Beaming, Gomolko headed off toward the attractive female production designer to express his thanks for her undeniably brilliant work. Kenzie resumed his course toward Rainey, avoiding eye contact with others so he wouldn't be sidetracked again. He'd said his good-byes, and now she was the only person he wanted.
She greeted him with a dazzling smile despite the circles under her eyes. After her last scene, she'd thrown her hated corset away with a whoop of pleasure, leaving her in Marguerite's lace-trimmed shift. If Kenzie hadn't had one more scene of his own to shoot, he'd have carried her off then.
The dress she wore tonight was shiftlike, a flowing green, gauzy fabric that swirled around her ankles when she walked. Stretching out her hand, she said, "I owe you for all of this, Kenzie. Thanks for wanting me in this movie. It's been one of the best experiences of my life."
He wanted to wrap himself around her in an embrace that would make them both weak in the knees. He settled for kissing her hand, as courtly as Sir Percy. "It wasn't only the movie I wanted you for. We had a date for the end of filming. Are you still interested?"
"Oh, yes." Her voice became husky. "But I warn you, what I really want to do is go to bed and sleep for a week."
"What a coincidence. That's close to what I had in mind." He swept her up in his arms and carried her through the restaurant. After a surprised instant, she settled into his embrace, head resting on his shoulder.
Accompanied by hoots and applause from their colleagues, he took her outside to the white limousine he'd ordered. Laughing, Rainey slid across the leather seat. "The modern version of being carried off on a white horse. You have style, Scott."
He cupped her face, admiring the delicate bones and the honesty of her gray-green eyes. Then he pressed his lips to hers. The last five months of kisses had been for the camera. This one was for them--slow, intimate, unhurried.
When they separated, she released her breath in a sigh. "Nice. A necking session. Almost as romantic as when we solemnly exchanged blood tests last month."
"As you said, I have style," he murmured against her throat. Though he wanted her intensely, fatigue had the advantage of muting his desire to the point where he could enjoy the foreplay without wanting to rip her clothes off. There would be time enough for that later.
They had reached London City Airport before Rainey broke free long enough to stare out the window. "What on earth are we doing here?"
"Flying back to California."
"But I haven't packed! I don't even have my passport."
"Don't worry, I suborned Emmy. All your things are waiting for us."
Rainey fell back onto the white leather seat, laughing. "I'm being abducted! What a fabulous way to end a job. I trust we're flying first class?"
"Better than that."
Kenzie's assistant was highly efficient, and the arrangements for this escape had been planned meticulously. As they approached the private jet, Rainey's eyes rounded like saucers. "Kenzie, do you own this plane?"
"Yes and no. I own a couple of shares in a network of private jets. When a shareowner wants to fly somewhere, the network arranges to have a plane available."
They climbed the steps and entered a cabin arranged as a comfortable lounge. A flight attendant approached and said with a musical French accent, "Monsieur Scott, Mademoiselle Marlowe. I am Rochelle. May I get you anything?"
He traded glances with Rainey, who was drooping under his arm. "We both just want to go to bed and sleep until somewhere around Boston."
"Of course, Monsieur. I shall tell the captain it is time to depart. As soon as the seat belt light goes off, you may retire."
As Rochelle went forward into the cockpit, Rainey said, "There's a bed?"
He nodded toward the wall behind them as he sat down in the deep leather lounge chair and fastened his seat belt. "There's a nice little bedroom and bathroom back there--I ordered this jet especially for that reason."
She settled into the seat next to him, fastened herself in, then reached for his hand. "This makes first class seem like steerage."
He interlaced his fingers with hers. "Private jets do rather spoil one."
They didn't speak as the jet taxied down the runway and took off. When the plane leveled, Rochelle appeared again and escorted them to the bedroom. "Monsieur, mademoiselle, please ring for me when you are ready for breakfast."
After the door closed, Rainey studied the queen-sized bed, which had a lace-trimmed satin comforter and mounds of pillows, vases of roses secured in wall brackets, and plush scarlet carpeting. "It's a flying bordello."
He grinned. "But a very high-class one."
She smothered a yawn. "I wasn't kidding about needing to sleep."
"Agreed. But won't it be nice to sleep together?" He nodded to the door behind them. "There should be a nightgown waiting. You wash up first and go to bed."
"I'll be asleep by the time you join me."
"Not to worry. Sixty seconds later I'll be sleeping as well." He turned off all of the lamps except for a dim night-light, suddenly so tired that he ached.
Rainey emerged from the bathroom in the cream-colored silk negligee he'd bought for her. With her fine features and tumbling apricot hair, she was a sight to raise dead men from their tombs. Yawning again, she slid into the bed. "I can't believe you coordinated the nightgown with the bedding."
"Anything worth doing is worth doing well." Removing his gaze from her with difficulty, he went into the bathroom and stripped off his clothing, not bothering with pajamas since he didn't own a pair.
As promised, her breathing was slow and regular when he climbed into the bed beside her, but she turned toward him drowsily. Soft and female, hair scented with rosemary, she fit into his arms as if they were two halves of one whole. He gave a deep sigh of release as layers of stress slowly fell away and ... Rainey...
He awoke hours later when she rolled onto her back and stretched like a cat. The comforter slid down to her waist, revealing the flex of her lithe body under the negligee. "I feel remarkably rested. How long since we left London?"
He glanced at the wall clock. "About five hours."
She propped her head up and regarded him thoughtfully. "How awake are you feeling?"
"Quite." He didn't move.
Their gazes locked. "Strange," she whispered. "I've been looking forward to this for months. I've had crazed, lustful dreams of ravishing you or vice versa. Now that we're finally together--I feel shy."
"So do I." He hesitated. "I want everything to be perfect, and that's impossible."
"Lovemaking doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real." She leaned forward until their lips touched, soft and sweet.
The passion he'd been banking for so long flared into life. They'd learned much about each other's bodies while filming. He knew the texture of her silky skin, the curve of her shoulder, her individual scent, provocatively female.
Yet all that was mere prelude to joining physically and emotionally. They explored each other's bodies with increasing intimacy, learning rhythms and signals with startling swiftness, building desire into searing mutual fulfillment.
Until, in the end, it was perfect and real.
Afterward they lay in each other's arms for a long time, not needing to speak. His mind drifted, refusing to think of past or future, wishing he could stay in the present forever. "This was worth waiting for."
"Yes--but I'm glad we didn't wait any longer. I might have succumbed to spontaneous human combustion." She nuzzled his throat. "There's something powerfully erotic about being surrounded by jet vibrations."
"Vibrations, vibrators. Surely there's a connection."
"What a wicked thought. I'm sure you're right." She trailed her hand over his torso. "I'm glad you don't shave your chest like some actors do."
He cupped her breast. "And I'm glad these are soft and real, not improbable silicone."
"I considered implants, but finally decided that if I couldn't get work on my acting ability, the silicone wouldn'
t make much difference."
"Anyone can augment a body, but few people can match your talent."
"You certainly know the best kind of compliment." She grinned. "Isn't there a saying that a man should compliment beautiful women on their brains, and brainy women on their physical attractiveness?"
"Since you have both, does that mean I can't compliment you at all?"
"A true master of flattery." She rolled onto him so that her legs bracketed his and her silky hair brushed his chest. "I like the idea of a week in bed."
"So do I." He stroked his hands down her back. She was beautifully fit, her muscles taut under creamy skin. "Actually, I've got two and a half weeks before I have to leave for Argentina for my next job."
"Damn." She gnawed her lower lip enchantingly. "I'm due in New York in two weeks, and I have to spend at least a few days vertical and doing business before I leave."
He felt a stab of disappointment. He'd hoped she would come to Argentina with him, because already he hated the fact that they would have to separate. He kissed her navel. "We'll just have to make the best of the time we have."
And they did.
Kenzie found that he'd pulled off the road, face sweating and pulse accelerated. Damnation, ever since Rainey filed for divorce, he'd tried not to think of those first glorious days, all pleasure and no pain.
Because remembering was all pain and no pleasure.
* * *
CHAPTER 9
Since they were shooting-in remote areas, transportation for cast and crew was done with rugged four-wheel-drive vehicles rather than the plush cars used on most productions. Rainey didn't care--to a tired woman, the backseat of an SUV was plenty good enough for sprawling out and gathering strength.
The first requirement for a director was high energy, because the work was never done. After dinner each evening she watched the dailies that had been shot the day before, flown to Los Angeles for processing, then returned to New Mexico for viewing. Watching dailies took intense concentration as she made notes on the scenes and takes that worked best. Her editor back in L.A., Eva Yanez, would rough out a preliminary cut as they went along, which would save time and money in post-production.
Before bedtime, she studied the next day's shooting schedule to decide if she wanted to go with the angles and shots she'd planned, or if her thinking had changed. It was essential to show up on the set completely prepared, because an indecisive director wasted time and undermined the confidence of cast and crew.
Her cell phone rang. She groaned. Not opening her eyes, she flipped the phone open. "Yes?"
It was Marcus Gordon. "How are things going, Raine?"
"Pretty well." Most of the calls she received increased her stress level, but talking to Marcus usually relaxed her. Now his imperturbable good sense soothed the disturbance in her psyche produced by Kenzie. "We're on schedule, and the film we're getting is first-rate. Greg Marino is doing a great job as director of cinematography. He's getting exactly the look I want--beautiful but desolate. A long, long way from Randall's idea of civilization."
"You must be doing something right, since the biggest part of your job is inspiring the rest of the crew to do their best work. How about Sharif?"
"Amazing. He has so much charisma that he'd blow anyone less than Kenzie off the screen."
"That good? I can't wait to see this movie. Speaking of which, I'm flying in tomorrow night for a couple of days."
Her eyes snapped open. "Is that necessary? An executive producer usually has better things to do than hang around a set."
"One of the conditions for getting the money was that I keep close tabs on what you're doing. Investors are a skittish lot, especially with a first-time director."
Especially with a first-time female director, though Marcus was too polite to say that. "I look forward to seeing you. Is Naomi coming?"
"Not this time, but she hopes to visit during the English location shooting."
Rainey finished the call, glad Val would be arriving in a few hours. It had taken several days for her to arrange a leave of absence, and Rainey's temporary assistant had a lot to learn. Val did also, but Rainey had infinite faith in her friend's organizational skills, and her ability to master a job quickly.
The phone ran again. "Hello?" This time it was Virginia Marlowe.
Rainey sat up guiltily. She and her grandmother had talked after Darrell Jackson examined her grandfather's medical files and decided that he might be able to repair the aneurysm, but Rainey had been so busy she'd forgotten that this was the day of the surgery. "Hello, Gram. How did the operation go?"
"Very well. They say your grandfather's prognosis is excellent."
Rainey was surprised at the amount of relief she felt. "That's wonderful news."
Virginia cleared her throat. "Our family doctor told me that Dr. Jackson managed a miracle. Thank you, Rainey. If not for you..."
She blinked, unable to remember another occasion when her grandmother had used her nickname. "The credit goes to Darrell and his willingness to attempt such a risky procedure. I'm just glad I happened to know him."
"He told me how you met, and how much time you spent with his mother before she died. You ... you have a generous spirit, Rainey. Like Clementine."
The few times in the past that Rainey had been compared to her mother, the intent had not been flattering. "I owe you whatever help you might need. After all, you two raised me, and taught me a lot of things worth knowing, like the value of hard work and honesty." She hesitated. "People in my business are wildly overpaid. If you want a larger house, or a different car, or a cruise around the world, I'd love to give it to you."
"We don't need your money," Virginia said with her usual tartness. Her voice turned uncertain. "But maybe when you're through with this movie of yours, if you have time to stop in Baltimore for a visit, we ... William and I would both like to see you."
Rainey swallowed hard. "I'll be there. It will be a couple of months or so, but I'd love to come under less stressful circumstances than the last trip."
She ended the call as her driver pulled up in front of the hotel. It was far too late for her to develop a daughterly relationship with her grandparents. But maybe they could become friends.
When his emotions were under control again, Kenzie resumed driving. His map showed that eventually this small dirt road would connect with a larger one leading back to the hotel. Not that he was in any hurry to return.
He swung around a curve, and slammed on his brakes as a screaming horse reared up in front of him. The vehicle slewed sideways and shuddered to a halt as the horse's rider crashed to the ground in the middle of the road. Swearing, Kenzie leaped from the SUV, hoping to God he hadn't hit the fellow.
The man lying motionless on the road had silver hair and a face weathered by decades in the open air. For a horrible moment Kenzie feared he was dead. Then the old man coughed and his eyes flickered open.
Kenzie knelt and looked for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?"
"Don't ... don't think so." The rider pushed himself cautiously to a sitting position, waving off Kenzie's attempt to make him lie still. "Not the first time a horse tossed me, and if I'm lucky it won't be the last."
"I'm sorry. I should have been driving more carefully." Kenzie stood and helped the man up, then retrieved his fallen hat.
"My fault. Only a fool rides in the middle of a road with his mind wanderin'." Carefully he settled the battered hat on his head. "You aren't from around here."
"I'm British originally. These days, my official home is in California." Kenzie scanned the countryside. "Your horse seems to have vanished. Can I give you a lift?"
"Wouldn't mind if you did. My horse will get home before I do, but it's a long walk for an old man. My name's Grady." He offered his hand.
"Mine is Scott."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Scott." Grady might be an old man, but he had a powerful grip. And, pleasantly, he didn't seem to recognize Kenzie.
They climbed i
nto the SUV and Kenzie set off, following his passenger's directions. A couple of miles along, Grady directed him to turn left onto a primitive road that led under a sturdy archway built of weathered timber. Across the top, the name CIBOLA had been shaped from wooden letters. Kenzie searched his memory as he drove through the arch. "Didn't the Spaniards explore this area searching for the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola?"
"Yep, that's the tale. The Cities of Gold. The conquistadors hoped to find the kind of wealth they'd looted from the Aztecs. They never found what they were lookin' for, but I did. That's why I named my place Cibola. Forty-seven years we've lived here."
Kenzie crested a small hill, then halted to admire the valley below. Carpeted with grass and wildflowers, it lay serene and lovely as a Chinese landscape painting. On the opposite side of the valley, a sprawling adobe house nestled into a hillside among a scattering of outbuildings. Away to the left, light glinted from the surface of what looked like a small lake. Above, jagged mountains loomed against a sky of breathtaking blue. "What incredible beauty. Do you own this whole valley?"
"Yep. Not the best spot for ranchin', but there's not a prettier place on God's green earth." Grady sighed. "We're going to have to sell up soon."
Guessing the other man wouldn't have mentioned the subject if he hadn't felt the need to talk, Kenzie asked, "Why do you have to leave?"
"Too much work, not enough money. Had to take out a mortgage when my wife was ill a few years back. When we sell and pay that off, there should be enough left to buy a little place down in Chama. It'll be a lot easier life." He frowned at Kenzie. "Don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."
"Some subjects are easier to tell a stranger than a friend."
"True, and you're a deep listener."
"Listening is a large part of my job." A good actor had to be a good observer. Even as Kenzie sympathized with the old rancher's plight, he was taking mental notes of what dignified despair looked like.
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