Remembering those polka-dot wedges made Bill smile. Remembering those stilettos, on the other hand…
“I’m easing into this part, my friend, because I remember too well what it was like interviewing you for my screenplay. You didn’t just hate talking about growing up in East L.A., you detested it. I had to pull the information out of you, like a dentist extracting a bad, but firmly entrenched, tooth. So when you run into me at a festival and want to talk, and a lot of that is about your past, I know how significant that is.” He paused, studying Bill’s face. “Hate to go poetic on you, but history binds hearts. Especially shared history.”
“Being around Ellie these few days has brought some memories of the old neighborhood to the surface, that’s all. Anyway—” he flipped through his money “—I’m married to my career. No time for love.”
“That union you got going with Sin on the Beach needs some marriage counseling.”
“If it’s so great for you, why do you stay?” He laid a bill on the counter.
“It’s only a paycheck while I plan for the real deal.” He pointed at the bill. “Too much.”
“Take it.”
“How ’bout we place a bet?”
Bill smiled. “Double or nothing?”
“Sure.”
“What’re we betting on?”
“That you’ll be joining the married men’s club in the near future?”
Bill laughed. “Hate to see a good friend lose money, but if you must, you must.” He looked over at Good Vibrations. “Gotta go. Give my best to Bev.”
As he threaded his way through the hubbub of people, he heard Jim’s booming voice behind him.
“So long, loser!”
ELLIE STOOD IN THE CENTER of the small stage, wishing the Queen of Evil still felt as cocky as she had a few minutes ago. It was one thing to storm the citadel. A whole other bag of beans to be inside it, dozens of eyes watching your every move.
At least she’d arrived during the break, which gave her a few minutes to check out the stage, quietly walk through her steps. She’d scanned the crowd a few times, hadn’t seen Bill. Which made her feel weird. Bad. Confused. She recalled something Lou Reed was once quoted saying—“Life is like Sanskrit read to a pony.” He was right.
Over the speakers, static crackled and hissed. “We’re back, Good Vibers! Technical difficulties fixed. We hope.” Laughter. “We’ve made a management decision. Another sound drop during this last act, and we call it a night. Performance will be judged on its partial. Then we’ll tally up the scores, and announce the top three winners, which will also be posted on the contest sign.”
Clapping, whistles.
“All right, everyone give a hand to our last contestant…El Queen of Evil!”
Whoops, yells.
Ellie frowned, looked at the announcer, who smiled back.
“Ready, your majesty?”
Her stomach did a slow-motion lurch. This was really happening. Life is like Sanskrit read to a pony. Life is like…
She nodded. Go, Team Java Mammas.
The music began, its moody, pulsing beat familiar and calming. Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the music, swaying slightly, feeling it as it built to a dark, rumbling sound. Like the ocean at night, churning its secrets from the deep.
Excitement tingled at the base of her spine. She stretched, releasing the thrill up her vertebrae, feeling its heat lick along her backbone, teasing and tonguing a path, the heat spreading until her entire body finally melted into the sound.
Music had always been her escape, her refuge. She’d lose herself in the sounds and words, gradually letting go of her world, immersing herself until her awareness was pure sensation and sound.
She was almost there now….
The contest, the people, the stage were slipping into another dimension…leaving her conscious of her body and its fluidity, how it felt to move and sway to the music…to be lost in sensation….
Suddenly, she recalled that feeling with Bill. The delicious feeling of being lost in his kiss, his touch….
A trickle of notes brought her back. She opened her eyes, resisting the urge to scan the crowd. Instead, she stared over the tops of their heads, focusing on the faintest threads of orange and pink in the dark blue sky.
The beat changed. She followed, rolling her shoulders side to side, gliding to the music. As the music trembled on a single note, she did a small, slow shimmy—she’d learned this years ago in dance, easily recalled it while practicing today—her movements building with the music, going faster, bigger.
A wolf whistle split the air.
She smiled, liking the encouragement. See what
you’re missing, Bill?
The tune shifted. She dropped the shimmy, slid out one stilettoed foot, the silver chain sparkling in the light. When the drum beat, once, she gave a little kick.
“Queenie, you kick, girl!” someone yelled.
The partying crowd was loose, fun, supportive. Sure, she wanted to win for the Java Mammas, but even more, she wanted to enjoy herself, get silly, have fun. She hadn’t done something wild and crazy like this in years!
The beat picked up. For a moment, she forgot what she’d planned to do, but remembered in time to catch up with the beat. Fisting her hands on her hips, she bumped her hips as she strutted across the stage in a move called “you want it, you got it.”
You know what, Bill? I have it, but you don’t get it!
As the tempo thumped, she bumped her booty to the beat, coyly peeling off a fishnet glove. She was having so much fun, she barely flinched during a minor traffic jam of fishnet and fingers. Several tugs, and she was back to the beat.
Sort of.
She’d lost her place in the music again! As she listened, trying to remember, she waved the glove in the air, keeping time with the music. Some started clapping along. A few sang. She felt like a funky, sexy camp counselor leading everyone in a sing-along.
The music surged into a familiar cacophony of sounds.
Okay, she remembered this part! This is where she did that burlesque move called “shakin’ the front door, shakin’ the back door.” Unlike shimmying, she’d had to practice this over and over. Well, here goes…
While her lower body sidestepped, her upper body shook. Shakin’ the front door, baby, shakin’ it. She nearly stumbled as she started back, but caught herself. After waiting a beat, she hunkered down and shook her back door so hard, it got a round of applause!
Eat your heart out, Bill!
She felt more zany, alive and boldly bodacious than she had in years. Before this vacation, if someone had told her she’d be digging being an exhibitionist, she’d have said they were crazy. But here she was, the center of everyone’s attention, playing the tease, and she was loving every single moment of it.
Song was winding down. Realizing she still carried the peeled-off fishnet glove, she had an idea. A little naughty giveaway.
With a grand flourish, she made a show of tucking the glove inside her cleavage, leaving a little hanging out.
She looked around, pointed at a man in the audience.
He whooped, raised his fists in victory. “I won!” he yelled.
She laughed. Locking eyes with him, she strutted up to him, then leaned forward slightly, giving a little shimmy, letting him have a shot of her quivering breasts and cleavage…in her peripheral vision, she saw his hand reach…
Then jerk back.
A yell.
She looked up as a pair of brown hands reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders. Her breath grew ragged as she stared into a pair of dark, angry eyes set in a fierce face.
Bill!
“That’s enough,” he growled, muscles bunching along his jaw. “Stop.”
His dark, territorial gaze should have struck terror into her heart, but only made it pound harder. A smart woman would defuse the situation with a joke, a quiet word, a passive gesture.
Not the Queen of Evil.
Her face hot, her heart
racing, she squirmed, her mounds shimmying with the effort.
“Make me,” she growled.
For a long, hot, suspended moment, he looked at her. Then he raised a dark, scornful eyebrow. “What?”
“I said—”
He slammed his mouth over hers, his hands gripping her arms, hers gripping back, their kiss hard, punishing, filled with dark energy and an intense, carnal rage that should have been terrifying.
But it thrilled her right down to the pointed tips of her stilettos.
He suddenly ripped free from the kiss. Still gripping her arms, he stared down at her, his nostrils flaring with each sharp, inhaled breath.
Vaguely she realized she’d fisted his shirt in her hands, holding him in place in case he had other ideas. The music had stopped, even the crowd was quiet, the only sounds the faint clatter and shrieks of a distant ride and its occupants.
A burning urgency crackled between them, as though every teasing word, move, insinuation they’d made these last few days had coalesced into this scorching moment.
“I’ll make you,” he growled.
In a rush of movement, he leaned over and scooped her up, lifting her effortlessly. As he straightened, she experienced a giddy flashback of the Ferris wheel, the exhilarating assent, and then the stop at the top of the world where nothing else existed except the two of them.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, chills scattering over her body as she held on for the rest of this ride.
As he started walking across the stage, a thief with his treasure, the crowd starting whistling and clapping, the noise so loud it was impossible to hear whatever Didi was saying over the microphone.
Ellie leaned close to Bill’s ear. “They think this is part of the act.”
“Well, I was supposed to be part of it, if you’ll recall.”
As he carried her down the festival midway, people flashed them looks, a few bewildered, some startled, most amused. It dawned on her she’d forgotten her thongs, could never manage the sand in these heels, but who cared? She’d crawl if she had to, but no way she was putting the brakes on this real-life fantasy. The queen was busy being abducted by a ravaging marauder intent on plundering and pillaging and she hoped a whole lot worse.
Jump his bones? She was going to pulverize them.
As a group of people parted, making way for them, a guy with a blond Mohawk winked at her, mouthing “give me your number.”
“I’ll give it to you,” cut in Bill, pausing. “It’s five-five-five in-your-dreams.”
The guy’s smile vanished, as did he.
If he hadn’t, Ellie wouldn’t have put it past Bill to take it a step further. Like a street fighter, he was savage, primal, and she’d be a liar if she said it didn’t excite the hell out of her.
They were in front of some kind of giant Twister game, with couples bent and stretched all over each other. Outside, bright lights swirled to the old Chubby Checker “Let’s Twist Again” classic.
Bill pressed a gentle kiss against her hairline, making her shudder. She looked up into his face, mesmerized by the reflection of red, blue, yellow lights playing on his brown skin. The vibrant colors reminded her of his dragon tattoo.
She hadn’t given him enough credit. Anybody who chose a tattoo like that wouldn’t be turned off by a glam goth chick. Made her feel a little dumb to have worried so much, to have even set up tonight’s goth test to see his reaction. When the time was right, and there weren’t so many distractions, she’d open up about her life and stop playing hide-and-seek.
After all, Ellie Rockwell was better than that.
Feeling relieved, she planted a return kiss on his cheek, tasting its salty wetness. Although she preferred to think his heavy breathing was solely due to sexual arousal, he’d obviously overexerted himself.
“You can put me down now,” she murmured, “I’m too heavy.”
“Too heavy?” He dipped his head again, so close she felt the warm puffs of his breath against her skin. “My Ellie is just right.”
My Ellie? Just right?
Oh boy, now he’d done it.
If she wasn’t so determined to impose some kind of logical boundary around her heart, or at least pretend to do so, she’d just open the portals to her heart and soul right now and admit she was and had always been desperately, unequivocally and completely head over heels in love with him.
Instead, she sank against him and let his words wash over her. My Ellie is just right. She looked up at the sky and its smattering of stars, took in the whirl of music and voices, the scents of cotton candy and corn dogs, mentally burning the imprint of it all into her brain. She wanted to remember it all, this moment, his words. Just as she used to document him in her girlish journals, she wanted him, tonight, forever branded in her woman’s memories. She closed her eyes. Remember, remember.
Laughter jarred her back. She opened her eyes.
A couple, laughing, ran past, the girl squealing, “There it is! Sin on the Beach Freak Dance Fantasia!” Almost simultaneously, loud rocking music started blasting.
Ellie looked over Bill’s shoulder at a dance floor packed with people gyrating, bumping and writhing all over each other.
And in the midst of it, a woman who could almost pass for Sara’s twin, shimmying her body all the way down and back up some hunky surfer guy.
A twin wearing Sara’s clothes.
The crowd shifted. Other writhing, grinding, dancing bodies blocked Ellie’s view.
Wow. Ellie turned back, amazed. Hardworking, nose-to-the-grindstone Sara was getting into some serious mojo.
Time for Ellie to get some, too.
She put her lips against Bill’s ear and whispered hotly, “How about you put down just-right Ellie and save that energy for something else.” She trailed her lips to his earlobe and suckled, leaving no doubt what that something else might be.
“Okay,” he said quickly, lowering her to the ground.
Their arms around each other, they gazed into each other’s eyes, oblivious of the sounds and people around them.
“Your place or mine?” he murmured huskily.
“I’m within walking distance,” she whispered, pressing her body against his. “Except, I don’t know if my roommates are coming home.” She thought of Sara. “Well, one definitely isn’t, but the other—” did Candy and Matt’s sensible sex agreement mean no sleepovers? “—could be home, and it’d be nice to have some privacy.”
“I don’t have roommates, so sounds like it’s my place then.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “But we’ll have to drive to Venice.”
She snuggled a little closer. “That’s, what…thirty minutes?”
“Twenty if I’m not stopped for speeding.”
She gave him a slow, mischievous grin. “Let’s go, lead foot.”
14
MINUTES LATER, they exited the festival and ran barefoot on the cool sandy beach, the lights from the festival offering visibility for another thirty or so feet. Beyond that, except for the lights of cars buzzing along Pacific Coast Highway, it was dark.
“My car’s parked up there.” Bill gestured toward the highway. “Down by the billboard.”
Ellie, her stilettos dangling by their straps from her fingers, stopped. “What billboard?”
He hugged her with one arm, pointing with the other.
She groaned. “I thought that was a parked truck! It’ll take us days to get there!”
“I know, parking sucks in Malibu. Everybody’s stuck along the highway.”
“Even if you’re the director for Sin on the Beach?”
“First, I’m not the director, yet. And actually, it’s no sweat finding a spot close to the set because we all arrive so early in the mornings.”
She looked over. “Oh, I see…the billboard is about where the filming takes place.”
“Tell you what. We’ll take a short rest, then start walking. C’mere…” He pulled her closer and nuzzled his chin against the top of her head. “Ouch.”
/> “What? Oh, the crown.”
He pulled back, frowning at her head. “So that’s what that is. I thought maybe you were picking up signals from outer space—”
“The queen is not amused!” she said with a smile, throwing her shoes over her shoulder for dramatic effect. Fumbling with the pins in her hair, she flashed on her odd encounter with the Magellan clone. “Who knows,” she murmured, “maybe I have been picking up signals.”
“I’ll help.” Tossing his flip-flops aside, he joined in, pulling on a strip of foil, but mostly enjoying the sensation of her silky hair, the warmth of her fingers brushing his.
“You’re not helping,” she teased.
“Yeah, but it feels good.” He lifted strands, liking how they felt sifting through his fingers. “You look different with black hair.”
She stilled for a moment. “Does that mean you like it?”
“Sure, it works on you.”
“But do you like it?” She held out her hand with several pins. “Put these in your pocket for me?”
He didn’t understand her sudden concern, but he’d learned long ago that when women asked about weight, hair or clothes, the smart man flew low under the radar.
“So, you’d like it if I kept it black?” She tugged on a strip of foil. “I mean, is that an acceptable Sin on the Beach extra-in-the-background hair color?”
“Sure, it’s acceptable. What’s important is that you like it, Ellie.”
He reached out, took the ball of foil, tossed it into a nearby trash can.
“Nice shot,” she said admiringly.
“You’re nice,” he murmured, touching her cheek. She felt so warm, so soft…so there. So significant in the blur of his life. Everything had been moving so fast, he hadn’t even realized how superficial it all felt, what poor company a film set could be, what poorer company he was as he ran from one task to the next, from one woman to the next, never stopping because to do so meant he’d have to confront his loneliness.
A loneliness that went away when he was with her.
“Tell you the truth, Ellie,” he said, stroking her cheek, “you could have purple hair with green streaks, and I’d still like it.”
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