by Julie Kenner
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.”
As if she knew the moment was tenuous, she stood quickly and kissed him lightly on the cheek before slipping past him.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he whispered, even though she’d gone. He didn’t have a clue what the hell he was doing or why he was doing it. And he wasn’t inclined to examine his motives right then.
One thing, though, was certain—his motives were anything but pure.
HE WAS DRUNK, and it felt nice. The liquor had dulled the pain of seeing her again, of knowing she was there because of what he could do for her, not because she wanted to see him. The knowledge made him feel raw, especially since every atom in his body still wanted her. Despite the fresh waves of hurt and anger that washed over him when he thought of her, the bottom line was, he wanted Lisa in his bed. He always had.
But he’d lost that chance years ago. She’d probably thought of him as some sort of country bumpkin, out of place among the L.A. power players. She’d supported his dream, but she’d never really believed he’d be one of them. Not a player. Not as she intended to be. And in the end that meant she needed a man other than Ken. A man like Tyrell who could help her get where she wanted to be. Ken may have been an enjoyable dalliance, but he wasn’t permanent material, not for someone like Lisa.
Disgusted with himself for dredging up old hurts and insecurities, he tossed back the contents of his glass, letting the slow burn of whiskey eat away at his despair.
“You should slow down,” Tim warned, even as he topped off Ken’s drink. The restaurant was closed and dark, but Tim had stayed around, apparently sensing an aberration in his friend’s usually predictable life.
“I don’t have to drive home.” Ken tipped the glass back, took a long swallow. “Keep it coming.”
Four years ago it had seemed easier just to move into the hotel. His dreams of having some sort of home life had crumbled around him, and the hotel had the advantage of built-in maid service, easy access to work, the constant thrum of activity to ward off loneliness. The perfect living arrangements. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“I’m going to pull the plug soon. You’re so trashed you’ll get cited for a D.U.I. in the elevator.”
“This is twice now she’s done this,” he said, his fingers tightening on the glass as he ignored Tim’s comment.
“Who’s done what?”
“Lisa. Used me as a damn stepping stone.”
Tim poured himself a shot of bourbon and sat across from Ken. His boss’s mind tended to go a mile a minute anyway, so Ken was always at least two steps ahead of everyone else. Usually, though, Tim could catch up pretty quick. Tonight, he was lost. “Come again?”
“Five years ago I was the romantic interlude on her journey to find a lover who could help her career. Now she’s back, and—surprise, surprise—it’s all about her job again.”
Tim took a long swallow, trying to decide what to say. He’d known Ken for seven years, and Lisa for almost six. He’d spent countless hours with the two of them, heard them laughing and teasing as they painted the restaurant or poured over plans. He’d seen the way she’d begged a blanket from housekeeping when the late hours got to Ken and he fell asleep behind the unvarnished bar.
No woman could tuck a man in so gently, with such a soft look on her face, and not feel real, deep emotions. Lisa’d loved Ken, all right. But that didn’t change the fact that she’d left, and now Tim didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to help ease the pain.
He decided to not say anything, just simply asked, “What does she want?”
“To film inside the restaurant.”
“Whoa!” Tim knew better than anyone how Ken felt about keeping a mystique surrounding Oxygen. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.”
Tim frowned. He’d expected a rousing refusal. No one filmed inside the restaurant, and that included ex-girlfriends and objects of obsession. That Ken was even considering the possibility was not only a bit unnerving, it was also very, very interesting.
Ken picked up his glass and swirled the liquid, watching as the melting ice clattered against the sides of the tumbler. The liquor had fogged his head, true, but not so much that he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “I’m thinking of a little tit for tat.”
The plan was forming even as he spoke the words. Decadent, yes, but extremely appealing.
“What do you mean?” Tim asked. “You’re going to let them film here?”
“Possibly. She wants to use me. Maybe I want to use her, too.” Hell, maybe he needed to use her. Maybe that was the only way to set the past aside.
With a clarity he was used to experiencing only in his business deals, the plan came to him full-blown. Since Lisa, he’d had his share of women, but not one had satisfied the hole she’d left in his heart. He’d loved her, true. But he was long past love. He had to be. Any emotion left was just residual and, more than anything, he needed her out of his system, needed to break through the red wall of anger pressing up against him.
But he also wanted her.
Lust and revenge, a potent combination.
Potent enough to throw his principles out the window? Potent enough to let her into Oxygen?
He ran his hands over his face, remembering all those nights when he’d longed to sink himself into her. He’d held back then, so sure that one day she’d be his wife. Well, he’d lost then. She’d walked out, leaving him with nothing but memories and an ache in his heart.
He didn’t intend to lose now. So help him, he wanted her.
Tim was watching him, disbelief in his eyes. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
Ken half smiled, knowing Tim would disapprove. “Since I can’t read minds, I couldn’t say.”
Tim shook his head. “Be careful, buddy.”
“I’m always careful,” Ken said, slamming back the rest of his drink.
“You need coffee. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“On the contrary, this is the most focused I’ve been since I started thinking about the anniversary.” He moved toward the door, only slightly unsteady on his feet. “Lock up when you leave,” he called, even though he knew Tim would.
He headed for the elevator, planning to hit the sheets immediately. But when his alarm went off the next morning, he realized he had no memory of getting from the restaurant to his suite, much less getting into bed. Since he was still wearing his suit, he apparently hadn’t put too much thought into the endeavor.
With a groan, he sat up, one hand pressed against his temple to keep his brain from spilling out his ears. He almost called the front desk to have them stop the damn construction, until he realized the pounding was all in his head.
Memories of the night before flickered through his mind, scattered and indistinct. Lisa. Lisa was the only impression that stood out. The only real memory in a haze of illusions. Lisa…and his plan.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he pressed his hands against the counter and stared at the mirror. His reflection stared back, stern and unblinking. Could he really do this? Did he still want her so much—and did he want retribution so much—that he was willing to make sex a bargaining tool? That he was willing to sacrifice his hard-and-fast rule against filming inside the restaurant?
He took a deep breath. Anger or lust, he didn’t know, it didn’t matter. The answer was still the same—yes.
Ken shut his eyes against his reflection’s reproach.
Lord help him, yes.
HUGO’S WAS JUST AS she’d remembered it. A popular breakfast spot on Santa Monica Boulevard in the heart of West Hollywood, it was a favorite hangout among gays and straights, the trendy and the hungry. When she’d lived there, it had been Lisa’s favorite place to grab a weekend breakfast, and she’d become addicted to the pumpkin pancakes.
Her stomach was already growling as she pulled into a parking space behind the restaurant. She sat in her rental car for
a moment, gathering her courage. This was it. In an hour, she’d either have Ken’s help or she wouldn’t.
And if he turned her down, she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do. Maybe pick up a copy of Daily Variety to see if she could find a job doing grunt work on a low-budget film.
No! She pounded her fist against the steering wheel, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed the whacked-out woman in the blue Honda. She needed this job, was terrified of failing once again, and she was going to convince Ken to help her—no matter what the cost.
With a deep breath, she slid out of the car, then started walking toward the front entrance. A dozen or so people loitered near the door, newspapers in hand, as they waited for the hostess to take them to a table. The inside wasn’t any better. The crowd was so thick, Lisa could barely fight her way to the hostess station.
“I’m sorry,” the hostess said after Lisa explained she was meeting a friend. “We’re only seating full parties right now. If you don’t see your friend, you’re probably here first.” She poised a pencil above a yellow pad. “Name?”
“Neal,” Lisa said. With a sigh, she slipped away, then leaned against the wall. She’d intentionally showed up a little late so she wouldn’t seem overly eager. So much for that little scheme, since Ken wasn’t even there yet.
A warm hand closed over her shoulder. “Lisa,” Ken said.
A bone-deep warmth flowed through her, and she trembled. His voice alone made her pulse burn, igniting long-forgotten passions that she had absolutely no business letting rekindle. She was over him. They were history. And she’d do well to remember that.
She turned to face him, hoping her smile was professional, and that it didn’t betray the riot of emotions raging inside her. “I didn’t realize you were here,” she said. “We should tell the hostess. The wait’s forever.”
His self-assured grin was devilish. “Not a problem.” He took her arm and steered her into the dining area, neatly passing the hostess, who didn’t even give them a second glance.
When he slowed in front of a not-yet-cleared table with coffee, orange juice, a half-eaten croissant and a folded newspaper, Lisa dug in her heels.
“Problem?”
“You’re just going to grab some dirty table?”
He pulled out a chair and motioned her to sit down. “Our dirty table.”
“Our…” She blinked. “Of course. The fabulous Ken Harper doesn’t have to follow the rules. He gets seated even before his entire party arrives.”
“Professional courtesy. I’m a regular. Plus, I’ve been here for an hour.”
“An hour.” She quirked a brow. “You must have been anxious to see me.”
“I was. I am.” He smiled, and her insides twitched in response.
As soon as he was seated, the waitress glided over in a fit of extreme efficiency. Starving, Lisa ordered the pumpkin pancakes and a latte. She waited for the waitress to disappear out of earshot before facing Ken directly across the table.
“Well?” Silverware clattered as she released it from the napkin. She twisted the cloth in her lap. “Have you thought about what I asked?”
His eyes seemed to bore into hers. “Oh, yes. I thought about it.” His eyes softened, and she fidgeted under his steady gaze. “That’s about all I did last night.” His eyes roamed over her face, a silent caress, until his eyes met hers again. “I just thought about it.”
She looked away, thrown off-balance by the feeling that he’d been thinking not only about her proposal, but about her. And even more disconcerted to realize she liked the feeling. “So, um, what did you decide?”
In her lap, she crossed her fingers. Tight. And she held her breath.
“I decided it wasn’t quite a fair trade.”
Resisting the urge to close her eyes, she slowly exhaled. “A trade? I—I don’t understand. I asked for a favor.”
“I know you did. But I didn’t get where I am today by giving away something for nothing.” He draped one arm over the back of his chair and took a sip of orange juice. The morning light streaming in through the window glistened in his rich brown hair, and he looked perfectly at ease. A Los Angeles version of an Olympian god, totally male, totally powerful. Totally sexy.
With some effort, she got her wandering thoughts under control. What the hell was she doing there? And what the devil had possessed her to come crawling back to Ken Harper? She was in over her head.
“I’m talking about quid pro quo,” he said, then smiled, the image of a man completely comfortable with his place in the world.
She swallowed. Way, way over her head.
“Understand?” he asked.
“Of course.” She spoke calmly as her mind raced. She didn’t have one damn thing to bargain with. Winston hadn’t given her a budget, so she couldn’t offer Ken money. He’d get a film credit, but if he wasn’t interested in filming in his restaurant, the enticement value of a credit was probably nil. Basically, she had bupkiss—which, of course, he knew.
“You know I don’t like that kind of cheap publicity, so at first I considered just saying no.”
“At first?”
He shrugged, took a sip of orange juice. “I could tell this was important to you.”
“It is,” she whispered, suddenly sure he was going to help her. The question was, what would it cost her?
He nodded. “So I thought, what’s the one thing I’ve always wanted, but never had?” His voice rolled over her, low and dangerous. The voice of a man she didn’t know—had never known. She ran her teeth over her lower lip, wondering if she’d made a mistake, but knowing that she had to stick it out, no matter what.
He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin and smell the musky scent of his cologne. The hairs on the back of her neck popped up, and she fought the urge to look away.
“I asked myself, what’s the one thing Lisa can get for me if I do her this favor?”
She knew the look in his eyes, she’d seen it before, years ago…on nights when he’d come within a hair-breadth of breaking his own vow to not sleep with her unless they were married. It was a look she used to cherish. Now it scared her, made her wonder if she shouldn’t catch the next plane back to New York.
Slowly she shook her head. “I don’t have anything to offer, Ken. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, sweetheart.”
She licked her lips, afraid she knew the answer even before she asked the question. “What, Ken? What have I got to offer?”
His smile just about stopped her heart. “You. You want my restaurant. I want you.”
5
“ME?” HER VOICE SQUEAKED, so she tried again. “You want me?” Oh, Lord. It was exactly what she’d imagined, but until he’d said it, she hadn’t really believed it. And now, faced with the proposition, she wondered if she could agree. For years she’d told herself she was over him. But if she…if they…
She’d always wondered what it would be like to make love to Ken. But not now. Not when there was nothing left between them but memories and hurt—a hurt she’d caused.
“Lisa?”
The trouble was, the attraction was still there…and that made the offer damned enticing. Licking her lips, she regarded him. “Sex? We’re talking about sex?”
He chuckled. “Say it a little louder. I don’t think they heard you in the back of the restaurant.”
She sat up straighter, trying to hold on to her dignity. “I, uh, just want to be clear on what it is we’re negotiating.” Her logical side knew she should be indignant, even angry. But somehow the anger wasn’t there. Instead there was just a hollow feeling in her stomach that she recognized as guilt. She’d hurt him. Now he wanted her to pay.
The corner of his mouth curved as he leaned forward to take her hand. The warmth of his skin enticed, and she couldn’t deny the little surge of adrenaline that shot through her simply because of the physical contact. Disconcerted, she tried to pull her hand away, but
he held fast, not answering, but also not letting go. Instead he was just looking at her in a way that suggested he could read her mind—and the possibility completely unnerved her.
For too long he sat there, simply staring, his slight smile highlighting the dimple on his left cheek. She tried to not squirm as she waited for him to answer, but darned if she was going to ask the question again. He’d heard her, and she could wait it out as well as he could.
After another agonizing minute Ken slipped his hand away from her, the caress giving her shivers, then he moved closer and lightly traced the tip of his forefinger down her cheek, barely making contact. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re playing games.” He’d thrown her off balance, taken the upper hand, and now she grappled for some control, trying to convince herself that he hadn’t rattled her completely. “Games two can play as well as one.” With a deft movement, she caught his hand and pressed it against her face. His skin was still rough, masculine, just as she remembered it, and the sensation of skin against skin set her head to spinning.
Trying for a sultry smile, she moved her head ever so slightly until her lips grazed the side of his hand. She pressed a light kiss there, wondering if the touch was stirring in him the same memories that were dancing through her head. “You didn’t answer my question. Are we talking about sex?”
She’d pitched her voice low and was rewarded to see him swallow.
“Not just sex. Decadence. A wild time the likes of which we never got to have before.”
Because you left. The unspoken words rang in her head, both an invitation and an accusation.
“Do you think I owe you?” Her mind was all twisted up.
Again, she wasn’t sure if she should be angry he was using her, or flattered he still cared. Her sensible side said she should be angry, but the rest of her—the part that had never completely got him out of her mind—was intrigued. He was the man she’d wanted more than anything—except, of course, for her career.
Still, to use sex as the bargaining chip between them… She gnawed on her lip, unsure what to do or how to react. Unsure, for that matter, if she really believed her ears.