by JoAnn Ross
He reached out and brushed away an errant curl that had escaped to tumble down her cheek. At the feathery feel of his fingertip against her skin, Alex's mind emptied.
"I'm glad you came," Zach said.
"I almost didn't."
Another silence settled. They exchanged a long look rife with sensual temptations. Alex felt as if she were standing on a precipice and it would take only the slightest nudge to send her toppling over the edge.
Dragging her gaze from his, Alex glanced around with a casualness she was a long way from feeling. "Where's your wife?"
The question spoke volumes. Zach wondered if Alex actually thought he was coming on to her because Miranda was out of the country.
That wasn't the case, even though he admittedly wasn't as upstanding a husband as he'd been when he'd first met Alex. A few months after Mardi Gras, in a futile attempt to convince himself that what he'd felt for Alexandra Lyons could be felt for any intelligent, beautiful woman, he'd entered into a discreet, noncompromising, brief and emotionless affair with a local and very married television anchor-woman, which had left him feeling guilty and even lonelier than before.
"We need to talk."
"I don't think that's a very good idea." Remembering where they were, and who they were, she glanced around to make certain no one was standing within hearing distance. "I'm sorry, Zach. But I'm not into sneaking around."
"Dammit, I'm not asking you to—"
"I know." She put her hand on his arm and felt the muscle tense. "You want to talk. But we both know it wouldn't stop at that, and eventually, although we wouldn't mean to, we'd end up hurting everyone."
Did she think he wasn't hurting now? Hell, just being close to her without being able to touch her, to kiss her, was ripping his heart to ribbons. He was surprised that the mauve carpeting wasn't soaked red with his blood.
"Do you have any idea," he said roughly, "how much I've missed you?" The hell with protecting his male ego.
"Yes. Because not a day has gone by since New Orleans that I haven't wondered if I did the right thing walking away from you."
On the table in front of them a crystal Art Deco vase held a single pink rose. Unreasonably nervous, Alex began plucking unconsciously at the velvety petals. "But I know that I did. Because it's obvious that your relationship with Miranda—" there, she'd said her rival's name without choking "—is important enough to keep you in your marriage."
"Dammit, Alexandra, you don't understand."
"That's where you're wrong, Zach," she said softly. "I understand only too well."
The fact, as much as she wished otherwise, was that Zach was married. That was all she needed to know. End of story.
At least it should have been. But although she'd tried her best to avoid thinking about Zach, tried to convince herself that he'd been nothing more than a Mardi Gras fling, she now realized that their time together in New Orleans had left behind some smoldering embers that only needed the slightest breath of air, the most fleeting touch of a match, to ignite.
* * *
Miranda arrived late at the gala party. The first thing she did when she entered the room was grab a flute of Mumm champagne from a passing tray. Sipping the bubbly liquid, she began idly looking around the room, trying to locate her aunt's newest folly.
She spotted the interloper talking to, of all people, Zachary. And from the look on his face, Miranda realized that Eleanor wasn't the only one intrigued with Alexandra Lyons.
She tossed down the champagne, following it with two more in rapid succession. Then, fortified for battle, she crossed the room with long, purposeful strides.
"Darling!" she gushed, ignoring Alex completely as she captured Zach's face between her palms and gave him a long, inappropriately intimate, openmouthed kiss.
"I would have been here sooner," she said when they finally came up for air. "But my plane was stacked up for hours over LAX. I barely had time to throw on a decent dress and redo my face."
"You look lovely as always," Zach said on cue, wiping the scarlet lipstick from his mouth with his handkerchief.
He recognized the long, sinuous, skintight black gown as being from Yves Debord's latest collection. Even with her generous discount, the evening dress had been outrageously expensive. Although she'd assured him that the design was the very height of fashion, Zach thought the dress, with its layers of jet sequins, made Miranda resemble a snake. Or an eel.
"And you always say the right thing. I suppose that's only one of the reasons I adore you so." She gave him another wet kiss that stained his cheek and made Zach wonder what the hell his wife was up to now. He couldn't remember the last time Miranda had shown him even a scintilla of affection.
As if noticing Zach's companion for the first time, Miranda cast wide, expectant, green eyes Alex's way. "Zachary, darling," she cooed, "you're forgetting your manners. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
Of course, Zach realized. Miranda was staking her claim, on the Lord's empire, as well as on her husband. He could practically feel No Trespassing being stamped on his chest.
"Miranda, Alexandra Lyons. Alexandra, this is Miranda." There was a brief, all too noticeable pause. "My wife."
"Not the Alexandra Lyons!" Miranda looked at Alex as if admiring a newly cut precious stone. "The Emmy-winning costume designer the entire city is abuzz about?"
Miranda's photographs, which had graced the glossy pages of last month's Town and Country, had not begun to do her justice. Her blond hair swung in sleek, polished wings; there was an innate superiority in the way she dressed, the way she moved, the absolute perfection of face and figure. Zach's wife was a dazzling blend of glacial beauty and smoldering sexuality.
Alex hated her on sight.
"I'm not sure the entire city is abuzz," she said mildly, steadfastly ignoring the apologetic look Zach was trying to send her way. "But yes, I did just win an Emmy."
"I knew it!" Miranda clapped her hands. A diamond the size of the Taj Mahal glittered coldly on the ring finger of her left hand. "Of course I'm much too busy to watch the telly, but my dear Aunt Eleanor would never miss an episode of your little show. I do believe she's hooked," Miranda confided in a conspiratorial tone.
"Along with much of the television-viewing world," Zach broke in, determined to somehow spare Alex his wife's whip of a tongue. Although their marriage bed had become as arid as the Sahara, for some reason he could not understand, Miranda was an insanely jealous woman.
Woe to the female who was caught talking to him alone, double woe to the woman who dared to smile at him, even in passing. And woe, woe, triple woe to the poor unsuspecting female who might display even the faintest interest in Miranda Lord Baptista Smythe Deveraux's latest husband.
As she returned Miranda's predator smile with a bland, polite one of her own, Alex found herself grateful for the woman's interruption.
She could not—would not!—let herself fall in love with Zach. No way. Absolutely not. Only fools fell in love with married men, Alex reminded herself. Fools or women with strong suicidal streaks.
"Well, it's certainly been wonderful meeting both of you," she said. All right, so it was a lie. But only a little white one. Besides, from the dangerous, possessive glint in Miranda's gem-bright eyes, Alex knew better than to admit she and Zach had met before. "But I'm afraid I must be going."
"Oh?" Miranda's glossy lips formed into a perfect, pouty O of regret. "So soon? We've barely had time to get acquainted."
"I'm sorry. But we're taping early tomorrow morning."
"I'll walk you out," Zach said. As he'd feared, his casual remark drew a dark, fatal glance from his wife.
Lord, if looks could kill, Alex thought, Zachary Deveraux would be six feet under. "Thank you," she said, declining his offer firmly, "but that really isn't necessary."
Alex prided herself on getting through the obligatory parting conversation with Eleanor Lord, making her way back downstairs and remembering to tip the liveried parking valet.
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It was only when she was all alone in the privacy of the new red Porsche that Friedman Television Productions had leased for her as a reward for winning the Emmy, driving through the darkened Los Angeles streets back to Venice, that Alex finally allowed herself to weep.
Chapter Sixteen
Lord's executive offices were located in Century City, built on land that had once been 20th Century Fox's back lot and had housed Sunnybrook Farm, Peyton Place and Boot Hill. Before that, the valuable Los Angeles real estate had been cowboy star Tom Mix's ranch.
The day after the party, Zach sat in his office in one of the two towers, which had so altered the Los Angeles skyline, going over the monthly sales figures with Eleanor.
He found it difficult to keep his mind on the report. Because he knew that just across the way, in the vast network entertainment center on the other side of the sculpture garden, "Blue Bayou" was taping.
The memory of those stolen, magical hours with Alex in Louisiana flickered seductively through his mind, teasing him with sensual memories and erotic wishes.
"What about the Texas Fashion House acquisition?" Eleanor asked, leafing through the thick sheaf of papers.
Since opportunities for new stores nationwide were limited, expansion-minded chains like Lord's were forced to seek market share by acquiring existing stores in other cities. Zach was currently negotiating to purchase a small chain of boutiques in San Antonio, Houston and Dallas.
Known throughout the retail industry for sales growth, Lord's was adding floor space at a faster rate than any other chain in the country. Expansion under Zach's leadership had fueled a thirty-three percent sales gain during the past five-year period.
Still, unlike so many of his contemporaries, who were leveraged up to their eyebrows, Zach was a conservative businessman. He slept easily each night knowing that under his leadership, The Lord's Group would survive—indeed, thrive—when the inevitable down cycle did occur.
"They've turned out to be more heavily leveraged than we first thought," he revealed. "However, since our debt-to-capital ratio is down considerably since last quarter, that shouldn't prove a problem."
"Good. Neiman-Marcus is opening a new store in Dallas. I don't want to lose market share there."
"I'll see that we don't." What was Alex doing right now?
Eleanor knew that on a lesser man, such innate confidence would have sounded like arrogance. On Zach it was an understatement. "I have every faith in you, Zachary."
She put the Texas figures aside. "By the way, did you receive my memo about the boutique lighting?"
"About dividing the various departments with neon signs?"
"That's the one. Clara and I went shopping yesterday in the Rodeo Drive store and were met with a distressing phalanx of dress racks."
"Well, it is a dress store," Zach said. Was Alex standing at a window in that twin tower, perhaps, looking out across the complex, thinking of him and wondering if he was thinking of her?
"True. But the store seemed boring."
"I believe the term you and the decorator agreed on last year during all those months of planning the remodeling was 'sophisticated and timeless,'" Zach reminded her.
"I liked the plans on paper," Eleanor conceded grumpily. "But in reality, there's just no pow. We need to liven things up."
"Don't tell me you want to hire perfume terrorists like they have at some stores."
During his last trip to Manhattan, on the way to a first-floor escalator in a major department store, he'd gotten attacked by a frighteningly aggressive young woman who'd leapt out from behind a counter and sprayed Polo cologne on him. Zach had spent the rest of the afternoon yearning for a shower.
"Nothing that drastic," she assured him. "But these are exciting, fast-moving times, Zach. And our stores should reflect that. The minute a customer enters Lord's, she should experience a sensual overload that gives her an immediate sense of something going on. A happening."
"I think happenings went out with the sixties."
"Don't be difficult. You know what I mean. Neon is bright and lively, and I think we ought to implement it in the Rodeo Drive store. If it works the way I think it will, we can take it nationwide."
"I'll get work started on the designs." He'd learned not to argue with Eleanor's innate sense of marketing.
"Good. While you're at it, have the design staff add some spotlights to brighten up our more special merchandise, as if they were on stage. Center stage."
"Spotlights," he murmured, jotting it down, along with a note to have the construction department ensure there would be enough capacity for the increased electrical demand. One thing they didn't need was another fire.
They were momentarily interrupted by his secretary, who arrived with the latest sales figures. Last quarter Zach had installed a much envied management information and control system that provided hourly updates on sales and inventory in every department of every store in the country.
Such a state-of-the-art computer system allowed Lord's buyers to recognize both the dogs and the hot sellers quickly. It also revealed regional trends; what sold well in Dallas or Los Angeles didn't necessarily work in Peoria or Buffalo.
He gave a copy of the report to Eleanor, keeping one for himself. "Debord's sales are still slipping," he pointed out unnecessarily.
"I know." Eleanor's lips drew down in a frown. It was not often she made a judgment in error. But when she did she characteristically made a quick correction. "Do you happen to know what it would cost us to buy out the last year of his contract?"
Zach had anticipated that question.
"You're always one step ahead of me," she complained when he answered quickly off the top of his head. In truth, she wanted it no other way. "I don't understand what happened," she mused. "The line we saw in Paris, when we signed him to that contract, was wonderfully energetic. I thought it would leap out of the stores."
"Which it did. First-quarter sales were unprecedented."
"And have been going downhill ever since. Just like his fashions. Oh, well." She shook her bright head. "We'll just pay the man off and be done with it."
"You know," Zach said, "although I'll agree with you that his designs lack something, it isn't completely Debord's fault. All the designer lines, as well as the store brand names in other chains, have experienced slippage this past year."
"I know. I've been giving that some thought and have decided that clothing has become so ubiquitous that we department stores are living our own version of every chic woman's private nightmare. Every store in every mall in every city has the exact same clothes….
"We need something new. A look that says, Only Available Here."
Zach's attention had wandered again, across the sculpture garden, over the landscaped plaza, to Alex. "I suppose you have something in mind," he murmured absently.
"You know me so well." Eleanor sat back in her chair, crossed her legs and said, "Here's my plan."
Her next words, spoken in that brook-no-argument tone he'd learned to respect, brought Zach back to reality with a resounding crash.
* * *
Alex was sitting on the porch of her rented home in Venice, watching the waves roll relentlessly onto the packed sand. The sun had sliced its way through the smog, splintering the sky with shafts of pure gold. The clarity of the light intensified the landscape, making the water sparkle like crystal beneath the gleaming sapphire sky.
Like so many residents of the City of Angels, Alex knew she was guilty of taking the benevolent weather for granted. It took mornings like this to make one stop and bask in the pure glory of California sunshine.
Unfortunately she was not to be given that luxury today. Because in a few short hours she was scheduled to have lunch with Eleanor Lord. And Zachary Deveraux.
Six days had passed since she'd encountered Zach at Eleanor's fund-raising party. Six long days and six equally long and restless nights. In trying to keep up with Sophie's demands that "Blue Bayou" remain the glitziest, mo
st dazzling show on television, along with struggling to live up to her own design reputation, which seemed to be ballooning into the stratosphere since the Emmy, Alex's work required her undivided attention.
So why the hell couldn't she stop thinking about Zach?
Although she'd fought it, he'd infiltrated her thoughts. Which she must not allow! A lifetime of experience had taught her that everything was transitory—here today, gone tomorrow. Homes, schools, work, relationships.
Nothing was forever.
Especially relationships.
With a sigh, she went back into the house. She stood under the shower, head back, allowing the water to sluice over her, willing it to dampen her desire for a man she had no business thinking about.
He was married, for God's sake, she reminded herself firmly as she rubbed herself dry with enough vigor to practically scrape away a layer of skin. And she'd seen enough women badly burned by unhappy experiences with married men to vow that she'd never make that mistake herself. Even if the man in question caused her pulse to jump with a single glance, or her heart to turn somersaults with a mere touch.
The company dining room in the Lord's Century City office complex was, as Alex would have expected, exquisitely decorated. Dove gray silk walls blended quietly with the soft blue sky outside the tall windows, which wrapped the room in nonstop views.
Rosewood gleamed, glazed pale pewter tile glimmered underfoot. Oriental vases claimed space in arched wall niches, while special-effects lighting illuminated priceless Impressionist paintings.
Although she'd been nervous about this meeting, Alex tried to relax as Eleanor greeted her warmly and congratulated her again on her Emmy, then complimented her work, the dress she'd worn to the party, the outfit she'd chosen to wear today.
Other than greeting her politely, Zach remained silent. But as she exchanged preluncheon small talk with the department store owner, Alex was all too aware of him leaning back in his chair, his nonchalant pose doing nothing to soften his innate power.