Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  She looked at him with an expression of manufactured serenity. “It doesn’t matter, because I don’t care. He could choose to not hang on her every word. He could choose to not peer down her dress every two seconds. Evidently he invited me to dinner just to show me how fabulous she is, with her fascinating stories and . . . and . . . and . . . boobs!” she sputtered. “Well, he’s made his point. Not that I care. I wish them all the best.”

  “Yeah, I can tell you don’t give a rat’s derriere.”

  “In fact, I have a proposal of my own. In fact, I’m going to propose it right now.” She grabbed one of the open bottles and steamed to the patio.

  “Who’d like more wine?” she asked merrily. She topped off glasses, then grabbed her own full glass and took the chair next to Priscilla. The starlet turned to face her, her huge, ice-blue eyes mesmerizing up close.

  “Have you been to Aspen before?” Amanda asked.

  “Not really.”

  “I was thinking it would be fun to go out to dinner tomorrow night. If Grady’s up for it?” Amanda looked at him.

  “Sure.”

  “Great,” Amanda said and looked at Priscilla.

  “It’s sweet of you to think of me. Thank you, Amanda.” Priscilla squeezed Amanda’s arm. “It will be nice to see how the locals live.”

  Grady snorted. “Don’t worry—there’s a Chanel and a Prada store. They’re not complete savages up here.”

  “It’ll be a lot of fun,” Amanda said, then smiled sweetly. “And if you want to ride, just let me know.”

  Priscilla picked up a bottle of hand sanitizer and offered it to Amanda.

  “No thanks.”

  Amanda wondered if the sanitizer was the starlet’s attempt to truly micromanage her life. It must be hard to be a woman in Hollywood, because there was always someone younger coming up the ranks, ready to snap up your spot. You must have to control everything.

  Or Priscilla was just a germ freak. Amanda couldn’t imagine Grady being attracted to someone who was so uptight. Not your problem. Amanda excused herself and left for the barn.

  Several minutes later Amanda was removing the few manure piles from the stalls. As she did, piano music wafted from the house. Vocal selections. She was surprised to hear a woman’s voice, so much so that she stood still to listen. It was . . . “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess, a song Amanda knew well but barely recognized because this execution—in every sense of the word—was spectacularly off-key. It didn’t sound like Estelle. It had to be Priscilla. At first Amanda’s mouth hung open, and then she laughed. She doubled over and leaned on the manure fork for support, and tears streamed down her cheeks and plopped onto the sawdust. After the miserable time she’d had at dinner, this was the perfect audio dessert.

  “Dinner!” she said aloud, then called Harris on the barn phone and invited him to dinner.

  “What about the cowboy? Aren’t you riding his range?”

  She explained about the breakup. “You can handle Priscilla, right?”

  “Indubitably. You’re going to charm Grady right out from under her cute little button nose.”

  The next morning dawned sunny and cloudless, another in a series of perfect mornings. Amanda loved how clear the air was here, a welcome change from Florida’s clouds and thick, chewable air. Colorado’s low humidity was a godsend; she used to feel so wilted on oppressive days in Ocala.

  Despite the fine weather, Amanda’s mind kept flashing back to Priscilla’s hand on Grady’s butt in the barn, and Priscilla whispering in Grady’s ear. Amanda imagined how sexy those little puffs of air must’ve felt, and she felt ill. Thank God for the next few hours, when she could teach and ride and be in her element.

  She gave the girls their lessons. As Solstice walked Rainy to cool her out, Jacqueline called to arrange for a trail ride for Priscilla and Grady after his lesson. “Sure,” Amanda said, but her heart felt like it had gained about twenty pounds. She hoped they would go on their own so she wouldn’t have to watch them flirt, but at the same time she wanted to go, because then they wouldn’t be able to leap off their horses and have mad, passionate sex several times over in a field of wildflowers. Or at least she hoped they wouldn’t. Grady might be over Priscilla, but Amanda didn’t buy for a minute that Priscilla was over him. And with Priscilla’s superlative face and body, if she tried to seduce him, how would he resist?

  Amanda went into the pasture to get Vern—she couldn’t stomach putting the curvy blonde on a horse named Smooch. As she led the paint, she thought about the night before and how Grady had practically nuzzled Priscilla. She saw Grady walking to the barn out of the corner of her eye but refused to acknowledge him.

  She put Vern in his stall and went into the tack room to get his brushes. Grady was putting Titanium in the grooming stall. She crossed to him.

  “Hi,” she said. The word slinked out through gritted teeth.

  “Hi.” He smiled one of his dazzling movie smiles.

  She was Teflon. She stood in front of him, fists on her hips. “Now maybe I don’t know how you do things out here, but where I come from, when you invite someone to dinner, you talk to that person. You didn’t say a word to me. You were rude. And before last night I would never have called you that.”

  “Amanda,” he said, uncorking the charm. “I talked to you.”

  “Oh really?” She raised her eyebrows, jutted her chin. “Recount a conversation we had. Just one.”

  He looked down for a few moments, then said, “I didn’t realize. I apologize. I guess Priscilla kind of took over.”

  “If it happens tonight, I’ll leave the restaurant.”

  “It won’t.”

  She tilted her head to gauge his level of sincerity. Satisfied, she nodded toward Titanium and said, “Use one of the white pads on him. By the way, do you need me for the trail ride? Or can you handle it yourself?”

  “Whatever you want.” He sounded sheepish and she was glad.

  “I’ll stay here.” At least she wouldn’t have to listen to that seductive Lauren Bacall voice all afternoon.

  Grady cleared his throat. “So what’s with you and the furrier?” He was in the grooming stall across the aisle from Vern’s stall, where Amanda brushed the paint.

  “Farrier. He makes horseshoes, not mink stoles. As you well know.”

  “Right. So, are you two serious?” He brushed the black horse’s shiny flank.

  “Why?”

  “Is he your boyfriend? Are you going steady? Did he ask you to prom? Will he give you a corsage to wear to dinner tonight?”

  “Very funny. And, as a matter of fact, we broke up. Harris is my dinner date.”

  Grady grinned so hard, she thought the corners of his mouth might touch his ears. “Ha! Congratulations!”

  “What kind of a thing is that to say?”

  “Look, I’m sure he’s a terrific guy, but you could do so much better.”

  “And I suppose you have someone in mind.”

  His voice got all deep and intense. “I liked kissing you in the foyer that night. I’m very interested in kissing you some more.” His voice was pure smoke as he added, “Every square inch of you.”

  Heat roared through her but she managed to stand up straight, put her hand on Vern’s withers for support, and glower. She lifted her chin and said, “I’m very interested in world peace, but that’s not going to happen either.”

  He laughed, then asked, “Why?” He stood in the stall’s doorway.

  Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. “Because! It’s simply out—”

  Just then, Priscilla’s voice rang through the barn. “Hellooo? I hope your horses aren’t allergic to Prada, because they’re the only boots I have.”

  Grady said to Amanda, “We’re not done with this.” Then, to Priscilla, “The saddles are all Prada, you’ll fit right in. You sure you want to wear those? They might get trashed.”

  “They’re last season,” Priscilla said, grinning. “And I don’t know who sold you those, but Prada do
esn’t make saddles. Hermès and Jaguar do though.”

  “Dream on,” he said.

  “Actually . . . she’s right,” Amanda said, and smiled at Priscilla in a sisters-doin’-it-for-themselves moment. “How do you know that?”

  “I have some friends with horses who can’t spend their money fast enough.” She paused, looking at Vern with her wide, arctic-ice eyes. “Is he my horse?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said. “This is Vern. He’s a good boy. He’ll take care of you.”

  “He’s beautiful.” Amanda smiled—it was hard to dislike the starlet when she kept saying likable things.

  “Yes, he is,” Amanda said.

  “Let’s get a move-on,” Grady said.

  “You’re just jealous I’m not staring at you,” Priscilla said. “Or riding you,” she purred and Amanda’s stomach clenched.

  Priscilla turned to Grady. “How do I look?” She wore tight, expensive jeans and a pink designer T-shirt that showcased her buoyant breasts, brought out her eyes, and bared a strip of tanned, toned midriff.

  “Very nice,” Grady said. “Just like Annie Oakley.” Priscilla giggled.

  “I hate activities where the women have to dress like men. Don’t you, Amanda? You must get tired of wearing men’s shirts and those dreadful pants and boots all day long, every day. What happened to sidesaddles, when a girl could wear a skirt? And”—she coughed for effect—“all this dust must be terrible for your skin and hair. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I don’t either,” Amanda said, then escaped to the tack room to get Vern’s saddle and bridle. The barn, with room for ten horses, suddenly felt suffocatingly small.

  Amanda saddled Vern and put hay in his stall, certain the piebald wouldn’t roll if he could eat instead. She taught Grady on Titanium while Priscilla sipped iced tea under a parasol—an actual parasol—at one of the ringside tables, sometimes giggling or applauding, and applying her sanitizer at least twice. Amanda was grateful for Priscilla, because at least Grady couldn’t continue the kissing conversation.

  After the lesson, Amanda bridled Vern, got Priscilla on board, went over the basics, and set her loose in the ring to practice. Seeing her stricken expression, Amanda realized the sole reason Priscilla was riding was to please Grady. As Priscilla turned and stopped and turned again and Grady, atop Titanium, watched, Amanda whispered to him, “You know she’s scared to death, right? Just walk.”

  “Of course I will. What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

  “Don’t make me answer that.”

  He grinned, then said, “Hey.” She looked up at him. He looked at her so intensely, he must’ve been able to see the back of her cranium. He bent toward her. She leaned back. “I meant what I said in the barn. Very much. And you look terrific in your men’s clothes. Very sexy.”

  Ignoring the herd of tiny foals cavorting in her stomach, she sighed in pretend exasperation and backed away. “Have a good ride.”

  12

  Grady, Priscilla, Harris, and Amanda sat at a four-top in a hyperchic Aspen eatery that reviewers had dubbed “viciously hip” with food that was “a palate’s dream vacation.” Their table had a white opaque top lit from beneath. It glowed and made dishes and diners alike look almost magical. Amanda sat across from Priscilla, who wore a sheer black sleeveless catsuit with a swirling pattern of sequins, as if there weren’t already enough curves for onlookers to deal with. Amanda wore a demure silk skirt and sleeveless top. Both men wore jackets and jeans, Harris in a shirt as white as any movie star’s veneers, and Grady with a black T-shirt.

  Grady had been looking forward to dinner with Amanda—even though he’d have to share her with Harris and Priscilla—ever since she’d suggested it. She was luminous in the glow of the table, with that top that looked so damn touchable, not to mention her skin. He made sure he talked to the whole table and didn’t let Priscilla monopolize him, although she was better behaved tonight.

  This was likely due to their picnic lunch. The ride itself had been uneventful, although Priscilla rode as if perched on a ledge of the seventieth story of a skyscraper. Grady had envisioned a pleasant lunch in a meadow covered with late-season wildflowers. He imagined it would be a nice change for the city-bound Priscilla, a quiet, relaxing meal in a beautiful setting. Perfect for catching up before the press tour.

  But as they finished a bottle of Riesling, Priscilla steered the conversation to their ill-fated romance. Soon enough, they toed into precarious territory, such as the time at breakfast when she had distracted him while he was on the phone with his agent. His agent was none the wiser, but Grady had to cut the conversation short because of Priscilla’s formidable talents.

  Several combustible recollections later, she kissed his mouth. Grady was awash in sense memories of their affair, magnified by wine. Then there was Priscilla with her killer perfume and that voice that slithered into his ears like incense. He kissed back, and when she slid her hands around his head, he didn’t resist. Indeed, he pulled her to him, deepening the kiss.

  “I’ve missed you,” Priscilla whispered. “God Grady, you feel so good.”

  “So do you,” he said, because she did.

  But when he felt her hands on the zipper of his jeans, he broke away. “Hey,” he said gently, holding her wrist. “Not a good idea.”

  “Oh really?” She stared pointedly at the bulge she had intended to liberate.

  “I’m attracted to you. Obviously, I’m attracted to you; you’re a beautiful, sexy woman. But we both know we’re not a good match.” And he wanted to sleep with Amanda with a clear conscience.

  “Let’s just have fun. Nothing serious. We have two weeks together—why not make the most of them? You were the best I ever had. Come on.” She placed her hand firmly on his crotch and squeezed. “Live a little.”

  He placed her hand in her lap. “I’ve moved on—I know you have, too—and believe me, it took a lot to move on from you. I love you as a friend, and if we start up again, we might not be friends after. I’d hate that.”

  She pouted. “You’re being overdramatic. We’d be perfect. It would be sex—super-hot, dirty sex, nothing more. But I’ll play it your way . . . for now.” She snagged her full lower lip with her teeth. “I’m not giving up, Grady Brunswick. Because when we were good, we were great.”

  Amanda smiled, laughed, and chatted, but inside she was a Cuisinart of emotions. She was keyed up by the triad of attraction around the table. There was her and Grady, of course. And Priscilla and Grady. She kept thinking about Grady wanting to kiss all of her square inches.

  She noted how often Priscilla looked at or touched Grady, and the look in those hypnotic eyes when she did either. Once, Priscilla drew Grady close and kissed him playfully on the lips.

  The food came and the conversation shifted. Amanda noticed Priscilla was sipping her wine several times a minute, and she remembered the starlet had downed a sizable designer martini when they’d first sat down. There was a lot of alcohol pouring into that five-one frame. Amanda started to pay more attention to Priscilla’s well-being.

  Priscilla would try to hold Grady’s hand, and he would let her for a time before unobtrusively removing his. He made it seem natural, as if he had to pick up his fork, but Amanda liked to think he didn’t really want to hold hands. Then, as Amanda was about to close in on a piece of lamb, something tapped her ankle. It was Grady. He’d stop when he realized he was touching her leg and not the table.

  Instead, she felt his Cole Haan slide lightly up and back down her calf several times. He was playing footsie! Was he in seventh grade? She clenched her jaw, looked away, and kicked his shin. She swiveled to Harris while whisking her freshly caressed leg out of range.

  “You’ve got to try this lamb,” she said, and set a cube of meat on Harris’s plate.

  Meanwhile, Grady made a show of giving Priscilla some salmon. His fish-laden fork headed for her plate, but she grabbed his hand and detoured it to her mouth. Amanda felt sorry for her and decided that if Grad
y didn’t cut Priscilla off soon, she would. Amanda whispered to Harris, “Is she okay?”

  “She’s drinking more than me. I filled her wineglass with water—she hasn’t noticed.”

  “You,” Grady said, pointing his fork at Amanda, “will love this,” indicating his salmon.

  “Bring it.”

  He smiled as he flaked off a bite. Then somehow, as she turned to watch him place the steaming coral portion on her plate, she felt his hand stroke the side of her knee, then rest on top of it. She had to sample the fish, since it would appear odd if she suddenly remembered her salmon allergy or that she’d given up eating fish. She was trapped. As she chewed—which required almost superhuman effort—his hand traveled the short distance up her thigh to the hem of her skirt and back down. She shot him a look that said, What the hell do you think you’re doing? and then glanced at Priscilla, who was slurring to Harris. Grady raised his eyebrows as if to say, See? No need to worry.

  “How do you like it?” Grady asked.

  She looked at him for a moment, his hand cupping her knee, his thumb stroking her kneecap like a tiny windshield wiper. Heat streamed from his fingers up her leg and roiled in her core. She sipped her wine because her mouth was as dry as the California desert during show season.

  “Fresh,” she croaked. Now his fingers made little circles on the top of her knee. With each tiny revolution, her breath quickened. Fearing they’d get caught, like teenagers making out under the bleachers, she crossed her legs, removing them from Grady’s reach. She could have sworn her panties were vibrating.

  “Want more?” Grady asked.

  He grabbed the corner of Amanda’s napkin and whisked it off her lap and onto the floor. She pressed her lips together and leaned down, as did he.

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  “Relax!” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “Someone will see.”

  “Don’t care. You have incredible legs. And they’re naked.” He wiggled his brows. He resumed a full, upright position, as did Amanda.