by Brenda Joyce
Her legs had a nice shape; in fact, they were her best feature. Her arms were probably her worst feature, but no one would notice because of her breasts and hair. She had even invested in a new perfume, Nicki. She was nervous.
This time there was no wait. The bosomy blond receptionist ushered her straight in. Abe rose to greet her, his eyes flicking over her. Mary decided she was an absolute pervert—she couldn’t believe the thoughts that were rushing through her mind.
“Hello, doll,” Abe said. “Come on, sit down. Coffee?”
“No, thanks,” Mary said, sitting and crossing her legs. Her skirt rode up high on her thighs. Abe looked. He sat casually on the corner of his desk, facing her.
“What was this shit with you drawing a gun on Belinda?” His tone was suddenly harsh, his eyes hard.
And Mary was disappointed. “You lied,” she said tremulously. “So I decided to do something myself.”
“What are you, crazy?”
“I didn’t mean to shoot her,” Mary cried, upset. “I just wanted to frighten her away from Vince. That’s all.”
“Jesus, you could have killed her!”
“She shouldn’t have tried to grab the gun,” Mary half moaned. “I’m so sorry—believe me. It was the worst nightmare of my life.” To her horror a few tears trembled on her lashes.
“Christ, if you’d talked to me, I could’ve told you to lay low and let it die a natural death. I had plans for Belinda—marriage plans. And they didn’t include your husband.”
Mary blinked. “You did?”
“Next time you come to me first.”
Mary bit her lip. She looked at him. She felt thrilled—he hadn’t lied. Hadn’t used her. And he wasn’t angry any longer, just intent. “I was drunk,” she confessed. “Or it would never have happened.”
Abe laughed. “No harm’s done, and hell, what you did was a response as old as time. Probably something I would have done.”
She smiled.
He leaned back and let his gaze roam her leisurely. Her nipples tightened against the ribbed cotton of her T-shirt. He said, “So that chapter’s closed now, right, doll?”
“Yes. Vince and I are through anyway. I’ve had it with that bastard.”
He raised a brow. “Quick change.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m getting a divorce, and I kicked him out last night.”
Abe grinned. “Good for you.” He shifted again. And tugged at the crotch of his trousers. Mary’s glance followed his movement, and she noticed a healthy hard-on. Their gazes met. “C’mere,” he commanded softly.
Her heart leapt while her vulva grew slick and moist. She was on her feet and moving between his thighs. He grabbed her breasts, squeezing. “Jesus,” he said.
She clamped a hand on his penis through the material of his pants. It leapt and quivered. “Abe,” Mary said.
He pulled up her shirt and buried his face between her breasts, kneading them. She freed his cock. He took a large nipple into his mouth. “Big and beautiful,” he said. “I want to fuck your tits, Mary.”
And he did.
97
Fear.
Rancid, stinking fear.
Will Hayward sat very still, in the living area of his studio on Ninetieth and First Avenue, listening. Straining to hear. His face was white. Sweat shone on his forehead and trickled past his ear. His arms were wrapped fiercely around himself. Again he heard it, and he leaned forward, concentrating.
A creaking.
Someone was coming.
And now, now there was nothing.
Will knew he was a coward. If he wasn’t a coward, he would get up and go to the front door and at least use the peekhole to see who was out there. Who? An assassin, of course. An assassin hired by Abe Glassman.
But he couldn’t do it.
He was afraid to even go to the door.
There was no noise now, nothing.
It had been his imagination. Will relaxed slightly, as much as possible with his heart racing a hundred miles an hour and his body wired from all the coke he’d done in the past two weeks. He knew he needed to come down. He wanted to shoot some heroin, or at least do a few Valium. But how could he? He needed to be alert!
Will opened the vial and snorted a few spoonfuls.
Then he heard the elevator—there was no mistaking that sound. He capped the vial, almost spilling its contents because his hands were trembling so badly. He sat once more in frozen, abject fear. It was only when he heard his neighbor’s door opening and his neighbor’s girlfriend’s laughter that he relaxed, closing his eyes and sinking back against the couch.
He couldn’t go on this way much longer.
For one thing, he was down to the end of his stash—but he was afraid to go out. He hadn’t left his apartment in two weeks, not since he’d almost been killed in Central Park. He hadn’t gone to work, and he hadn’t answered his phone. He still had money left from the five grand he’d gotten from Abe, so that wasn’t a problem—not yet. But what was he going to do about Abe?
He was going crazy.
He knew it.
He had to do something.
He just couldn’t go on like this anymore.
98
Jack finished shaving. He whistled at his reflection in the mirror.
Despite himself he was really looking forward to tonight.
And he was very pleased with himself. His timing, he thought, was impeccable. He hadn’t seen her in four days, not since an early morning run (followed by a deli breakfast), and he hadn’t called her until last night. While he was making himself clear regarding his intentions toward her, his instincts told him how far and how often to push. His instincts were always right on target when it came to women, and Belinda was a woman—a helluva woman, unfortunately—even if the stakes were entirely different this time.
He thought he had figured her out. She liked to be in control. She had reversed the sex roles by becoming the predator, the provider. Her men were like his bimbos, studs to service her. That was why she was so flighty toward him—she wasn’t used to an aggressive, powerful male chasing her. She didn’t like not being in control. He had to admit he found her an exciting challenge.
We’re not so different, he thought.
He refused to think about all he had learned that other night—about Belinda’s relationship to her father. That knowledge was tucked securely away where it couldn’t affect him or his plans.
His apartment had been very quiet ever since he had come home to dress for their date. No sign of Rick or Leah, although both of their bedroom doors were closed. As he was dressing he realized he couldn’t find his favorite cuff links, diamond-studded antiques. He knew they should be in the ashtray on his bureau, the only place they ever were. Irritated, he then noticed a tie clip was missing. It had been a gift from Tiffany’s. What the hell …?
Leah.
He suddenly knew she had taken the items.
Jack was rigid with fury. He was out of his bedroom and at her door a moment later, yanking it open. He stared, stunned. A man was on top of her, humping away, while she encouraged him with soft sex words and her hands and body.
“What is going on?” he roared.
The man leapt off Leah, going beet-red. He was short and paunchy except for skinny legs and a skinny, rapidly deflating dick. He hopped into his pants frantically.
Leah smiled, stretched, and slowly sat up.
“I don’t believe this!” Jack yelled.
The man was grabbing his shirt. “I didn’t know she was married. I swear we never met before. I swear!” he cried, edging for the door.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Jack snarled, and the man fled with a hasty snatch for his shoes.
“I’m a big girl,” Leah said, making no effort to cover her nakedness. “If Rick can play around with his friend, why can’t I?”
“Because somehow I think there’s a difference here,” Jack said stiffly. He was furious.
“Honey,” Leah said, standing and stopping t
he man from exiting. “Not so fast.”
The man pulled out a wallet and counted out a number of bills, Jack watching incredulously, and stuffed them into Leah’s hand.
“Later, doll,” Leah called after him.
“Put on some clothes,” Jack snarled, clenching his fists. She was whoring out of his home!
She slipped on a robe. “What’s the matter, Bro? Gettin’ excited?”
“I want you and your things out of here by tonight,” Jack managed. “I can’t deal with this!”
“So now big brother’s going to turn his back on poor little sister,” she drawled sarcastically. “Did I even ask to be brought here? Did I? And now you’re kicking me out?”
“You’re incorrigible,” Jack grated. “Just like our mother.”
“And you’re so high and mighty. You got a different piece in here every night—and you pay them just like my johns pay me. With a good word, a favor, a walk-on. You hypocrite! You’re no different from them.”
Jack controlled himself, because he actually wanted to drag her by the hair and throw her out of his apartment.
At that precise moment the front door opened, and Rick and Lydia walked in laughing, their bodies touching, Rick’s arm around her shoulders. Jack ignored them.
“And what happened to my cuff links and tie clip? Are you a thief as well as a whore?”
Rick put his arm protectively around Lydia and backed her down the hall.
“I don’t know anything about your damn cuff links,” Leah shouted angrily.
“Dammit,” Jack shouted and left, slamming her door closed.
“Er … hi, Jack,” Rick said uneasily, his arm still around Lydia. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Rick and Lydia exchanged glances. “Maybe we’d better leave,” Rick said to Lydia.
“That’s all right.”
Leah appeared, her face flushed with anger. “I’m gonna tell you what I think, you bastard!” she hissed. “You come into my life and turn it upside down. You drag me out here. I didn’t want to come. And now you’re throwing me out. Where am I supposed to go? Where?”
“Rick,” Lydia said softly, tugging his hand. Rick stared from his sister to Jack, both obviously furious, and he took Lydia’s hand and they slipped out of the apartment.
“Back to New York,” Jack said.
“You lousy bastard! You think I can go back there? My pimp will kill me—he will fucking slit my throat!”
Jack stared.
Leah had tears in her eyes. “I can’t go back there.”
“You can’t stay here,” Jack said tersely.
“You wanted your family, but now that you see what it’s like, we’re not good enough for you,” she said bitterly.
“Not we,” Jack said. “You. Why, Leah? Why did you have to turn a trick? Christ, I give you money, a place to stay, you had Hamilton—why?”
“It’s my profession,” she snapped. “What am I supposed to do, sit around on my ass, bored all day?”
“I can’t believe this.”
“I like it! It turns me on—it’s forbidden, and it’s always different.”
“You’re not even going to try and reform, are you?”
“Fuck you!”
“I’ll set you up in your own apartment,” Jack said. “I’ll buy you a two-year lease. Give you some money to get started. But that’s it. You’re on your own. Unless you want to get into the business in one way or another, in which case I will gladly pull strings for you.”
Leah looked at him a long moment, then smiled. “That’s a pretty good deal,” she said.
“Damn right,” Jack retorted.
“Maybe I was wrong. You’re okay,” she said. “My own place?”
She was just like Janet. Selfish and self-centered. Pathetic. Suddenly, for the first time, Jack felt sorry for her, sorry for Janet. “Look,” he heard himself say, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Let’s not fight. Let’s release the past.”
She looked at him as if he were crazy.
99
Another extension.
Another Beverly Hills home.
“Bill, goddamn it, go pick that up,” Vince said harshly, snapping. He watched as the gofer ran to pick up some wrappers one of the guys had left lying around. “Doug, when I said sweep up all that debris, I meant it,” he said.
He walked around the wing they had started to frame, making sure they were leaving the site impeccably clean and spotless. Hills people had fits when there was even one cigarette butt lying in the drive—even the service driveway.
He saw a nail and picked it up. A flat tire would be just great. Straightening, he glimpsed long female calves. Standing, he started, did a classic double-take.
The woman was auburn-haired, tall, sleek, perfect in profile, and she was talking to the gardener who had been trimming hedges all day in an elaborate modern swirling design. She was obviously the missus of the house—and what a missus.
Thirty or so, he guessed, maybe close to forty. She had a Jacqueline Bisset look. She dismissed the gardener and turned her head and body slightly. Their gazes met.
Beautiful, stunning, impossibly sexy.
She smiled and strode forward. The way she walked reminded him of someone. An aggressive, confident walk. Her body was strong and athletic. Desire rose.
“Hello, I’m Shanna Jacobsen. Are you the foreman?” Her accent actually had a touch of Ireland. Her eyes were gray, like a winter sea. God, what he wouldn’t give to fuck her.
“Yeah, Vince Spazzio. Please to meet you, Mrs. Jacobsen.”
She looked right into his eyes. “You can call me Shanna—everyone does,” she said.
He hadn’t put his shirt back on, but she hadn’t looked at his chest once. It was disappointing. “Thanks,” he said.
“Let’s discuss some ideas I’ve had since I last saw the architect,” she said, smiling and starting toward the framing.
Vince followed eagerly.
100
Melody knew she had to be very careful.
Had to stay in character.
She had thought it all out.
Seduction wouldn’t work—it would be too obvious.
“Well,” she said, smiling, “that takes care of that.” She had just removed the last of their dinner dishes. “More wine, Peter?”
“Yes, please,” he said, looking at her intently.
He was sitting on the sofa, relaxed, denim thighs spread. Melody poured the full-bodied Cabernet, leaning close enough to almost touch him. Her hair did. Then she moved to sit next to him.
“Dinner was great, Melody,” Peter said, shifting his arm casually behind her on the sofa.
“Thank you,” she said demurely.
He was facing her. “Quite a package. Even cooks.”
She dropped her gaze.
He caught her chin and kissed her for a long time. He was a good kisser, Melody decided—not that she had very much experience. The kiss was arousing. Not like Jack’s, of course. She stiffened at that thought and the timing was perfect; Peter had just slid one of his large hands over one of her large breasts. He removed his palm and moved away, sighing. “Melody.”
“Peter, please understand,” she said.
He didn’t look at her. “I guess I do.”
This time she took his hand, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not like most of the girls in this town, and I don’t want to be like them. I need to love the man I sleep with.”
Peter half smiled. “Yeah. Well, I guess you can’t blame me for trying.” He leaned closer. His eyes had picked up the tone of his shirt. “You really turn me on, Melody, and that’s not a line.” He kissed her again.
“I guess I’d better go,” he said reluctantly quite a bit later.
Melody wished she could let him stay. She remembered how it had felt to have an orgasm with a man inside her, and God, she needed that again. But The Plan was more important. And he was leaving. Now was the time to act.
“Peter
, before you go, can we talk business?”
“Sure,” he said, leaning back against the couch.
Melody suddenly noticed the outline of a massive erection. The denim hid nothing. Then she realized she was staring, and she averted her eyes, blushing profusely.
“I told you,” Peter said softly, “you really turn me on.”
Melody met his gaze. The sight of that had tightened her unbearably, but The Plan was the most important thing in her life. Melody was not experienced, but she was clever. Right now when Peter wanted her he was most malleable. So she looked away at her lap, where she clutched her hands; and when she spoke, it was in her most fragile, timid voice. “Peter, I need your help.”
He thought her eyes were so guileless, so wide and innocent and blue. “I’d love to help.”
“I need you to get a video for me, Peter.”
Peter listened.
“I know who made it, and he’s here in Hollywood … well, he lives in Bel Air—or he used to. The thing is, he won’t sell it to you or anything. You need to steal it.”
“I see.” Peter studied her. “Why?”
Melody gulped. “Because I’m Jack’s manager and friend and right now he’s very vulnerable and the video is very damaging. I want to destroy it.”
“Porn?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“His past is no secret—at least not the drugs and alcohol. The wild parties? It wouldn’t be the first time a young, good-looking, struggling actor living on the wild side made a couple of dirty movies for a few bucks.”
Peter contemplated the floor, and Melody waited anxiously. “Peter? Are you upset with me?” Her voice was small and childish.
“No.” A half smile. “I admire your loyalty. And I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thank you.”
“But my fee is another night like tonight,” he said, suddenly mischievous.
“Dinner?”
“Dinner and your company.”
Melody smiled. “Well, I think that can be arranged.” She hesitated. There was one more crucial thing. “Peter, I don’t want Jack to know about this. He’s so pressured right now. I don’t want him to worry. When it’s all over and I’ve destroyed the video, I’ll tell him.”