Soft Focus (13 page)

Jack took another taste of the cognac. “Vivien Shaw went into a severe clinical depression after Dad died. For some
reason she fixated on the idea that my existence was a bigger betrayal than the fact that Sawyer had never gotten the divorce. In the end, she took pills. A lot of them.”

“And Hayden transferred his anger at Sawyer to you.”

“He agrees with his mother's version of events—the one in which I was the favored child and he got the shaft.” Jack downed the last of his cognac. “He hates my guts.”

“There's an old saying to the effect that family feuds are the worst kind of feuds.”

“I can testify to that.”

“Why does Hayden use a different last name?”

“He was raised in a small town in California. His mother called herself Mrs. Shaw. He grew up with that name. He still uses it. Another way of getting back at the Fairfax family, I guess.”

“I see.” She hesitated. “What did Hayden have to say tonight? Did he admit he'd been invited to the auction?”

“We didn't discuss the auction,” Jack said.

She stared at him. “I don't understand. What else was there to talk about?”

“I went to see him because it occurred to me that he might have been responsible for the trashing of the lab.”

“What?”

Jack looked irritated by her incredulity. “I figured that he might have allowed his hostility toward me to spill over onto my clients.”

“There's a term for that.”

“Collateral damage,” Jack said dryly.

“No.” She shook her head quickly. “Impossible. I can't believe Hayden would go that far.”

“How the hell would you know what he's capable of doing for the sake of revenge?”

Elizabeth turned and began to pace the room. “I can't see
him doing thousands of dollars' worth of damage to the Ingersolls' lab just to get even with you. It doesn't fit with what I know about Hayden Shaw.”

“Don't be too sure how much you know about him.” Jack watched her through narrowed eyes. “Why do you think he's been working so hard to get you into bed?”

“To annoy you?” Anger surged through her. She did her best to conceal it behind a mocking smile. “Now who's being undiplomatic?”

Jack's profile was all hard, inflexible planes and angles. “It's obvious that he went after you because he wanted to use you against me.”

“You mean it wasn't my drop-dead gorgeous body and sexy eyes that made him fall at my feet?” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “That's right, go ahead and rip apart my little fantasy of being a femme fatale.”

“Damn it, Elizabeth, I'm trying to explain—”

“Here I thought I had two men competing for my favors and it turns out that not just one, but both of them, used me to further their own agendas.”

Jack watched her with steady intensity. “I didn't tell you that I was involved in the Galloway deal because I knew you would misinterpret everything.”

She smiled a little too sweetly. “And your brother didn't mention that his divorce wasn't final because he was afraid I'd get the wrong impression.”

“Don't,” Jack said very evenly, “compare me with Hayden.”

She ignored that. “You know, I really hate being caught in a war zone.” She set the empty glass down very hard on the table. “It's hard on the ego.”

He took a step toward her. “Elizabeth—”

“Maybe I'll just invest in a nice collection of high-class
erotica and some interesting mechanical devices designed for personal use and forget about trying to have a real relationship.”

He came toward her. She refused to give in to the urge to retreat. When he was close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, he stopped. He did not touch her.

“I don't recommend that approach,” he said.

She tilted her head. “You've tried it?”

He raised one hand and slid his fingers slowly around the nape of her neck. “I used a manual technique instead of mechanical devices, and the erotica wasn't exactly high-class, but, yeah, I tried it.”

Whispers of awareness stirred her senses. She tried to suppress them without success. It was always like this when he touched her, she thought. Sorcery. That was the only rational explanation.

“What happened?” she asked, wishing she did not sound so breathless.

“Not much.” His thumb traced a small pattern against her throat. “Not until I used my imagination.”

She dampened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and then swallowed. “What did you imagine?”

“You. With me.”

A fine time to get light-headed from the altitude, she thought. The night she had opened the door and found him standing there on the deck she had known what
might
happen. Last night when she had left him with that faint, dangling promise, she had known what
would
happen. Sooner or later. But for some strange reason, she had assumed that it would be later.

“Let me get this straight,” she said very carefully. “You imagined my face on the models in some porn magazine?”

“Not just your face.” He bent his head and brushed his lips
lightly, invitingly, across hers. “I imagined everything else, as well.”

She shuddered. “Was I wearing leather and steel studs and stiletto heels? I always wanted to wear that kind of an outfit.”

“In my imagination,” he said against her mouth, “you weren't wearing anything at all.”

Without warning he deepened the kiss. His arms closed around her, crushing her gently. She put her hands on his shoulders and sank her fingers into the sleek strong muscles there.

“Jack.”

“I've been going crazy.” His lips burned against her throat. “Out of my mind.”

She shut her eyes and inhaled the scent of his body, savoring the heady, indescribable essence of him. Waves of excitement swept over her. She felt his hands on the buttons of her shirt. A moment later the garment was on the floor. His palms closed around her breasts. In her haste to get dressed so that she could follow him, she had not bothered with a bra.

“I was right,” he muttered against her mouth.

“About what?”

“About the feel of you.” His thumbs moved across her nipples. “I spent a lot of time trying to recall exactly how soft you were.”

She took her hands off his shoulders, pushed them beneath the bottom edge of his pullover, flattened them against his chest. “I wasted a lot of time thinking about how you look without a shirt.”

“We both wasted six damned months.”

“I'm not so sure they were wasted.”

“I am.”

He moved abruptly, scooped her up in his arms, and lowered her to the rug in front of the hearth. She heard the
flames snap and crackle. The warmth of the fire enveloped her as Jack tugged off her jeans. But that was nothing compared to the heat of his eyes.

He put one hand on top of the triangle of curly hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Since when did you stop wearing underwear?” he asked.

“I was in a hurry tonight.”

His mouth curved in a devastating grin. “So was I.”

She discovered exactly what he meant a moment later when he unfastened his own jeans and removed them. He had not bothered to put on a pair of briefs. But he had thought to carry a condom in his wallet, she noticed.

He came to her at last, pinning her beneath him. She gasped when she felt his fingers slide between her legs. The deep, low-level hunger that she had learned to live with during the past few months sharpened without warning. She was suddenly ravenous. She felt herself grow moist and she knew that she had dampened his fingers. He groaned heavily and took one nipple into his mouth.

She sighed and slid her hands down the length of his spine, savoring the muscled contours of his back. His hand moved on her, exciting and at the same time maddening. He stroked gently, inside and out. Everything tingled and then tightened. She sucked in her breath as anticipation spiraled out of control. She clung to his shoulders, nibbled on his ear, and demanded more.

“I told you that this time I'd get it right,” he whispered.

He moved slowly down the length of her body, leaving a trail of warm kisses along the way. But she did not realize his destination until she felt his mouth on her in an electrifyingly intimate kiss.

“Jack.”
She clutched at his hair.

He paid no attention, intent instead on what he was doing
to her. Nobody, she thought, could focus on a project the way Jack could. She was wound so tightly now that she was afraid she would explode. She threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged. Hard.

He did not stop.

“Jack,
please
.”

The sweet tension was almost unbearable now, but he did not pause. She wanted to scream, but she could hardly catch her breath.

“Jack, so help me, if you don't—”

And then the climax hit her, wave after delicious wave of sensation. A thrill ride unlike any other she had ever taken. She could do nothing except hang on for the pulse-pounding trip.

Before it was over, Jack made his way back up her body, eased her thighs more widely apart, and used one hand to guide himself into her.

She had been so certain that she had not forgotten a single detail about their one night together six months ago. But she had been wrong. When she felt him push slowly, inevitably into her she realized that she had failed to recall precisely how hard he was and just how much of him there was when he was fully aroused.

And then, at last, he was inside. He pushed deep, filling her completely.

He lowered his head to kiss her throat. “I told you that if I ever got a chance to take this test a second time, I'd do whatever it took to pass.”

HE PUSHED THE PAUSE BUTTON AND LEANED
forward to study the frozen frame. Vicky was spectacular in this scene, he thought. It was the one in which Eden plotted with her lover, Harry, to murder her brutal husband. The lighting was exquisite. It glinted on her elegant cheekbones and deepened the shadows around her eyes. She was so beautiful. So haunted. So desperate. She absolutely had to win the festival's Best Actress Award.

He continued to study the scene with a critical eye while he munched on the hamburger he had prepared on the outdoor grill. He must remember to clean up after he finished, he reminded himself.
She
had provided him with this beautiful house. She had also made it clear that she expected him to keep things picked up while he stayed here. She did not approve of his casual bachelor ways. He tried to please her, but it wasn't easy. She was very demanding. Very temperamental. Lately her mood swings seemed to be getting more dramatic. But then, she was under a lot of pressure. He understood. He was tolerant.

She was so beautiful, the most beautiful woman he had ever met. She could have had any man she wanted. He knew
that she did not love him, not the way he loved her. Few could love the way he loved—with passion, conviction, total devotion. Few would throw away everything for the beloved one, as he was in the process of doing.

But she needed him. Ah, yes, she needed him. No one else could give her what he could give her, the gift she valued above all others: vengeance. His ability to bestow that prize gave him a more secure hold on her affections than any other man could ever hope to have.

He finished the hamburger and absently brushed some crumbs onto the floor. The title of a couple of classic films came to mind. He whispered them aloud to himself there in the darkness, because he thought they summed up his present situation quite nicely.

“I'm
On Dangerous Ground
. And there is
No Way Out
.”

Perfect. It was the reason he loved film noir. It described his life.

After a while Tyler Page pressed another button on the remote control. The video of
Fast Company
snapped back into motion on the small screen. The voices of the actors echoed softly in the room.

“Some things you do for the sake of love, Harry. Some you do for the sake of revenge. Doesn't matter which reason you choose, you know. Either way, in the end, everyone thinks you're crazy.”

HE AWOKE WHEN THE MOONLIGHT ANGLED ACROSS
his face. He opened his eyes and looked up through the high windows. The circle of silver was brilliant against the late-night sky. He was warm and comfortable. Satiated was a better word, he decided. The ideal word, in fact.

Elizabeth stirred in his arms, stretching languidly. The blanket he had snagged off the back of the sofa earlier fell to her waist. She must have noticed him gazing at her bare breasts, because she reached down to tug the large square of striped wool back to her throat.

“The rug's a little rough, isn't it?” she said.

“A little.”

Common sense warned him that this would be a good time to keep his mouth shut or at least a good time not to ask questions. To ask questions would be to tempt fate. He had gotten lucky tonight. Few people got second chances. He should give thanks for his good fortune and keep his mouth shut.

Instead, he turned on his side, propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at her.

“Why?” he asked.

She gazed up at him. The only light in the room came from the fire and the moon. Her eyes were veiled by her half-lowered lashes. “Why is the rug rough?”

“You know what I'm asking. Why now? Tonight? What made you decide to give me another chance?”

“I told you I'd think about it.” She shrugged. The blanket shifted again. She adjusted it. “I thought about it.”

“It was because I told you about Hayden and the past, wasn't it?”

“Does it matter?”

He watched her face closely. “It matters.”

“Why?”

“Because as much as I want you, I don't want any mercy fucks from you.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “For heaven's sake, Jack—”

“I don't want you sleeping with me because you've decided I'm on some kind of noble quest to right the wrongs my father committed and because I've got a problem with a half brother who is out for revenge. Hell, I don't want you feeling sorry for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If I slept with every man I've ever met who came from a dysfunctional family, I'd be an extremely busy woman.”

Her tone brought him up short. Was he getting a little obsessive here?

“I guess that's true,” he said.

She touched his bare shoulder, her fingers light and gentle on his skin. “I didn't sleep with you because I felt like doing you a favor. I don't do those kinds of favors.”

“I know that.” He was definitely showing indications of obsessive behavior, he decided. It was time to pull back, close down, put up some barriers. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. “So why did you do it?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her smile was slow and sensual and filled with a hint of smug satisfaction. “I did it because I've been wanting to do it again with you for six very long months. I was pretty sure we'd get it right this time. And we did.”

“You're saying this is all about sex?”

“Not just any sex.” She scowled playfully and tapped an admonishing finger against his mouth. “Very, very good sex.”

A wave of heat tightened his body. “I won't argue that point.”

“Good. Because I don't feel like arguing.” She pulled him down to her, kissing him quickly, invitingly, before he could ask any more questions.

The familiar rush went through him. He forgot about everything else except the taste and feel of her. He bent his head to kiss the curves of her breasts, but paused when he realized that she was pushing insistently at his shoulders.

He grinned and obediently rolled onto his back, curious and intrigued now. She came down astride him, circled his wrists with her fingers, and pinned him to the rug. There was a delightfully wicked, erotic challenge in her eyes.

“Is this a new game?” he asked.

“You spent the past six months reading men's magazines in your spare time. I spent the past six months reading women's magazines in my leisure time.”

Holding his wrists against the rug, she began to move against him. The insides of her thighs were smooth and firm. He was already hard, but he got harder.

He looked up at her. “Does this involve little velvet whips?”

“Do you mind?”

“Not as long as we get to take turns.”

“I don't know about taking turns. I think I like this position.”

“Me too,” he said. “Those women's magazines must have been very cutting edge, editorially speaking.”

“They were.” She kissed his flat nipple. “Very politically correct, too.”

“Politically correct? Ah, you mean the lady on top. That's good. I can go with politically correct on occasions like this.”

She smiled again and bit his ear.

He laughed softly, savoring the torment.

“My turn,” he said after a while.

“Not yet,” she said.

She kissed him again. Heat roared through him.

“Now,” he said.

Very gently he flipped her onto her back, reversing their positions, and lowered his head to take her mouth.

“Wait,” she said just before he entered her. “What about the little velvet whips?”

“We'll get to those,” he promised softly.

IT WAS ONLY
later, when the first gray light of dawn appeared in the high windows, that he realized that she had deliberately distracted him. It had been an effective tactic, he reflected. But the bottom line remained clear. He still did not know why she had ended the standoff that had kept them apart for six months.

He told himself it did not matter. But a part of him knew that it did matter. A lot.

He had been so sure that if he got a second chance with her in bed everything would be okay.

He was profoundly grateful that he had been given an opportunity to get the sex part of the equation right at last.
But now that that hurdle was past, he sensed the problem was not yet solved. Something was still missing.

What the hell did he want from her?

THE MIRROR COULD
have served as a set for a scene from a classic film, Elizabeth thought. The atmosphere of the crowded nightclub was dark and hazy, heavy with a sense of languor and seedy decadence. Antique mirrors of all shapes and sizes hung on the walls, creating a disorienting series of cloudy reflections.

Not exactly Rick's place in
Casablanca,
but close enough.

On the small stage a sultry redhead clad in a form-fitting gown stood in the spotlight. She delivered a torchy love song in a rich, husky voice that was slightly rough around the edges.

With a little imagination one could picture Bogart sitting at a corner table, a drink in front of him, thinking about Paris.

Jack had chosen the club after making a few inquiries. Not that there were a lot of choices. Mirror Springs was trendy, but it was, nevertheless, a small town. It could sustain only a handful of night spots. The Mirror was generally acknowledged to be the hottest of the lot.

Jack had bet that it would attract the most prominent festivalgoers. He had been right, Elizabeth thought, glancing around. Everyone who was anyone was here tonight. Vicky Bellamy and Dawson Holland held court at a table near the stage. Elsewhere in the gloom, Spencer West, the writer, was downing tequila sunrises at a steady rate. He was surrounded by a group of very serious-looking people dressed in black who were also drinking heavily.

It had been Jack's decision to come here after they had attended the screening of an extremely forgettable festival
entrant titled
Stranger in an Alley
. Everybody died in the end.

Elizabeth leaned partway across the small, candlelit table and pitched her voice to a level just above a whisper. “I don't want you to think that I lack faith in your executive planning ability, but are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Trust me.” He did not look away from the singer. “It has always been my experience that nothing loosens up a logjam like a little cash.”

“You're not talking about a little cash. You're talking big bucks here.”

“It'll be worth every cent if it gets us to Page before he pulls off his auction.”

“But, Jack—”

He switched his attention from the singer to her. In the bluesy light his face was etched in shadows. She could feel the relentless determination humming through him.

“It's not like we have a lot of options here,” he said. “Time is running out.”

“I still say he'll show up at the awards ceremony or at the premiere of
Fast Company
. That gives us two chances to nab him.”

“If this works, we won't have to depend on trying to spot him in the crowds at the ceremony or the screening.” Jack broke off, eyes narrowing as his gaze shifted to someone or something behind her. “There goes Ledger. Looks like he's headed toward the men's room. If you'll excuse me, I've got an appointment.”

Elizabeth winced. “Charming venue for a business conversation.”

“Don't knock it.” Jack was already on his feet. “I've done some of my most important deals in the men's room.”

“Why in a rest room, for heaven's sake?”

“Size does matter.”

She glared at him, uncomfortably aware of the heat rising in her cheeks. She silently gave thanks for the dim lighting. Jack slanted her a knowing grin and glided off through the maze of small tables. In the faint, flickering glow of the candles he was a lean, imposing figure. A man of mystery. She lost sight of him when he disappeared into a dark hallway. The sign over the entrance was done in purple neon letters that spelled out the words “Rest Rooms.”

A figure moved out of the shadows and halted near the chair Jack had just vacated.

“I hate to see a lady sitting alone,” Hayden said. “Mind if I join you?”

JACK FOLLOWED LEONARD
Ledger into the men's room. A quick glance showed that they were alone in the facility. There were mirrors in here, too. The three antique framed squares of reflective glass that hung in a row above the washbasins appeared quite ordinary. But he couldn't say the same for the wide strip of mirrored glass set into the wall behind the urinals. The inset mirrors were positioned precisely at groin level. Any man taking a leak would find himself gazing down at the reflection of his own penis.

Which was exactly what Leonard Ledger was doing. In fact, Ledger seemed happily riveted by the scene he was viewing.

Jack took a closer look and noticed that the mirror behind the urinals had been designed to reflect a larger-than-life image. Maybe the designer should have etched a warning on the glass: “Caution: Objects in mirror may be smaller than they appear.”

Jack reached back and flicked the lock on the door. At the sound of the faint but unmistakable click, Leonard glanced
over his shoulder. When he saw who stood there, his slightly perplexed expression lightened instantly.

“Jack. Hey, what a coincidence,” Leonard said brightly. “I was planning to catch up with you tomorrow. Got a copy of the script for
Dark Moon Rising
for you.”

“Is that right?”

“You're in luck. I happen to have it with me tonight. You can take it home to read. You're gonna love it.”

“How badly do you need money for your film?”

Leonard rolled his eyes, shook twice, and stuffed himself back into his pants. “Are you kidding?” He yanked on his zipper. “If money is the mother's milk of politics, it's the life's blood of filmmaking. There's never enough cash.”

“Never enough?”

Obviously fearing that he had made a serious misstep, Leonard rushed into words of urgent reassurance. “Which doesn't mean I don't know how to stick to a budget. Don't worry about that angle. I guarantee I'll bring
Dark Moon Rising
in on time and under budget. No problem.”

“I'll take your word for it. I'm interested in investing in your picture.”

Leonard's shaved head glowed pink with enthusiasm. “Fabulous. You won't regret this, Jack.
Dark Moon Rising
is going to be big. Very, very big. And we haven't even talked about the foreign distribution possibilities. Sky's the limit there. Trust me.”

“You can tell me about the distribution possibilities later. Right now I want to go over the terms of our arrangement.”

Leonard blinked. “Terms?”

“I'll sign on as an investor for
Dark Moon Rising
if you help me find a man.”

Leonard's mouth was already opening to accept the deal. But he closed it again very quickly and cleared his throat.

“A man?” he repeated neutrally.

“Yes.”

“Well, hey. Don't get me wrong here.” Leonard held up his hands, palms out. “I got no problems with your sexual orientation. Personal thing, y'know? It's just that I'm not sure I can help you out in this area. I mean, I'm not exactly Mr. Matchmaker, see? I could maybe introduce you to some people I know, but—”