Genuine Lies

by Nora Roberts

  “I hadn’t realized you’d be going. I’d thought I’d be riding with Eve.”

  “She went with Drake. They had some business.” He gave her a slow smile. “It’s just you and me, Jules.”

  “I see.” The simple phrase had her tensing all over. “Brandon, bed at nine.” She crouched to kiss his cheek. “Remember, CeeCee’s word is law.”

  He grinned, thinking that gave him an opening to talk CeeCee into a nine-thirty bedtime. “You can stay out as long as you want. We don’t mind.”

  “Thank you very much.” She straightened. “Don’t let him lull you into complacency, CeeCee. He’s tricky.”

  “I’ve got his number. Have fun.” She gave a little sigh as they walked out the door.

  Things were not working out according to plan, Julia thought as she crossed to the narrow, graveled drive where Paul’s Studebaker was parked. First thing this morning she’d decided to spend a quiet evening working. Then she adjusted to the idea of going out, but actually to do a couple of hours of on-the-spot research, while keeping herself unobtrusively in some corner. Now she had an escort who would probably feel obliged to entertain her.

  “I’m sorry Eve imposed on you this way,” she began as he opened the car door for her.

  “What way?”

  “You might have had other plans for the evening.”

  He leaned on the open door, enjoying the way she slid into the car—one slim knee hooking out through the slit in the dress, shapely calves lifting, an unadored hand tucking the hem of the skirt inside. Very smooth.

  “Actually, I had planned to drink too much coffee, smoke too many cigarettes, and wrestle with chapter eighteen. But …”

  She glanced up, her eyes very serious in the lowering light. “I hate having my work time interrupted. You must feel the same way.”

  “Yes, I do.” Though, oddly enough, he wasn’t feeling that way tonight. “Then again, at times like this I have to remind myself it isn’t brain surgery. The patient will rest comfortably until tomorrow.” After closing the door, he rounded the hood to settle into the driver’s seat. “And Eve asks me for very little.”

  Julia let out a quick breath as the engine sprang to life. As Eve’s dress had, this car made her feel like someone else. This time a pampered, mink-wrapped debutante rushing down white marble steps to dash off with her favorite beau for a fast ride. That’ll be the day, Julia thought, then said, “I appreciate this. But it wasn’t really necessary. I don’t need an escort.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.” He steered the car down the drive that veered off from the main house. “You strike me as the kind of woman who goes very competently single file. Has anyone told you it’s intimidating?”

  “No.” She ordered herself to relax. “Do people find your competence intimidating?”

  “Probably.” Idly, he switched the radio on low, more for the mood than the music. She was wearing that same scent— old-fashioned romance. The air whipping through the windows offered it to him like a gift. “But then, I enjoy keeping people off balance.” He shifted his head just long enough to flick her a glance. “Don’t you?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.” Imagining herself having that kind of power made her smile. A good six months out of every twelve she spent virtually alone with Brandon, divorced from people. “This affair tonight,” she continued. “Do you go to many of them?”

  “A few each year—usually at Eve’s instigation.”

  “Not because you enjoy them?”

  “Oh, they’re entertaining enough.”

  “But you’d go because she asked in any case?”

  Paul paused briefly, waiting for the gates of the estate to open. “Yes, I’d go for her.”

  Julia shifted to study his profile, seeing his father, seeing the little boy Eve had described. Seeing someone altogether different. “This morning Eve told me about the first time you met.”

  He grinned as he drove down the quiet, palm-lined street. “At the beach house in Malibu, over p.b. and j.’s.”

  “Will you share your first impressions of her?”

  His grin faded as he drew a cigar out of his pocket. “Still on the clock?”

  “Always. You should understand.”

  He punched in the lighter, then shrugged. He did understand. “All right, then. I knew a woman had spent the night. There were a few telltale items of clothing strewn around the living room.” He caught her look, arched a brow. “Shocked, Jules?”

  “No.”

  “Just disapproving.”

  “I’m simply imagining Brandon under the same circumstances. I wouldn’t want him to think that I …” “Had sex?”

  The amusement made her stiffen. “That I was indiscriminate or careless.”

  “My father was—is—both. By the time I was Brandon’s age, I was quite used to it. No lasting scars.”

  She wasn’t so sure about that. “And when you met Eve?”

  “I was prepared to dismiss her out of hand. I was quite the little cynic.” Comfortable, he blew out smoke. “I recognized her when she walked into the kitchen, but I was surprised. Most of the women my father bedded looked, well, let’s say worse for wear the morning after. Eve was beautiful. Of course that was just a physical thing, but it impressed me. And there was a sadness in her eyes.” He caught himself and grimaced. “She won’t like that. More important to me at that stage of my life was the fact that she didn’t find it necessary to coo all over me as so many of them did.”

  Understanding perfectly, she laughed. “Brandon hates it when people pat his head and tell him what a cute little boy he is.”

  “It’s revolting.”

  He said it with such feeling, she laughed again. “And you said no scars.”

  “I considered it more of a curse—until I hit puberty. In any case, Eve and I had a conversation. She was interested. No one can spot false interest quicker than a child, and there was nothing false about Eve. We walked on the beach, and I was able to talk to her in a way I’d never been able to talk to anyone before. The things I liked, didn’t like. What I wanted, didn’t want. She was amazingly good to me from that first day on, and I developed a monumental crush on her.”

  “Do you—”

  “Hold it. We’re nearly there and you’ve been asking all the questions.” He took a lazy last drag, then tapped out his cigar. “Why celebrity bios?”

  With an effort, she changed gears. “Because I don’t have enough imagination for fiction.”

  Paul stopped at a light, drumming his fingers on the wheel in time with the music. “That answer was much too smooth to be true. Try again.”

  “All right. I admire people who not only tolerate but court the spotlight. Since I’ve always functioned better on the sidelines, I’m interested in the kind of people who thrive on center stage.”

  “Still smooth, Julia, and only partially true.” He let the car drift forward as the light changed. “If it were really true, how do you explain the fact that you once considered a career in acting?”

  “How do you know that?” Her voice was sharper than intended and pleased him. It was about time he pierced that slick outer layer.

  “I made it my business to know that, and a great deal more.” He shot her a look. “I do my research.”

  “You mean you checked up on me?” Her hands curled into fists in her lap as she struggled with temper. “My background is none of your business. My agreement is with Eve, only Eve, and I resent you poking into my private life.”

  “You can resent anything you want. And you can also be grateful. If I’d found anything that didn’t jive, you’d be out on your sweet ass.”

  That snapped it. Her head whirled around. “You arrogant son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah.” After pulling up at the Beverly Wilshire, he turned to face her. “Remember, on the drive back, I get to ask the questions.” He laid a hand on her arm before she could wrench the door open. “You tear out of here and slam the door, people are going to ask questio
ns.” He watched as she strained, fighting for control, and won. “I knew you could do it. By God, you’re good.”

  She took a deep breath, and when her face was composed again, turned to him and spoke calmly. “Fuck you, Winthrop.”

  His left brow shot up, but he let out a quick laugh. “Whenever you like.” He climbed out and handed his keys to the valet. Julia was already on the curb. Paul took her stiff arm and led her inside. “Eve wants you to mingle,” he said quietly as they filed through a press of reporters with mini-cams. “They’re will be a lot of people here tonight who’ll want to get a look at you, maybe dig out a couple of hints as to what Eve’s telling you.”

  “I know my job,” Julia said between her teeth.

  “Oh, Jules, I’m sure you do.” The comfortable drawl made her blood simmer. “But there are people who enjoy chewing up proper young women and spitting them out.”

  “It’s been tried.” She wanted to shake off his arm, but thought it would look undignified, particularly when she saw two reporters making a beeline for them.

  “I know,” Paul murmured, and deliberately took her other arm to turn her to face him. “I’m not going to apologize for prying, Julia, but you should know that what I found was admirable, and more than a little fascinating.”

  The contact was too intimate, almost an embrace, and she wanted to be free. “I don’t want your admiration, or your fascination.”

  “Regardless, you have both.” Then he turned a very charming smile toward the camera.

  “Mr. Winthrop, is it true that Mel Gibson’s been signed to play the lead in the screen version of Chain Lightning?”

  “You’d do better to ask the producers—or Mr. Gibson.” Paul urged Julia along while the reporters circled.

  “Is your engagement to Sally Bowers off?”

  “Don’t you think that’s an indelicate question when I’m escorting a beautiful woman?” As more reporters crowded in, Paul’s smile remained friendly, though he felt Julia begin to tremble. “That engagement was a product of the press. Sally and I aren’t even the proverbial good friends. More like passing acquaintances.”

  “Can we have your name?”

  Someone stuck a mike under Julia’s nose. She tensed, then struggled to relax. “Summers,” she said calmly. “Julia Summers.”

  “The writer who’s doing Eve Benedict’s biography?” Before she could answer, other questions were hurled and kicked in her direction.

  “Buy the book,” she suggested, relieved when they moved into the ballroom.

  Paul leaned down to speak quietly in her ear. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re shaking.”

  She cursed herself for it, then stepped aside, out from under his protective arm. “I don’t like being crowded.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you didn’t come with Eve. You’d have been hemmed in by more than half a dozen of them.” After signaling to a passing waiter, he took two glasses of champagne from the tray.

  “Shouldn’t we find our table?”

  “My dear Jules, no one sits yet.” He touched his glass to hers before sipping. “That’s no way to be seen.” Ignoring her shrug of protest, he slipped an arm around her waist.

  “Must you always have a hand on me?” she asked under her breath.

  “No.” But he didn’t remove it. “Now, tell me, whom would you like to meet?”

  Since temper didn’t make a dent, she tried ice. “There’s no reason for you to entertain me. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

  “Eve would have my hide if I left you alone.” He steered her through the laughter and conversation. “Particularly since she’s decided to try her hand at heating up a romance.”

  Julia nearly choked on frothy champagne. “Excuse me?”

  “You must realize she’s got it into her head that if she throws us together often enough, we’ll stick.”

  Julia looked up, inclined her head. “Isn’t it a shame we have to disappoint her.”

  “Yes, it would be a shame.”

  It was obvious his intentions clashed with Julia’s. She saw the challenge in his eyes, felt the sudden charge in the air. And hadn’t a clue how to respond to either. He continued to smile as his gaze lowered to her mouth, lingered there, the look as physical as a kiss.

  “I wonder what would happen—” A hand clamped Paul’s shoulder.

  “Paul. Son of a bitch, how’d they manage to drag you out here?”

  “Victor.” Paul’s smile warmed as he grasped Victor Flannigan’s hand. “It just took a couple of beautiful women.”

  “It always does.” He turned to Julia. “And this is one of them.”

  “Julia Summers, Victor Flannigan.”

  “I recognized you.” Victor took Julia’s offered hand. “You’re working with Eve.”

  “Yes.” She remembered clearly the devotion, the intimacy she’d witnessed in the moonlit garden. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flannigan. I’ve admired your work tremendously.”

  “That’s a relief, especially if I manage a footnote in Eve’s biography.”

  “How is Muriel?” Paul asked, referring to Victor’s wife.

  “A bit under the weather. I’m stag tonight.” He held up a glass full of clear liquid and sighed. “Club soda and I tell you, these affairs are hell to get through without a couple of belts. What do you think of the gathering, Miss Summers?”

  “It’s too soon to tell.”

  “Diplomatic.” Eve had told him as much. “I’ll ask you again in a couple of hours. Christ knows what they’ll serve. Too much to hope it’ll be steak and potatoes. Can’t stand that damn French stuff.” He caught the understanding glint in Julia’s eyes and grinned. “You can take the peasant out of Ireland, but you can’t take the Irish out of the peasant.” He winked at Julia. “I’ll be by to claim a dance.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “Impressions?” Paul asked when Victor wandered off.

  “So often an actor seems smaller offscreen. He only seems bigger. At the same time, I think I’d feel comfortable sitting in front of a fire with him playing canasta.”

  “You have excellent powers of observation.” He put a finger on the side of her jaw to move her face to his. “And you’ve stopped being angry.”

  “No, I haven’t. I’m saving it.”

  He laughed and this time swung a friendly arm around her shoulder. “Christ, Jules, I’m beginning to like you. Let’s find our table. Maybe we’ll eat before ten.”

  “Goddammit, Drake, I detest being nagged.” Eve’s voice was impatient as she took her seat at the table, but her face was placid. She didn’t choose to have the rumormongers muttering over the fact that she was sniping with her press agent.

  “I wouldn’t have to nag if you’d give me a straight answer.” Unlike his aunt, Drake was no actor and scowled into his drink. “How am I supposed to promote something when you won’t give me anything to go on?”

  “There’s nothing to promote at this point.” She lifted a hand in salute to familiar faces at an adjoining table and shot a smile at Nina, who was laughing with a group in the center of the room. “In any case, if people know what’s going to be in the book, there won’t be any anticipation—or sweaty palms.” Just thinking of it made her smile, and mean it. “Concentrate on pumping up this project I’m doing for television.”

  “The miniseries.”

  She winced at the word—she couldn’t help it. “Just spread the news that Eve Benedict is doing a television event” “It’s my job to—”

  “To do as I tell you,” she finished. “Keep that in mind.” Impatient, she finished off her champagne. “Get me another glass.”

  With an effort, he controlled a flurry of sharp words. He, too, knew the value of public image. Just as he knew the killing edge of Eve’s temper. Seething, he rose, then spotted Julia and Paul crossing the ballroom. Julia, he thought, and his eyes cleared of resentment. He would get the information Delrickio h
ad requested. She was the source he could tap.

  “Ah, here you are.” Eve lifted both hands. Julia took them, felt the slight tug and realized she was expected to lean over and kiss Eve’s cheek. Feeling more than a little foolish, she complied. “And Paul.” Well aware curious eyes had turned their way, Eve repeated the ceremony with her former stepson. “What a staggering couple you two make.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. “Drake, make sure we all have more champagne.”

  Glancing up, Julia caught the tightening of his lips, the quick and lethal glint in his eye. Then it was replaced by a dazzling smile. “Nice to see you, Paul. Julia, you look lovely. Just hang on while I play waiter.”

  “You do look lovely,” Eve said. “Has Paul been introducing you