Dark Desires

by JoAnn Ross

  "Just what I always wanted. One of these days we should all get together and hold a reunion."

  9

  The Fairmont Hotel crowned Nob Hill like a jewel.

  "You're realize that you're acting as if you're going to a public hanging," Blake said as he pulled the car beneath the wide porte cochere. The closer they'd gotten to the city, the quieter she'd become; she hadn't said a word for the past twenty minutes.

  Savannah sighed. "I know. And I also know that if I'm going to insist that my life is none of my father's business, then I should just decide to live and let live." She shook her head in mute frustration. "It's just that all my life, all I ever really wanted was a normal family."

  Blake chuckled at that, but the sound held no humor. "Join the club. But the truth is the Cleavers were simply one in a long line of Hollywood illusions." He touched her hair. "Perhaps the thing to do is to make your own family."

  It was only a hand to her hair. Certainly not an earthshakingly intimate gesture. But that seemingly casual touch, along with the warmth of his gaze, made her tremble.

  Before she could think up an answer, a liveried doorman, clad in a black uniform with broad red epaulets and shiny brass buttons, opened the passenger door and Savannah had no choice but to accompany Blake into the hotel.

  The lobby was richly decorated with marble pillars and a gilt-framed ceiling that recalled San Francisco's golden era. They were making their way across the plush black-and-burgundy carpeting when a familiar face appeared in front of them.

  "Justin!"

  The slight frown on Savannah's face was replaced with a dazzling smile that rivaled the glow from the crystal chandeliers overhead. Ringing her arms around his neck, she went up on her toes to kiss the older man's tanned cheek. "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "You don't think I'd miss one of your father's weddings, do you?" the agent said. "I have, after all, served as best man at all the others."

  He glanced over the top of Savannah's dark head. "Hello, Blake." If he was surprised to see his longtime client with Savannah, he didn't show it.

  Blake had been standing by quietly, watching the way Savannah had reacted to Justin Peters's unexpected appearance.

  The reserve she normally wore like a protective cloak had fallen away and she was behaving with a free-spirited spontaneity he'd only experienced while they were making love. Blake found himself wishing they could spend all their time in bed.

  "Hello, Justin." A man was losing his grip when he became jealous of his best—and perhaps only—friend. Blake knew it. But that didn't stop him from wanting to pry Justin's hand off Savannah's hip.

  The older man lifted an eyebrow at Blake's curt tone. "It's good to see you. How's the work going?"

  "Very well," Blake answered. "Savannah's an incredible talent."

  "It's Blake who's talented," Savannah quickly said. "If my score is any good, it's only because his marvelous scenes provided such inspiration."

  Justin's gaze went from Blake to Savannah and back to Blake again. "Sounds like a mutual-admiration society. Although I hate to take credit for others' abilities, I suspected all along that my two favorite clients would hit it off."

  Blake was suspicious, but if the agent had been involved in a little underhanded matchmaking, he wasn't saying. "Why don't you two go up upstairs and unpack?" Justin suggested, handing them a key. "Then you can join your father and Audrey. Reggie's hiding away in his suite. So far, no one knows he's in town."

  Which was lucky, Savannah considered as she accompanied Blake upstairs in the elevator. Because whatever her relationship with Blake—and after last night, she could no longer continue to deny that they did, indeed, have some sort of relationship—it was too new, too fragile, to be exposed to the savage scrutiny of the press.

  Her father had booked them into the Ambassador Suite. With his usual flair, along with the basket of fruit and cheeses provided by the hotel, Reggie had arranged for a magnum of champagne. Beside it, a silver bowl of gleaming dark caviar was nestled in a bed of sparkling ice.

  "All the comforts of home," Blake murmured.

  "My father's inordinately fond of grand gestures," Savannah said. "He can't seem to get over having grown up poor, so he constantly surrounds himself with all the trappings of wealth."

  "I suppose I can understand that," Blake said. Wasn't it one of the reasons he continued to squeeze fresh orange juice every morning? To keep the fantasy alive— and the hounds of his own impoverished past at bay?

  "Unfortunately, he always forgets that I hate caviar."

  "You, too?" Another thing they had in common. After last night, Blake had given up trying to convince himself that he wasn't keeping score.

  Savannah laughed. "My father categorically refuses to believe that I'd rather have a hot dog."

  "With relish and mustard. At the ballpark," Blake said. "Watching the Giants beat the Dodgers."

  "Watching the Dodgers beat the Giants," Savannah corrected. Crossing the room, she pulled the heavy blackout draperies closed, blocking out the sun and throwing the room into shadow.

  Blake stared at her. "Good Lord, don't tell me you're a Dodgers fan."

  She crossed her arms over her chest and came to stand in front of him. "True-blue. And surely you aren't really a Giants fan?"

  "Dyed-in-the-wool." Blake shook his head. "Damn. I guess this relationship is doomed."

  "It appears so." Savannah sighed and ran her hands up his chambray shirtfront to his throat. "But perhaps there is a solution to our little problem."

  "What's that?"

  She could hear the desire in his rough tone. Thrilled that she could affect Blake with such a simple touch, Savannah toyed with the top button of his shirt.

  "Perhaps," she suggested silkily, freeing the button while watching his eyes, "we could stick to basketball games." She loosened the second button. Then the third. "How do you feel about the Lakers?"

  The touch of her hand made Blake's flesh burn, his head swim. He'd lost the power to control his thoughts. His body. His pulse.

  "I love 'em," he managed.

  Their mouths met and conversation ceased, and was replaced by soft sighs and husky moans as they rocketed into the mist.

  Audrey Lyndon was a revelation. Tall and elegant, with silver hair that had been swept back into a French roll, dressed in a classic Chanel suit and a single strand of very good pearls, she was definitely older than Savannah. In fact, a stunned Savannah considered, it was possible that Audrey was actually as old as Reggie.

  They had met, as Reggie had told Savannah on the phone, after last month's show in Chicago. But she wasn't really a groupie, Audrey assured Savannah with a smile. In fact, she had been only vaguely aware of Reggie Starr's music and had never bought an album. Rather, in addition to being first cellist for the San Francisco Symphony, she also served as the director of a music program for mentally-challenged teenagers.

  Since her kids all idolized Reggie Starr, Audrey had flown to Chicago, where he was performing, to ask him to headline a benefit talent-show designed to raise much-needed funds for her pet program.

  "She was the most persuasive woman I've ever met," Reggie told Savannah and Blake during dinner. "By the time she was five minutes into her spiel, I would've done anything she asked. By the time she was finished, I knew she was going to marry me."

  "Fast work on both your parts," Blake said.

  Savannah watched as Audrey reached over and covered Reggie's hand with her own beringed one. A shimmering diamond covered the ring finger of her left hand. Reggie, true to form, had bought the largest piece of crystallized carbon Cartier had had in stock.

  "Reggie can be quite persuasive, himself," Audrey said with an indulgent, loving smile.

  "When it's somethin'—or someone—I want," Reggie agreed, unknowingly echoing Blake's words as he answered his fiancée's smile with a boyish one of his own.

  As the evening progressed, Savannah came to the conclusion that Audrey was definitely a woman
of vast talents. Including being a magician. Somehow, without so much as a whip or a chair, she managed to keep Reggie Starr behaving like a perfect gentleman.

  "He has to be under some sort of spell," Savannah told Blake when they were alone in their hotel room. "I've never seen my father act so… so…" She was at an absolute loss for words.

  "Normal?" Blake suggested.

  "Exactly. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Audrey is a pod person and has gotten rid of the real Reggie Starr—Britain's bad boy of rock and roll—and re-placed him with this friendly, funny, balding, almost respectable middle-aged man. And did you notice his suit?"

  "Savile Row."

  "My father has never worn a suit in his life. Unless you count the black leather tuxedo he wore to last year's Grammy Awards. And his earring's gone."

  "Love can do funny things to a man," Blake said.

  "I suppose."

  If she'd been paying more attention, Savannah would have heard the personal admission in Blake's tone. But she was thinking about her father's missing earring. He'd worn the gleaming gold stud for as long as she'd known him. Once he'd told her that it had belonged to her mother. She'd been wearing a pair of them the night they'd met—the night Melanie Raine's studio had arranged for the brash young Liverpudlian rock singer to accompany the rising star to the premier of her new movie. The night that Savannah had been conceived.

  Blake was right. Love did funny things to people. It made them fight. It made them jealous. It made them weak, and sometimes, it made them murderous. From what she'd seen of love, Savannah didn't want any part of it.

  "I just want him to be happy," she said softly.

  "Then you don't have to worry," Blake said. "Because it's obvious that your father is a very happy man, these days." He began unfastening the row of tiny gold buttons that ran down the front of her black dinner dress. "I have a proposition for you."

  Savannah reached over and switched off the light.

  "Yes," she said as he pushed the dress off her shoulders.

  It slid to the carpet.

  "You don't even know what I was going to suggest." She stepped out of the dress. "Try me."

  "I was thinking that instead of going back right after the wedding tomorrow, we spend another night."

  "I think that's an absolutely wonderful idea." His shirt joined her dress. "So did the hotel manager when I called down and told him that we'd be keeping the room for another day."

  Savannah was laughing when he pulled her down onto the bed.

  "Good morning." The mellow morning sunshine was filtering through a slit in the draperies. Blake shifted on the bed to draw Savannah closer. "You are exquisite."

  His fingers were gently stroking her breast. She quickly pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. "You're not so bad yourself."

  He lifted her hand to his lips. "I only wish I could figure out a way to keep you in my bed like this all the time."

  The words were frighteningly familiar. Savannah stiffened in his arms and pulled her hand away. "I don't think that would be a very good idea."

  Damn. What had he been thinking of? "Savannah." He ran his hand helplessly over her hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

  "I know." She sighed and rested her cheek on his chest. "You could never be like Jerry. I realize that. But sometimes old instincts die hard."

  That he could understand. Last night, as he watched Reggie Starr bask in the glow of newly discovered love, Blake wondered grimly if he'd looked as stupidly love-struck the night before his marriage to Pamela, and had come to the reluctant conclusion that he probably had. The difference was that Audrey seemed to honestly love Reggie in spite of what he did for a living, while Pamela had only pretended to love him because of his career.

  "Ghosts." Savannah lifted her head to look at him, her eyes brimming with understanding. "We all have them. And sometimes they refuse to stay locked away in their closets."

  Two weeks ago, Savannah Starr had been nothing but a midnight fantasy. Now she was the single most important thing in his life. It couldn't be love. Oh, he loved working with her, he loved laughing with her, he loved walking along the beach with her and he definitely loved making love with her. But love?

  Yes. Love. The knowledge, when it came, was not particularly welcome. He'd always considered falling in love to be a dangerous, foolish misstep, like taking a nosedive off the cliff behind his house. Well, that's exactly what had happened. He'd taken a nosedive, all right. Right into something he still wasn't sure he wanted.

  "Ghosts," he repeated thoughtfully, wondering if Savannah could read all his thoughts. Or just the negative ones concerning Pamela. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know a good exorcist?"

  Savannah smiled. "Not really. But perhaps," she suggested, pulling the sheet over both their heads, "if we put all of our positive energy together and concentrated really hard—"

  "I knew you were an intelligent woman." A small, surprised gasp of pleasure escaped Savannah's lips as Blake slipped into her. Their hands linked, their lips met. And the ghosts vanished.

  Later, during a private lunch with Reggie in his hotel suite, Blake discovered the Savannah wasn't kidding about her father's tendency for cross-examination.

  "Those rumors," Reggie said, "the ones about you tryin' to kill your wife, I want you to know that I never believed them."

  "I'm glad to hear that," Blake said dryly.

  "Although thinkin' back on a couple of my own ex-wives, I can understand why you'd want to," Reggie allowed. "So, what are your intentions concerning my daughter?" he asked, eyeing Blake over the icy rim of his beer mug.

  Blake took a drink of his own beer. "I like a man who gets straight to the point."

  "When Savannah got mixed up with that Larsen bastard, I told myself that she was a grown woman," Reggie revealed. "Capable of makin' her own choices." His lips thinned and something that looked like a cross between pain and recrimination moved like a shadow across his face.

  "I'm a man who learns from his mistakes, Winters, and the good Lord knows, I've made more than my share. But I won't make that same error concerning my daughter ever again. So, I'm askin' you again, what the flamin' 'ell are your intentions?"

  Blake felt like suggesting that Reggie's own romantic track record made him an unlikely choice to control Savannah's personal life. He also found the entire conversation outrageously Victorian. But he could tell that while Reggie Starr hadn't been a perfect father figure for his daughter, he did love her. Which was one thing they shared.

  "I love Savannah. And I'm going to marry her." As he heard the words leave his mouth, Blake was every bit as surprised to be saying them as Reggie seemed to be, hearing them.

  "Talk about gettin' right to the bloody point," Reggie muttered, taking another long drink of beer. "Does Savannah know about this?"

  "No."

  Reggie appeared to mull that over. "She's not at all like her mother. Or me. With Melanie and I, what you see is what you get. Savannah was always more private. She tends to hold her feelings in. Sometimes too much, if you ask me."

  "I know," Blake answered. "We have that in common."

  "I suppose you do." Reggie studied Blake, looking far more like a concerned father than an international rock legend. "Her mother put some funny ideas in her head. Ideas about a woman not bein' worth anything if she isn't beauty-queen beautiful. All the time… That's why Melanie killed herself. Because she couldn't stand the idea of not being perfect."

  He rubbed his hand over his face in a weary way that made Blake wonder if he was remembering how it felt to fall in love with a woman who possessed such a tragic flaw.

  "I'm not saying Savannah would ever kill herself," Reggie insisted. "She's too strong for that. But I think, when she looks in the mirror, her scars look a lot worse to her than they do to the rest of us."

  "I think they do," Blake concurred. Except for that first time, when she'd reluctantly allowed him to view her scars in the firelight, Savannah had insi
sted on making love in the dark. Or like this morning, under the covers. "But healing takes time. Especially emotional healing."

  Reggie gave him an intense, judicial look. "I imagine you'd know a bit about that yourself."

  "I do." Blake met the older man's probing eyes with a direct gaze of his own. "Your daughter's been good for me. I'm not going to lie and say that I wanted to get involved with her, because I damn well didn't. But I fell in love with her—the gorgeous, generous, talented woman she is inside—and if it takes me the rest of my life, I'm going to make her learn to trust enough to fall in love with me."

  Reggie nodded, appearing convinced of Blake's sincerity. "If you want my opinion, Winters, I'd say you're halfway there." He grinned, and the cheeky rock singer was back. "I think I'll get the kid a set of drums."

  "Kid?"

  "My grandchild," Reggie explained guilelessly. "The family never has had a drummer. I like the idea of goin' out on the road with the little nipper. Savannah could write the songs, I'd sing 'em, and the boy could rip away at the percussion. Just think, three generations of Starrs all in the business at the same time."

  "Just think," Blake murmured, deciding that this was one more little news flash that he was going to keep from Savannah.

  San Francisco's temperamental spring weather cooperated beautifully for the outdoor wedding.

  "I can't believe it," Savannah said on the way to Golden Gate Park. She was sitting in the back of a limousine with her father, Audrey, Justin and Blake. "Here we are, minutes away from pulling off the celebrity wedding of the year, and there aren't any hordes of screaming fans, autograph seekers, paparazzi, or helicopters flying overhead."

  "That's because your old man used his noodle," Reggie said, handing her a folded newspaper.

  Savannah stared in wonder at the supermarket tabloid. The cover featured a picture of her father, skiing in Gstaad with a blond beauty reported to be the unmarried daughter of the prince of Montacroix.