Playing Dirty (14 page)

“C’mon, copper,” she said. “They’re playing our song.”

“We have a song?” The guy unfolded his long body from the chair.

She ran a finger along his arm. “It’s slow, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, right.” He grinned. “This is
definitely
our song.”

It’s slow, isn’t it?
Cade located Ava vacating the dance floor and rose to his feet to intercept her. This was the reason he’d come. For the potential to dance with her. He’d been thinking a fast number—if he was lucky. But what the hell, he might as well shoot the moon. Because slow trumped the hell out of fast any day.

It only remained to be seen whether he could convince her to dance with him, period.

Stopping in front of her, he gave her the formal bow as he’d been taught back in C.C. “Hello. My name is Buttface Gallari. May I have this dance?”

He saw her full mouth twitch and her dimples crease her cheeks before she compressed her lips in a severe
line and gave him her haughtiest raised-brows look. “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I generally make it a policy to avoid men named Buttface.”

“It’s a good policy,” he agreed—then thrust out an authoritative hand. “Make an exception.”

“Oh, what the hell.” One shapely shoulder hitched toward her ear as she placed her hand in his. “Why not.”

He grinned as she whirled with her hand still holding his over her shoulder and undulated back to the dance floor. Once there, she turned into his arms.

And the smile dropped from his face. Because he hadn’t genuinely thought she would agree, had never truly believed, for all his outward bravado, that he would hold her tonight.

And, man, did she feel good. This was no bony, angular woman. She was round and ripe and plush in his arms, her body a cushiony furnace that sank heat into his bones everywhere she touched.

“You smell good,” he said, breathing in her hair and her skin and the faintest exotic spice scent of some hot-mama perfume as he wrapped his arms around her and commenced a slow sway in place.

“Yes, I believe in regular bathing,” she agreed dryly.

“It’s working for you.”

He felt her muffled snort against his collarbone and smiled into her hair.

He was nowhere near the dancer she was—but this he could do. He could handle the vertical rock-and-rub and appreciate every damn minute of the luscious give of her curvy body against the not-so-giving planes of his own.

The trick here was to avoid finding himself pressing a hard-on into her softly rounded stomach like some hormone driven, no-control eighteen-year-old. Stroking
his cheek against her shiny hair, he visualized the chilly, damp evening outside to help him keep that from happening.

It only half succeeded. And the whole time he was thinking,
Play the long version, play the long version.

The neediness of his thoughts made him uneasy. Because, really, how sappy could he get? He didn’t
need
anyone. Hell, if he hadn’t learned anything else, he’d at least learned not to place too much faith in others. Yeah, she was soft and warm and smelled like a million bucks. But he’d discovered the hard way that the only person he could depend on was himself.

It’d be smart to keep that in mind.

Which he did when the song ended and Ava raised her head from its resting place just beneath his collarbone and smiled up at him. It was such a pretty,
friendly
smile that he paused, thinking he’d somehow gotten off track.

Then he remembered that instant of helpless neediness and stepped back, reaching up to unclasp her hands from around his neck and gently pull them away. He released them. “Thanks for the dance,” he said and gave her the cynically raised brow he’d perfected senior year. “So there’s not really a Brazilian boyfriend, is there?”

When coolness ate up all the sweetness of her smile, he pretended he didn’t feel faintly sick. Assured himself he hadn’t just messed up, bollixed up,
sullied
a really nice moment between them.

“You danced with me just to find out if I—” Her face showed no expression.

But those eyes— God, it may have come and gone faster than heat lightning, but he recognized betrayal when he saw it. He should. He’d put it there before. “No!” He took a step forward.

She stepped back. “Well, you got me there, Gallari. I confess. I have no Brazilian lover.”

Good,
he thought as she whirled on her heel and walked away, her shapely hips ticking from side to side like a metronome. Not that it mattered to him, of course. But, still. Good.

Not the point, Ace.
Going after her, he reached to turn her back to him. “Look, I didn’t dance with you to—”

She pulled her arm out of his grasp and his defenses went on red alert at the smile she gave him. It was small and tight and glittered more sharply than a stiletto.

“You seem to have a hard time remembering this,” she said, so softly he had to strain to hear over the new song. “But my lover boy? He’s Argentinean.” Christ.
Was
the guy real? The way she’d been all loose and sort of snuggled up to him for that brief moment before he’d let his pride run his mouth…that hadn’t struck him as the sort of thing a woman would do if she was getting it on with another guy.

Of course, it could simply be he didn’t want to believe Ava was the kind of woman to juggle men in plurals.

He straightened. He
didn’t
accept that as true. “Yeah? Prove it.”

She looked at him as if he were an opportunistic pan-handler on the street. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. When Eduardo and I are together, you’re not even a blip on my radar.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Of course you don’t. Your ego’s so overinflated, you probably have to turn your head sideways to get it through the door.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe in your Latin lover.”

“Well, gee. However will I sleep at night?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I know! In Eduardo’s arms.” And turning on her heel, she sauntered over to her friends.

He watched her go—and had to admire her exit.
Damn.
Clearly he wasn’t the only one who knew how to play dirty.

“Fuck.” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Where the hell had that flash of insecurity that had started this whole thing come from? He’d had more style, girl smarts and definitely more sense in the sixth grade. “Good going there, Gallari.”

But he stuck by one thing, by God. He doubted like hell there was an Eduardo.

“F
REAKING BASTARD
,” Ava muttered in the ladies’ a short while later as she repaired the makeup she’d sweated off on the dance floor.

Straightening from where she’d been leaning into the mirror to reapply her lipstick, Jane met her reflected gaze. “Who’s a freaking— No. Wait. Cade?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’d the bastard do now?”

“Claimed Eduardo doesn’t exist.”

“That
ass
ho—” Jane’s slender dark brows drew together, and her ready best-friend indignation faded. She turned to look at Ava directly. “Um, Av…Eduardo
doesn’t
exist.”

“I know that!” She shot her brunette friend an impatient frown. “It was the
way
he said it. All Mr. I’m-so-sardonically-amused-at-the-lengths-you’ll-go-to-get-my-attention. As if, when I hadn’t said a
word
about Eduardo! Then there’s that stinking eyebrow lift thing he does. How the hell does anyone raise just one brow, anyhow?”

“Maybe he Botoxed the other.”

A delighted laugh burbled out of her, and the dark cloud that had been hanging over her spirits since Cade
had made her suspect she’d been suckered by that dirty-pool seductive slow dance finally lifted. “
Yes.
Yes, I bet he does. And you know what?”
About time you kicked in, brain.
“I know just how to make him eat his words over Eduardo, too.”

Janie turned to rest her hips against the counter, crossing her arms beneath her petite breasts. “This oughtta be good. How are you going to do that when—at the risk of repeating myself—Eduardo isn’t real?”

“I’m going to recruit Eddie. He was my inspiration, anyhow. And you know him, he’ll love it.”

A slow, evil smile curved Jane’s lips. “Ava Spencer, you are such a nefarious chick. I don’t know
why
you’re going to so much trouble to prove something to someone you don’t give two figs about, but interesting solution.” She shook her head. “And here people always think you’re such a nice girl. Poppy and me, though? We know better. Because you are actually a wicked, wicked woman.” Straightening away from the counter, she slung an arm around Ava’s shoulders and, tipping her head until their temples touched, gave her a hug. “I’ve always admired that about you.”

“W
ANNA TREAT
yourself? You have
got
to go down to the kitchen when we’re finished here.”

Surprised at hearing Heather’s voice sounding downright conversational when the actress rarely said anything that wasn’t directly related to her character, Cade paused outside the room where the grips had transferred the hair and makeup stations.

“Why?” he heard the makeup girl Molly ask. “Has Ava brought in a hot new dish?”

“I’ll say. The guy is
smokin’!
”

No,
Cade thought, his blood chilling.

“Huh?” Molly said.

“Her
friend,
Molly. Keep up. His name is—” Heather went silent for a second, then Cade could practically
hear
her shrug when she said, “Who the hell knows, I was too busy staring at him to take it in. He’s like the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen! You gotta check him out for yourself, because words just fail.”

Shit
.

Shit, fuck…shit!
Turning on his heel, he headed for the stairs.

As he approached the kitchen, he heard the murmur of voices, one definitely Ava’s contralto and the other a deep masculine rumble. He was a scant step away from the archway when Ava let loose a deep belly laugh.

It drew his gaze straight to her as he stepped through the doorway.

Her hair blazed in a shaft of rare winter sunlight pouring through the back door window, and her cheeks held a pretty pink tinge as she howled at something the clown lounging against the counter was telling her. She faced the doorway but was oblivious to Cade’s entrance. Her attention was all for the other man as she stood hip-shot in dark green heels, matching straight skirt and a prim cream-colored blouse that was rendered not so prim by the filminess of the material and the Maggie the Cat lace and satin slip visible beneath it.

It was hard to tell for sure from this vantage point, but if the angle of the guy was anything to go by, he appeared to be speaking directly to the shadowy cleavage that rose out of the lace.

Cade took an involuntary step closer. “Hey.”

Looking reluctant to tear her attention away from her friend, Ava finally turned a cool-eyed gaze on him. “Hey,” she said without enthusiasm.

He closed the gap between them and thrust his hand at the dark-haired, dark-eyed man. Now, men didn’t rhapsodize over another dude’s appearance the way a chick might; it violated some Y chromosome primal imprint or something. But he had to admit that Heather had a point—the guy was more than decent-looking. “I’m Cade Gallari.”

Straightening from the counter, the man rose to his full height of six-four or so—an inch or two taller than
he
was at any rate—and took the proffered hand in a bruising grip. “It is good to meet you. I am Eduardo.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much. Ava’s Brazilian friend, right?”

“Argentinean!” Ava snapped.

“Sorry,” he said insincerely. “That’s what I meant.”

“Not a problem.” Eduardo shrugged. “I have learned that American men score much—how do you say it—below the curve when it comes to…geography.”

Oh, I don’t know. I know precisely where I’d like to send you—and it’s a helluva lot farther south than your native country.

He flashed the other man a feral smile. “Your English is very good.” Faultless, come to think of it. He studied Eduardo more closely. Maybe the guy wasn’t actually Argentinean at all.

“Thank you!” Eduardo flashed a white smile. “I perfected it in American college. It’s where I met Ava.”

Cade’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I thought Ava went to Scripps.” A women’s college.

She gave him a strange look, and he rolled his shoulders. What, he wasn’t supposed to know what college she attended? He heard things.

But if she was curious about what he’d heard or from whom, it didn’t show, for she merely said, “Scripps is
part of the Claremont Consortium, which is actually five colleges. Eduardo went to Claremont McKenna.”

“Huh.” Then he got down to business. “I hate to bust up your reunion,” he lied smoothly, “but I have to ask you to leave, Eduardo. We try to keep this a closed set.”

“But of course.” The tall Latino turned to Ava. “I will see you later at my hotel, yes?”

No,
Cade thought.

“Yes,” Ava agreed.

“It might be a late night,” he said. “We’re doing a complicated scene.”

“Not a problem.” Slinging a muscular arm around Ava’s shoulders, Eduardo pulled her against his side and gave Cade a challenging look. “It will be worth the wait no matter how long it takes.”

Not if I can keep her occupied all night.

A
VA SHOULD
have known better than to think Cade would slink away with his tail between his legs. Instead, he stood regarding them—
again
with that damn I’m-so-amused raised eyebrow. So she slipped out from beneath the heavy warmth of Eddie’s arm, grabbed her coat from the pantry and walked her friend out to his car.

“Ooh, honey,” he murmured sans the Latin accent as he dug his keys out of his pocket. He clicked the doors unlocked but didn’t open the driver’s side. Instead, he propped his butt against it and regarded her. “Why would you want to discourage
that
one? I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“Easy, boy,” Ava advised dryly. “He doesn’t play for your team.”

Eddie sighed. “Too few do.” Then he gave her a sardonic look. “Even without my gaydar, I could’ve told
you that by the way he all but pissed circles around you to mark his territory. The guy wants you bad.”

She refused to acknowledge the way her friend’s words frissoned ghostly fingertips of gratification along her nerve endings. Or the fact that her shrug was perhaps a bit too elaborately casual. “Not interested.”

Eddie made a rude noise. “Please. If you’re gonna be such a liar, liar, pants on fire, at least try to be good at it.” Smirking at her glare, he crossed his arms over his chest and settled deeper against the car. “So what the hell possessed you to make me Argentinean?”

“I don’t know. It just sorta popped into my mind and then I was stuck with it.”

“Good thing for both of us that the guy doesn’t speak Spanish, huh? Considering my own grasp of it lets me order Mexican food with a halfway decent pronunciation and that’s about it.”

“He didn’t when I knew him back when, so I figured it was probably a safe enough bet.” Standing on her toes, she leaned in to give him a hug. “
Thank
you for doing this, Eddie.”

“No problemo.” Hugging her back, he offered her an insouciant smile then turned her loose. “You know I’ll be giving you a call the next time some beautiful young stud stomps my heart to paste.”

“I do,” she agreed with a sigh. “And I sure wish, if you can’t make better choices in the first place, that you’d let me teach you some tricks to at least make them work for your affection. Maybe if you played it a little aloof so they wouldn’t cop right off the bat to what an easy touch you are, they’d value you more and wouldn’t go breaking your heart so easily.”

His wide shoulders twitched. “We can’t all play hard to get like you, girly-girl.” He gave her a knowing look.
“So when
are
you going to let Gallari off the hook and just do the boy?”

“N.E.V.E.R.
Never,
” she said with all the authority at her disposal, hoping to hell she wasn’t blowing smoke. “Trust me.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie tapped her nose with his fingertip, then pushed away from the car and turned to open his door. “You keep telling yourself that, sweetie.”

I
T WAS DAMN
near midnight before Cade left the mansion. Between the level of difficulty in tonight’s scene and Heather’s perfectionism, which was proving to be even more compulsive than his own, filming had run late. But the end result had paid off big—he’d been more than satisfied by the time they’d wrapped things up.

Even so, he’d stayed long after everyone else went home. Well, he’d had a lot to do, hadn’t he, what with the number of loose ends he’d left dangling for too long and going over the dailies. It had been well worth the extra time, considering how powerful the scene had turned out to be—exceeding even his already high expectations. There were a couple places that could stand to be trimmed, but when he thought about tackling them, he had to admit that maybe he wasn’t in the best frame of mind to dive into work with such lasting consequences. He was too tired to do it justice.

That was when he packed up, found John to let the night watchman know he was taking off, then headed for home.

It wasn’t until he stopped at the light at the bottom of Queen Anne Avenue, however, that he admitted the real problem—and it didn’t have squat to do with fatigue.

He hadn’t been able to—and hell, still couldn’t—stop
thinking about what Ava might be doing right this minute. All night long he’d thought about it—even when she was still there. Then, when she’d left, he’d chewed on the possibilities of what she’d do even as he’d discussed scenes, talked to crew and directed his sometimes-pain-in-the-ass-but-always-talented actress. Because his big inner dialogue with Eduardo notwithstanding, he’d had no good reason to demand she stay when everyone else was going home.

He’d worried it so goddamn much, in fact, that he decided it might be a good idea to swing by the twenty-four-hour Metropolitan Market on his way home to get himself a six-pack. One way or the other, he planned on getting some sleep tonight—tomorrow was going to be too busy to burn energy tossing and turning all night. But the way he’d been brooding over the question of was she or wasn’t she with Eduardo since she’d left, he had a feeling he could use some aid if he was going to get any shut-eye tonight.

The minute he entered his condo he got started on the let’s-relax-enough-to-sleep project. After pulling two bottles of pale ale out of the carton, he put the rest in the fridge and hunted up a church key to remove the caps. Carrying his bottles in one hand, he crossed to a scaled-down overstuffed chair in the small space at the end of the bed and dropped down on it.

He set one bottle on the tiny table next to him and knocked back half of the other in one long swallow. And all the while he focused on not thinking.

Turned out beer drinking didn’t facilitate that real well. Instead, it just made him wonder what hotel Hot Shit Latino Guy was staying at. Was it downtown, not far from here? Out by the airport?

Was she spending the night?

“What if she is, Gallari?” Using his thumbnail, he peeled the label off his second bottle as he slouched deeper into his seat. “You had your shot and used it to turn her into a laughingstock. The Argentinean Wonder made her laugh.” He shook his head, and when the damn thing continued to shake even after he meant it to stop, dug his elbow into the arm of the chair and caught the side his jaw in his hand. “Man. That pretty, pretty laugh.”

It was the first thing he remembered about her, that laugh. He’d first heard it back when they were—God—still little kids. That kind of wholehearted laughter was something there’d been damn little of in his life. He’d felt at the time that he spent every day chasing his father’s attention, and it was such a fucking elusive objective. The old man didn’t
smile
much, let alone laugh. Neither did his mother. Well, she did at those social events she was forever wrapped up in. But rarely at home.

So the first time he’d heard Ava cut loose, it had just stopped him in his tracks. He’d looked at her, seen a roly-poly little girl and tried to convince himself that fat people were supposed to be jolly. But something inside of him had both ached and felt inescapably drawn. To that joyful sound. To her.

So he’d done the only thing he could do. He’d found a spider to put on her shoulder. And except for those too brief, perfect weeks leading up to his betrayal in the high school cafeteria, he’d continued tormenting her with increasingly sophisticated degrees of the spider trick.