Going Down (5 page)

“How did they feel about what you're doing with your life?”

“They—they both died before I really got into the porn business.” About to lower her head so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes, she decided she needed to see his reaction. “I have a strong sex drive. It's been that way since I became an adolescent. Back then I didn't know how to handle what I was feeling; I know I was terribly confused and was afraid to say anything to my folks. But they
got
it.”

“Hmm. I'd dare say having a nympho for a daughter isn't something most parents want to have to deal with.”

“I'm sure you're right,” she muttered.
Careful. Don't say anything he might try to twist to his advantage.
“But they came through like troopers. Once we'd opened the gates, there wasn't anything I felt I couldn't talk to them about. They even gave me some coping strategies.”

“Cold showers?”

“Cold showers, lots of physical exercise, not drinking when I was on a date, acknowledging and then tuning down the messages my body was giving out as much as possible.”

“You're drinking now.”

Was this it, the come-on she'd just warned herself against? And the other half of the question was whether she was ready for things between them to move to the next level. The animal-instinct part of her response was a loud and clear
hell yes
, but experience had taught her to keep a tight leash on the beast. “I'm also not sixteen like I was when the hormones were in full rage mode.”

“But they're still there. Your work leaves no doubt of that.”

Although disappointed because he was insisting on keeping the conversation on sex, she couldn't blame him. After all, in all modesty a man would have to be dead or in a coma not to react to the implied message in her choice of careers.
I'm hot. I'm horny. I'm in a hurry. Let's get it on.
“That's only part of what I am, Reeve. I'm also a daughter.”

“A daughter who lost her parents much too young.” Parents she loved and respected.

Unexpected tears burned her eyes. Her parents had been dead for five and five and a half years, respectively, and she'd had time to, not get over the loss, but accept what couldn't be changed. Why then was she reacting like this?

Because of the tone of his voice. And the walls around him.

“That's what Hayley and I kept saying.” After picking up her glass, she sipped. Then, dividing her attention between the relentless eyes on her and the artificial lighting giving the marina a fairyland look, she told him about losing her father to kidney disease following a long, desperate, and ultimately helpless time. A month later her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer.

“Hayley and I sometimes wonder if Mom lived such a short time—less than a year—because she was so worn down from losing her husband. Much as she loved us, she needed to be with him.”

“You'll probably never know that.”

“I don't expect to. It's something that sustains me, thinking that they're together again.” Her lobster had cooled off while she was talking, but she chewed anyway.

“So you and your sister helped care for your father and then you did the same for your mother?”

There was something about his voice, yet another tone she couldn't quite put her fingers on. She could almost swear he hadn't expected to give a darn about her past and didn't know what to do with the unexpected emotion. If that was the case, it served as proof that he was only interested in one thing—getting inside her pants. Given her mood at the moment, she wouldn't bet on his chances.

“I dropped out of college and moved in with Mom. Earlier Hayley had moved back home to care for Dad so it was my turn. Besides, Hayley was engaged by then, and I wanted her to have her own life.”

Between bites of tepid dinner, she spelled out the last months of her mother's life when days revolved around doctor appointments and nights were spent praying for a miracle. But, conditioned by what had happened to their father, neither she nor Hayley truly expected a miracle. Instead, she cleaned and cooked and counted pills and drove to doctors' offices and treatment centers and tried to keep on top of the medical bills. Gentle and accepting to the last, her mother had taught her a valuable lesson in facing the grim reaper.

At the end, Hayley was married, but that didn't mean the two of them didn't talk every day, and on weekends Hayley stayed with Mom so Saree could have a few hours to herself. Close as the two of them had become during their father's illness, their mother's disease had unified them in powerful ways.

“Sounds like your sister had an understanding husband,” Reeve said.

“That's what we thought. Unfortunately, we didn't know him, not the real him. The short story is he's behind bars for cheating his investment clients. Hayley divorced him.” Distracted by what was probably a past-curfew seagull, she stared at the sky. “That taught us a valuable lesson in not taking people at face value.” She sighed. “It's like the men I
meet
in my chat room. I don't buy into anything they say.”

“What about me?”

Her mouth was suddenly dry. “What about you?”

“Do you believe I'm who I say I am?”

Water lapped against Reeve's and the other boats. An occasional distant horn spoke of boats out in the harbor, and she could just catch the murmur of male voices, but the night had isolated them. No one, not even the sister she thought of as an extension of herself, knew where she was. “Do you think I'd tell you?”

“Good point. One thing I'd like to run past you. Let's assume that my intentions where you are concerned are less than honorable. Given that, would I have gone to the expense and effort of fixing the meal I did? Why not spring for a drive-through burger before taking you to my hideout?”

“Probably because I wouldn't have said yes to the golden arches.” Making out his expression was getting harder so she took what she could get, which she read as a teasing tone. “About this hideout of yours, where is it?”

“In the mountains.”

“L.A. is short of what I consider real mountains so I find that hard to believe.”

“Point taken. What about an abandoned building or warehouse?”

“Hmm. Distinct possibility, but wouldn't there already be someone holing up in anything that's been abandoned?”

“I'm bigger than them. I'll kick them out.”

“You probably could,” she conceded. With each breath she took she was relaxing a bit more. Just the same, she wished she hadn't poured two glasses of wine down her throat. “I hope you'll arrange to have this place cleaned before you attempt to take me into it. I do have my standards.”

He laughed. And for just an instant, she thought he was going to extend his hand. As for whether she'd take it…

“Standards?” he echoed. “That's not the impression I've gotten from seeing you in certain bondage sets. That one isn't really the engine room of some ocean liner, is it? Please tell me that isn't grease on the floor. And that barn stall—hopefully someone cleaned up after the last cow was in there.”

“All fake, fortunately. I wish I could say the same for some of the locations they've taken me and other models. Did you see that fishing shed, the one the tide came within inches of? It smelled of dead fish, thousands of dead fish. And the air circulation sucked.”

“I remember that, but you didn't look unhappy to me. In fact, you seemed pretty pleased with the hook lodged in your—”

“I know where it was lodged,” she interrupted. Just thinking about the sleek hook anchored in her ass compelled her to clench her pussy muscles. It had taken a half dozen sessions to get used to the
toy
, but there was nothing like being fucked while that sucker was in place to at least double her pleasure. “I don't need the reminder.”

He stirred through what remained of his salad, speared a bit of melon, and held it out for her to take. Not trying to lie to herself that there was nothing erotic about the gesture, she accepted it. “Do you mind if I ask you a business question?” he asked softly.

“Ask,” she said around the mouthful. “I can't promise I'll answer.”

“Good enough. All right, when it comes to planning a session, how much input do you have? I mean, ahead of time do you know exactly what's going to happen?”

He cared; he wasn't just making conversation or looking for something to hang a dirty joke on. And once again she had the feeling his curiosity surprised him, which seemed strange to her. But maybe not if he was so jaded that he believed he'd seen and experienced everything there was to see and experience.

“Most times,” she answered. “I always know in a broad way what the rigger intends to accomplish. But the steps aren't choreographed if that's what you're asking. If they were, I'd be acting from start to finish.”

“And it wouldn't be nearly as much fun.”

“Right on. Reeve?” She took a moment to breathe in the sea air. “I meant it. The last thing I want to spend the evening doing is going over the details of my job. Surely you understand; you can't always want to talk shop.”

“You're right. I have no interest in talking about what I do for a living.”

Didn't you say you're retired?
“There's more to me than being a porn star.” Hadn't she said something like this before? “It isn't as if it's a career I can stay in until I'm ready for social security.”

“A young person's industry.”

“Especially for women,” she allowed. “The moment I start sagging, I'll be replaced.”

“What about plastic surgery?”

Because she saw her breasts as tools of the trade, she didn't hesitate to cup and lift them. “This was the one and only time I went under the knife. From now on, nature can have her way with me.”

He cocked his head. “Why? A lot of women don't think twice about regularly going under the knife.”

The wise reaction would be to change the subject, but she didn't want the conversation to stay on the surface. For reasons she didn't understand, she wanted to get closer to him, to give him pieces of herself and hopefully get the same in return. “My parents both had multiple surgeries.” She didn't bother trying to get above a whisper. “I was there for all of them, the time in recovery, the successes and failures, the hope and pain. I had my boobs done shortly after Mom died. At the time of my surgery, I was grieving, not thinking clearly. Being cut brought back everything my folks had endured.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“I'm sorry.” Then, as she looked at what she could see of him from between her fingers, he reached out and gripped her wrist. Now that he was holding her, she had the feeling he didn't know what to do with her hand, or even how it had gotten into his possession. Accustomed as she was to having men's paws on her, she wasn't prepared for her reaction. Granted, she'd dumped on him when she'd told him about her parents and that had left her feeling vulnerable. Granted, she'd been turned on since she'd first spotted him tonight, but this wasn't just about itches needing to be scratched. Then what was it?

“So—” He drew out the word. “What are you going to do when the camera catches you sagging?”

That wasn't what he really wanted to say; she was willing to bet on it. Then why had he? “I don't know. That's the hell of it, I don't know.”

“Maybe you'll have made enough that you won't need to work.”

Like you?
The thought of all those purposeless years stretching out in front of her made her shudder. Needing to distance herself from the image of her sleeping away her life, she pulled free. “Porn doesn't pay
that
well, at least not my particular niche of the industry.”

“So start your own site. Do porn stars have agents? Maybe that's what you'd like to get into, handling your replacements.”

“I've thought about those possibilities, but I really think the time's going to come when I want to get out of the industry. Try something completely different.”

“You can turn your back on the sex?”

Yet another of those too-familiar alarms sounded inside her. “On
that
kind of sex, I know I can. There's more to life than a climax.”

“But do those other things provide the level of sexual satisfaction you're getting?”

“You tell me,” she snapped. Damn him for thinking her existence began and ended with her clit. “Didn't you get as much satisfaction from completing a business deal as bonking some woman you picked up? I don't know. Maybe what's between your ears isn't that important to you, just what's between your legs.”

“I've hit a nerve.”

“Maybe,” she dodged. Then, unbelievably restless, she stood and paced to the back of the boat where a large, sturdy chair had been welded to the floor. Guessing that that's where Reeve or a guest sat when reeling in monster fish, she tried to imagine doing the same herself. But although she loved a challenge, she couldn't fathom ending any creature's life simply because she needed to be entertained.