“What is that?”
Durango had paused at the next set of doors, looking over his shoulder at the others like he hadn’t noticed them, though she knew he had.
“It’s my mother’s room.” His eyes moved over the doors slowly. “He had them locked the morning after they came and took her body away. No one has stepped inside since that day.”
That was where she’d died.
“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult walking passed them every day.”
He shrugged, turning back to the double doors where they stood. He threw them open and exposed a huge room that was dominated by a massive king-sized bed. This room, in stark contrast to the rest of the house, was darkened by the wood paneling on the walls and the heavy curtains pulled tight over the tall windows on the far side of the room. Even the furniture was dark, the bed and tables a dark cherry wood, the upholstery on the couches and chairs a deep navy. It looked for all the world like a guest bedroom save for the work desk in one corner that held a neat array of glues and paints, a half-finished model of a ship set under a magnifying glass.
“This is your boyhood room?”
“Not what you expected?”
Gracie shrugged. “I would have expected a few movie posters on the walls, maybe a supermodel or two.”
“Why put them up on my wall when I could just go to the studio with my father and see it all live and in person?”
“True.”
“Besides, that was my father’s world. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”
Gracie entered the room, walking over to the desk with its half-finished model. She lifted a delicate piece of sail, rubbing it between her thumb and finger. “Why didn’t you finish it?”
“I was in too much of a hurry to get out of here.” He moved up behind her and slipped the hair away from her neck. He dropped a kiss even as a sigh blew against her skin. “I can’t believe I’m back here now.”
“It’s only for a day or two.”
“Do you know I’ve never had a girl up here until you?”
“Never?” She twisted in his arms. “Not even in high school?”
“Never. I didn’t want them to meet my father and decide he was a better choice.”
“Not even Sarah?”
She regretted it as the words came out of her mouth. She felt the tension rush through him. But he only pressed his forehead to hers and sighed again. “Jackson and his world are the last things I wanted Sarah to get to know.”
“Did she ever meet Jackson?”
“No.” He pulled away, crossing the room toward the bathroom. “You wouldn’t have, either, if it’d been my choice.” He disappeared through the door, and a second later she heard the shower pop on. Lost in thought, she stood there for a long moment before he stuck his head through the door. “Coming?”
He was already in the shower by the time she got there, his clothes piled on the floor. It was a large bathroom, big enough to have a party in. She undressed as her eyes moved over the wealth that had been used to update the room. The slick marble with veins of black and gold covered the floor. The high-end toilet that looked comfortable enough to sit on most of the day. The corner tub that was large enough for three people to sit and enjoy the jets protruding out of the sides. And the walk through shower with its dark tile walls and sloped floor.
How could anyone live in opulence like this and be so miserable?
Durango had his back to her when she stepped in, water from four separate showerheads pouring over his flesh. She moved up behind him, her hands automatically moving over his ass, his back, loving the angles and the vibrating muscle she could feel just under the surface. He reached back and touched her arms, pulling them around his waist. He held her hands against his chest as the water pounded over them.
“Do you think he’ll come up with something we can use?”
Gracie nodded her head against his back. “I do.” But she didn’t think it would be something on the lists he promised to generate for them. She suspected there was something else, and she was determined to find a way to get him to tell her.
Durango turned and pushed Gracie back against the wall, his mouth immediately possessing hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, using them to lever herself against him. He helped, his hands sliding under her thighs as he pulled her up along the length of his body. She seemed to fit perfectly against him, the nooks and crannies of her legs fitting just right against the angles of his hips. Not for the first time, she had the thought that their bodies were made for one another, like someone somewhere had meant for them to find each other.
She wanted to thank that person with all the gratitude in her soul.
She closed her eyes and let her thoughts go as his mouth moved over her throat, down to her breasts, his teeth doing things to her nipples that was both familiar and so incredibly new. She’d waited so long for this. For five years, she stood in the background, watching him navigate some of the darkest waters of his life, watched and observed, her heart growing more and more convinced that he was everything her mother once promised she would find someday. For three years, she dressed in her frumpiest clothing, watching him move through the halls of Mastiff, regaining his confidence, his sense of self, slowly but steadily. He never noticed her, but she knew someday . . . She had these fantasies of walking into his office in some formfitting suit, her hair perfectly coifed, her makeup done just right. She imagined the surprise and the desire she would see on his face, imagined how hot his touch would be. But it didn’t go quite that way.
He’d wanted her even before he’d seen her outside of her costume. How amazing was that?
But then he called her Gracie, and it reminded her that he knew nothing about her. Not really. She didn’t want him that way. She wanted him to come to her knowing everything that made her who she was. But now? She didn’t even know who she was.
His mouth found hers again, and he reached between them, guiding himself to her. Condom, no condom, she had never cared. She wanted him, the consequences be damned. For all she knew, they’d be torn apart in the next few days, the feds finally catching up to them, their attempts to end this thing failed. If that happened, at least she’d have the memory of this moment to cling to.
And what a moment it was!
Her body was sore but in such a good way. She clung to him, the pleasure made all the better by the vision of his face and the knowledge that she was giving him as much pleasure as he was giving her. And when it was done, when they reluctantly parted, he was heartbreakingly gentle as he helped her wash her body, accepting her touch on his with gratitude. They reluctantly dressed, their bodies still moist as they curled up in a chair together, her body tucked neatly into his, and talked quietly about things that didn’t matter.
A knock on the door pulled their attention from one another. She sighed, kissing his neck as she moved to get up, but he snaked his arms around her and held her steady.
“Enter!” he called, a tone of authority dripping from the single word.
The door opened, and an elderly gentleman stepped inside, striking a pose that reminded Gracie of Anthony Hopkins in The Remains of the Day. The only thing that ruined the image was the fact that he was wearing jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt.
“Randall,” Durango said with obvious pleasure. “How are you?”
The man inclined his head slightly. “Just fine, young master. How are you?”
Durango ran his hands slowly down Gracie’s back, his eyes meeting hers for a moment. “Never been better.”
“Glad to hear it.” The butler, or whatever he was, cleared his throat. “Mr. Chamberlain has requested that you and your lady friend join him for dinner.”
Durango tensed immediately, his arms becoming like steel bands around her waist. “I think I’ve had enough of Mr. Chamberlain for one day. It’d probably be best to avoid any more contact.”
“As you wish.”
“Could you have a tray sent up for us?”
; “Durango,” Gracie said, touching the side of his face, worried how he would react to this request. “Would you mind terribly if I had dinner with him? I thought, maybe, if I could get him talking about those movies, he might remember something that could help us.”
Durango’s eyes darkened slightly as he looked at her. “Are you sure you want to speak to him alone?”
“What’s the worse he could do? Tell me embarrassing stories about you?” She touched his bottom lip, pulling it out slightly. “He’s a charmer. I bet he’d be more than willing to talk to me. And if it helps our cause . . .”
He nodded. “Okay. But be aware that he’s not just a charmer. He manipulates people, too.”
“I know.”
“Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes,” Randall announced before turning and leaving as quietly as he’d arrived.
“There are reasons why I never brought a woman here, Gracie,” he said softly. “Don’t let him say anything to hurt you.”
“I’m a tough girl. I’ve faced criminals you’ve only read about in newspapers.”
“I know. But I’m not sure you’ve ever met anyone like Jackson Chamberlain.”
“You talk about him like he’s the devil incarnate.”
“Because he is.” Durango ran his hand over the side of her face, pushing his fingers into her still damp hair. “You have no idea just how evil he can be.”
She kissed him gently, pretending nothing he could say would frighten her. But, in truth, she was frightened. Not because of what he thought his father was, but because of what she thought his father knew.
Chapter 13
Los Angeles, California
Jackson Chamberlain’s Home
Durango walked her to the door, watched as she moved past his mother’s bedroom. That door had played a huge role in his nightmares when he was a kid. He had vivid memories of sitting on the floor there, his head resting on the heavy door as his mother and father’s voices, raised in anger, floated out toward him. He was supposed to be in bed, but the nanny never bothered to check on him after she read him the third story of the night. That was her time to hide in her room and watch her programs. She simply couldn’t be bothered.
He hadn’t seen that door in fifteen years, not since he left for college. He’d come back here as infrequently as he could and never walked up those stairs. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it today. There were guest rooms downstairs. He could have insisted on staying in one of those. But it never crossed his mind.
He remembered the desperation in his mother’s voice that night, remembered how she begged his father to care without actually saying the words.
“You don’t have to do this anymore,” Durango heard his mother say. “You don’t have to go to every party that happens in Hollywood. You don’t have to act like you’re the second coming of Errol Flynn!”
“I’m building a business, darlin’! That’s what pays for this house, for all those pretty diamonds you like wearing around your neck.”
“But I don’t want all that! I want you. I want Durango. That’s all!”
“Bullshit! Why did you work so hard to get my attention, to get into my movies? You’re just as ambitious as me.”
“Maybe once. But I can’t do it anymore, Jackson. It’s killing me, knowing what you’re doing with all those women!”
“I’m making a life for us.”
“You’re cheating on me!”
“You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”
Durango hadn’t understood most of what they were saying. But he understood when his mother said, “I’d be better off dead. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much. And you’d be free to do whatever you want!”
And he understood the implications of his father’s words when he told her to go for it.
Durango turned away, shutting himself in the bedroom, the scent of Gracie’s skin still fresh on his hands. He wished she’d stayed here with him, but understood what she was doing. She wanted to find the answers as much as he did. And she was right when she suggested Jackson would be more willing to talk to her alone than both of them. But he also knew chances were good that Jackson would come onto her. But, for the first time, he wasn’t worried that she’d respond. Gracie was too smart to fall for Jackson’s bullshit.
What did that say about him? What did it say about his insecurities? Had he not trusted Sarah the way he should have? Sarah had met Billy first and showed absolutely no interest in him even though he’s a well-known television star, one of those heartthrobs that was always on the front of those gossip rags that still adorned the racks in the checkout sections of grocery stores. But Jackson had this thing about him, something that lived beyond charm.
Durango’s mother was his first wife. But then there had been Julie, his nanny. She’d been wife number two. She last about six months. Marisol came third. She lasted almost a year. Sandra was fourth. Maria fifth. He couldn’t even remember number six. And then Bridgette.
Durango thought his lawyers had convinced Jackson that marrying so many times was bad for his bottom line. He never married again after Bridgette. Or maybe it was just that Bridgette was so crazy that she’d frightened him away from marriage. He couldn’t imagine anything else it could have been. Certainly not the safety of his only son and his stepson.
Durango knew he was bitter. He knew his perceptions were skewed by what had happened the night his mother died. He didn’t care.
With a heavy sigh, he settled on the bed and flipped on the television. He was hungry, but this tiredness had settled over him, an exhaustion that wasn’t heavy, but undeniable. He closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep, dreams swirling in his mind as they had done for the last three days.
Billy, bruises on his neck.
Jackson, yelling silently, as though trying to tell him something important.
A girl in a purple dress, familiar but not.
A knock on the door woke him. He sat up in a rush, glancing at the clock. He’d only been asleep an hour, maybe less. Yet the dream had been vivid. And there was this feeling of awareness, like a memory just on the tip of remembering, but not quite. Something important. But, whatever it was, it remained out of reach.
“Thanks, Randall,” Durango said when he opened the door and watched Randall set his food tray up on a little table.
“Your father regrets that you won’t join him for dinner. But he’s grateful you allowed your lady friend to go.”
“I’m sure he is.” Durango dragged his fingers through his hair as he watched the older man move around the room. “Do you know if Billy’s in town?”
Randall shook his head. “Mr. Chamberlain said he was in Chicago.”
Durango frowned. Billy told him he was coming home three weeks ago. But, again, maybe he’d chosen not to tell Jackson because he didn’t want the old man in his business.
“Thank you,” he said again.
Randall executed a little bow and left the room. Randall had been in Jackson’s employ as long as Durango could remember. Trained in London, he was a proper English butler, but he’d become something more to Jackson over the years. A companion, of sorts. But always proper, no matter the circumstances.
Durango settled to his meal, only partially watching the reality show that had come on the television. It was about a group of teenagers who decided to, unwisely, throw a party at their home while their parents were out of town. It brought to mind a few times when Billy and Durango had done the same thing as teens. Once, they’d invited the entire football team and all their girlfriends, followers, and whatever. They’d spilled out into the garden and destroyed the newly planted roses that Jackson had some sort of affinity for. They’d gotten their cars taken away for a month and forced to go to Aspen for Christmas. Not really a punishment in the eyes of someone who didn’t live the Hollywood lifestyle, but it had seemed like the end of the world at the time.
Durango smiled at the memory. But then another time when he and Billy should have gotten in tro
uble danced through his mind. They hadn’t, but he couldn’t quite remember, and then a purple dress flashed across his mind’s eye, and he suddenly realized what it was his head had been trying to get him to recall.
Chapter 14
Los Angeles, California
Jackson Chamberlain’s Home
Twenty Years Ago
“Are you going to the dance?”
Billy touched Durango’s shoulder, trying to pull his attention from the model he was working on. Durango refused to respond as he carefully set a wing on the frame of the plane’s body, his hand shaking just enough to make one side sit a touch too high. He carefully pushed it down with the corner of the tweezers, repeating the motion several times before he was finally satisfied. Then he sat back and rubbed his eyes, not sure they would focus on anything now that he’d been staring through the magnifying glass for so long.
“Probably not. Why?”
“Didn’t Jody Simpson say she wanted to go with you?”
Durango shrugged. At twelve, he was beginning to notice girls but wasn’t quite at that stage where he felt like he could overcome the nervousness most adolescent boys are afflicted with.
“You should take her. You’ve had a crush on her since the beginning of the year.”
“Have not.”
But Billy was blushing, a sure sign that Durango had read all the clues accurately.
“I bet Jackson will order a limo for you if you want one.”
“That would be cool. But it’d be better if you’d come, too.”
Durango got up and threw himself onto his bed, snatching up a bag of Cheetos as he did. “Didn’t you hear Jackson at the breakfast table the other day?” Durango sat up and adopted a deep drawl that was his attempt at imitating his father. “ʻBoys your age should be going out and spending time with young girls. Sow your wild oats before you have to be a responsible adult.’”
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