Valley of Fire

by Janelle Taylor

  Brandy’s brooding study and sad eyes alerted Nigel to a troubling problem. “Brandy, do you know Steve? You’ve never mentioned him.”

  “I thought I did, but not as Steven Winngate,” she confessed quietly. “As incredible as it sounds, he’s my rescuer from the desert.” She sketched the details of that fateful night and their following visits to her trustworthy friend.

  Nigel glanced over at Steven. “I’ll be damned! You’re kidding me, aren’t you? My old friend Steven rescued my little sister!” he stressed, mischievous lights burning within his hazel eyes as he detected her attraction to her fellow adventurer.

  “No, Nigel. Lance Reynolds rescued me, or so I was told. He lied, and they must have gone along with it. Surely they knew him. Amazing what money and power can accomplish, isn’t it?” she scoffed, feeling betrayed and duped by his unnecessary deception. He had only been making certain she did not know who he was, making sure she could not profit from his good deed.

  She had not lied to him; she was Katherine Alexander. He, however, was not Lance Reynolds. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world! Did he think she would hotly pursue him? Did he think she would reward him in some improper way? Well, he had made a mistake where she was concerned! As for this female, she was not after Steven Winngate. She wanted Lance Reynolds, the man who had visited her in the hospital, but Lance did not exist.

  Her gaze flickered back to the impressive, paralyzing man across the room. She assessed his companion, then scolded herself for her envious and harsh criticism. Her slinky, bold Chinese red silk gown was impossible to overlook. The red satin underskirt revealed a stunning figure which made Brandy squirm with a feeling of inferiority, until she decided she had no reason to be envious. Even in its barely decent state, the gown was perfect for her, and she was perfect for it.

  “Ravishing, isn’t she?” Nigel teased, his look mocking. “Too bad her heart is as black as her hair. I hate to see Steven mixed up with a witch like her. He deserves better,” he noted with sincerity. Nigel didn’t add, Steve can hardly tolerate her, even for business deals.

  “Do you know that woman, Steven? She’s been gaping at us for ages,” Camille purred, annoyed by Brandy’s overt interest in her companion. She silently hoped it wasn’t anyone special. She had enough trouble holding Steven’s attention, when she could corner him.

  Steven glanced up and looked around, “Who? Where?”

  “Over there, the one with Nigel Davis, in that tacky orange dress!” she sneered coldly, her brown eyes lacking any warmth . . . as usual. What if Steven canceled this vital meeting? she fumed.

  Steven’s eyes scanned the room. They halted instantly when they touched upon the stunning profile of Brandy Alexander. His features turned to stone; his glacial blue eyes hardened and narrowed. He glared at her, hoping she might feel the force of his resentment at her deceit. There sat the conniving female who was trying to expose his privacy to the world, the brazen female who had risked her life to set up a phony accident and rescue just to meet him!

  “Well, do you know her?” the petulant voice insisted.

  “Brandy Alexander, the noted writer,” came a terse reply.

  She giggled, then taunted, “Don’t tell me you’re Colin Slade from her last novel! Yes, you fit the description perfectly . . . In fact, you could pass for every one of her heroes. Is she your last or next conquest?” she stated in a tone he found insulting, vain, and displeasing. Camille cursed this tempting man’s disinterest in her.

  “Drop it, Cam. I’m nobody’s hero or guinea pig!” he forcefully vowed, his sea blue eyes as turbulent as the ocean before a violent storm.

  Steven watched Nigel sign several autographs. He adamantly refused to look their way. Eventually he did; they were gone. “No doubt to do research,” he muttered angrily to Camille’s puzzlement. “Where are Jason’s reports? Let’s get busy. You positive you want this job?”

  “It was a wonderful evening, Nigel! I really needed it,” Brandy remarked as he prepared to leave her room.

  “Sorry about those A-hounds,” he sweetly apologized.

  “It comes with the territory. I don’t mind. See you at the party, and thanks for the invitation. I plan to get lots of rest so I can dance until dawn,” she teased him.

  “Great! See you in my suite about ten on Saturday night after my show.” He kissed the tip of her pert nose, then playfully pinched her chin.

  “I’ll be there,” she agreed, happily. She wondered if he had invited his friend Steven Winngate, but dared not reveal her interest by asking him. If so, she would give him a view to recall in his old age! Hopefully he wouldn’t bring Camille . . .

  She was briefly tempted to invite another man, but couldn’t think of anyone who might put Steven to shame in looks and virility. It was best to be Nigel’s date, their handsome host. Besides, Steven probably didn’t know they were like brother and sister. For the first time ever, Brandy was tempted to flaunt her fame and fortune, to show Steven she had nothing to gain from him. Nothing but Lance . . .

  Brandy diligently worked on the Twilight manuscript. Having written much of it before arriving here, the rough draft was quickly finished. She emailed it to Casey to test her reaction to the unusual romantic slant. Valley revisions were kept on hold.

  Elated with her progress and regained strength, she dressed in a carefree mood. For once, she had radically changed the physical appearance of her hero. This time, she called upon an amber-eyed alien with tawny locks to be her man of mettle and charisma. She would not permit anyone to draw a similarity between Steven and Varian Sarr; they would be like stygian night to golden day!

  The dress which she had selected for this momentous occasion was a Gaylord original of rich emerald green satin, and the bustline was cut low in a heart shape with the soft fabric joining the skirt near her sides at the waist. The top points of the heart were held by straps which criss-crossed in the middle of her back and then attached themselves to the very low-cut back. The A-line skirt enhanced her shapely silhouette and fluid grace. There was a heart-shaped emerald pendant, surrounded by numerous diamonds, at the hollow of her throat. Matching earrings dangled from her pierced ears. One solid jade band which was surrounded by two, single, twisted gold bands was worn upon the third finger of her left hand. Why not allude to some special mystery man back home? He had inquired about one!

  Brandy had paid the hotel beautician triple her normal charge to do her hair up in cascading curls and romantic ringlets. The girl had artistically interwoven a string of mixed pearls and jade beads into the one circular braid which encased the striking style. Little curls dangled upon her neck and forehead and near her ears.

  When all was completed, she critically viewed herself. At the girl’s suggestion, she added another touch of forest green eye shadow to her lids and another light brushing of peach glow to her cheeks. While applying her heady Shah-mar, she grinned playfully as she sprayed a touch upon her shapely ankles and upon her bare back. There was a conscious, dauntless determination not to give the beautiful Camille anything to overshadow tonight. Brandy fearlessly played up every charm she possessed.

  Yet, the party began without Steven and Camille. Finally assuming they were either not invited or not coming, she relaxed and danced with several of Nigel’s guests. But as she whirled around during her fourth dance, she came face to face with none other than Steven Winngate, grinning like the proverbial cat who had eaten the expensive and rare canary! Worse, she felt like that unfortunate bird!

  She hesitated in surprise as their eyes met and briefly clashed in a cold war of wits and wills which she found baffling. To cover her reaction to him, she smiled seductively and turned back to her partner. But from that moment on, he was as good as the only man at the party! As fiercely as she struggled to ignore him, the more she became aware of his presence. He was utterly mind-consuming. His rich laughter would invade
her alert ears; his smile would melt her coldness; his mellow voice would edge into her hearing and block out all others; his body would brush against hers and send helpless shudders over her. He was intimidating and arrogant, a despicable scoundrel.

  Unable to adjust to this constant attack upon her senses, she finally stepped out onto the large stone terrace for a breath of fresh air to clear her head. She went to stand by the wall which surrounded the terrace. For the moment she ignored the buckets with small bushes and fragrant flowers. Money and fame had its advantages—lofty penthouses with privacy and lovely views, for example. She let her eyes roam the colorful, almost frenzied display of countless lights and signs along the Las Vegas Strip. It was such a contrast to the nearby barren desert, just as this glittering life was a bold contrast to her quiet one back in Kentucky.

  A deep, husky voice inquired from behind her, “How are you feeling tonight, Brandy? For certain, you look radiant and beautiful. Lovely view, isn’t it, Brandy?” He waited patiently, and impatiently.

  She wisely ignored the emphasis he placed upon her name and the fact he used it twice with that sullen inflection. She absently wondered how long he had known her name. Perhaps that had been the reason for his second visit that day—waiting for her confession. She did not ask him. She turned slowly to look up into his antagonistic features. “I’m just fine, Mr. Winngate. And you?” she politely inquired, placing the same emphasis upon his real name while fighting the powerful urge to plead for a rational explanation to his prior deceit and his coldness. Of course, Nigel told him, and now he was offended!

  Catching the use of his real name, he grinned mirthfully. But then, she had known it all along. This cunning feline foolishly assumed he would not learn the truth about her and her so-called accident. “It seems we both have a curious penchant for assumed names. Since we have each discovered the truth, we need not stand upon formalities and pretense,” he stated mysteriously.

  “Absolutely not, Steven. But Lance Reynolds is such a beautiful, strong name. Do you mind if I continue to call you by it?” she sweetly inquired just to annoy him. It did not seem to bother him at all; in fact, it amused him. His sapphire eyes sparkled with devilment.

  To test his cunning and intelligence against hers, he replied, “Certainly not, Kathy,” skeptically slurring her first name.

  “Just to set the record straight, Lance, Katherine is my real name, and I do go by Kathy.” Her eyes glittered with a small victory. He grinned and nodded to indicate acceptance of a mild defeat.

  Score one point for her, he playfully mused. “How did you come by a provocative name like Brandy Alexander? Is it just your pen name?”

  She laughed at some private joke, then said, “Believe it or not, it was my mother’s favorite drink. She thought it a lovely and unusual name, so I was labeled with it. I suppose I was extremely fortunate that small children didn’t know where it came from; I was spared from endless teasing and name-calling. You know that old maxim, ‘Where ignorance is bliss.’ ” She allowed her tone to give it a double meaning which he alertly caught. “Katherine Brandy Alexander at your service, Sir Lancelot. Nigel’s told me a great deal about you.”

  He couldn’t suppress a humorous chuckle at her choice of images of him, nor at her emphasis upon the “Lance” within it. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Nigel tells me you’ll be appearing on the Tom Hadley Show in August. Congratulations. That’s a nice feather in a female writer’s cap.” There was a hidden inflection to his tone which Brandy couldn’t decipher, but he had gained her full attention with his careless slip.

  Knowing he had just lied to her again, she studied him for a moment. Nigel did not know about the Hadley show; no one did, or so she thought. “Is there some special topic for the interview?” he went on, noting the strange look which flooded her sea-green eyes. Did she always research her sexy tales in real life? What was she to Nigel?

  “Yes, there is. I just sold the movie rights to one of my novels. Tom wants to discuss the rags-to-riches theory,” she lied very noticeably, wanting his reaction to her blatant dishonesty in response to his previous deception. Both knew she was baiting him, but he skillfully avoided it.

  “Congratulations again. Seems you’re heading for the top of another field. Any snares along the way?” he probed, hinting at some dark secret within his possession. “Life in a glass bowl can be perilous and costly, can’t it? Fishbowls are so fragile and tempting. They can include mighty expensive species. Nigel’s also told me a great deal about you. I didn’t realize I was saving the life of a famous lady.”

  Her eyes slowly moved up and down his towering frame. Encased in the ivory suit, he easily presented the image of the legendary White Knight. His white façade was broken only by his black bow tie and the black-rimmed diamond studs on the front of his ruffled shirt. She absently wondered why his formal attire made him appear a romantic pirate rather than an elegantly dressed gentleman. She also wondered why his gaze was so hard to resist and why it was so impossible not to stare at him. This vital man was a novel experience, and Brandy didn’t know how to deal with it. His seductive voice was like honey, flowing over her and oozing into her pores and making her thoughts too sticky to separate and view clearly.

  “Absolutely true, Lance. I’ve encountered many of those snares and expenses lately.” Her eyes became unreadable, even though fused with his. Why was he so inquisitive, so subtly hostile and sarcastic?

  “Such as?” he boldly inquired as he picked at an imaginary speck of lint upon the lapel of his off-white silk, single-breasted jacket.

  “I doubt you would find my life or problems interesting, Lance.” She decided to deny him an answer for the moment.

  Hearty laughter rumbled within his chest, and his eyes captured playful lights. “In view of our little adventure together, I would call your life anything but dull and safe, Brandy. Do you always get into so much trouble when you work?” he nonchalantly delivered his probing question. His gaze traveled over her face with measured slowness, bringing a flush to her cheeks and an increase to her respiration.

  Brandy concluded Lance Reynolds was playing games with her again. If only she knew the rules and prizes . . . He was purposely attempting to unnerve her, and he was succeeding. To dispel the stimulating aura which had surrounded them, she laughed saucily and declared, “Very rarely. But I’ll have to change my M.O., if a Sir Lancelot will be around to defend me each time. It isn’t often a writer gets to—” Hearing her ridiculous confession coming forth, she halted.

  “That a writer gets to do what?” he seized her accidental slip. Live out one of her fantasies? Meet one of her illusive heroes? he mentally speculated with rising intrigue. She was positively an interesting and exciting female, and very different from the ones he knew. But she was good at her craft—matching words and wits as a skilled politician.

  Brandy laughed mirthfully. “Have a real-life daring adventure,” she murmured, as if telling a private joke. “I’m grateful to you for saving my life. I know it was troublesome,” she added to astonish him.

  “Do you believe in old sayings?” he inquired, eyes glowing with mischief. When her eyes clouded with confusion, he clarified, “The kind which spilled forth from the mouths of wise old men?”

  “I suppose so. Why?” She fell into his silver-lined trap.

  He stepped forward and captured her face between his hands. “Then, you belong to me now; save a life and it’s yours,” he dropped his bombshell, searing his burning lips over her parted ones.

  Caught by surprise and trapped within his strong embrace, Brandy swayed against his hard frame and surrendered to the intoxicating kiss which was flavored with Scotch. She had dreamed of this moment since meeting him. His kiss was a provocative mixture of savagery and gentleness. Wild and wonderful emotions surged through her.

  Her arms eased around his waist beneath his dinner jacket and wandered up the muscled b
ack. Steven’s mouth greedily devoured the sweet abandonment of hers. He hadn’t planned on this, and it stunned him. His arms tightened around Brandy, almost fiercely and painfully. His lips became insistent, demanding, ravishing.

  It was clear to Brandy, even in her dreamy world, that Lance Reynolds was a skilled lover. He possessed a magic which was perilous and winning. She vaguely realized she was losing control of her emotions, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. This man had haunted her night and day, and she needed to understand why. As his lips leisurely moved over her cheek to press a kiss on her ear, she quivered and sighed. She pressed closely against his taut body, drawing fuel from it to feed her insatiable fire.

  Without warning, Steven went rigid and released her, so abruptly that she nearly fell backwards. He tilted his head to study her, observing the passion-glazed eyes and undeniable surrender emblazoned within them. Instead of being pleased with his success, a look of anger and resentment stamped itself upon his handsome features. He berated his stupidity. The game was no longer a game, at least to him. He wished he didn’t know the reason behind her tempting allure and eagerness. Did this baffling creature hold nothing precious and sacred: not her life, her honor, her body? How far would she go to get what she wanted? He would comply, if it wouldn’t extract a costly price from him. Oddly, he felt it would. He defensively backed down.

  “You’re playing with fire, Brandy,” he warned bitterly. “I have a reputation for shattering fishbowls and devouring little goldfish. Isn’t there something more important on your mind tonight than me? What can I do to help?” he asked tenderly, anticipating a stirring bargain. No matter who or what she was, he wanted her, but without deceptions. He was determined to burn off the playing field and work with the charred remains. Whatever her motives, he was certain she had found him just as disturbing and appealing. She looked like an innocent angel, but she didn’t kiss or work like one!