Wicked Ambition (19 page)

‘Step this way,’ said G-Money. ‘It starts here.’

The recording locked down in one. Leon was relieved. It was uncomfortable having Jax breathing down his neck, and hanging with Puff City only seemed to make it worse. From their first meeting the men had put him on edge. He had hoped spending time with them might counteract it. It didn’t. That white guy Principal needed to get his attitude checked. What was his beef? It was like he couldn’t even look Leon in the eye.

Maybe it was because the crew had grown up not far from him in Compton. They were associated with bad memories and it was going to put a sour twist on things.

He exited the studio as it was starting to get dark. The windowless warehouse made you lose a grip on time—they’d gone in when it was day and they’d come out in the night. Robin was heading for her pick-up, a giant bag thrown over her shoulder, which made her appear even smaller than usual. Leon hurried after her.

‘Hey, wait up.’

She turned but didn’t stop.

‘Let me get you that drink,’ he said, needing to take her out because he hadn’t expected her to be here and now she was…‘C’mon, you bailed on me last time.’

‘I never said yes last time.’

‘At least you haven’t said no this time.’

‘I’m about to.’

‘Why?’

She came to a halt. Leon thought what a great-shaped face she had, which wasn’t something that had occurred to him about anyone else before. It was delicate, the chin like the tip on a petal, and the mouth pink and full. He wanted to touch it. Kiss it.

‘I’m not interested,’ she said. ‘There, is that good enough for you?’

‘No.’

‘What is?’

‘What’s what?’

‘A good enough reason for you to stop…badgering.’

He laughed. ‘Badgering?’

‘Whatever.’

‘Come out with me. If you still want me out of your life by the end of the night—’ he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender ‘—I walk away. No more badgers.’

The warehouse door opened. Slink and G-Money emerged, one of them clocking the pair and hollering over their plans to hit the Boulevard.

Leon didn’t take his eyes off hers. ‘See? I’m tagging along. You can ignore me if you like. I’ll sit in a corner by myself all night getting drunk and wishing it was just you and me.’

After a moment she said, ‘Fine,’ and suppressed a smile she didn’t think he’d seen.

Outside La Decadence, photographers swarmed. Slink and G-Money kept a low profile as they entered, Robin trailing behind, head bowed, before she felt Leon’s arms encircle her waist and draw her to him. It was enough to give the
cameras the angle they needed and she gritted her teeth to stop herself making a scene. The heat of his body made her belly flutter.

‘Nice little photo op,’ she commented when they got inside. ‘Cheers for that.’

‘Pleasure.’

She scowled as Leon put in their drinks order. He was so up himself!

Their entrance caused a stir. G-Money fell into conversation with a group of star-struck teens before Slink gestured time out and they were roped into a VIP space.

‘What if I don’t like vodka?’ Robin asked as a glass of freezing cold liquid was deposited in front of her, a twist of lemon emerging from the top.

‘You were drinking it at the premiere,’ Leon answered.

‘Oh.’ He watched her until she looked away.

The vodkas turned into shots. The music got louder. The alcohol kept coming. On one side of the booth she and Slink laid out their inspirations, the artists they had grown up with, and Robin had to bite her (by now loose) tongue from not going off on a rant about how he’d always been her number one. On the other G-Money and Leon were deep in conversation, gesturing earnestly and clinking their bottles as the room began to soften and seep, the lights blur, and Robin’s body tingle with the warm contentment of being at the exact right stage of drunk. Leon was closest to her and every so often she would feel the heat of his touch as his skin brushed hers. When he raised his arm to high-five Slink over a shared joke she caught his aroma, that clean, human scent, and didn’t object when his fingertips appeared
on the small of her back, as if by accident, on the strip of bare skin between her jeans and her vest.

‘You know how to make a guy work,’ he murmured into her ear. It should have come off easy but when she turned into his green stare it was urgent with some unspoken message.

‘You’re giving up already?’ She couldn’t help it; she fancied him like mad. He was unbearably sexy. She didn’t care that she was flirting, finding any excuse to touch him.

‘I told you. I don’t quit.’

She felt a twinge deep inside when she imagined having sex with him.

They moved against each other to the music, almost touching but not quite, lights spinning and Robin’s blood humming with being happily wasted. At one point they were thrown together and Leon caught her waist, a hand on either side, and she found herself clasping his shoulders, solid as steel, and for a dizzying second not wanting to let go.

It was two a.m. by the time they left the club. Leon took her hand in his as they negotiated a path to the exit and she saw the skin of sweat on the back of his neck, and noticed that when they got outside he didn’t release her fingers. She thought he might kiss her then but he didn’t.

‘Cold?’ he asked.

‘A bit.’

He didn’t offer her his jacket. Instead he put his arms around her and rubbed her back very fast so that it felt like being tickled and she laughed.

A car was waiting. It took them along the ocean edge, the water a sheet of ink, the moonlight casting a pale silver spill. A cluster of night surfers were catching the waves and Robin
lowered the window so that she could breathe the fresh air. She was acutely aware of Leon’s thigh pressed against hers on the seat. She wanted him. God, she did.

‘Can we walk?’ If she didn’t put some distance between them she might faint, or be sick, or throw herself at him.
Get a grip, Robin
. She never lost it like this.

‘Sure.’ He asked the driver to stop. ‘We’re not far.’

She wanted to go barefoot. The sand was cool under their soles. Leon carried her heels in one hand, dangling like a pair of hooked fish, his trainers in the other.

It was quiet, their only soundtrack the waves lapping at the shore.

‘You OK?’ he asked. There was a tone to his voice that she hadn’t heard before, one of genuine enquiry, of concern. Warm ripples lapped at their ankles.

‘Sure.’

He walked a little closer. ‘You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.’

She snorted, making light of it. ‘What are you, my counsellor?’ But he didn’t share the joke. For a screwy second Robin was filled with the need to confide about her stalker—about the bunch of withered roses that had arrived where she was staying that very morning; about the phone calls; about the sense of being watched; about her fear that each attempt came from the same determined source, and that one day that source would catch up with her.

But where would she stop? If she were to tell Leon about that, why not tell him about everything? No chance. All he could give her was sympathy, or pity, and she didn’t need either of those. Nothing bad had actually happened; just a
few deviations that by coincidence had come at the same time. Other celebrities dealt with it—she would, too.

She was glad when he asked: ‘What do you make of the guys?’

‘Slink’s awesome.’ Robin grinned. ‘They all are. Mostly.’

‘Mostly?’

‘Principal’s not my favourite.’

‘Mine neither. But I’m kinda drunk, so don’t hold me to it tomorrow.’

The word
tomorrow
made her tummy flip.

‘You and G-Money get on well,’ she offered quickly. ‘It must be weird for you…’ She was blabbing; it was the alcohol. ‘I mean, don’t take offence—’

‘That means I’m definitely going to take offence.’

‘I’m guessing you don’t normally hang with people like them.’

A pause. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘You’re rich.’

‘So are you.’

‘I think you’re brought up nice.’

‘My mom did a good job.’ He was amused. ‘What are they “like”, anyway? Black? In case you didn’t notice, so am I.’

‘I’m not talking about race.’

‘What, then?’

Robin struggled for the words, unsure of what she was trying to convey.

‘You seem so…I can’t describe it.’

‘Try.’

‘Clean.’ She nodded. ‘You’re really…yeah,
clean
.’

‘Thanks. I take showers most weeks, if I remember.’

The thought of him in the shower made her gulp. ‘I don’t mean that…’

‘Me and G, we’re from the same neighbourhood.’

‘You are?’

‘Sure. Mean streets of Compton, baby.’ He gave her a friendly nudge with his shoulder. ‘Why so surprised?’

‘I don’t know.’ It just wasn’t how she’d imagined him.

It started to rain. A rumble of thunder growled into the night.

Robin stopped. ‘So I’ve got you wrong?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘First, if you think I’m clean you should see me after a sprint.’ The rain was coming down heavily, fast and wet, soaking their clothes. He didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’m sweaty and dirty because that’s what I get like when I want to win.’ For a heartbeat Leon imagined entrusting her with it—none of the stuff that was written about him on the internet but the stuff that came from his soul, the way he had loved his brother and still did with a blaze that would never dim, never die. But, he didn’t. ‘Second, what happened to not judging people? You think you’ve had my number from day one.’

‘That isn’t fair.’ Her top was sodden. ‘You brought that on yourself.’

‘And you overreacted. It was just a bit of banter.’

‘Don’t even go there. You were way out of line that night and you know it.’

‘It’s not like you gave me a chance to explain.’

‘I was just messing,’
she reminded him, quoting his defence. ‘
I haven’t had a lot of practice with this fame stuff?
Sounds lightweight to me.’

Beads of water glowed off Leon’s skin. ‘I’m touched you remembered it verbatim. And that’s a nice American accent, by the way.’

Robin released a cry of irritation and started off down the beach.

In a flash he was with her, catching her arm.

He could feel the heat of her stare. She was watching him intently, as though she could see right into his fibre. In the dark her eyes appeared larger, huge, and he wasn’t sure if it was a trick or if her face was coming closer to his, but before Leon knew it his thumb was on her chin and he was kissing her. He fully expected her to pull away, and for a moment she was totally still, just letting herself be kissed, and then to his surprise she was kissing him back, her hands on the sides of his face, and he took those hands, so small in his, and held the fingers. Water drenched their skin, drips caught in their locked tongues caught in the wet of their kisses, and she tasted sweet and delicious and her mouth was cool. Instantly he was hard.

They kissed all the way back to his Malibu apartment. The second they were inside she hauled off his T-shirt, running her hands across his chest, the muscle stiff beneath his hot, soft skin, a trail of hair vanishing into his jeans. In the bedroom he lowered her on to the sheets, wanting to kiss her and love her all over, the softness at her collarbone and her eyelashes and her hairline. He wanted to kiss her elbows and the backs of her knees.

‘I can’t have sex,’ she told him, a muffle against his shoulder.

‘OK.’ He went to kiss her again, not wanting to stop.

‘I mean I really can’t.’

He half frowned, half smiled, and touched her nose with his. ‘OK.’

‘I’ve got my period,’ she said frankly.

‘I don’t care.’

She looked up at him. ‘I do.’

Leon kissed her softly, deeply. ‘All right.’

All night he held her, and they kissed, kissing until their mouths ached, and talked about everything except the lost years: he about his burning ambition for gold; and she about her life that had got so mad that she barely recognised it any more. Leon waited for her to open up about her past but she didn’t, and because of that neither did he: Marlon, the crime against his family, none of it was mentioned. For now, to have her with him was enough.

It was five a.m. the last time he looked, the ocean sighing contentedly beneath the window as he touched his lips to her closed eyes. After that they must have been asleep.

Warm sunshine woke him. The bed was empty. Leon expected to hear the shower, but the only sound was of a neighbour calling his dog down on the beach and a warm breeze blowing through the palms. Nine o’clock. He touched the pillow next to his head.

There was no note, nothing. Almost as if he’d dreamed her, Robin Ryder was gone.

24

T
urquoise had been summoned to dinner with a visiting Donna Cameron and several VIPs who were staying at the Paradise Palms. On the terrace they were served cold champagne, succulent oysters and bright pink crab Thermidor. Conversation hummed in the air as steady as the tide and Turquoise, sun-kissed and wild-haired, wowed in a figure-clinging jade dress and heels. Ava had flown home, and fortunately Cosmo had another engagement.

‘Hello, movie star.’ Donna smiled, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Hollywood sure seems to be agreeing with you.’

They caught up on banalities and Donna told her there had been a flurry of interest following the project’s announcement.
True Match
was the heady brew that only seldom came along. Would Turquoise be any good? Would Cosmo’s script carry water? Did Sam Lucas still have what it took? The haters waiting in the wings to tell everyone it was a joke were vastly outnumbered by the throngs of fans counting the days till the film’s release.

‘That reminds me,’ said Donna over dessert, ‘one of your dancers keeps hassling me for your whereabouts. He’s pretty committed. Bronx Riley?’

‘Oh.’

‘Since your location’s under wraps I couldn’t give him details.’ Donna looked at her quizzically. ‘Judging by your expression I did the right thing.’