Married Lovers (24 page)

“I would so not,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“I remember enough, thank you.”

“Bet you don’t,” he said, provoking her.

“Can we drop it?” she begged, cringing at some of the memories.

“Fine. As long as you don’t forget our deal.”

“Deal?”

“C’mon, Miz Paradise, don’t give me that,” he scolded. “Tonight. Our date. I’m picking you up at eight.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

“In that case I promise to stay sober.”

“Hey–” he said, with an irresistible grin. “And I was hoping for a repeat performance!”

“Shut
up
,” she said, leaning over and switching the speed on the treadmill to the highest.

“Jeez, Cam,” he said, as the treadmill took off and he attempted to keep up, almost falling off. “What are you trying to do–kill me?”

Now it was her turn to smile. “Maybe.”

“W
e should throw a dinner party,” Lucy suggested, entering their large comfortable kitchen where Phil was sitting at the table finishing his breakfast. “We never entertain at the house, I think it would be a nice thing to do.”

“What’s the occasion?” Phil inquired, putting down
Variety
, his daily read.

“No particular occasion,” she said, casually shrugging. “I just thought we might enjoy a few laughs.”

Phil regarded his beautiful former movie-star wife with a jaundiced eye. Since when was Lucy into entertaining at the house? Perfect little dinner parties were not her thing, she left those kind of events to her friend, Mandy. “How many people?” he asked. “And even more important–what’ll it cost me?”

“You’re so bloody loaded, darling, does it really matter?”

“I’m loaded ’cause I know how to keep an eye on my fuckin’ money,” he growled.

Fuck you!
squawked the parrot, picking up on the F word.
Fuck you!

Phil chuckled. “God! I love that bird.”

“I know you do,” Lucy said calmly. “And so do the kids. Their playmates’ mothers–not so much.”

Phil was pleased that he and his wife appeared to be having a
civilized conversation. For the last few months she’d done nothing but bug him about resurrecting her stupid career. Thank God she seemed to be over such nonsense.

“Okay,” he said, downing the rest of his coffee. “We’re having a party. Go ahead and arrange it.”

“I will,” she said, secretly delighted, for she had a big surprise in store.

Phil took off for his study–located in his special tree house overlooking their pool. He would stay locked away for the rest of the day, refusing to be disturbed under any circumstances. Nothing came between Phil and his scripts.

Lucy was used to his ways; at least when he was writing he wasn’t out screwing around.

After throwing a cover over the parrot’s cage, and shooing the dogs out of the kitchen, she phoned Marlon.

His machine picked up, so she left him a message. “Marlon. It’s Lucy. Loved the pages I read today. Do you think you can finish very soon? I’ve decided to throw a launch party for our script, so keep working.”

“Great news,” Ryan announced, catching Mandy in her enormous dressing room where she was busy trying to choose a pair of sneakers from her extensive collection. “I’ve found a house for Evie and the boys.”

“Thank God!” she gasped, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by unopened shoe boxes. “I don’t think I could take one more day of them running riot around here.”

“They haven’t been exactly running riot, Mandy,” Ryan pointed out, irritated that she would say such a thing. “They’ve been pretty well behaved considering they were uprooted from their home.”

“Whatever,” she answered vaguely.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” she said, settling on a pair of brand new Chanel sneakers. “Mary Ellen’s picking me up, we’re taking a proper look at that new place.”

“What new place?”

“Paradise.”

Paradise!
Was she kidding him? Why was she going back there?

“Kind of a dumb name, don’t you think?” Mandy continued. “And that girl who runs it doesn’t seem too bright. Do you think Don’s banging her?”

“No,” he said shortly, overcome with all kinds of mixed emotions. How dare Mandy call Cameron dumb, that’s the last thing she was.

“Poor Mary Ellen,” Mandy sighed. “She’s under the impression Don is the one. Should I tell her he’s nothing but a bad boy womanizer who can’t keep it in his pants?”

“And what would you have to gain by telling her that?” Ryan asked, waiting to hear his wife’s agenda, because she always had one. “Besides, Phil’s the one who can’t keep it zipped, not Don.”

“You never know,” Mandy mused. “Mary Ellen could come in useful at one of my events–after all, she
is
a star. I know it’s only on TV, but according to all the magazine coverage she gets, she’s very popular. Maybe you should put her in one of your movies.”

I want a divorce
. The words screamed in his head.
I want out. I can’t do this anymore
.

But now he had to wait until Evie and the boys were settled in their new home. God! There was always something.

After that, he promised himself he’d go for it–there was only so much more of Mandy he could take.

Miss Dunn, Hamilton’s most trusted L.A. assistant, approached Anya who was laying out beside the pool. Like most of Hamilton’s employees, Miss Dunn had worked for him for almost twenty years. Thin, with scraggly brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and slightly crossed eyes, she harbored an unrequited crush on her overbearing boss. Originally he’d imported her from New York. Hamilton did not want any L.A. glamour babes working for him. Business was business, and he liked the women who worked for him to be plain and dedicated. Miss Dunn fit the bill.

“Yes?” Anya said, languidly raising herself up on one elbow.

“Mr Hamilton asked me to give you these,” Miss Dunn said, trying to avoid staring at the young woman’s slender body–the body that was giving her boss so much pleasure.

“What are they?” Anya asked, shading her pale blue eyes from the sun.

“Charge cards,” Miss Dunn said. “Neiman Marcus, Saks, Barney’s. Mr Heckerling thought you should have them. And your new black American Express card.”

“Okay,” Anya said, sinking back down. “Put them on the table.”

How ungrateful
, Miss Dunn thought to herself.
At least she could have said thank you
.

“Mr Heckerling asked me to tell you that he took the helicopter to Santa Barbara,” Miss Dunn continued. “He’ll be back at six p.m. in time for dinner.”

Anya sat up all the way. If Hamilton was out of town for the day it might be the perfect opportunity for her to contact Ryan Richards.

“Can you get me Mr Richards’s business phone number,” she said.

“Perhaps you mean Mr Heckerling’s
daughter’s
number?”

“No,” Anya said abruptly. “Ryan Richards’s.”

“As you wish,” Miss Dunn said, tight-lipped, wondering why
Mrs Heckerling would want to contact Mr Heckerling’s son-in-law.

Reaching for a flimsy top to put over her barely there bikini, Anya said–“I’ll walk up to the house with you.”

“Very well,” Miss Dunn said. She could never understand why her boss had to marry these women. Why couldn’t he simply sleep with them and be done with it? Marriage was such a big commitment, and he always managed to choose the wrong woman. This one was no exception; she was also young enough to be his grand-daughter, which Miss Dunn found somewhat disgusting. That very morning she and Madge, his loyal Scottish housekeeper, had discussed the situation over tea in the kitchen.

“He marries them to make his friends jealous,” Madge had confided, as if she had inside information. “He wants them to envy him.”

“Perhaps they won’t sleep with him unless he puts a ring on their finger,” Miss Dunn had suggested.

Madge had let forth a hearty guffaw. “In this day and age? Nonsense!”

Anya followed Miss Dunn into Hamilton’s all-leather book-lined study, then through to the ante-room where she worked within calling distance of her boss. Going straight to her computer, Miss Dunn printed out Ryan’s details, then handed the sheet of paper to Anya, who took it and went upstairs.

As soon as her boss’s new wife left, Miss Dunn made a notation in the detailed list of the day’s happenings she always handed to Mr Heckerling before she went home. He was a man who liked to know everything, especially when it came to the activities of his wives.

“Don’t faint,” Lucy said over the phone. “But we’re throwing a dinner party at our house.”

“Ex
cuse
me?” Mandy said, quite surprised. “You’re actually inviting people to your home? This is a first.”

“I know, I know,” Lucy agreed. “We’re kind of lax on the entertaining at home front. But what with the kids and the dogs and Phil’s crazy parrot who won’t stop screaming
Fuck you!
it’s not exactly easy.”

“But you’re definitely doing it?”

“We are. And I thought you could tell me what caterer I’m supposed to use.”

“Oh Lucy, Lucy, you’re such a babe in Hollywood,” Mandy sighed. “So ignorant about how things are done.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Of course,” Mandy said gaily. “Can’t you tell? But only in a very loving way.”

“How about lunch tomorrow?” Lucy suggested. “Come armed with a list of things I have to do to make it all work.”

“I suppose…”

“
Chow’s
? One o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

Anya stared at the piece of paper with Ryan’s phone numbers. Home. Office. Cell. Which should she choose?

Certainly not home. Mandy was an alarming and pushy woman she wanted nothing to do with.

Office? Maybe.

Or cell? Probably her best bet.

Tentatively she reached for the phone.

T
aking it slowly was the best way to reel Seth Carpenter in. Anya knew it was the
only
way
.

The mid-afternoon back rubs soon became a regular occurrence. Seth began coming home almost every day, and Anya was there, looking after his baby, fixing him a sandwich, ministering to his every need–well, almost–because he was riddled with guilt that every time she gave him the shoulder massage with her breasts pressed firmly against his back, he got hard
.

She pretended not to notice, and when she was finished massaging his shoulders, he rushed into the bathroom as if he had to go
.

One day he said, “It’s best if you don’t mention to Mrs Carpenter that I come home so much.” A nervous laugh. “She’ll think I’m slacking off.”

Or jacking off,
Anya thought. TV was teaching her so many quaint American expressions
.

Back at the hostel, Ella was still pestering her about getting together and putting on a sex show for money. “I got this dude lined up,” Ella insisted. “He’ll pay us fifty bucks each. Whaddya think?”

“No,” Anya replied primly
.

Fifty bucks indeed! She was in America now. The stakes were much higher
.

After six weeks of playing with Seth, acting naive and innocent and caring, he finally cracked
.

She’d known it was coming because the morning fights with his wife had escalated; their arguments were continuous
.

“Anya,” he said, after a particularly vigorous neck rub. “We’ve got to stop doing this.”

“Doing what, Mr Carpenter?” she asked, all wide-eyed and innocent
.

He stood up, faced her and began speaking. “I’m…I’m developing feelings for you, and that’s not right.”

“Feelings, Mr Carpenter?”

“Oh God,” he groaned. “You’re so young.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Yes, but you’ve led a sheltered life, I can see it in your face. You’re innocent, sweet…” He trailed off
.

“I’ve had a boyfriend,” she murmured, hoping that the baby wouldn’t awaken, because this was the moment she’d been working toward
.

“A boyfriend?” he said, startled. “You never mentioned you had a boyfriend.”

“He left me,” she said sadly, her eyes dropping to the very evident bulge in his pants
.

“Why’s that?” he asked, his voice thick with lust
.

“There were certain things he wanted me to do,” she said timidly. “Things that didn’t seem right.”

“What things?” Seth asked, licking his lips
.

Anya summoned up a blush. “Things that only married people should do…”

“Such as what?” he insisted
.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oral sex.”

“I see,” Seth said, feeling beads of sweat form on his brow
.

“What do you think, Mr Carpenter? Is it wrong if two people love each other?”

“Did you love him?”

“No.”

“Did you…uh…do anything else with him?”

“He touched my breasts. That’s all.”

“Show me how,” Seth mumbled, unable to control himself any longer
.

This girl was an angel with her delicate innocent face, long fair hair, and extraordinary pale blue eyes
.

She’d been sent his way to save him from a wife who constantly berated and criticized him
.

Fixing him with a direct gaze, Anya slowly began peeling off her T-shirt and started fingering her nipples. “Like this,” she said. “He touched me like this.”

Mr Seth Carpenter was about to be her first American victim
.

“I
thought you’d prefer coming here rather than going to a restaurant,” Don said, escorting Cameron onto the outdoor patio around his infinity pool where a dining table for two was set up with all the requisites for a romantic evening. Candles in tall silver holders; purple roses arranged in a series of delicate small glass bowls; a scarlet tablecloth with matching napkins; black thin-stemmed wine glasses; and the pièce de résistance–an all-male trio playing soft Brazilian music.

She stifled an urge to break out in a fit of giggles. This was so predictable. The Seduction Dinner. And his bed was probably covered in rose petals.

She hadn’t expected this of Don, she’d thought he would come up with something more original.

“Uh…lovely,” she managed.

“Private,” he said, quite pleased with himself.

Yes, very private,
she thought.
Two waiters, a chef, a couple of maids and the three-man group. What was up with entertaining in Hollywood?

One of the waiters approached her with a flute of champagne.

“No thanks,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll have water.”

“Water?” Don questioned.

“After the other night—”

“Understood.” He nodded at the waiter. “Get Miz Paradise some Evian. Room temperature. No ice.”

She was impressed that he remembered.

“Let’s sit over here,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to a couple of lounge chairs strategically set up to take advantage of the spectacular L.A. view.

“Don—” she began.

“Yes?”

“This is all so unnecessary.”

“What is?”

“Everything,” she said, indicating the table and the waiters and the musicians. “It’s excessive.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Why would you think I’d enjoy something like this? It’s
way
too formal.”

“Hey–it’s it’s better than a restaurant where people keep on coming over requesting me to sign bits of stupid paper,” he said, frowning slightly because he’d gone to a lot of trouble–or rather his assistant had.

“For you–maybe,” Cameron said. “For me–no. I’m not a formal kind of girl.”

“You’re not, huh?” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“Can’t you tell?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

She laughed softly. “You know, Don, you didn’t need to go to all this trouble just to lure me into bed. I’ve already decided tonight’s the night.”

“Aren’t
you
little Miss Romantic,” he said, throwing her a perplexed look.

“What can I tell you,” she answered with a casual shrug. “Playing games is not my thing.”

“Apparently not,” he said, totally flummoxed by her offhand attitude.

“So,” she continued, “this entire set-up is somewhat redundant.”

“It is, huh?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“Okay,” he said, getting up. “Never say I don’t listen to reason. Stay here. Do
not
move.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Mr Verona.”

He hurried inside the house, returning a few minutes later with a big wide grin on his face.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Told everyone to get the hell out,” he said, still grinning. “Believe me–I’m no slouch when it comes to following orders.”

“You really did that?”

“Everyone will be gone in five minutes,” he assured her, taking her hands and pulling her up. “Satisfied?”

“I didn’t think you would—”

“Yes, you did,” he said, swooping in for a long hot kiss.

“This doesn’t mean you can rush me,” she warned him, breathlessly extracting herself.

“Who’s rushing?” he questioned, moving in again for a leisurely second kiss.

This time she found herself unable to resist. Twining her arms around the back of his neck and pulling him close, she realized how satisfying it would be to make a real connection. And now, with
Paradise
opening, she felt so much more secure and quite ready to move forward.

After a few minutes he began kissing her in earnest, his tongue exploring her mouth. They could both feel the heat building between them, and neither of them cared to stop.

By the time they surfaced for air, everyone had left the house.

“You did it,” she gasped, drawing away from him. “We’re alone.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“I hope not.”

“So,” he said, throwing her a meaningful look. “No music, no food. What
are
we gonna do?”

“I wonder,” she breathed, quite light-headed and full of expectations.

They began kissing again, standing beside the pool, the lights of L.A. spread out before them.

It was a long time since she’d enjoyed kissing a man and it was quite a heady experience. She savored every moment–the roughness of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, the sensation of breathing in his aura.

Gently she reached up and touched his face, stroking the slight stubble on his chin, then moving her hands once again to the nape of his neck.

He was tall, so was she, their bodies seemed to meld together. Soon she could feel him hard against her thigh and it was turning her on.

How many times has he done this?

How many women has he slept with?

Am I one of hundreds? Thousands?

Who cared? He was a great kisser, so much better than overenthusiastic Marlon–the only man she’d been with since fleeing Hawaii.

She knew she was taking a risk, embarking on an adventure with Don Verona.

Was she making a mistake?

Ryan’s warning drifted into her head–
Don’s a great guy, but he’s been divorced twice, and he does have a love ’em and leave ’em reputation
.

Right now she didn’t give a damn. She had a strong urge to be with someone who cared about her, really cared, and hopefully Don was that someone.

And if he wasn’t? The thing was, she had to take a chance sometime, may as well go for it.

Slowly he began peeling down the straps of her white silk camisole, exposing her breasts. “God, you’re beautiful,” he marveled, caressing her nipples with a great deal of expertise.

The sensation of Don touching her was taking her breath away. She’d only slept with two men, Gregg and Marlon–and neither of them had been into foreplay. She had not expected it to feel this heady and exciting.

Waves of desire overwhelmed her as she feverishly began unbuttoning his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against hers.

“Slow down,” he commanded, gripping her wrists. “I’m the guy here, remember?”

She was so used to calling the shots with Marlon that she wasn’t prepared to be with a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And Don knew all right–his touch sent shivers of ecstasy throughout her entire body.

His practiced hands started moving down to her waist, then they began undoing the zipper on her white silk pants.

“This isn’t fair,” she murmured. “I’m not standing here naked while you’re still fully dressed.”

“You standing out here naked has been my dream ever since you turned up at my house that memorable morning,” he said, husky-voiced. “I saw you at my door that day and I was a goner. That was it for me.”

And I saw Ryan pacing up and down outside
Chow’s
and that was it for me
.

Don’t go there, Cameron. You’re making a move with this guy
.

The twice-divorced, love ’em and leave ’em guy?

Shut up, Ryan. You’re married. It’s none of your business
.

Okay, okay
.

“Get your clothes off,” she ordered, kicking off her shoes and stepping out of her pants.

“And she’s
still
bossy,” he said, obligingly starting to strip.

“Aren’t you glad I made you send everyone home?” she said breathlessly.

“I gotta admit,” he said, dropping his pants. “You’re an excellent decision maker.”

“You’ll need a condom,” she managed, admiring his strong physique and impressive hard-on.

“It’s okay, I just got tested,” he said, his eyes soaking up every inch of her beauty. “You have nothing to worry about.” She was beyond the point of no return. Condom. No condom. Whatever.

And then it was on, neither of them able to hold off another second. They sank back on one of the loungers and he was on top of her and inside her, and somehow she reversed positions and maneuvered herself astride him. It felt so damn
good
!

The sex was hot and frenzied and carnal. They were both so into it. And it went on for quite a while before they reached the pinnacle together.

“Jesus Christ!” Don exclaimed, rolling off her. “You do not disappoint.”

“And you,” she murmured, every fiber of her body tingling, “must’ve been working out. I’m very impressed with your stamina.”

“Hey–gimme gimme ten minutes,” he said, with a lazy grin. “I gotta thank my trainer–she keeps me in tip-top shape.”

“I can tell. She must be quite something.”

“Oh yeah, she certainly is.”

They both started to laugh.

After a few moments he stood up, pulling her up with him.

She felt totally invigorated, her skin still tingling with waves of deep-seated pleasure.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he sighed. “Why’d you make me wait this long?”

“’Cause I could,” she said, teasing him, all thoughts of Ryan temporarily banished.

“Jesus, Cam—”

“What?”

“I…uh…I think I could be falling in like.”

“Now let’s not get carried away,” she said lightly, remembering that this guy was a player and that she should tread carefully. Didn’t want to fall. Didn’t want to get hurt.

“Gonna try,” he said. “Can’t promise anything.”

Was he full of smooth lines? Or was he genuine?

She hadn’t quite figured him out.

With a sudden burst of energy she jumped up and made a running dive into the pool. “Last one in the pool’s a chicken,” she called out, challenging him.

By the time she surfaced from her dive he was in the water next to her. And once again it was on.

Making out in the pool was a challenge, but they were both into it, nearly drowning in the process as they came together in a tangle of arms and legs, choking and spluttering for air.

They finally emerged from the pool, wet and giggling.

“Wow!” she gasped. “I gotta say–you’re pretty active for an old man.”

“Old my ass,” he said, picking up a couple of large cabana towels and tossing one at her.

“How old
are
you?” she asked, wrapping the towel around her, sarong-style.

“Thirty-nine. And you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Seems to me that’s about right,” he said, toweling his hair dry.

“For what?”

“For you and I to be together.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she drawled, not quite sure what he meant. It wasn’t as if she was about to move in.

He threw her a quizzical look. Somehow he knew the chase was only just beginning. Cameron was elusive, he’d have to tread carefully to get her to make any kind of commitment, and wasn’t
that
a joke, considering
he
was supposed to be the commitment-phobic one, the one who usually ran in the other direction once the deal was sealed.

It was getting chilly out, so they made their way into the house.

“Where’s Butch?” she asked.

“Had to shut him in the gym.”

“Why would you do that?”

“’Cause he jumps up on the kitchen counter and eats the chef’s food. The guy’s French, hates dogs.”

“Great!” Cameron said, frowning. “Can you please go let him out, it’s not fair to shut him away like that.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Will you stop saying that.”

“You’ve got to admit–you
are
bossy.”

“I told you before–I’m
not
bossy.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Go get your dog.”

“Yes, m—”

“Don’t you dare!”

Laughing, he ran upstairs to release Butch.

“I’m taking a shower,” she called out after him. “Is that okay?”

“Go ahead,” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Hmm…was he insatiable or simply gifted?

She couldn’t help smiling. The sex was sensational and he was so easy to be around, not at all what she’d expected.

Do not take it too seriously. The guy’s a big player. Divorced twice. A love ’em and leave ’em kind.

I’m not looking for an involvement.

Oh yes you are.

His shower was state of the art, with jets shooting water from eight different angles, and a glass-enclosed TV.

A TV in the shower! How wild was that!

By the time he joined her he was ready to rock ’n’ roll again.

“What are you–a Viagra freak?” she questioned breathlessly as he soaped her body with the most amazing fragrant soap he informed her he had imported from the South of France.

“Just lucky, I guess,” he said, smoothing soap onto her nipples, a move which started driving her into a frenzy. “Tried Viagra once, and ended up with a hard-on that lasted three days.”

“Lucky you,” she murmured.

“Not so lucky,” he said ruefully. “Had to go to the hospital where a nurse slapped it down.”

“Sounds painful.”

“It was,” he said, gently pushing her up against the glass block walls of the shower and maneuvering himself inside her.

After a few minutes she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Oh God!” she gasped, climaxing for the third time that night. “You’re—”

“What?”

“Pretty…damn…good.”

Later, swaddled in white toweling bathrobes, they raided the kitchen to see what the chef had left behind. They discovered plenty of hors d’oeuvres–including a selection of tiny baked potatoes filled with caviar, miniature duck pancakes with plum dipping sauce, and baby pizzas.

Don grabbed a bottle of red wine, and they put everything on a tray and took it into the living room, where they settled in front of a fire, with Butch comfortably stretched out at their feet.

“Y’know, this is maybe the best night I’ve spent in a long time,” Don mused, putting his arm around her. “You gotta admit we’re very compatible, Cam. Are you feeling it too?”