Ariel whimpered and pressed closer, lifting herself up on tiptoe to deepen the pressure of his mouth on hers.
Zeke groaned and slid his hands down her back, cupping them over her buttocks to lift her to his body.
Ariel stiffened in sudden alarm as his erection pressed into her lower belly. Panicked, she tore her mouth away from his.
"Zeke. Zeke, sto—"
He shifted one hand to the back of her head to hold her still for more of his kisses.
She let go of his shirt, slid her hands around to his chest and pushed. Hard. It was pushing against a stone wall. She squirmed against him, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he only groaned in appreciation and flexed his fingers against the soft globes in his hands. In desperation, she went limp.
It took a moment or two, but Zeke stilled and lifted his head. "Ariel?"
"Let go of me, Zeke. Please."
He slid his hands up to the small of her back, loosening his hold just enough so that he could see her face. "What is it?" he asked, but he was pretty sure he knew.
She was having second thoughts, when he would have preferred that she not think at all. Thinking would only cloud the issue. Women, he thought sourly—his own higher functions clouded with an excess of testosterone and emotion—did far too much thinking at times like this.
"This shouldn't have happened," she said, confirming his worst suspicions.
"But it did," he said, with irrefutable male logic.
"It shouldn't have," she repeated, more vehemently. "And we both know it. It's wrong and it's stupid."
He smiled and tried to cuddle her closer, instinctively resorting to charm and cajolery to win her over. "It doesn't feel wrong," he murmured, neatly avoiding the question of stupidity.
"I'm sure very little feels wrong to you when it comes to sex." Her tone was icicle cool and scathing, her body suddenly stiff in a way it hadn't been before. "Others of us have more discriminating standards. Now, let me go."
Stung by her coldness, he did as she asked. "You never used to be so cold," he said, his voice flat with the hurt she had inflicted.
"I never used to be a lot of things." She crossed her arms over the front of her body, rubbing her palms against the sleeves of her silk tunic as if she were cold. The look in her blue eyes was hot enough to melt steel. "But that was before I found the man who professed to love me in bed with another woman."
Chapter 7
Ariel stood by the window in her darkened bedroom, breathless, hot, shaking, her gaze fastened on Zeke as he stood staring into the depths of her swimming pool. He hadn't followed her when she'd turned and walked into the house, as she'd half expected, half hoped he would do. He hadn't reached out to try and stop her. He hadn't, in fact, said another word after she'd thrown her accusation at him.
Just like the last time.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't try to explain.
He didn't apologize.
He'd just looked... pained, she thought, as if she had unfairly accused him of some heinous crime. If she hadn't seen the evidence with her own eyes, hadn't caught him in the act of betrayal herself, she might actually believe his look of wounded innocence.
But she had caught him. Red-handed. En flagrant delit. Well, she amended mentally, not actually in the act. Thank God. But as close to it as to make no difference in a court of law—or a woman's heart. She'd seen all she needed to see that awful night to know her mother had been right about Zeke all along. Even if she'd been proven wrong about a number of other things, she'd known Zeke was trouble from the first.
Where women were concerned, he couldn't be trusted. And she couldn't live with a man she couldn't trust. No matter how much she might have loved him. She didn't have it in her to play the blind, complacent wife, then or—
Her heart leapt into her throat as Zeke suddenly gave up staring into the pool and turned his head to look up at her bedroom windows. He stood there for a long moment, his gaze fixed, and she felt as if he could see her standing behind the white satin swags decorating the tall glass doors, staring at him. Ariel held her breath, waiting... waiting... but his broad shoulders merely lifted in a sigh and he ran his hand through his hair and turned away, disappearing into the darkness beyond the lights of the pool. He'd left. Again. Without trying to see her or explain. A crushing sense of disappointment washed over Ariel as she stood there at the window and watched him walk away.
She wasn't immune, after all, she realized. She hadn't even built up any resistance in the last twenty-five years. One look, one touch, one kiss, and she was right back where she'd started. A one-man woman, hopelessly, helplessly, irrevocably in love with a man who would never be satisfied with just one woman. It was a surefire recipe for heartache and disaster.
And she had known it, instinctively, even back when she was a naive and lovesick eighteen-year-old. Or why else would she have hesitated to accept his ring?
* * *
She could tell Zeke was excited and wound up when he picked her up for their date that evening. And who wouldn't be? They'd shot the final scene of Wild Hearts early that morning and Hans Ostfield and the film editor were already closeted away in some office on the studio lot, cutting and splicing the raw, out-of-sequence footage into a polished work of art. At least, that's what Hans had said it would be when he and the editor were finished with it, and no one had any reason to doubt him. The dailies had been great throughout the shooting and there was a pleasant buzz of excitement working its way through the small-town community that was Hollywood. People in the know were expecting Wild Hearts to make money and careers.
And one of those careers was going to be Zeke Blackstone's.
In celebration of that fact, Zeke had borrowed Eric Shannon's beat-up old '66 van with its psychedelic paint job and a thin old camping mattress in the back. He'd also bought a picnic supper of thick sandwiches, potato salad, and fat kosher dill pickles from a local deli.
"It's not real deli. Not like you'd get in New York," he told Ariel as he finished spreading the picnic out on the sleeping bag he'd opened up in the back of the van. There were paper napkins and plastic forks and two small flickering white candles in blue votive holders. "It's not bad though. And we've got this to wash it down." He grinned at her and pulled a large green bottle out of the ice chest as if he were pulling a rabbit out of a hat. "Dom Perignon. The guy at the liquor store said it was the best champagne money can buy."
Ariel's stomach lurched a bit at the thought of alcohol but she couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He did everything with such passion and verve, such gung ho style. She sat quietly, as always, her legs neatly folded to the side, and watched him deal with the foil wrapping and wire harness on the top of the bottle.
"There's supposed to be some kind of trick to opening one of these so it hardly makes any noise at all and you end up looking as cool as James Bond." He curled his long fingers around the neck of the bottle, pressed his thumbs against the cork and aimed it out the wide open back doors of the van. "But I don't know what it is, so you'd better get the glasses out of that grocery bag there—" he nodded his head at the bag in question "—and be ready."
The cork refused to budge for a moment, then came loose with a resounding pop and arced out into the night. Champagne frothed up out of the top of the bottle and over Zeke's hands. "The glasses. Quick," he instructed, when Ariel just sat there, staring at the single deep pink rose surrounded by baby's breath and wrapped in cellophane that had been in the bag with the glasses. He bought me a rose. "Ariel, the glasses."
"Oh, sorry." She put the rose down, yanked the champagne glasses out of the bag and held them out, leaning far enough out of the back door of the van so that none of the cold sticky liquid would drip on her white bell-bottom hip-huggers or the sleeping bag.
Zeke filled the glasses slowly, carefully, making sure there was more liquid than bubbles in them, then set the bottle aside and took one of the brimming glasses from Ariel. Holding it aloft, he grinned at h
er over the rim. "A toast," he said, waiting for her to lift her glass, as well.
She smiled and echoed his gesture.
"To Hollywood," he said grandly, and drained half the glass in one gulp.
Ariel just sat there, her glass raised, staring at him. To Hollywood? He'd brought her up here in a van with a sleeping bag and a mattress in the back, to park on a secluded road in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains overlooking L.A., with candles and champagne and a pink rose and he wanted to toast Hollywood?
Was her mother right, after all? Was his career really more important to him than she was?
"I'm going to own this town someday," he said, his gaze directed out over the view, drinking in the vista of twinkling lights and the fifty-foot-high letters of the Hollywood sign on Mt. Cahuenga. "Or a good part of it, anyway. Wild Hearts is just the beginning for me. I've been offered two other movie roles already, just on the strength of the buzz, and my agent says there'll be dozens more after Wild Hearts comes out. She says I'll be able to write my own ticket. Do just about anything I want. I've already told her I want to direct, too, eventually. And produce. Hell, I might even have my own production company some day."
"That sounds very... ambitious," Ariel said hesitantly, wondering where she fit in to his grand scheme.
"It's what I've always wanted. Ever since I was a little kid, growing up in a fifth floor walk-up in the Bronx, all I ever wanted was to be one of those guys up there on the movie screen. Well—" he grinned at her "—after I got over wanting to be a fireman, that is." The grin faded when she didn't respond. "You're not drinking the champagne. Don't you like it?"
"No, it's fine," Ariel said, and took a sip.
Zeke gave an exaggerated sigh. "Not even Dom Perignon is going to turn you into a drinker, is it? Well, that's okay," he said indulgently. "I got a six-pack of Coke, too." He tossed off the rest of his champagne, put the glass down and twisted around, reaching into the ice chest for a bottle of Coke. After drying it off on the hem of his black T-shirt, he removed the top and handed it to her, reaching out to take her still full champagne glass with his other hand. "It's your turn to make a toast," he said.
"With Coke?"
"Sure." He shrugged negligently. "It's wet and bubbly, isn't it? Go on." He lifted his glass. "Make a toast."
Ariel hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to make a toast to. Hollywood was just a town to her, not a place to be conquered and owned. And success was something that had happened at an age when she didn't even know what it was. As for ambition, it was something other people had for her; she'd never had any of it herself. Until lately. But was love a true ambition? Was marriage?
"To Wild Hearts," she said at last because it was something they had in common. Maybe the only thing they had in common, if her mother turned out to be right, after all.
"A woman after my own heart," Zeke said approvingly and leaned over the flickering candles to kiss her. He put his champagne glass down on top of the ice chest. "You want turkey or pastrami?"
She chose turkey, and then nibbled on it halfheartedly as he wolfed down the other sandwich and filled her in on his life's dreams between bites.
"I want a beach house in Malibu," he said. "And a brownstone in Greenwich Village for Ma and the girls. I'd move them out to live with me in California but they'd never come. Well..." He thought about it a minute as he chewed a mouthful of pastrami and rye bread. "Maybe Ruthie would, when she finishes high school. But Ma and Sarah June are died-in-the-wool New Yorkers." He flashed her a grin. "They both think civilization stops at the Hudson River. Ma thinks California is full of hippies and drug addicts."
Ariel smiled and nodded, and wondered again where she fitted into his grandiose plans. In all his ramblings about his future, he hadn't mentioned her place in it even once.
Was the love affair over now that they'd finished filming Wild Hearts? Had he only been romancing her to further his career, just as her mother had said? Had he only been making sure that the love scenes rang true by making love to her offscreen as well as on? Was that why he'd given in so easily when she'd insisted they keep their relationship secret?
It wasn't secret, of course. Everyone on the set knew they were seeing each other. The studio bosses knew; the TV execs from Family Fortune knew; her mother knew. Even the teen movie magazines were hinting that "television's sweet little Chrissy Fortune" might finally, actually have a real boyfriend. But no one, she thought, knew their relationship had become so intimate. Not for sure—although her mother had been very vocal with her suspicions.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Zeke asked, breaking into her thoughts. "You're not eating. Isn't the sandwich any good? Would you like some of my pastrami?"
Ariel put her sandwich down, giving up even the pretense of eating. It wasn't sitting very well in her stomach, anyway. "I'm just not hungry, I guess."
"Are you upset about something?" He leaned forward, peering into her face over the candlelight. "Has your mother been on your case again about seeing me?"
"Not any more than usual."
"Then what is it?"
"It's nothing, really. I just feel..." She shrugged. "I don't know. Sad, somehow." And uncertain. So desperately uncertain of where she stood with him.
Zeke nodded as if he understood perfectly. "It's the letdown because the filming is over. I feel it, too, a little," he consoled her. "It's probably a pretty normal reaction. But I have a surefire cure." He gave her a sweet, sexy leer and began gathering up the remains of their picnic supper. "You just trust yourself to ol' Dr. Blackstone," he said, wriggling his eyebrows at her as he moved the candles to the top of the ice chest where they'd be out of harm's way, "and I'll have you feeling more cheerful in no time." He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders, tumbling her onto her back on the sleeping bag.
But, for once, the sight of Zeke leaning over her, his eyes all dark and smoldering and hungry, failed to ignite an answering spark in her.
"Hey, you really are blue, aren't you?" He let go of her and rolled over onto his back. Stretching out to his full length on the floor of the van, he dug one hand into the tight front pocket of his jeans. "Here." He sat up and picked her hand up in his. "Maybe this will cheer you up," he said, pressing something into her palm.
It was a small velvet-covered box. Ariel's heart began to pound. She sat up and very carefully, very slowly, held her hands so that the flickering light of the candles shone on the box as she opened it. It was a ring, a small but exquisite sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. She looked up, her gaze shifting from the ring to his face and back again. Did he mean it to be an engagement ring? Or something else entirely?
"I know it's not much," he said defensively, obviously misinterpreting her unbelieving gaze. "But it's all I can afford right now. We can exchange it for a bigger one later if you—"
Ariel licked her lips. "Are you proposing to me?" she asked carefully.
Zeke gave her an exasperated look. "What the hell else do you think I'd be doing, giving you a ring? Of course, I'm proposing to you." He took the box away from her and plucked the ring out, holding it in two fingers. "Do you want it or not?"
"Oh, Zeke."
"Is that a yes?"
"Oh, Zeke."
"I'll take that as a yes," he decided and slipped the ring onto her finger.
"Oh, Zeke," she said again, and threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him over.
He pushed her back down onto the sleeping bag and proceeded to kiss her senseless.
She ignited instantly this time, bursting into full flame in a matter of seconds. "Make love to me," she demanded, yanking open the metal buttons on his jeans. "Make love to me right now."
It was the first sexually aggressive move she'd ever made toward him and Zeke responded to it the way any healthy, red-blooded, twenty-two-year-old male might be expected to respond. He reached for the zipper on her little white bell-bottoms, pulled it down and peeled her out of her pants so fast it was a wonder she didn'
t get fabric burns on her thighs. As he reached for the hem of her baby blue sweater, intending to drag it off over her head, she slipped her hand inside his jeans and gently squeezed him.
Zeke nearly hit the ceiling of the van. "Good God Almighty," he breathed. "Ariel"
"Now, Zeke," she demanded breathlessly. "Right now."
He let go of the sweater and rushed to obey her, pushing his jeans and underpants down just far enough to let his erection spring free. She opened her thighs as he lifted himself over her, shamelessly exposing the urgency of her need. He plunged himself in to the hilt, entering her without caution or restriction. Her hips rolled against his convulsively, pleading and demanding at the same time. He thrust deeply, and then thrust again, and the ride to completion began. It was wild. Unrestrained. Hot. And very, very brief. Ariel climaxed with a fierce, sharp cry of feminine triumph and Zeke followed her barely a second later, his shout of satisfaction coming so close upon hers that it sounded as if they came from a single throat.
The recovery took longer than the act itself. They lay, still joined together, listening to each other breathe as they struggled to come back to reality.
"I guess I should propose more often," Zeke said and she could hear the humor and pleasure in his deep voice.
"I don't know what came over me," she whispered, a bit embarrassed now that the urgency was past.
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