Married Lovers (30 page)

N
ever had Ryan felt so trapped. Anya stripping off her clothes and trying to seduce him was the last thing he’d expected to happen. If he’d wanted to have sex with her he would have done it in Amsterdam when she was up for sale. But no, he’d rescued her, hadn’t he? And did she honestly believe that this was the best way to repay him?

Wrong. Very very wrong.

After finally realizing she was not about to get anywhere with him, Anya reluctantly slithered back into her dress and asked him if he was gay.

“You’re screwing with me, right?” he said, shaking his head in wonderment that she would even think such a thing.

“All men want sex,” Anya stated flatly.

“Maybe with the right woman,” he replied.

“And I am not the right woman?” she asked sulkily.

“I’m married, Anya, and so are you. I don’t need repayment for anything.”

“You are an unusual man.”

“And you are a
married
woman who should have more respect for yourself,” he said, making yet another attempt to get through to her. “You don’t have to do this. You’re free now.”

She shrugged as if his words didn’t matter. “Is respect what
Hamilton has for me when he brings in other women to make love to me while he watches and pleasures himself? Is that respect?”

Ryan held up his hand. “No details of your married life, please,” he said firmly. “I am not interested. This is America. If you don’t want to do something–refuse. You’re not sitting behind a window with a pimp controlling your every move.”

She stared at him for a long thoughtful moment. “You are a decent man, Ryan Richards,” she said at last. And then, to his relief, she asked him to call her a cab, and when it arrived she left the house.

Anya. Pola. She was a complicated woman. So young and so damaged, and the unfortunate thing was that like all the men before him, Hamilton was still using her.

“So here’s the deal,” Don said, feeling quite at ease opening up to Cameron about his career as they strolled along the shoreline. “The way I look got me on local TV in the first place–not as a regular, but as a roving reporter on a news show. Then one night the anchor called in sick, and since they couldn’t get hold of anyone else–I got to take over for a few nights. That was kind of the beginning of it. My aggressive personality took me all the way to my own talk show, and I never looked back.”

“Did you want to?” she asked, watching as their three Labs frolicked in the surf, having a fine old time.

“Want to what?”

“Look back.”

“Well, sure,” he said, kicking a clump of seaweed out of the way. “My big ambition was to be a serious war correspondent covering all kinds of shit across the globe.”

“That sounds
really
interesting.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said ruefully. “Only problem is that it
never happened for me. Instead of being on the frontline in Iraq, I find myself sitting behind a desk making small talk with Charleze Theron and Jessica Alba.”

“Hey,” she said, surprised by his candor. “Don’t knock it–most men would kill to be doing that.”

“I’m not most men, Cam,” he said, quite serious.

“No, you’re not,” she said, thinking that if Ryan didn’t exist she and Don might have a shot.

“Y’know,” he said, stopping abruptly, taking both her hands in his, “you’re gonna think this is kind of sudden, and you’ll probably say no–but how about moving in with me?”

Things were speeding along much too fast. She liked Don, but she was certainly not at a point in their brief relationship where she would even consider moving into his house. Besides, she had a perfectly comfortable place of her own, and now she had what looked to be a successful business to run.

“You don’t have to answer me immediately,” he continued. “But give it some thought.” A beat. A grin. “Think of all the money you’d save in rent.”

“What gives you the impression that I don’t own my house?” she asked coolly.

Hmm…It wouldn’t do to let on that he’d done a spot of investigating.

“Do you?” he asked casually. “’Cause if you do, think of the score you’d make selling it–the market is high right now.”

“Actually, I rent,” she admitted.

“There you go,” he said, as Yoko ran up to them and began shaking out her fur, spraying them both with droplets of water. “You’d save a fortune every month.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” she said, shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

“Maybe you should give it a bit more thought,” he said, bending down and brushing off his pants, which he’d rolled at the ankle.

“A little splash of water’s not about to ruin your day–is it?” she asked lightly, glad for the diversion.

“It’s not the water,” he said, taking a long look around. “We’re approaching Paris Hilton territory, and that means the paps will be out in full force.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, they’re all over the place–hiding hiding like cockroaches. So far they’ve not caught on that I have a beach house, so let’s do the smart thing, go back in the other direction and not tempt Fate.”

“You know, Don,” she mused, “that’s why I could never live with you.”

“And that would be because?” he said, quite perplexed that she’d turned him down.

“All the attention, the photographers, fans coming up to you. I could never be one of those women standing by their man at film premières while he gives an interview and they hover next to him with a fixed smile looking like nothing more than an appendage.”

“You, my dear,” he said gallantly, “could never look like an appendage. And besides, I loathe film premières. Only go when I’m doing a friend a favor.” And with that he swooped in for a kiss; a slow, practiced, leisurely kiss.

She kissed him back, feeling totally free and quite content. This weekend of doing nothing much except enjoying herself was exactly what she’d needed.

“We’d better beat a quick retreat,” he said, pulling away. “Come on, I’ll race you back to the house. First one there gets to choose what we do tonight.”

“You’re on!” she said.

He had no idea how fast she could run.

Marlon was lounging outside his place on the boardwalk cleaning the spiked wheels on his bicycle when Lucy showed up.

Bronzed and hunky, he wore nothing but a pair of low-rider denim shorts, faded and torn.

Two teenage girls in barely there bikinis hovered nearby. Lucy couldn’t decide whether they were with him, or merely hanging around with the hope of getting lucky.

“Lucy!” Marlon said, genuinely pleased to see her. “Wasn’t expecting you today. Wassup?”

What’s up is I caught Phil fucking his assistant in my house and I feel like killing him.

“Nothing much,” she said with a casual shrug. “I figured I’d drop by, make sure we’ll have a finished script by the end of next week.”

“Sure we will,” Marlon said, long dirty-blond hair flopping in his eyes. “Like I promised, didn’t I? And your party’s not till Saturday, so we got like plenty of time.”

“One week is not plenty of time,” she admonished.

“Are we gonna see you later, Marlon?” one of the bikini-clad girls called out. “We should meet up at
Villa
. I got the ID thing down, an’ there’s a late party up at Kim’s, her parents are outta town. It’ll be chronic. See you there?”

“Maybe,” he said, throwing them a desultory wave.

“I hope I didn’t break anything up,” Lucy said, her eyes drawn toward his tanned and taut six-pack.

“Nah.” He stood up and stretched. “Wanna come inside an’ grab a Coke or somethin’?”

“Great,” she said, finding herself unable to stop checking out his body. It was truly a work of art–all young rippling muscle, not an ounce of fat. So unlike Phil, who’d let himself wallow out of shape years ago.

She flashed onto Phil’s big hairy ass leaping off Suki, and the image fueled her anger even more.

Sonofabitch!
She needed to do something to get back at him, and she needed to do it today.

“Is Lucy with Mandy?”

Ryan had the phone to his ear as he left Don’s house. It was Phil on the line, sounding agitated.

“I’ve no idea,” Ryan replied. “Is she supposed to be?”

“Who the fuck knows,” Phil mumbled. “We had an…uh…altercation. She ran out of here.”

“You had a fight, big deal, she’ll be back.”

“Give me Mandy’s cell number.”

“Is it
that
important that you talk to her?”

“Yes, it is.”

“What was this big fight about?”

“She caught me with my pants around my ankles.”

“And?”

“And my cock happened to be inside Suki at the time.”

“Oh Jesus, Phil, I thought you fired her.”

“I did, I did,” Phil groaned. “But I owed her a check, so she came by to collect, and one thing led to my cock somehow making its way into her—”

“Okay, okay,” Ryan said, not interested in hearing details–he had enough on his mind. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Phil said miserably. “Lucy’s never actually caught me in the act before. This is not a healthy situation. The woman has a temper, she could do anything.”

“Well, she’s not going to kill herself, we know that for sure,” Ryan said dryly. “Maybe she’s out buying a gun and she’s going to shoot
your
dumb ass.”

“Not funny, Ryan,” Phil growled. “Where’s Don? He’s not answering his phone.”

“Oh, so my advice is not good enough, now you need Don.”

“No offense. You’re too married. Don deals with unhinged women all the time.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said with a rueful laugh. “Like Mandy’s not unhinged.”

Phil managed a grunt.

“Take down Mandy’s number, I’m getting another call,” Ryan said, giving Phil her number and switching to his other call.

It was his mother on the line, frantic and verging on hysteria.

“Get here as fast as you can,” Noreen gasped. “Something terrible has happened.”

L
iving in a Park Avenue penthouse with Elliot Von Morton was a far different proposition from life with Seth in the small apartment they’d resided in on Lexington. Elliot was much older than Seth, and his tastes were far more sophisticated–but men were men, and Anya was used to catering to all different types
.

Elliot was into whips and chains and punishment. He was into being collared and put on a leash, while Anya led him around his tony penthouse on all fours. He wanted her clad in tight black leather and six-inch heels. Sometimes he wanted her to wear a mask. He appreciated a thorough beating, and Anya was happy to give it to him
.

Elliot was the chief partner in a powerful New York law firm. He dealt with many important clients. In a way he was the man controlling their lives, therefore it was no surprise that his main form of relaxation was surrendering all forms of power
.

Anya was so much more obliging than his wife, who refused to have anything to do with his perversions, forcing him to frequent a house of ill-repute on Forty-Seventh Street. He’d never felt comfortable going there, he was always on the alert for hidden cameras and spies who’d report his activities to the press. Not that he was famous–merely powerful. However, he had enemies who would like nothing better than to bring him down
.

One look at Anya on that fateful night when she’d walked into his event with Seth Carpenter–a very junior associate at his firm–and he’d immediately had a strong hunch that here was a girl who might be able to fulfill all his needs.

And he was right. Anya turned out to be a devil with a whip, and she was a devil who showed no mercy.

After their third assignation he informed his wife that he required an immediate separation. His wife was not surprised; she knew all about her husband’s sexual needs, and she had no intention of fulfilling them.

Fortunately there were no children involved, only their New York penthouse, a magnificent house in the Hamptons, and a fleet of expensive cars.

Elliot kept the penthouse, while his wife claimed the Hamptons house.

Getting rid of Seth was not so civilized. When Anya informed him she was leaving he broke down and cried, sobbing like a heartbroken fool. She did not tell him she was moving in with his boss, she merely said it was time for her to go
.

When Seth found out about her and Elliot, he’d stormed his boss’s office, and been fired for his trouble. Later that night he’d gone to a bar, gotten hopelessly drunk, and been picked up by a woman who’d lured him outside into an alley–where her pimp had robbed him, then stabbed him to death when he’d attempted to fight back.

When Anya was informed by the police of her husband’s untimely death, she had not shed a tear. Death was something she’d witnessed too many times to be upset.

While Elliot approved of her trashy outfits in the privacy of his home, he did not care to take her out in public looking so trampy. Anya was such a beauty, and yet she had no idea how to make the best of herself. He soon hired a stylist to teach her about clothes and makeup and hair.

He wanted to be proud of her when they attended big social
events. He did not relish the thought of being regarded as a laughing stock. His main desire was that every one of his peers–stuck with their original wives–would envy him.

Once Anya had gone through her makeover–including a name change to Pola, which was
her
idea-other men did indeed envy him, for Anya/Pola was such a delicate and refined beauty in her Chanel and Valentino outfits, her exquisite evening gowns and fine jewels
.

Elliot got a kick out of spoiling her, and in return she beat him on a regular basis while secretly enjoying his pain
.

She did not love him
.

Anya did not know what love was
.

M
arlon was everything Lucy had expected, and yet he wasn’t Phil. He was young, strong, hard-bodied and horny, but still he wasn’t Phil. His kisses were amateurish. His fumblings with her clothes were juvenile. Foreplay? Apparently he’d never heard of it.

And just when he was about to do the deed, she aborted the situation. She simply couldn’t go through with it. Bad as Phil was, she loved him and she couldn’t bring herself to cheat on him. Besides, she missed the feel of his furry belly and rolls of comforting fat. She missed his cigar breath and the way he kissed her. She missed the special way he touched her and went down on her and made her come a hundred different ways. She missed his all-encompassing love, his genuine warmth and his loud raucous laugh.

Damn Phil Standard. He was a cheating lying sonofabitch. But he was
her
cheating lying sonofabitch.

“I can’t do this,” she said to Marlon, pushing his young hard body off her.

Marlon was stunned. “Huh?” he mumbled, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“It’s not right,” she said, quickly jumping up and starting to dress. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes were fixed on her breasts, the same breasts he’d fantasized about ever since watching
Blue Sapphire
ten times on his DVD player. They were the best tits he’d seen in a while, still firm and luscious and big and round. Man, he just wanted to bury his head in them and never surface.

Now she was saying no after getting him all primed for action. Blue balls were on his horizon; this was turning out to be a real bummer.

“I…uh…I love you,” he said, trying out a line that always worked, especially with all the surfer chicks who stopped by his place on a regular basis.

“Don’t talk such nonsense,” Lucy said crisply, fastening her bra–removing those great tits from his sight.

“But I do,” he protested, still hard as the proverbial rock.

“Go jerk off and get over it,” Lucy said, all business. “We’ve got work to do on the script.”

Marlon slunk off to the bathroom, defeated.

Older women, they sure weren’t as easy as the younger ones.

“I can’t believe you beat me,” Don grumbled, climbing up on the deck behind Cameron.

“And I can’t believe you honestly imagined I wouldn’t,” she teased, collapsing onto a lounger. “I’m a personal trainer–emphasis on the
trainer
. Besides, I’m younger than you.”

“Oh, she’s playing the age card, is she?” he joked, falling down on top of her.

“I’m all sandy and sweaty,” she objected, attempting to push him off. “I need to go inside and take a shower.”

“No,” he said firmly. “What you need is me. Now. Right now.”

“Out here? What about the paparazzi?”

“Fuck ’em.”

On the cab ride back to the Beverly Wilshire, Anya reflected on Ryan’s behavior. What kind of man was he? He’d resisted having sex with her, and that was not normal at all.

She had learned over the years that by offering sex she could get men to do anything she wanted–including marrying her. She’d even got Hamilton Heckerling to marry her and he wasn’t easy.

But of course Hamilton had no clue she was damaged goods, that from her early teenage years she’d been used and abused by men. If he ever discovered how many men had availed themselves of her body, he would
never
have even considered marrying her, he would have run like the wind.

Was that why Ryan didn’t care to have sex with her? Too many men before him?

Yes, she decided, that must be it.

But if she had nothing to hold over him, how could she expect him to keep his silence?

It was a big problem.

Could she trust him?

Maybe. Maybe not.

She decided she would have to keep on trying to seduce him. Ryan Richards wasn’t made of stone, eventually she’d succeed.

Directing the cab driver to the back entrance of the hotel, she paid him off, walked down the street to
Neiman Marcus
, went inside, and headed straight for the shoe department.

“Since you won the race, then
you
get to choose what we do tonight,” Don announced. “Do we stay in or do we go out?”

“Hmm…” Cameron mused, playing him because she knew
he’d sooner stay in and so would she, but why not have a little fun at his expense? “Where would we go if we went out?”

“
Nobu
,” he said. “
Taverna Tony’s
. There’s plenty of places around here.” A beat. “Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or we could order in, sit out on the deck, catch the sunset, go to bed early and—”

“Sold!”

“Huh?”

“We’re staying in.”

He grinned. “I
knew
you were my kind of girl!”

“Pola?”

For a moment Anya did not respond–sometimes she forgot she’d renamed herself.

“Pola.” Mandy’s beringed hand clamped down on her shoulder, startling her. “What are
you
doing here? Spending Hamilton’s money?”

“Excuse me?” Anya said, not appreciating Mandy’s tone.

“Just joking,” Mandy said with an insincere giggle. “After all, it’s yours to spend as much as it is his. Nice shoes,” she added, sitting down beside Anya, and picking up the other shoe to the one Anya was trying on. “Hmm…” she said, checking out the price. “Eight hundred dollars. You have expensive taste.”

Silently Anya snatched the shoe back. She knew Mandy hated her; it gave her a frisson of satisfaction to realize that she’d hate her even more if she ever found out that she, Anya, had been standing in front of her husband, naked.

If only Ryan had responded…

“Tell me,” Mandy said, “did Hamilton make you sign a pre-nup?”

“What is pre-nup?” Anya asked, although she knew perfectly well what it was.

“In America we have a little thing called a pre-nuptial agreement. Men give it to their intended to sign, so that when the divorce comes…oops, sorry! I mean
if
a divorce comes…then his money is protected.”

“I sign nothing,” Anya said, delighted to observe an expression of fury and frustration flit across Mandy’s face.

The truth was that she
had
signed a pre-nuptial. It guaranteed her half a million dollars for every year she stayed married to Hamilton.

She planned on staying married to him for a long, long time.

A half million dollars a year was not enough for Anya.

Ryan made it down the hill to Evie’s house on Alpine in record time, cursing all the way. What was wrong with his mom, sticking him with a cryptic message and then not picking up her phone when he tried to call back? Was she attempting to give him a heart attack, for crissakes? Didn’t she realize he was forty, and forty was fucking
old
, goddammit!

He was depressed. Anya had depressed him with her pathetic come-on. And he was ashamed for almost falling into her trap. But sex had ceased to exist between him and Mandy, so it was hardly his fault that the sight of a naked woman had caught him off-guard.

Don was no doubt having incredible sex with Cameron and that pissed him off–although it shouldn’t. He should be pleased that Don had finally found someone who made him happy.

If it lasted.

Which it probably wouldn’t, since Don was the definitive player.

Ryan’s worst fears were realized when he drew near to the
house. There was an ambulance in the driveway, and a couple of police cars.

Jesus! Evie…The boys…

Heart pounding, he jumped out of his car and raced toward the front door.