"Actually, to me you seem much like your public image. Intelligent. Enigmatic." She hesitated. "A little tragic."
The trouble with actors was that they observed too closely. "Enigmatic--the quality of keeping silent and making people wonder if one is stupid rather than opening one's mouth and removing all doubt."
She laughed. "What's your real history, Kenzie? You've told so many wild tales that I figure the truth is something really boring, like your father was a solicitor, you went to a good but unexceptional school, and have absolutely nothing colorful to talk about."
A chill entered the warm sanctuary of the car. "Don't ask me about my past again, Rainey. I don't want to have to lie to you."
She was silent for the space of several heartbeats. "Very well."
He'd liked her acceptance. Most women were like curious cats, determined to tease information out of him, but Rainey never raised the subject again.
The inn had a guest cottage isolated from the main building, and they stayed there for a glorious, absurdly romantic holiday. Long walks on the beach in sun, fog, and rain, sometimes all in the same walk. Drives through the mountains. Lazy evenings in front of a fireplace or in a hot tub. Watching videos of bad movies and becoming helpless with laughter as they made wicked comments about the acting and production values. Making love, sleeping in each other's arms, then waking to make love again. He'd never been so happy in his life, and Rainey glowed, more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.
Seven days flowed past swift as a heartbeat. Five more days until they must leave. Four. Three. His gut knotted at the knowledge that soon he must be in Argentina while Rainey flew east to New York. It would be weeks, perhaps even months before they could get together again, and who knew what might intervene?
Two days before departing, he reluctantly called his manager. "Kenzie! Dammit, where are you?" Seth roared. "Every reporter in America is trying to find you."
"Which is why I haven't told anyone where I am. Why are the reporters slavering? I haven't broken any laws that I know of."
"Because Raine Marlowe also dropped off the face of the earth, and was last seen with you playing Tarzan to her Jane."
"Ah. I should have guessed. Is there any critical business I should know about?"
"Just the usual minor crises--nothing to worry about. You haven't told me where you are, or if Raine is with you."
"I'm in the Pacific time zone, and the other matter is really no one's business."
"So you're together. Hope you're having fun. But you will be in Argentina next week, won't you?"
"When have I ever broken a contract?"
"As long as this time isn't the first," Seth said, mollified. "In your spare time, you might draft a press release about your relationship with Ms. Marlowe. As soon as you show your face in public, you'll have to say something."
"You do it. Tell the world we are merely great and good friends." As Seth snorted, Kenzie ended the call.
Rainey asked, "A media feeding frenzy?"
"If Seth is to be believed."
She reached for the phone. "I think I'll start with Emmy rather than my agent."
The call to her assistant confirmed what Seth had said. Fevered speculations about their relationship were front-page news. The world was starting to close in on them, as threatening as wolves circling just beyond the firelight.
The night before leaving the inn to drive down the coast, they made love with special intensity. Useless with words when it mattered most, he tried to show with passion and tenderness what she meant to him. Tried to brand her with a rapture so intense that no other man would ever satisfy her so well. In return, without saying a single word, she slid past his defenses, melding so deeply into his spirit that he feared he would wither away when she left.
He lay on his side while she rested on her back, the elegant curves of her body gilded by firelight. "You look like a perfectly composed camera shot of the most beautiful, erotic woman in the world."
Though she smiled, it didn't dispel the sadness in her eyes. "I don't want to go back to the real world."
"I don't either. But all idylls end."
"So true." Her gaze moved to the fire and she began to sing "Heart Over Heels," the signature song of Clementine, one of rock music's great, tragic superstars. He'd been only a boy when he first heard it, but the plangent emotion had struck him to the heart. Singing sweet and true, Rainey's voice hit with the same force as when he'd first heard the song.
∗ ∗ ∗
"Thought this battered heart of mine would never mend.
Yet here I am, heart over heels again.
Heart over heels, moth to the flame.
Maybe this time, Lord, maybe this time..."
∗ ∗ ∗
In the faint light he saw tears glimmering on Rainey's cheeks. He kissed them away. "I didn't know you could sing. You sound very like Clementine."
Gaze still on the fire, she said, "I should. She was my mother."
"Your mother? Good God, I had no idea. Wasn't her last name Bartlett?"
"She was married briefly at twenty, and she kept her husband's name. It's not exactly a secret that she's my mother, but I haven't made a point of telling people, either. Since I'm an actress, not a singer, I thought being her daughter wouldn't do me any good professionally, just turn me into a curiosity. There probably aren't more than a dozen or so people in California who know about our connection."
"Wise to be quiet about it. Not only would there be eyes watching to see if you'd crash and burn, but you'd have been pestered by people wanting money."
"Because they'd assume I inherited Clementine's estate, like you just did?"
"You weren't her heir?"
"She never updated her will after I was born, and almost everything went to good causes. Save the whales. Battered women. Animal rescue. My grandparents disliked what she did so much that they refused to contest the will on my behalf." Rainey smiled. "I'm glad, actually. Clementine did set up a small trust fund when I was born, and the income from that helped me support myself when I first moved to Los Angeles. I think if I'd inherited her whole estate, it would have been a straitjacket."
He envied her casual dismissal of a fortune. For him, money was his shield and fortress, protecting him from the world. "You inherited her voice, which is quite a legacy. You could be a singer if you wanted."
"Not really. Clementine's voice was much bigger, and she was a real musician who sang from her soul. I'm not on that level."
He compared her delicate features with what he remembered of Clementine, who had been a robust, earthily sensual woman. "It's not obvious, but now that you've told me, I can see some resemblance to your mother. You must look more like your father, though."
Hearing the unspoken question, she said flatly, "Haven't the foggiest idea who he was. Maybe Clementine didn't, either. She had a very ... liberated lifestyle."
"And it cost her her life. Such a great, great waste."
"Indeed." She gave a humorless smile. "I was the one who found her body after her drug overdose."
"Dear God, Rainey." He pulled her close, aching to dispel the terrible pain expressed in her taut body. No child should have to endure what she did. Yet she had survived, and successfully engaged with life on her own terms.
Now he understood the mysterious resonance between them. Coming from different countries, different social levels, unimaginably different upbringings, nonetheless they had much in common. No wonder she affected him as no other woman had. Maybe ... perhaps with Rainey...
Swiftly, before he could remember all the reasons this was insane, he said, "Marry me, Rainey. We can drive to Nevada tomorrow and be married by dinnertime."
She pulled away and stared at him. "Marriage? Why, because you pity me?"
"No. Because becoming husband and wife says we want to be together whenever we can. Isn't that true?"
"I ... I thought we were just having a fling. Fun, no complications, and go on our merry ways."
; "Is that what you think the last week has been about?"
She bit her lip. "No, but I'm not the marrying kind, and neither are you. Our careers are too demanding to have time for family life. What kind of marriage starts with the spouses halfway around the world from each other?"
"One where they both intend to get together again as soon as possible." He kissed her breast, feeling the nipple tighten against his tongue. "Maybe it won't work, but isn't risking failure better than not trying at all?"
A week of sensual abandon had taught him exactly what she liked best. How to touch, how to kiss, how to build desire until she cried out uncontrollably.
Until she whispered, voice breaking, "If it's what you truly want--yes, Kenzie, I'll marry you."
It took ten minutes to get a marriage license--thirty-five dollars, cash only--at the Washoe County Courthouse in Reno, Nevada. The process would have been quicker if the clerk hadn't recognized them. "Oh, my God, it's Raine and Kenzie!" she gasped as her gaze went from the application to their faces.
Kenzie repressed a sigh. Celebrity meant having everyone call you by your first name. "Indeed. Is there a wedding chapel you would recommend where we might be able to married without waiting?"
"Celebrate Chapel is real nice and only a couple of miles away. I'll call and see if they could fit you in," the clerk offered.
The chapel was not only available, but could provide rings and flowers, and it turned out to be in a pretty Victorian-style house. Under the excited gazes of the husband-and-wife proprietors, Rainey chose a beautiful bouquet of white roses and silver ribbons. She was almost as white as the flowers, but her eyes glowed.
After they selected plain gold wedding bands from a range of sizes, it was time. Kenzie's memories of the actual service were sketchy, apart from the fact that he had a death grip on Rainey's hand, fearing she'd change her mind. This was the most foolhardy thing he'd ever done. He'd never wanted anything more.
Voice resonant, the minister intoned, "I now pronounce you man and wife."
In the flowing green dress she'd worn at the London wrap party, Rainey was the most beautiful bride Kenzie had ever seen, but she was trembling when he kissed her. He enfolded her in his arms, stroking her amber hair until the shaking stopped. "We'll make this work, Rainey," he whispered. "We can, and we will."
Smiling tremulously, she took his hand, and they walked outside into a seething crowd of reporters and onlookers. Kenzie swore to himself. Either the courthouse clerk or the chapel owners must have called every TV and radio station and newspaper in the Reno area, then every one of their friends and neighbors.
Microphones stabbed toward them like spears and question pounded in from all directions. The loudest voice bellowed, "How did you get Kenzie Scott to marry you, Raine?" The tone made it clear that he was a prize, and she was a nobody.
Swearing to himself, Kenzie wrapped an arm around her shoulders, walking them both toward the car. "That's the wrong question. The correct one is how did I manage to convince the loveliest, most intelligent woman in the Northern Hemisphere to be my bride? And I think the answer is that I was very, very lucky."
Rainey gasped when a particularly aggressive reporter shoved her aside, crushing the bouquet against her chest as he jammed the microphone in Kenzie's face. "Where have you two been hiding for the last week?"
Seeing no reason to reward rudeness, Kenzie ignored the man and answered a question from a woman with better manners. The crowd was coagulating in front of them, and Rainey halted, unsure how to proceed. More experienced with press mobs, Kenzie cleared a path with his free arm, surreptitiously crunching down on the foot of the rude reporter. "Keep moving," he murmured in Rainey's ear. "If we stop, they have us."
She nodded and managed to answer the next question, an innocuous one about making The Scarlet Pimpernel together. As they neared the car, a cloud of soap bubbles drifted toward them, blown by a group of giggling teenage girls. Surrounded by fragile, popping bubbles, Kenzie used the keyless remote to open the passenger door. He bundled Rainey inside and locked the door instantly so no one could open it again.
He'd have liked to drive over the whole damned lot of them, but experience had taught him that a measure of cooperation worked much better. Before getting into the car, he said in his best stage-trained voice, the one that could carry to the cheapest seats in the back of a theater, "Ladies, gentlemen. This is a very special day for Raine and me. I hope we have your best wishes."
That disarmed the reporters enough that they allowed Kenzie to slowly maneuver the car away. He turned at the first corner into a residential area, weaving among the streets until he was sure they weren't being followed.
When they were safely away, he glanced at his bride. Rainey was staring down at her crushed bouquet, her face pale. "What have we done, Kenzie?" she asked in a low voice. "What have we done?"
"The right thing, I hope." He captured her tense left hand and carried it to his heart. "Thank you for marrying me, Rainey. Wife."
She gave him a fragile smile. "Will it always be that bad?"
"No. We're a new item, and far more interesting as a couple than either of us were individually. Soon we'll be old news."
"I hope you're right." They had survived the first assault on their marriage. But they never quite recaptured the uncomplicated joy of that week on the California coast.
The New Mexico night was turning cold. Wearily Kenzie rose from the balcony chair and went back inside. It would have been better by far if he and Rainey had never married. For himself, he couldn't be sorry, despite the agony of losing her. Better this pain than emptiness.
It was subjecting her to equal pain that was unforgivable.
* * *
CHAPTER 11
Naturally, the day Marcus Gordon arrived everything went wrong. The truck carrying the cameras broke down on the rutted road leading to the morning's location, delaying shooting so much that they lost the light for the scheduled scene and had to postpone it.
Rainey then called for a scene planned for two days later--and found that Sharif didn't know his lines yet. Sweating and swearing it would never happen again, he asked for an hour and disappeared into a trailer to memorize his part. More delays.
A complex sequence that she'd painstakingly storyboarded in advance turned out not to work well in practice. She went into a huddle with her director of photography, assistant director, and production designer, and they devised a new sequence that worked beautifully. But by the time that was done, it was too late to shoot Sharif's scene.
Marcus had been quietly observing in the background, making use of the slack periods by working on papers he'd brought in a voluminous briefcase. As they shared a car back to the hotel, Rainey observed, "I think you brought us bad luck, Marcus."
"It's the same principle as bread always falls butter-side down--as soon as the producer shows up, everything falls apart. Don't worry, you're only a half day behind, and you should be able to make that up easily enough. Considering the number of action scenes you've shot, you're doing amazingly well." He glanced at the papers on his lap. "You're staying on budget, too, which proves you've got some of the qualities of an effective director. Now all you have to do is produce a great movie at the end."
Though his comment was intended as a joke, Rainey was too frazzled to be amused. A movie was a terribly fragile creation that could be wrecked in ways too numerous for counting. They'd finish up in New Mexico within the next couple of days, and if she hadn't captured the right images on film, it would be too late.
Marcus continued, "I want to talk to you and Kenzie half an hour after we get back to the hotel. Just a short meeting in the production office, mostly about some promotional ideas I'd like to kick around."
"Fine." She guessed that Marcus wanted to see how much cooperation Kenzie would provide for publicizing the movie when it was released. Having Kenzie on a few major talk shows would be invaluable. Ordinarily publicity was spelled out in a contract, but since Kenzie hated doing s
uch things, Rainey had avoided the subject when she worked out their initial agreement. Now Marcus had to coax his star into a commitment. She'd have to do promo gigs herself if she wanted The Centurion to do any business, even though she hated them as much as Kenzie did.
"There's been some bad news on the financial front."
That caught Rainey's attention. "How bad?"
"Two million dollars of money that was promised has fallen through."
Her fists clenched. "That's a big chunk of my budget."
"I think I can find at least part of that amount elsewhere, but you might want to consider if you really need all the more expensive scenes, like the welcome at Victoria Station when Randall returns from his captivity. Crowds of people in a large location--that sort of thing is a nightmare to shoot, which can mean extra time, and more money."
"I have to do that! The welcome home shows how appalled and overwhelmed Randall is to find himself being greeted as a hero when he feels like a disgraced failure." She'd written that scene from memories of the suffocating panic she'd felt when she and Kenzie were mobbed in public.
Marcus frowned. "I see your point. Very well, see if there are a couple of smaller scenes that aren't essential." They rolled up in front of the hotel, and he assisted her from the car. "I'll see you in the office in half an hour."
Rainey would have loved to take a shower, or better yet, a long bath, but the day was far from over. She headed straight to the production office, a conference room on the ground floor of the hotel. Val was already there sorting through Rainey's mail. She handed over a sheaf of papers. "This report is personal business."
Scowling, Rainey dropped into a chair. By the time she finished skimming the pages, Val had made a cup of mocha latte and placed it by her hand, Rainey took a deep swallow, needing the combination of sugar, caffeine, and blessed chocolate. "You'll have noticed that this is from an investigator researching who my father might be."