by Julie Kenner
Greg eyed her quizzically. “I’m not following. Are you saying that’s not what you’re trying to do now?”
“Not exactly.” She frowned, trying to put her thoughts in order. What had started out simple—quid pro quo, as Ken had said—was turning out to be incredibly complicated.
She took another sip of her drink. “I’ll still do whatever it takes. Nothing’s changed there.”
“But something’s changed.”
She nodded, stupidly feeling on the brink of tears. Even now, so far away from him, Ken was in her thoughts, had permeated her being. Turning away, she realized they’d stopped in front of the jewelry store simply called Fred. She stared vacantly into the window, barely even conscious of the incredibly beautiful but too-pricey-for-words diamond-and-emerald choker on display.
In the reflection, she saw Greg move up behind her, his face concerned. She tried to smile, hoping to reassure him silently that she’d be fine. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure she would be fine.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I don’t think so.” She closed her eyes and counted to ten, hoping to keep some semblance of rationality.
“Lisa…” He propped a hand on his hip and flashed her a typical Greg look. “Come on, girlfriend. This is me. Remember? The guy who helped you survive Tyrell.”
She ran her hands through her hair. “It’s not you.”
“No, it is. Really.” He patted himself down. “No alien abduction. No Stepford Greg. It’s me.”
She laughed, clamping a hand over her mouth as she shot him an annoyed look.
He cocked his finger. “Gotcha.”
Shaking her head, she tried to not look as amused as she felt. “It’s not you. It’s me.” A wave of frustration washed over her, and she twirled around, as if the motion would somehow expel the confused jumble of feelings that had been building inside her. “I’m not sure I can explain what I’m feeling.”
“Can’t?” His look was knowing, and she smiled in response. He really did know her well.
“Maybe not can’t.” She scowled, trying to find the words. “The trouble is I’m not even sure what I’m feeling.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and parked her on a bench. “So let’s figure it out.”
“What? Suddenly you’re Dr. Freud?”
“Ya.” He spread his arms, draping them over the back of the bench. “Seriously. Tell Dr. Greg all about it.”
“You’re not going to leave me alone until I spill everything, are you?”
“Nope.”
She tried to keep her face stern, but a smile kept threatening. “Fine.” What the heck. Maybe he could help.
“I know things have changed. I mean, it’s been five years—of course they’ve changed. And I know Ken has an agenda. He’s told me as much.”
“Sex for services. Sounds like a typical L.A. deal.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Be serious.”
He passed a hand in front of his face, his expression changing from comical to expressionless, then back again with a second pass.
She rolled her eyes, but continued. “The thing is, even though he’s trying his damnedest to torment me—and doing a good job of it—still, the old Ken keeps poking through the cracks. The Ken I knew. The one who loved me and would never have played games. Who never would have even thought of it if I hadn’t hurt him.”
“And you’re still in love with him.”
She pressed her lips together, not willing even to examine that question. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Even if I am, it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I’m focusing on my career. That’s not a secret, Greg. Not to you, not to Ken.”
“How do you know you can’t do both?”
“Because I know me.” She ran her hand through her hair, thinking of her mom, who could have made millions if she’d never left New York, and her sister, stuck in Idaho snapping pictures of toddlers. “I’ve got one chance to make up for the whole Tyrell fiasco. One. And I’m not going to blow it. Besides,” she added, “whether or not I’m in love with Ken Harper is the least of my problems. My problem is sex.”
“Welcome to the new millennium.”
“I can see you’re going to be a lot of help.”
“Sorry.” His expression shifted to contrite, and she rolled her eyes again. “Really. Tell me about it.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s driving me crazy. It’s like every time I catch even the slightest glimpse of the way things used to be, my resolve weakens.”
“Your resolve?”
“When he suggested—” she waved her hand in the air “—this whole deal, I didn’t hesitate. I mean, I’ll do whatever it takes to get access to Oxygen. I have to—my entire career is on the line.”
“And you have. So how’s your resolve weakening? What’s the problem?”
“The problem?” She stood, paced in front of the bench, then sat back down again. “The problem is, he’s not lacing his quid with any pro quos.”
“You lost me.”
“He’s just teasing me. He’s dangling sex in front of me like a carrot in front of a mule. I keep chasing after it, but I’ll never get it.” Her voice rose, and an elderly woman coming out of Fred glanced her way. Her cheeks burned, and she studied her hands in her lap.
“But if you only have to do what he wants…”
“I know. I know. I should be thrilled.”
“Ah. But you want to get laid.” He took her hand. “And that means you’re not thrilled at all.”
A renegade tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away, feeling like a fool. “No. I’m not.”
“You want him.”
“So much it sometimes hurts to breathe. And twice now he’s left me high and dry.”
“So?”
“So?” Her voice squeaked. “So? If this were happening to you, you’d be running around the apartment complaining about blue balls or some such nonsense.”
“So, buy a vibrator.”
She tried to swallow a giggle. “Oh, thank you. You’re very helpful.” She glared. “I don’t want a vibrator. I want—”
She clapped her hand over her mouth, both shocked by the onslaught of desire and fearful another elderly lady had overheard her.
“Look, kid. I’m no expert on male-female relationships, but it seems to me that two can play his game.”
“I’ve tried.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Honey, considering everything you’ve told me you two have done, if you haven’t managed to actually do the deed yet, then you haven’t tried hard enough.”
Maybe he had a point. Even though she’d intended to see it through last night, when Ken had called it quits, she hadn’t protested. She’d just meekly gone on her way. “I guess I’m afraid that’s against his rules.”
Greg shrugged. “He said he wanted you, right?”
She nodded.
“And all the evidence suggests he meant it sexually, yes?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And he never actually said he wanted to make you horny as hell and leave you to suffer, did he?”
“Well, he didn’t say it to me.”
“There you go.”
She shook her head. “You lost me.”
“If you get him in bed, you’re still playing by his rules. If he doesn’t want to sleep with you, he should have told you. And if he really doesn’t want to, then he can just exercise great self-control.” His grin spread across his face. “But if you manage to seduce him, you haven’t broken any rules, and you’ll be that much less frustrated. I don’t see how you can lose.”
“Maybe…”
“Trust me.” He got up and steered them toward his rental car, parked nearby on the street. “Come on. We passed a pharmacy. We’ll stop in on the way back and stock you up on latex accessories.”
“Greg…” she admonished, looking around to see if any of the posh Rodeo Drive shoppers had overheard him.
<
br /> He clicked a button on his key chain, unlocking the car, then opened the door for her.
“You know,” he said as she slid into the car. “You haven’t answered the one really big question.”
She frowned, afraid that, somehow, she knew what he was going to say. “What question?”
“Is it just sex you want? Or something more?”
He shut the door before she could answer, and she was grateful for the moment alone. He’d asked the one question she’d been avoiding.
And the truth was, she really didn’t know.
“KEN HARPER! So good of you to come by. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?” Oscar Toya, one of L.A.’s wealthiest men with no apparent source of income, pumped Ken’s hand. Behind them, the crowd buzzed as it moved en masse through Oscar’s elegant foyer.
Ken’s arm tightened around Lisa’s waist, the smooth silk of that fabulous red dress soft against the sleeve of his suitcoat. “I’ve been at Oxygen, Oscar.” He winked. “Why haven’t you?” Oscar was one of his dearest friends, and it had been months since he’d had the chance to sit and talk with the fatherly man.
The older man laughed, then slapped Ken on the back with good-natured joviality before his eyes turned to Lisa. “Who’s your lovely companion?”
“Oscar, I’d like to introduce you to Lisa Neal. Lisa, this is Oscar Toya.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve certainly heard a lot about you.”
“If you read it in the social pages, it’s lies, all lies. If you read it in the financial pages, it’s probably a lie—”
“And if you read it in the funny pages, it’s nothing but the truth.” Emily Toya, looking as elegant as her surroundings, slid her arm through her husband’s. “It’s an old joke, dear. I’m sure Ken and his lady friend have heard it.”
Oscar kissed the gray at his wife’s temple. “Lisa Neal,” he said by way of introduction. “I haven’t gotten around to interrogating the boy yet about their relationship.”
Lisa smiled, and Ken stifled a cringe. Oscar was as perceptive as he was wily, and Ken wasn’t certain he wanted the man psychoanalyzing him.
“Well, you go right ahead,” Emily said. “I’ll take Lisa and give her a quick tour of the house.”
“We can’t stay,” Ken said. “I just wanted to stop by and wish the two of you a happy anniversary. I’m sure the party will be a huge success.”
Lisa squeezed his hand. “Actually, I’d love the twenty-five-cent tour. Surely we can spare a few minutes while Mrs. Toya shows me around?”
“Emily,” she said. “And if Ken says no, I’ll have to strike him from my permanent guest list. You stay and talk to Oscar and I’ll deliver her back safely in just a few minutes.”
“Can’t risk my social standing.” Ken couldn’t help but grin, even though he dreaded imagining what Lisa and Emily would talk about.
As the women walked away, Oscar turned to him. “I like that one. Not like those fluff types you’ve brought here before.”
Even though Ken agreed totally, he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. “You talked with her for two seconds. How could you possibly get a feel for Lisa yet?”
“Instinct, son. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Ken exhaled, but didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to say a word. I see it in your eyes. She’s special, and you’re smitten.”
“Smitten? What is this? A Mickey Rooney remake?”
“Joke all you want, but I know a man in love when I see one.”
Ken flinched, and Oscar nodded.
“Uh-huh. Struck a chord, I did. Instinct, my boy. What did I tell you?”
“Your instincts are about five years off.”
“Eh?” The old man cupped his hand around his ear, even though Ken was absolutely certain he’d heard every word Ken had said.
“I loved her five years ago. But things happened.”
“Things always happen.”
“It’s not love, Oscar.” He shook his head, working to convince himself more than Oscar. “Memories, maybe. Closure, possibly. Lust, definitely. But love? Not her. Not again.”
“Believe what you want, son. But sooner or later you’re going to have to face the truth.”
“Oscar…”
His friend held up a hand. “I know, I know. Mind my own business. But I’m an old man, and being nosy and opinionated is about the only perk that comes with that particular territory.”
Shaking his head, Ken could only grin.
“Don’t worry. I’m changing the subject. I was reading about you recently.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Nothing terribly revealing, I’m sad to say. Just that profile in Los Angeles magazine.”
Ken nodded. He’d consented to the interview because the reporter had agreed to his condition of no cameras in his restaurants. Too bad Alicia and a half dozen other reporters weren’t as cooperative.
“Whatever happened to your idea of a diner?”
Ken shrugged, trying for nonchalant. “You know how those things go. It was an idea I had when I first moved out here. When Oxygen took off, it seemed silly to move backward.”
That was only half true. The idea of opening a diner still gnawed at him. He’d always liked the idea of someplace that would get him back to his roots. Someplace folks without a brokerage account could afford and enjoy.
He’d sketched the original design for Lisa on a napkin, and she’d been so enthusiastic he’d registered the assumed name the next day. But when Lisa had abandoned him, he’d abandoned the idea. Unfortunately, the reporter was more industrious than Ken had anticipated, and he’d located the filing. Ken had told him the same story he was now telling Oscar. Not the full story, perhaps, but the truth was that he had moved on.
“No offense to Tim, but a person can only ingest so much goat cheese and arugula,” Oscar said. “I think it’s a winning idea.”
“What’s that?” Lisa asked as she and Emily reappeared.
“Ken’s thinking about opening a diner.”
“No, I’m—”
“What a wonderful idea,” Emily said.
Lisa shot him a quizzical look, but he merely shook his head.
“I want to hear all about it,” Emily said.
“Of course,” he said, trying to think of a decent excuse, “but—”
“Ken’s doing me a favor and promised to take me to a few nightclubs and a rave,” Lisa cut in, shooting him a glance.
“A rave?” Oscar’s voice was incredulous. “Our Ken? Why are you torturing the boy?”
She laughed. “I’m scouting locations for a film. He’s helping.”
“To help you with a task like that he’s one hell of a nice guy,” Oscar said. And then, when Lisa turned to clasp Emily’s hand, he mouthed to Ken, Or a man in love.
LISA WAS BUCKLING her seat belt when Ken closed his hands over hers, squeezing lightly.
“Thank you,” he said.
Lisa turned to face him better in the car. “For what?”
“For getting me out of there.” His eyes flashed warm and playful. “And also for wearing that dress.”
Liquid heat pooled somewhere between her thighs. “You’re welcome.” She worked to keep her voice steady. “But it wasn’t just for you. You do owe me a night on the town. So far I’ve got two locations and you’ve still got to put out.”
His sexy smile rocketed straight to her heart. “Don’t worry about that, babe. I intend to put out.” He reached over to tease the back of her neck with the tips of his fingers. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She hoped she sounded nonchalant, but she probably sounded overeager. More than just the physical, she was enjoying every moment she spent with Ken. He’d changed, true, but the old Ken was still around—the one who made her laugh even as he tried to torment her. And the new Ken—the Ken who could reduce her to shakes and shivers with nothing more than a look—well, that Ken was damned appealing, too.
Sh
e took a deep breath and settled back into the seat. “So, where are we going?” she asked, trying to keep a straight face. It seemed that every time they got into a car, she was asking that very question.
“We’re going to go scope out enemy territory, then find a rave party, and then we’re off to a little surprise.”
“‘Enemy territory’?”
“Other restaurants. Nightclubs that compete with Oxygen and my other spots.”
She clasped a hand over her heart. “Why, sir, I’m honored. To think you’d face the enemy for little old me.”
He turned to face her long enough to wink. “For a beautiful damsel, of course. And, also, I’m always happy to have an excuse to scope out the competition.”
Laughing, she squeezed his hand, totally at ease with him. A haze of desire still filled the air, but it wasn’t as stifling or uncomfortable. Instead, it was welcome. She wanted him, he wanted her and, in the meantime, she was having a fabulous time just enjoying his company.
As it turned out, the competition was pretty darn competitive. Each of the hot spots they visited seethed with atmosphere. Some had dim lighting and secluded tables, others were modern and trendy, with a crush of bodies and the sensual thrum of music. Though Lisa didn’t think any of the restaurants and clubs they visited held a candle to Oxygen, it was almost like old times, with her on Ken’s arm as he steered her from one establishment to the next.
Two of the restaurants seemed perfect for scenes in Winston’s script, and Ken introduced her to the owners. She’d taken their phone numbers and received a semifirm commitment to cooperate with the filming in exchange for a film credit.
Overall, the evening was a whirlwind, and when they ended up in a corner booth in an Art Deco restaurant just off Sunset Boulevard, she collapsed gratefully into the cushioned seat, letting the swing sounds of a live big band surround her. “This has been fabulous. I’m exhausted, but it’s been wonderful.”
He slid into the seat opposite her, then reached across the table to take her hand. “Glad you approve of my scouting attempts.”
“I hope you keep it a secret,” she teased. “If you tell Winston, he’ll hire you and not me.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” He stroked her wrist with the pad of his thumb. A simple touch, nothing untoward or unseemly, and yet to Lisa it was supremely erotic. Every stroke, every bit of pressure, seemed to shoot through her, gathering in secret, wanting places.