was the framed picture he had brought as a hostess gift. Like the others, it was a black-and-white print with a white mat and a
simple, black galleryâstyle frame. I hadn't noticed it when I'd first entered the room that evening because of the shifting crowd, but now, up close, I saw that the subject of this new image was a departure from the desert scenics that both he and I had been exploring.
simple, black galleryâstyle frame. I hadn't noticed it when I'd first entered the room that evening because of the shifting crowd, but now, up close, I saw that the subject of this new image was a departure from the desert scenics that both he and I had been exploring.
Setting my glass on the mantel, I lifted the frame and held the picture under the light of a nearby lamp. It was a panorama that had been shot from a large, lofty balcony looking out over the seaâclearly nowhere near Palm Springs. Spencer had doubtless snapped the photo either early or late in the day, as the shadows cast by the building, behind the viewer, sliced across the balcony at a sharp, dramatic angle. “Gorgeous,” I told him. “I love the light and dark.”
He nodded. “That's the beauty of black and white. It lends itself to such a simple, unvarnished way of seeing the world. A mere shadow can be breathtaking, while a shaft of light takes on a life of its own.”
Returning the picture to the mantel, I asked, “Have you ever considered shooting a movie in black and white?”
“I've never had the guts. Can you imagine? Me, Spencer Wallace, afraid of my own roots as a cinematographer.” He paused. “But I've been tempted, Claire. Seriously tempted. Especially now, with
Photo Flash.
”
Photo Flash.
”
“Say, that
is
an idea. The film is
about
a photographer, about photography itself. What better excuseâif you need oneâto make an artistic statement.” I took my glass from the mantel and sipped what was left of my martini, which was now warm. Maybe I would have another; my creative juices were flowing.
is
an idea. The film is
about
a photographer, about photography itself. What better excuseâif you need oneâto make an artistic statement.” I took my glass from the mantel and sipped what was left of my martini, which was now warm. Maybe I would have another; my creative juices were flowing.
Spencer said, “It's an exciting notion, I admit. Tanner Griffin's film debutâin black and white. We'd get a double buzz.”
“Huh?” a voice interrupted us. “You can't be serious, Spencer.”
“Just thinking out loud,” Spencer told our eavesdropper. Turning to me, Spencer asked, “You know Gabe Arlington, don't you, Claire?”
“My gosh”âI laughedâ“I certainly know the name. What a pleasure, Mr. Arlington.”
With a wide grin, he extended his hand. “If I may call you Claire, won't you please call me Gabe?”
“Of course, Gabe.” I shook his hand. “Fellow directors.”
Spencer amplified, “Fellow directorsâacross the great divide.” He was alluding to my prejudice favoring theater over cinema. Gabe Arlington was a film director of long-standing reputation, though I hadn't heard much about him in recent years. He was older than I, about Spencer's age, looking rested and tanâand considerably more healthy than Spencer. A distinguished crop of blow-dried silver hair completed the image.
I told Gabe, “Tanner Griffin is eager to work with you. We were both pleasantly surprised when we learned that you'd be directing
Photo Flash.
I've been working with him on the script; he asked for help with several points of interpretation. Hope you don't mind.”
Photo Flash.
I've been working with him on the script; he asked for help with several points of interpretation. Hope you don't mind.”
“Hardly.” He gave a jolly laugh. “Having my leading actor pre-coached by the great Claire Grayâwhat's to mind? It'll make
me
look all the better.”
me
look all the better.”
Spencer reminded him, “To say nothing of that screenplayâit's a winner. I can feel it in my bones.”
I reminded Spencer, “Good thing. You wrote it.”
He allowed, “I
am
proud of it. Objectively, it's a great story.”
am
proud of it. Objectively, it's a great story.”
“It is,” I granted. “And I must say, I've been impressed by your diligence in reworking the script.”
“Great scripts, like great novels, aren't written; they're
re
written.” He raised his empty glass and toasted the truth of his pronouncement.
re
written.” He raised his empty glass and toasted the truth of his pronouncement.
Gabe asked him, “You've been working on it here in the Springs?”
“I've really come to love the desert. My âweekend retreat' in the old Movie Colony feels more like home every day. It's quietâI
can think and writeâand I've got my darkroom right there. Plus, it puts two hours of interstate between me and Rebecca. What more could a man ask?”
can think and writeâand I've got my darkroom right there. Plus, it puts two hours of interstate between me and Rebecca. What more could a man ask?”
“Huh. Your wife's not here?”
Spencer snorted. “Nobody's pining away, Gabe. Let's just call it a fragile détente. She's perfectly happy having the house in Brentwood to herself.”
“Who wouldn't be?” Gabe laughed. “I've
seen
that house.”
seen
that house.”
“She's welcome to it. I've got far more important things on my mind. To paraphrase the bard: the
film's
the thing. Everything set for next week?”
film's
the thing. Everything set for next week?”
“All systems go. I'm returning to LA on Monday, and there's a preproduction meeting with the cast on Wednesday.”
I sighed.
Both men turned to me, surprised by my wistful tone. With evident concern, Spencer asked, “Is something wrong, Claire?”
“Of course not.” I mustered a smile. “The process is wonderfulâisn't it?ânurturing a production, from start to finish.”
Spencer wrapped an arm around me. “Postpartum blues? Sorry to draw the final curtain on
Traders
?”
Traders
?”
With a feeble nod, I told him, “Something like that.”
“How about another drink? That martini glass is woefully empty.”
“Good idea.”
Gabe said, “Claire, Spencerâif you'll excuse me.” And he winked farewell, disappearing into the crowd, hailing some old acquaintance.
Walking me toward the bar, Spencer said, under his breath, “He's got a lot riding on this picture.”
“So does Tanner; it's his big break. But Gabe is a veteran.”
“Trust me, ClaireâGabe
needs
this picture. He hasn't directed a high-budget, high-profile production in nearly ten years. Sure, he
had his glory days, way back when, but it takes only a flop or two to be dismissed as passé, and he's had more than his share. In the eyes of many, he was washed-up long ago. This business can be brutal. Signing him on for
Photo Flash
was a gamble, but I generally win.”
needs
this picture. He hasn't directed a high-budget, high-profile production in nearly ten years. Sure, he
had his glory days, way back when, but it takes only a flop or two to be dismissed as passé, and he's had more than his share. In the eyes of many, he was washed-up long ago. This business can be brutal. Signing him on for
Photo Flash
was a gamble, but I generally win.”
I held Spencer's arm. “I hope you do win, for your sakeâand Tanner'sâand Gabe's.”
When we arrived at the bar, the crowd had disappeared, having moved to the other side of the room, where the buffet supper was now being served. Thierry was just coming out of the kitchen. “Ah, Miss Gray,” he said, “I hope everything has been to your satisfaction this evening.”
“Yes, everything's lovely, thank you.”
“It seems you need another drink?”
I eyed my glass as if I'd forgotten it was in my hand. “Why, yes, it seems I do.”
Thierry cheerfully set about pouring and shaking a fresh martini. “And something for you, Mr. Wallace?”
“Another Virgin Mary.”
“Yes, sir. Very good.”
With dinner served, the focus of the party quickly shifted from drinks to food. The babble died down as people began eating; Tanner stepped to the stereo, switching to more tranquil music, inching down the volume. My guests settled into clumps of quiet conversation, gathering on furniture near the fireplace, sitting on the floor, or drifting out to the terrace. The catering crew moved back and forth from the kitchen, offering wine, clearing dishes, bringing out dessert plates. I moved among everyone, making sure all were happy, receiving nonstop compliments and thanks for a memorable evening.
Though it was Saturday night, the party wouldn't drag on indefinitely. By midnight or so, with everyone fed, my cast and crew's exhaustion had set in, and the revelry wound down fast. As soon as coffee was served, a few guests began getting up, carrying things to the kitchen, and circulating for a round of farewells. I stationed myself near the front door, and before long, everyone had gotten the messageâit was time to go. Thierry dismissed the bartender and one of the servers; the remaining staff began packing their wares.
I wasn't keeping track of exactly who leftâI was caught in a whirl of smooches and good-byesâbut glancing over my shoulder into the living room, I noted that only Grant, Tanner, and the caterers remained. Abandoned glasses, napkins, cutlery, and dishes littered
the room. Kiki was at the door with me, leaving with a last group of guests.
the room. Kiki was at the door with me, leaving with a last group of guests.
“Straight home now,” I told her, wagging a finger in good-natured admonishment. “And drive safely.”
“Of course, darling. Sober as a judge,” she assured me.
“Steady as she goes!” said one of the other guests, someone I didn't know, stumbling out the door.
“Worry not,” his buxom companion told me. “
I'm
driving.” And she followed him to the street, rattling her keys.
I'm
driving.” And she followed him to the street, rattling her keys.
Kiki asked, “Call me, Claire?”
“First thing in the morning, I promise.”
“Well, not
too
early, I hopeâtomorrow's Sunday.”
too
early, I hopeâtomorrow's Sunday.”
I reminded her, “It's already Sunday.”
“Incredible party,” said one of the tech crew, slipping out. “Another
triumph
for Claire Gray.”
triumph
for Claire Gray.”
“Yes, yes,” I said, sounding bored, “yet another ⦔
“Good night, Claire,” said someone else. “It was smashing.”
“
Yes,
darling,” echoed Kiki, “simply smashing. Ta-ta, love.” She leaned to peck my cheek, then exited with a flourish.
Yes,
darling,” echoed Kiki, “simply smashing. Ta-ta, love.” She leaned to peck my cheek, then exited with a flourish.
Leaning through the door, I called after everyone, “Good night, all!” Then I turned back into the room and closed the door behind me, collapsing against it.
Grant was standing at the bar, pouring himself a last drink. He tapped the rim of an empty glass, telling me, “I think milady needs a nightcap.”
I wagged a hand. Glancing about the room, I asked, “Where's Brandi? Did she abandon you?”
“Flew the coop, back to LA.” He tapped the empty glass again. “Hmm?”
“No, thank you, dear. I've had enough.”
Tanner asked, “Had enough music?” He was crouching near the bookcase that held the sound system, returning CDs to their cases.
He wore a simple outfit that nightâdark dress slacks and a white cotton shirt with its collar open and sleeves rolled up. Lord, the sight of him.
He wore a simple outfit that nightâdark dress slacks and a white cotton shirt with its collar open and sleeves rolled up. Lord, the sight of him.
“More than enough,” I said with a laugh, referring to the music.
Tanner stood, punching a button on the stereo. The music stopped.
“Ahhh”âI stepped cautiously, on tiptoe, to the center of the roomâ“such blessed silence.”
The words had no sooner left my mouth when a sharp crash came from the kitchen. It sounded as if a goblet had hit the tile floor. As we all turned, Erin popped up behind the pass-through bar, looking like a jack-in-the-box in a maid's uniform. With a sheepish grimace, she said, “Sorry, Miss Gray.”
Apprehensively, I asked, “What was it?”
Thierry appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping a glass with a dish towel. “It wasn't yours, Miss Gray. Just some barware from the catering company. We always expect some breakage.” The brittle sounds of glass being swept into a metal dustpan affronted us from the kitchen. Thierry continued, “We're finished now, except for the final cleanup. Erin will stay to tidy up the living room and patio, but the rest of us will be going. I hope everything was to your satisfaction.”
“Very much so, thank you. Everyone had a wonderful time. I'll be happy to call on you again.”
Thierry bobbed his head. “I appreciate that, Miss Gray.” Then he retreated into the kitchen, and I heard the sounds of whatnot being hauled out the back door.
Grant sipped his drink, telling Tanner and me, “One for the road.”
“Careful,” I warned.
“Bahâhad plenty to eat tonight. Let's just call this a breath freshener.” He sipped again.
Tanner moved to me from the bookcase, extending his arms. “How can I possibly begin to thank you?”
I growled suggestively. “As if you haven't thanked me a million times over. Tanner Griffin, how can
I
thank
you
?” And we embraced, sharing an easy kiss on the lips.
I
thank
you
?” And we embraced, sharing an easy kiss on the lips.
Grant strolled toward us, swirling the drink in his glass. He observed us for a moment, finger to chin. “My,” he said, “isn't
this
a cozy picture? Not quite the typical teacher-student relationship.”
this
a cozy picture? Not quite the typical teacher-student relationship.”
Not quite, indeed. When I'd first met Tanner, just before classes had begun the previous fall, I'd recognized an attraction that was instant and mutual. I'd also recognized the questionable propriety of our rush toward intimacy, but ultimately, I'd been unable to resist it. By winter, he'd moved many of his things into my smallish condo, spending most of his nights thereâthe primary motivation for my purchase of a larger house. Now, of course, the move may have seemed unwarranted, as Tanner would soon be leaving, but I was enjoying my new home and was glad to have had an excuse to buy it. Win some, lose some.
Grant clucked. “How old are you Tannerâ
half
Claire's age?”
half
Claire's age?”
Focusing on me, Tanner paid little attention to Grant, answering, “Something like that, yes.” More precisely, at twenty-six, he was
less
than half my age. Shame on me. Hell, lucky me.
less
than half my age. Shame on me. Hell, lucky me.
Grant pattered on, “Though I must admit, Claire, I admire your taste in men.”
I turned from Tanner, saying, “Thank you, Grant. And I've always admired
your
taste in menâto say nothing of your taste in real estate.” I made a sweeping gesture that encompassed our surroundings.
your
taste in menâto say nothing of your taste in real estate.” I made a sweeping gesture that encompassed our surroundings.
Grant flopped a palm to his chest, humbled. “Why, thank you, doll. I'll take that as a compliment, coming from the illustrious Claire Grayâamong the brightest lights in the American theater.”
With a petite, ladylike snort, I sat at one end of the leather-cushioned
bench that served as my sofa. “I'm a director, Grant, not a starlet. And now, I'm a
teacher,
of all things.”
bench that served as my sofa. “I'm a director, Grant, not a starlet. And now, I'm a
teacher,
of all things.”
Tanner stepped to the bench, telling me, “I'll have to side with Grant.”
Grant noddedâso there.
Tanner continued, “The name Claire Gray shines as bright as that of
any
star, onstage or off. When you left your career on Broadway and moved here to join the DAC faculty, you took a bold step that'll help to shape the next generation of American actors.” He reached for my hands and brought me to my feet, adding, “And I, for one, am eternally grateful.” He kissed me again, lightly.
any
star, onstage or off. When you left your career on Broadway and moved here to join the DAC faculty, you took a bold step that'll help to shape the next generation of American actors.” He reached for my hands and brought me to my feet, adding, “And I, for one, am eternally grateful.” He kissed me again, lightly.
I held his face in my hands. “Who'd have thoughtâcertainly not I, not in my wildest dreamsâthat âstarting over' at fifty-four, I'd start over with the likes of Tanner Griffin?”
He exhaled a soft laugh of disbelief. With sincere modesty, he said, “I'm ⦠I'm
no one.
You found me working in a body shop. I tinted your car windows.”
no one.
You found me working in a body shop. I tinted your car windows.”
I shook a finger in his face, dead serious. “I found a natural talent, a promising young actor who could help me develop my fledgling theater program. It didn't matter that you were a few years older than my other students; in fact, that was an advantage. I needed a leading man for our new troupe, and I found him.”
From the side of his mouth, Grant said, “You also found a ⦠uh, âroommate.'” The lilt of his voice was heavy with insinuation.
“God, did Iâin spades!” I felt silly and girlish referring in code to my lover as a roommate, but circumstances had dictated that Tanner and I needed to be discreet about our relationship. It was not quite a secret that we'd been living together, but we never discussed it publicly. Especially on campus or at social gatherings, we never behaved as a couple. First, to do so would lack professionalism. Second, and just as important, it would not be appreciated by
Glenn Yeats, who was not only my employer, but also a patient, would-be suitor. For the sake of appearances, Tanner had held on to his meager apartment in north Palm Springs.
Glenn Yeats, who was not only my employer, but also a patient, would-be suitor. For the sake of appearances, Tanner had held on to his meager apartment in north Palm Springs.
My jubilant mood sagged as the full reality of Tanner's impending departure sank in. “I'm no fatalist,” I said to no one in particular, “but it seems that all good things must in fact come to an end.” I slumped onto the leather bench again.
Tanner sat next to me, taking my hand. His voice was tender. “It didn't need to end so quickly. This was all
your
doing, rememberârecruiting me into your program last fall, casting me in the leading role of your first production, and inviting Spencer Wallace to the premiere.”
your
doing, rememberârecruiting me into your program last fall, casting me in the leading role of your first production, and inviting Spencer Wallace to the premiere.”
Grant set down his drink and swooped behind us at the bench. “And the rest,” he said with a broad flourish, “is theatrical history!” He recalled, with dramatic bravado, “It was one of those Hollywood fairy tales, the sort of catapult-to-overnight-fame that happens only in movies, rarely in real life. Spencer Wallace, Mr. Blockbuster himself, has signed our heartthrob-in-training to appear in his next major film.” Grant kissed the top of Tanner's head, sniffing his tousled mop of sandy blond hair.
“Exactly as I'd intended.” I tossed my hands, still conflicted over the results of my plan.
“Flash forward,” said Grant. “It is now April, some four months after the powerful Mr. Wallace has discovered the hunky Mr. Griffin, and here we sit, among the debris and detritus of a
marvelous
cast party.” Grant kissed the top of my head, but he didn't linger to sniff it.
marvelous
cast party.” Grant kissed the top of my head, but he didn't linger to sniff it.
As if on cue, Erin appeared from the kitchen with a tray, then set about clearing some of the “debris and detritus” Grant had mentioned. His description had conjured a picture of the ruinous aftermath of war, but in truth, my guests had been no more boorish
than to leave a smattering of dirty dishes and half-drunk cocktails about the living room and outdoors on the terrace.
than to leave a smattering of dirty dishes and half-drunk cocktails about the living room and outdoors on the terrace.
I sighed. “It wasn't just a cast party, you know. It was a farewell party for Tanner.” I patted his hand.
“And a tribute to Spencer Wallace,” he added. “Don't forget our guest of honor.”
Grant strolled from behind the bench, retrieving his nightcap before Erin could snatch it and haul it to the kitchen with the other glasses she'd been plucking up. Grant swirled the last of his liquor and told me sincerely, “It was a fabulous evening, Claire. Memorable, too. Your guests will talk about this for
years
to comeâwining and dining with the likes of Spencer Wallace, while sending Tanner on his way to begin the filming of
Photo Flash.
” Grant finished his drink, then mentioned, “I had a chance to gab with Wallace awhile. He has high hopes for this projectâ
loves
the script.”
years
to comeâwining and dining with the likes of Spencer Wallace, while sending Tanner on his way to begin the filming of
Photo Flash.
” Grant finished his drink, then mentioned, “I had a chance to gab with Wallace awhile. He has high hopes for this projectâ
loves
the script.”
Tanner laughed. “He ought to. He wrote it.”
“Inspired by his own hobby.” Grant set down his glass and strolled toward the fireplace, telling me, “I see Wallace brought you yet another example of his work.”
“Yes,” I said, rising, joining Grant at the fireplace, “the one on the mantel is new. But some of those are mine, you know.”
Studying the wall of pictures, he noted, “It seems your styles have merged.”
“They have, haven't they? We've struck up a close friendship, Spencer and I. He's taught me a lot.” With a quiet laugh, I stepped back to the bench, adding, “Everything has turned out perfectlyâespecially with regard to you, Tanner. I couldn't have plotted it better. Except, I had no idea it would happen so
fast.
And I had no idea
we'd
grow so attached.”
fast.
And I had no idea
we'd
grow so attached.”
Tanner stood and, without hesitation, suggested, “Just say the
word, Claire, and I'll stay. I have far more to learn from youâright here. Hollywood can wait. Wallace can wait.”
word, Claire, and I'll stay. I have far more to learn from youâright here. Hollywood can wait. Wallace can wait.”
“Don't kid yourself.” I shook my head decisively. “An opportunity like this knocks only once.”
“Miss Gray?” said Erin as she made another pass through the room with her tray, gathering more glasses. “If you'll be sitting up for a while, would you like me to make a fresh pot of coffee?”
Other books
Amber by Stephan Collishaw
The Missing Mage by Robyn Wideman
Resistance by Owen Sheers
Pitch Black: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 1) by Elise Noble
Winsor, Kathleen by Forever Amber
Darkness Undone by Georgia Lyn Hunter
Bride Gone Bad by Sabine Starr
Improper Arrangements by Ross, Juliana
His To Keep by Stephanie Julian
Hellhound: Prince of Fire by Volley, Rue