Moonlight washing through the skylight painted silvery shadows on his back. His fingers played at the tight web of curls. Gently he opened her. “Flower petals,” he whispered. “I found them.” And then he covered her with his soft, sulky mouth.
The feeling was like nothing she’d ever imagined. She called his name, but whether out loud or only in her mind, she didn’t know. Spirals of pleasure whirled inside her, throwing off sparkling pinwheels that glowed brighter and hotter, ready to explode. “No…”
Her strangled cry made him look up, but she couldn’t think how to tell him that she didn’t want to go on this flight by herself. He smiled and slid his body beside hers. “Give up?” he murmured, his voice sexy, teasing, and absolutely irresistible.
She felt the strong outline of him against her thigh and slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his briefs. He was smooth and hard as a shaft of marble, and he let out a soft gasp as her fingers closed around him.
“What’s the matter, cowboy?” she whispered. “Can’t you take it?”
His breathing came in soft, sudden gasps. “Doesn’t…affect me…one way or the other.”
She laughed and eased herself up to see him better. Her hair brushed his chest. She peeled his briefs off and experimented with the power of her touch. Here…there…here again. She stroked with the end of her finger, the pad of her thumb, a lock of her hair. Finally she touched him with the tip of her tongue.
His cry was hoarse and deep.
She licked him like a cat as a deep, fierce joy at the power she possessed swelled inside her. His hands settled around her shoulders, and he pulled her to his chest.
“I give up,” he said hoarsely, nibbling at her bottom lip.
“Quitter,” she murmured.
His fingers went to her breast and squeezed her nipple. “Looks like I’m going to have to remind you who’s the boss.”
“Good luck with that.” She touched his crooked tooth with the tip of her tongue.
“The lady’s a slow learner.” He covered her with the lean length of his body. “Open up, baby. You’re about to meet your master.”
She opened for him gladly, burning to receive him. To love him. She laughed up into smoky-blue eyes that were bright with desire.
Jake heard the sweet, soft woman’s sound coming from deep in her throat, and it seared the edges of his soul. Gazing into her eyes, he wordlessly begged her to hold something back, but she smiled all her love up at him, and the softness in her face sliced him in two. He pushed himself deep within her. He hadn’t expected her to be so tight. He hadn’t expected…
She let out a small cry. “Finally…” she whispered.
It could have meant anything, but he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Flower…My God…” He began to pull away, but she dug her fingers into his buttocks.
“No,” she cried. “If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”
He wanted to throw back his head and howl over his stupidity. Despite Belinda’s lies and Fleur’s own false boasts, he should have known she was a virgin. He should have scared her away as he’d intended to, but corruption of the innocent was his specialty, and he’d been too damned selfish.
He felt her chorus-girl legs wind around his own, felt her pulling him more deeply inside, even though it had to hurt her. He couldn’t find the strength to hurt her more by drawing away. Summoning all his will, he held himself still, giving her time to grow accustomed to his size. “I’m sorry, Flower. I didn’t know.”
She moved her hips, trying to draw him tighter.
He stroked her hair, played at her lips. “Give it a minute,” he whispered.
“I’m okay.”
He wondered how he could stay so hard inside her. Jake Koranda, king of the shit heads. Still hard as a pike. Sticking it to the kid with the big eyes.
He buried his head in her neck and tangled his fingers in her hair and began moving gently inside her. She shuddered. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
He stopped at once. “Hurt?”
“No,” she gasped. “Please—”
He drew back so he could see her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted, not with pain, but with passion. He lifted his hips and stroked, deep and long inside her. Once…twice…He watched her shatter beneath him.
He calmed her through the aftershocks. Finally her eyes drifted open, unfocused, and then gradually clearing. She murmured something he couldn’t make out, then she smiled up at him. “Wonderful,” she whispered.
He couldn’t hold back his smile. “Glad you were pleased.”
“I didn’t imagine it would be quite so—so—”
“Boring?”
She laughed.
“Tedious?” he suggested.
“Not exactly the words I’m looking for.”
“How about—”
“Stupendous,” she offered. “Colossal.”
“Flower?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly done yet.”
“We’re not—” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh.”
He watched as her comprehension changed to embarrassment. “I—I’m sorry,” she said with a stutter. “I didn’t mean to be a pig or anything. I didn’t know—I mean…” Her voice trailed miserably away.
He tugged on her earlobe with his lips. “You can doze off now if you want to,” he whispered. “Read a book or something. I’ll try not to bother you.” Once again he began to move inside her. He felt her body relax and then gradually grow tense again. Her fingers dug into his sides. She was so soft and good, so sweet…
“Oh,” she whispered. “It’s going to happen again, isn’t it?”
“You can bet on it.”
Moments later, they fell off the end of the world together.
Chapter 14
“You’re not talking me out of being pissed.”
“Stuff it, Bird Dog.” Fleur had awakened a little after two in the morning to discover she was alone in bed. She’d slipped on her panties and Jake’s black sweatshirt with the sawed-off sleeves, then headed for the kitchen, where she found him devouring a serving bowl piled with ice cream. He started to go at her the minute he saw her, and they’d been arguing ever since.
“You should have told me before we did it.” He dropped his dish in the sink and pulled on the faucet.
“Did it? You’ve got a real gift for self-expression. You should be a writer when you grow up. That would be, what? When you’re fifty?”
“Don’t be such a wise-ass. It wasn’t right, Flower, not telling me you were a…newcomer.”
She smiled sweetly. “Afraid I wouldn’t respect you in the morning?” She was getting good at matching him wisecrack for wisecrack, but she wished he’d stop arguing and kiss her. She began opening drawers at random, looking for a rubber band.
“Damn, it, Flower! I wouldn’t have been so rough.”
“That was rough? You’ve got to be kidding. I could take you with my eyes closed.” She found a rubber band and pulled her hair into a ponytail high on her head. Then she walked into the living room and scooped up a batch of chunky candles she’d seen on the table.
He followed her in as if she were a kid who needed watching. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to take a bath.”
“It’s almost three in the morning.”
“So what? I’m stinky.”
For the first time since she’d walked into the kitchen, he relaxed. “Yeah? Why is that?” He almost managed the cocky grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
“You’re the expert. You tell me.” His sweatshirt didn’t completely cover her panties, and she twitched her rear as she walked away from him.
She set the candles around the edge of the sunken tub, lit them, and poured in a generous amount of bubble bath from a bottle sitting on the side. Somehow she didn’t think it was Jake’s. She hated every single woman he’d ever dated.
&nb
sp; While the tub filled, she twisted her ponytail into a loose knot and secured it with a clip she found in the makeup pouch she kept in her purse. No matter what Jake said, she didn’t regret what had happened between them. So much of her life had been forced upon her. This choice had been hers alone. And when he’d been inside her, she’d felt as if her heart would burst with the enormity of her love for him.
She slipped into the water. The candles flickered in the wall of glass suspended over the side of the cliff, and she felt like she was floating in space. She remembered that sweet moment when he’d entered her and his tenderness afterward.
“Is this a private party, or can anybody join?”
He was already unzipping his jeans, so the question was rhetorical. “Depends on whether you’re done with your lecture.”
“Lecture’s over.” He muttered something as he stepped into the tub and eased down beside her.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“All right. I said I was sorry.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows. “Sorry for what? Exactly what are you sorry for?”
He must have heard the unsteadiness in her voice because he pulled her into his arms. “Nothing, babe. I’m not sorry for a damned thing except being so rough on you.”
And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back, and her hair came undone and neither of them noticed. They wrapped their legs and arms together, fell back in the bubbles, and Fleur twisted her hair around them both. Jake pulled the plug so they could breathe, then began loving her in that delicious way that made her cry out again and again until he stilled her with his kisses.
Afterward he wrapped her in a towel. “Now that you’ve worn me out,” he said, “how about feeding me? I’m a lousy cook, and I haven’t had anything but ice cream and potato chips since I got here.”
“Don’t look at me. I’m a rich kid, remember.”
He fastened a matching towel around his hips. “Are you telling me you don’t know how to cook?”
“I might remember how to hard-boil an egg.”
“Even I can do better than that.”
For the next hour, they made a mess of the kitchen. They grilled steaks that didn’t have the decency to thaw in the middle, incinerated a loaf of French bread under the broiler, and fixed a salad from a head of browning lettuce and some limp carrots. It was the best meal Fleur had ever eaten.
They planned to go for a run on Sunday morning but went back to bed instead and made love all over again. In the afternoon they played cards and told terrible jokes and took another erotic bath. Jake woke her just before dawn on Monday morning for the trip back to Los Angeles. Since they both had cars, they had to drive separately. He kissed her after she got in the Porsche. “Don’t straighten out any curves, okay?”
“You, either.”
She’d called Belinda the day before and guiltily repeated her lie about Lynn needing her. Now she drove straight to the studio.
When she came out from hair and makeup, Jake and Johnny Guy were already arguing, this time about the revision Jake hadn’t finished that weekend. Jake gave her an impersonal nod. She hated the idea of everyone gossiping about them, and she told herself she appreciated his discretion. Still, she felt just a little disappointed.
Johnny Guy came over. “Now, honey, I know Friday was a little hard on you, but we’ll try to make things easier today. I’ve made some changes—”
“I don’t need any changes,” Fleur heard herself say. “Let’s do it right.”
He looked at her doubtfully. She gave him a cocky thumbs-up, as if she were a fighter pilot about to take off on a dawn patrol. She could do this. And this time she wouldn’t let Jake forget that he was looking at a woman, not a kid.
Jake reappeared in costume. As Johnny Guy began outlining the scene, Jake interrupted. “I thought we decided to cut most of this. We already know she can’t handle it. Let’s not waste any more time.”
Johnny Guy didn’t let her respond. “The little lady says she wants to give it a try.” He turned toward the crew. “Showtime, boys and girls. Let’s get to work.”
The cameras rolled. Jake glowered at her from across the tiny bedroom. She grinned at him, her hands going to her buttons. He was too cocky, and she was going to show him. She stepped out of the dress without taking her eyes from his. They had secrets now, the two of them. He was funny and maddening and dear, and she loved him with all her heart. He had to feel the same—at least a little bit—or he could never have made such sweet love to her.
Please love me. Just a little.
She unfastened her bra. Jake scowled and stepped off his mark. “Cut it!”
“Goddamn it, Jako, I’m the one who calls ‘cut’! She was doing great. What’s wrong with you?” Johnny Guy slapped his leg. “Nobody calls ‘cut’ except me! Nobody!” The tirade went on, and Jake grew more sullen. Finally he complained that a chair had been moved out of position. Johnny Guy nearly hit him.
“It’s okay,” she said to the director, feeling very much like a woman in control. “I’m ready to go again.”
The cameras rolled. Jake’s face was a thundercloud. The bra came off. She unfastened it slowly, tantalizing him, torturing him with her delicious, newfound power. Bending over, she pulled off her panties and walked over to him.
His body was rigid as she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hands inside. She touched the spot she’d kissed just that morning. She pushed her hips against his, and then did something that hadn’t been rehearsed. She leaned forward and flicked her tongue over one of his nipples.
“Cut and print!” Johnny Guy yelled, jumping around like a jubilant jack-in-the-box. “Beautiful, honey lamb! Just beautiful!”
Jake scowled, grabbed the white terry-cloth robe from the wardrobe girl, and shoved Fleur into it.
During a break, she sought out Lynn. Since she didn’t want her to know she’d gone to Jake’s house, she couldn’t come out and ask her directly if she’d sent the note, so she had to poke around. But Lynn refused to take the bait. Sooner or later, Fleur vowed, she’d weasel the truth out of her.
Things went well for the rest of the morning, and by late afternoon they’d reshot all the material from Friday and begun shooting the two of them in bed. Johnny Guy captured everything—Matt’s tension, his guilt, the anguish simmering just beneath the surface…and Lizzie’s relentless seduction. Jake barely talked to her unless the cameras were rolling, but it was an intense scene, and they both needed to stay focused.
As soon as they wrapped for the day, he disappeared. Neither of them had gotten much sleep for the past two nights, and she told herself he was tired. But as the next few days passed and he continued to keep his distance, she ran out of comforting excuses. He was avoiding her.
The weekend came and went, and her hopes that he’d call her turned to misery. Monday morning arrived, and she thought about forcing a confrontation, but she was too afraid she’d end up begging him to love her, and she couldn’t bear that. Jake was telling her loud and clear not to place any significance on what had happened between them in Morro Bay.
Instead of days, she began counting the hours until she was done. Thursday was her last day on the set. She moved mechanically through her scene with Lynn, did some close-ups, and went home in despair.
“Did Jake say anything to you about Johnny Guy’s party this weekend?” Belinda asked over dinner that evening. “Surely he’s planning to attend.”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.” Fleur would never talk to Belinda about her feelings for Jake, and she excused herself from the table.
Johnny Guy’s wife, Marcella, was one of Hollywood’s favorite hostesses, and she’d invited everyone who was anyone to the party she was throwing to celebrate the completion of Sunday Morning Eclipse. Fleur was a slow learner. Right up until the last minute, she’d entertained the frail hope that Jake would ask her to go with him. Instead she ended up going with
Belinda.
Marcella had filled the Kellys’ Brentwood home with flowers, candles, and music. Fleur knew the only way she could get through the night with any kind of dignity was by playing the Glitter Baby, and she wore an ecru silk gown with shimmering horizontal stripes of mocha, beige, and terra-cotta. The tubular dress had a subtle Egyptian feeling that she’d emphasized with matching gold cuff bracelets and flat sandals that had a jeweled clasp at the instep. She’d braided her hair wet and brushed it out after it had dried so it fell down her back in a cascade of tiny waves. Marcella Kelly told her she looked like a blond Cleopatra.
Marcella was as sophisticated as Johnny Guy was homespun. While he walked around with a can of Orange Crush and a Cuban cigar, she encouraged her guest to try the hors d’oeuvres—salmon cured in tequila, canapés decorated with edible cactus leaves, and tiny beignets stuffed with hydroponically grown vegetables.
Fleur studied the crowd over the top of Dick Spano’s head, but Jake was nowhere to be seen. Belinda had wedged Kirk Douglas into a corner. The actor, who had a slightly bemused expression, was undoubtedly being bombarded with the history of every film he’d made, some of which he’d probably just as soon forget. Fleur sipped her drink and pretended to listen to the male rising star who’d popped up at her side. Outside, she heard a clap of thunder. Then the crowd shifted, and she spotted Jake.
He’d arrived with Lynn and the documentary filmmaker who was Lynn’s latest lover. Fleur’s heart constricted. Marcella Kelly swooped down on him and began leading him through her guests, a prize catch put on display. Fleur couldn’t endure it. She excused herself from the rising star and locked herself in the bathroom, where she leaned back against the door and told herself—no matter what—she’d hold on to her pride tonight. He was going to remember her dressed like Cleopatra with a Hollywood heartthrob dancing attendance at her side.
Finally she made herself leave the bathroom and slip back into the crowd. Rain had begun tapping on the mullioned windows. She looked around and saw that Jake had disappeared. Moments later, she realized Belinda was nowhere to be seen, either.