Married Lovers (4 page)

“He says he doesn’t need to.”

“Evie—”

“I know, I know,” she said, refusing to look him in the eye. “Please don’t lecture me. It’ll be fine.”

But they both knew it wouldn’t be.

She touched his arm again. “Is everything okay with you and Mandy?” she asked as they walked toward the front door.

His sister had excellent instincts when it came to him, but he didn’t care to get into it.

“Yeah, sure, everything’s great,” he said breezily. “Why?”

“I don’t know, you look tired.”

Hmm…reminding him of his upcoming birthday wasn’t enough, now he looked tired. Great!

Today was not turning out to be the best of days.

L
ife in the city of Magas was harsh. With so many refugees pouring in–over two hundred and fifty thousand–food and housing was short. Anya soon found herself separated from the mother and children she’d traveled with. Before long she ended up alone with only the clothes she was wearing and a chunk of stale bread a kindly old woman had given her. No money. No identity. But still, nobody could take away her delicate beauty
.

The refugee camps were filled to bursting, nowhere to go, nowhere to settle. Anya hovered on the perimeter, shivering, half-starved, her thin body trembling, unable to speak as she remembered the horrors she’d witnessed
.

This was how Sergei found her. A resident of Magas, he’d been given a job to do by his boss, fat old Greedy Boris Pinski, a man of many trades. Greedy Boris dealt in arms and black-market goods. He also dealt in women, and his young henchman, Sergei, was dispatched to the refugee camps to see if he could come up with any strays Greedy Boris might put to good use in the underground brothel he ran in the middle of the city.

Serge drove a dusty American station-wagon his boss had won in a card game. By the time he came across Anya the wagon was already filled with two sisters, a scrawny girl with lank red hair, and a short fat woman who Sergei knew Greedy Boris would
reject–but what could he do? The pickings were not exactly abundant.

He almost didn’t stop for Anya. Such a skinny little thing and much too young. Then he caught a glimpse of her face, and for a moment he was lost in her pale blue eyes–so filled with pain, so expressive. He pulled the wagon to a sharp stop. “Get in,” he ordered, jerking his thumb.

She did as she was told and climbed into the back of the station-wagon. The other women ignored her; they had their own problems.

Sergei drove his carload of women to the center of the city and delivered them to Greedy Boris, all of them except Anya, whom he hid in the trunk. “Stay quiet,” he warned her. “If you behave and give me no trouble, you’ll get food and a place to sleep.”

She stayed quiet. She was fourteen. She didn’t know what else to do.

At first Sergei decided he would keep Anya for a few days, have his way with her, then hand her over to Greedy Boris. But this was not to be, for twenty-year-old Sergei, who’d lived most of his life on the streets using his wits to survive, fell in love with the child.

He took her to the room he rented in a run-down house, made her strong tea and pieces of burnt toast with thick black pudding spread on top, then after washing her in a communal bathroom, he allowed her to sleep in his bed, while he settled on his one ratty chair with loose springs and a torn cover.

He considered himself mad to do this, but there was something about Anya, he didn’t quite know what it was. She refused to speak, not one word; all she did was look at him with those big sad blue eyes and that was enough.

He realized she must have been raped, for when he’d washed her he’d discovered dried blood stuck to her thighs. It was obvious that the girl had suffered a terrible ordeal.

Yes, he could have left her with Greedy Boris, but why would he do that? She looked at him with such longing, a yearning in her eyes that begged to belong, to be close to someone.

Sexually he forced himself not to touch her. He wanted to, but
somehow he felt it wouldn’t be right. In a way he was afraid. This was strange, as Sergei had never been afraid of anything
.

Every day he tried to persuade her to speak. She steadfastly refused
.

When he had to go out to work, leaving her alone in the room, he sternly instructed her that under no circumstances was she to answer the door
.

She nodded her head.

“One of these days you will say something to me, yes?” he asked her in the Russian language they shared.

She nodded again.

“I can be patient,” he said.

He thought about all the whores he’d screwed, all the women who’d passed through his life. He thought about his stepmother, who’d forced him to have sex with her when he was twelve. His stepmother’s best friend had also used him for her own pleasure. And then a procession of women all shapes, sizes and ages. Those women he’d used for his own benefit.

Sergei had developed a tough exterior. He’d had to.

After two nights of sleeping on the chair, he decided it was okay to move into the bed next to her.

She immediately shied away from him, those sad eyes of hers filled with fear.

“I will not touch you,” he promised. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

He turned his back to her and slept fitfully.

Early in the morning she leaned over and whispered in his ear. “My name is Anya.”

“Oh,” he said, startled. “You
can
talk.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for your kindness.”

The girl was thanking him. Nobody had ever thanked him before. He was filled with a strange feeling.

Now he could never hand her over to Greedy Boris. It wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

Meanwhile, Greedy Boris was on his case. “Is this all you bring me?” Greedy Boris screamed, eyes bulging with fury, fat arms waving in the air. “Two sisters who aren’t worth shit, and a ratty girl with bad teeth. Go back to the refugee camp and get me more girls. There must be plenty of pussy. Get it for me and bring it here.”

Greedy Boris’s clientele was not of the highest caliber. Mostly they were married workmen who came by at all times of the day, stayed five or ten minutes and went on their way. Greedy Boris worked his girls hard; sometimes they were forced to service fifteen or sixteen clients a day.

Sergei did not want this fate for Anya. His Anya. His little bird. For in his heart he knew they were destined to be together.

One day he decided they had to make an escape from the ravaged war-torn city. They had to get away from Greedy Boris and everything he represented.

It was time for them to run.

“H
i,” Cameron said, when Don Verona flung open his front door. “I’m Cameron Paradise, Jill Khoner set this up. You must be Don Verona.”

“Whew!” he exclaimed, slowly checking her out. He saw a tall natural blonde in a white tracksuit with long legs and intoxicating green eyes. “Jill told me you were a beauty, but I wasn’t expecting perfection.”

“Not only is he famous,” Cameron murmured, tongue-in-cheek, “but he has the corny lines to go with it.”

Don threw her a quizzical look as Butch came bounding over, making a fast run for her crotch. The dog excitedly stuck his nose between her legs and began sniffing.

“Easy, boy,” Don said, pulling back on Butch’s collar. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry,” Cameron said, bending to scratch Butch’s neck. “I have Labs of my own. They’re overly friendly, but that’s cool.”

“You have a Labrador?”

“Two,” she said, as Butch started licking her hand. “They’re incredibly loyal dogs.”

“They sure are,” he said, taking a step back. “So–Miz Paradise–you’d better come in.”

She entered his immaculate house.

“Paradise is quite a name,” he remarked. “Where did you make that one up?”

“Actually, it’s my mother’s maiden name,” she said, glancing around. “Jill told me you have your own personal gym. Where is it?”

“Straight to business, huh?”

“That’s why I’m here,” she said, unimpressed with his handsomeness. Good-looking famous men were a staple in Hollywood, especially when you worked at a high-end sports club. She’d had many a Hollywood hot shot make a play for her, it was not unusual.

“You come highly recommended,” he said, heading for the circular all-glass staircase custom designed by himself. “Jill says you’re the best.”

“I work hard for my reputation,” she answered coolly. “I expect all my clients to do the same for their body.”

Don was not used to people–especially women–who didn’t fawn all over him. After all, as Ryan had pointed out earlier, he had his own extraordinarily successful talk show and made megabucks. However, in spite of her acerbic attitude he found himself liking Cameron immediately, for not only was she knock-out gorgeous, she had a grittiness about her that appealed to him.

“Here’s the deal,” he informed her over his shoulder as she followed him upstairs to his gym. “I’m used to working out with male trainers. Fewer distractions, y’know what I mean?”

“Should I leave now?” she shot back, thinking that he was pretty full of himself.

He stopped on the stairs and she nearly ran into his back. “Only if you want to,” he said.

“You’re the client,” she responded. “If you care to work with a male trainer I can easily fix you up.”

“You can, huh?”

“Most definitely. I have two male colleagues, both gay.” She
paused for a moment. “Would that be a problem?” she said, challenging him.

“Not for me,” he answered smoothly. “But y’know,” he added, shooting her a half-smile, “right now I think I’ll stick with you.”

“We’ll see,” she answered.

He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll
see?
”

“This is a test run,” she said. “I only work with clients I feel I can help.”

“Well,” he said lightly, “let me know when you make your decision.”

“Oh, I will,” she assured him.

By noon Cameron was back at
Bounce
.

“You worked out
who
?” Lynda asked, after Cameron had filled her in.

“I told you, this guy–Don Verona,” she said, repeating herself.

“Man!” Lynda exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “You couldn’t tell me earlier so I could’ve come with you.”

“To do
what?
”

“Enjoy the view!” Lynda said with a lustful sigh. “Watch an’
wish
. That man is hot hot hot!!!”

“Who’s hot?” Dorian inquired, appearing right on cue as usual.

“Missy here went over to Don Verona’s crib an’ worked his gorgeous ass out. That dude is sooo sexy. I’m in
love
with that man!”

“Me too!” Dorian agreed. “I sleep with him every night! His monologue rocks.”

“C’mon, sister,” Lynda pleaded, leaning across the reception desk. “What’s he
really
like? I wanna know
everything
, no details spared.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “We want all the dirty bits. Is he hung? Did you notice? A lefty or a righty?”

“Will you two quit it,” Cameron scolded, shaking her head in exasperation. “He seemed like a nice enough guy. A lech, but aren’t they all?”

“Oh yes,” both Lynda and Dorian chorused.

“I’ve never watched his show,” Cameron said. “Is it really that good?”

“Never watched his show?” Lynda repeated, brown eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re certainly not
screwing
anyone, so what
are
you doing at eleven p.m.?”

“Sleeping,” Cameron replied, thinking they’d both freak if they found out about Marlon.

“Sleeping!” both Lynda and Dorian cried out in shocked unison.

“Yes, sleeping, so I have the strength to do this every day and make enough money for us to move on,” Cameron said, thinking that the two of them should form a group they were so in tune.

“You’re major
disciplined
,” Dorian said, as if it was a bad thing. “I myself like to party.”

“No,
really
?” Cameron said, feigning surprise. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Don Verona,” Lynda sighed dreamily. “Any chance of persuading him to come work out here?”

“Now
why
would I do that?” Cameron said. “He has his own perfectly set-up gym, and besides, I don’t want anyone here getting their hands on him. I’m building up our private client list so that when we leave we’re not accused of stealing any
Bounce
clients.”

“When?” Dorian wanted to know.

“Soon,” Cameron assured them. “We’re well on our way. I’m checking out a few locations next week.”

Dorian’s next client entered the premises. He was a buff-
looking soap actor who was firmly in the closet. Flashing a set of newly crowned teeth he winked at Lynda.

“Hi Roger,” Dorian said, greeting his client with a macho punch on the arm. “Are we ready to stretch those lovely muscles?”

Roger threw another wink–this time at Cameron. “Let’s go, Dorian,” he drawled. “I couldn’t be more ready.” He and Dorian walked off.

“Why does he
do
that?” Lynda complained.

“Do what?”

“Act all sexy and straight. We all know he’s even gayer than Dorian.”

“He’s an actor,” Cameron said sagely. “It’s all about the image.”

“I suppose,” Lynda said, adjusting a display of lotions and oils sitting on her desk. “What you doin’ tonight?”

“Nothing much,” Cameron replied, deciding not to mention that Don Verona had invited her to dinner, an offer she’d declined. Lynda would throw a fit if she knew.

“Here’s the thing,” Lynda said casually. “Carlos has a cousin from Mexico City in town. Apparently this dude is
mucho
hunky. I haven’t met him, but if my Carlos says he’s hot, then—”

“No!” Cameron said, vigorously shaking her head. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Tell me
what?
” Lynda asked innocently.

“No! No! No!” Cameron insisted.

“It’s not a set-up,” Lynda wailed. “Just a friendly feast at
Houston’s
. You know how you love the spare-ribs there, an’ you’d be doing Carlos a big favor.”

“She’s not doing anyone a favor,” Dorian interjected, returning to collect an armful of clean white towels. “Don’t you get it–our Cameron is all work and no play.”

“Please don’t speak about me as if I’m not here,” Cameron said. “As a matter of fact, Katie’s in town. We’re going to her boyfriend’s gig at
The Roxy
. I’m taking Cole.”

“Cole!” Dorian said, pausing on his way back to his client. “How come you didn’t invite
me
?”

“Because I invited Cole,” Cameron answered briskly. “Next time I’ll invite you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Dorian huffed. “Just because he’s the most handsome black man on earth.”

“No. Blair Underwood is,” Lynda insisted. “An’ then Boris Kodjoe an’ oh yeah–Taye Diggs–only Taye is kinda short, an’ I like my men tall.”

“Carlos is five feet ten inches,” Dorian sniped. “Hardly a giant.”

“Yeah, well let me tell you this–he’s a giant in the place where it
really
matters,” Lynda shot back, brown eyes flashing.

“Okay, okay, you two,” Cameron said. “Quit with the bickering. And Dorian, I had no idea you were into rock concerts. They’re all rough and noisy and filled with sweaty rock fans.”

“Sounds
très
sexy,” Dorian purred. “Take me! Take me!”

“Anything sounds sexy to you,” Lynda snapped.

Cameron had three afternoon clients left, then she was through for the day. She thought about how much she was looking forward to meeting up with Katie, whom she hadn’t seen in two years. Katie and Jinx were the only people who knew about Gregg and what had taken place between them. None of her other friends had any idea that she was actually married.

Oh God! She was
still
married. How depressing. Had to do something about
that
. And she would. Soon. Eventually she’d hire a lawyer and discuss her options.

As she worked with her final client–an overweight woman who was getting married in four weeks’ time and needed to lose twenty pounds–her mind wandered back to that morning and Don Verona. She had to admit that he was very attractive. He was also major charming and a smooth flirt, although when he’d invited her out it had come as a surprise.

“Hey,” he’d said, concentrating on perfecting his already
impressive abs, “I’m having dinner with some interesting people tonight. Care to join me?”

She’d shaken her head and said a very firm no.

Two minutes after she’d declined, he’d reached for his iPhone and called someone else, a female who’d apparently said yes.

“You don’t wait around, do you?” she’d remarked.

“Why waste time,” he’d replied with a jaunty wink.

“By the way,” she’d added, thinking that it was to her advantage to put him straight upfront, “it’s nothing personal, but I think I should warn you–I never mix business and pleasure. So, if we
are
going to work together…”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he’d said, giving her the famous Don Verona self-deprecating grin.

Better be careful of this one
, she’d thought.
He could be trouble, and the last thing I need is distractions
.

There was something about Cole de Barge that Cameron had always found very appealing. Not only was he undeniably handsome with his milk-chocolate skin and well-defined features, plus a body straight off the cover of
Men’s Health
, he was also a truly decent person with no agenda, and he was smart–so smart that she was considering offering him a business partnership, although that might not sit too well with Lynda and Dorian, who would be most put out that she hadn’t chosen them. The truth was that Lynda wasn’t business-partner material, she was too intent on getting Carlos to marry her so she could settle down and raise a slew of kids. Lynda’s maternal instincts were way out of control. And as for Dorian…well, Dorian was Dorian. An excellent trainer, a big flirt, and not to be taken that seriously.

Cole, on the other hand, had a serious side. It was no wonder every gay mogul in town fell in lust with him. First lust and then love.

Cole had experienced several high-powered relationships with major Hollywood players, but he always got restless when they started parading him around like a piece of meat. He deserved respect, and that never happened when you were some rich big-shot’s boyfriend. Like Cameron, he was determined to achieve something on his own.

They’d met when she’d first arrived in L.A. and been searching for a job. She was sitting at a table in
Starbucks
on the corner of Robertson and Beverly, thumbing through a
Fitness
magazine, when Cole had wandered over. “Can I take a look at that when you’re done?” he’d asked. “There’s an interview inside I’ve been meaning to get to.”

She’d given him an appraising once-over. “Only if you tell me where the best sports club in town is,” she’d replied.

“You looking for a personal trainer?” he’d asked.

“No. I’m looking for a job.”

That’s how they’d met, and that’s how she’d gotten to work at
Bounce,
where Cole was already one of the most popular trainers.

At first she’d been wary of working there, especially when Cole told her the deal. “You mean
I
have to pay them rent and commission?” she’d said. “I can’t afford to do that. I need a job that pays
me
.”

“I got your back, girl,” he’d assured her. “You’ll make a lot more money controlling your own clients. I’ll even set you up with a couple of mine to start you off.”

Cole had been right, he’d kept his promise and given her three of his own clients with whom she was still working. He’d turned out to be a true and valuable friend.

“What’s this Katie babe like?” he asked as they left
Bounce
and strolled out to the parking lot.

“She’s a great girl,” Cameron said. “Very pretty in a rock chick kind of way.”

“And you’re old friends?”

“Uh huh. We’ve been through a lot of stuff together,”
Cameron said, opening her car door. “But I guarantee you’ll prefer her boyfriend–he’s a skinny Brit, full of sexy rock ’n’ roll moves.”

“Who cares?” Cole said, heading for his motorcycle. “After my last crash ’n’ burn I’ve decided to go the celibate route.”

“That’s good to know,” Cameron said, grinning, “’cause he’s not gay.”

“Honey, they
all
are, given the right circumstances,” Cole replied with a knowing wink. “You can bet on it.”

“So cynical,” Cameron sighed, getting in her car.

“So right,” Cole responded, jumping astride his motorcycle.

They met up with Katie at a coffee shop on Sunset. Katie was petite, with a halo of curly red hair and an abundance of freckles. Cameron was pleased to note that she and Cole hit it off immediately. Katie was special, and as for Cole–he was a prince.