Exposing Alix (7 page)

“But—hmm.” He cut himself off, realizing she was
enjoying every minute of his shock. He slid into his seat, forcing a casual
smile. “I guess now you’ve got me wondering which is the real Alix Z.”

She draped her body against the back of her chair. “What
do you think?”

“I must say, I have no idea. You see, I did a little research
last week. Or rather, I tried to do a little research. Alix Z, despite her
popularity, did an exceptional job keeping her face out of the press. I think I
found three, maybe four pictures, two with you wearing those horrible glasses
and one from a premier with you in a long-sleeve black dress that would have
suited my grandmother. Gunther, on the other hand, was everywhere. You’d think
he
made those movies, for all the interviews he gave.”

“I didn’t like the attention, and he didn’t want to miss
the opportunity to plug the films. It worked out better that way.”

“How did you convince them to leave you alone?” he asked.
“At first, all the papers were speculating about the mysterious Alix Z and
trying to get interviews; then there were those few pictures, and then the buzz
just dropped off.”

She grinned. “It was easier than you’d think. I realized
pretty quickly that hiding wouldn’t work—it only made them more curious.
So I did the opposite. I put myself out there, but made sure I was the least
articulate, least photogenic person they’d ever interviewed. I was boring,
dowdy, and droned on about film theory and aspect ratios. They quickly realized
Gunther was the better mouthpiece for our movies.”

“So it’s all a game? The terrible glasses, the clothes—it’s
all something you cooked up to fool reporters?” It was completely contrary to
his everyday existence—changing oneself to avoid publicity, rather than
the other way around—but at least it solved the puzzle. “And you’re still
doing it? Even now?”

Alix unwound a linen napkin from her silverware and draped
it over her lap. When she shifted positions and crossed one leg over the other,
Ryker found his gaze trapped, pinned by that simple motion. It was impossible
to reconcile the siren in front of him, with her sleek bare legs and silver
shoes, and the dowdy woman in bug-like sunglasses and an oversized parka he’d
met on the beach in Oregon.

“I’d been like that for a long time,” she said finally,
shrugging her shoulders in a move that sent her breasts bobbing up and down.
“Before Hollywood. I just made things a bit more dramatic for the press. It’s
not really a game. It’s just me.”

“Not entirely you.” He motioned toward her, indicating
with a sweep of his hand her head to her toes. “This is you too.”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “This is something I can
do when I’m forced. The other is what’s comfortable. I don’t like to worry
about my looks, Ryker. I know that seems bizarre to you, but it’s the way I
am.”

“But you chose those glasses to be horrible. You can’t tell
me you don’t do it for them. For the reporters and such.”

“It works on a number of different levels,” she said.
“Besides, no one in LA is exactly what they seem. Isn’t your real name Ricardo
Valdez?”

He grimaced. “I suppose you have me there.”

“You created a little stir in the Latino community when
they found out about that. They said you were trying to deny your heritage.”

“So you do know something about me?”

“The Internet is a wonderful thing.”

“I suppose.” Ryker looked down at the menu, hoping to
distract her from further questions about his Latino—or lack of Latino—heritage.
“Anything sound interesting? Hazelnut-crusted halibut?”

She pulled her expressive mouth in a moue of disgust. “I
live in a fishing village, remember? I’m used to my fish flopping around
moments before I eat it. To be honest, it’s the chance for fresh vegetables
that has me interested. The grilled vegetable plate sounds perfect.”

He grinned. “That’s the first time you’ve sounded like a
normal woman this evening.”

She waggled her finger at him. “Wash out your mouth, mister.
There’s no such thing as a normal woman. Now, how about bread? I may crave
vegetables, but I’m also starving.”

“I think we can arrange that.” He raised a finger, and a
black-and-white clad waitress magically appeared. He beckoned her closer and
whispered his request. She blushed, tittered, and scooted off to the kitchen.

“I’m sure she’d be happy to serve that with her phone
number tucked in the basket,” Alix observed.

“Bit cynical, aren’t you?”

She waved her hand. “You know how it is in this town.
Everyone’s looking to get something, and they’re more than happy to use sex to
get it. Let’s just say when I wanted to photograph something real, I didn’t
look here.”

He leaned back in his chair, fighting to keep his gaze at
eye level. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be so comfortable stereotyping the
whole city quite so quickly.”

“Are you going to tell me you think LA is overflowing with
true love?”

He shrugged. “As much as anywhere else, I suppose. Which
is to say, not much.”

“Oh, right.” She laid one finger on the side of her mouth.
“You’re the guy who doesn’t like his sex cluttered with emotion.”

“It isn’t that I think sex should be devoid of emotion,”
he said, wrinkling his forehead. “I happen to think sex is much more fun when
it’s between two people who like each other. But if you ask me, all the talk of
true love and romance just gets in the way. Women get so caught up in wondering
if the man loves them that they read emotions into things that are simply
physical.”

Alix leaned forward, exposing a delicious eyeful of
cleavage. “You really believe that sex is the same whether the people love each
other or not?”

“People throw around the word ‘love’ too easily. This
whole story about some magical emotion that takes people over and makes them do
crazy things is ridiculous. It’s just an excuse for irresponsible behavior.”

Ryker couldn’t believe himself. He was babbling like some
baby actor at his first interview. He should have taken control by now, cut off
the conversation at the first mention of the word love. But something about
Alix’s gentle probing made it impossible not to respond.

“Are you saying you don’t think love exists?”

“I’m not saying there isn’t something to the way people
care for each other. But the whole idea of romantic love? The thing all the
poets rave about?” He flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s
nonsense. Pretty words and not much else.”

Alix frowned. “You’re dismissing one of the most essential
human emotions. Love motivates people to do incredible things and has
throughout history. Does Helen of Troy ring a bell?”

“Lust,” he said. “Not hard to understand. And for the
record, I’m not saying the idea of romantic love can’t make a great story. Take
Casablanca
, without doubt one of the finest films ever made.”

Alix bit her lip, as if she was considering arguing with
him. Then, apparently having thought better, she picked up her glass of water
and stared across the table, her luminous eyes revealing little of her
emotions. “Just not a movie you’re interested in making.”

He shrugged. “Each to his own, I suppose. And what about
you? Any more films in your future?”

“Unlikely. I’m really more interested in photography.”

“And you’re working on a book? Those pictures I saw were
part of it, I assume?”

She slid her finger around the edge of her glass. “Yes.”

He waited for her to elaborate. When she simply sat in
silence, he gestured for her to continue. It rankled that she had him running
at the mouth while he could barely extract a complete sentence from her. “And
what’s the book about? Sex? Love?”

Alix picked up her glass again and took a sip. “Yes.”

“Do you have a publisher for it yet?”

“No.”

“Are you working on anything else?”

“No.”

Ryker leaned back in his seat. “You like talking about
your work, don’t you?”

Alix flashed a quick smile. “Tell me more about
Salva’s
Revenge
. Have Jake and Lena been this difficult all along?”

“No. It’s been challenging, but overall, they’ve exceeded
my expectations. But the sex…” He shook his head. “That’s where it all breaks
down.” He gave her his most charming grin. “But enough about love and sex.
Let’s make small talk, shall we?”

It was too obvious, almost desperate, this need to change
the subject. But he was finding it increasingly difficult to talk about sex
without thinking about it—and thinking about her, having it.

With him.

Soon.

#

Lena stared at herself in the mirror above the tiny
bathroom sink in her trailer, unable to look away from the lines curving around
the corners of her mouth. Wrinkles. Already. She was only thirty, and time was
already digging trenches into her face.

She pinched the skin under her neck and pulled it forward
an inch or so, then let go. For a second, the fold of skin stayed loose, like
the waddle of a turkey, before it reabsorbed into her neck. The elastic was
breaking down. She’d need a face-lift soon. Very soon. Before anyone could tell
what she’d done.

Perhaps Botox
and
a face-lift. And a tummy tuck.
She turned to the side and studied her reflection again. Of late, that had been
softening as well, the formerly taut flesh of her stomach and waist losing the
definition it once had. Despite the Pilates, the running, and the god-awful
workouts with her sadistic trainer, everything was beginning to sag.

She was getting old, and everyone knew what happened to
actresses when they got old.

A knock sounded at the door.

“What?” she snarled, not looking away from her reflection.

“Lena, it’s Jake. Can I come in?”

Her heart skipped. “Jake?” She looked around frantically,
seeing stacks of unworn clothing on the couch, dirty clothes in a pile by the
door for the laundry service, the remnants of her dinner salad on the fold-out
table, and worst of all, the wrapper from a clandestine miniature chocolate bar
on the counter beside the sink. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

He pulled the door open, and, as it always did, the sight
of his virile masculinity hit her like a wave, sending a rush of heat from her
toes to her fingertips. His body hadn’t changed much over the years. He was the
same height, probably the same weight. But his muscles no longer had the
roundness of youth. They were hard, defined like rigid bands of steel. Even
under his T-shirt and jeans she could see them, the vee of his lower abs
beckoning until she itched to touch him, to trace the lines of those muscles.

“Someday, sweetheart, you’ll have to start locking your
door.”

She shook herself from her reverie and pulled the lapels
of her robe more tightly together. He’d probably gone right from the set to the
gym, like she should have, because his hair looked freshly washed, and his
three days of stubble had been carefully trimmed.

God she hated him. She hated him from the edges of his
square jaw to the soft contours of his sensual mouth. The mouth that drew her
eye every time he walked in the room. The mouth that had kissed her today with
such passion it had taken every ounce of her will not to respond.

The mouth that had kissed so many other women, with the
same fake passion.

“If I’d known you were coming, I would have. What are you
still doing here, anyway? I thought you would have gone home hours ago.” She
stamped over to the refrigerator under the counter and grabbed a bottle of
sparkling water. What she really wanted was a beer. And a full-size chocolate
bar.

“I didn’t have the heart to face the traffic. What about
you?”

“I had calls to make. Besides, I needed a shower. For some
reason, I always feel dirty when I leave the set these days.”

Jake sighed. “Lena, I thought we were over this. It’s been
ten years. You can’t still be holding a grudge.” He followed her, leaning
against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. The move accentuated
his biceps.

He did it on purpose, she had no doubt.

“Actually, I can.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “Was
there anything else? I need to get dressed and hit the road. Can’t miss any of
my beauty rest, you know.” Breathe deeply, she instructed herself. But nothing
seemed to dull the painful awareness that he was only a few feet away.

That his legs were spread a casual distance apart.

That her body could fit between his legs.

His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand what happened. It
isn’t as though we haven’t worked together before.” He reached out a hand and
ran it up and down the length of her arm. Her dressing gown was made of fine
silk, and when he pressed the soft fabric against her flesh, it felt cool, then
hot.

“That was different,” she said, swallowing convulsively,
unable to move. “We didn’t have to, to…”

He tugged gently on her arm. She took an unwilling step
toward him, heat rushing from her stomach to her cheeks. He tugged again. She
moved closer. His calloused hand passed through her hair, and she had to fight
the urge to close her eyes.

“No, Jake,” she whispered, her hand coming to clutch the
sides of her robe, which felt ready to fall open at any moment. “Don’t do this
to me.”

“I still want you, Lena. You’re still the most beautiful
woman I’ve ever seen. Can’t we put the past behind us? We could start over. Try
again.”

Goose bumps rose along her arms and legs. He got to his
feet, and she inhaled sharply, her nipples pebbling under his steady gaze. He
tangled both hands in her long hair, gently rubbing her temples with his
thumbs. Her eyelids drooped.

“Lena,” he breathed, his mouth a bare inch from her ear.
“Don’t you remember how good we are together? Don’t you remember how I made you
scream?”