Phoenix Falling

by Mary Jo Putney

  No wonder his mind was flooded with memories.

  * * *

  The Scarlet Pimpernel was a lavish production with a large cast, and it had required five solid months of shooting in France and England. During production, he and Rainey maintained their pact not to become lovers, though it became harder and harder. The filmed passion was real, not feigned, and more than once he'd almost asked her to carry what started on the set to its natural conclusion in private.

  Yet he didn't. Not only was there a perverse pleasure in denial when they both knew it was only a matter of time until they came together, but they were learning so much about each other. The pressures of making a movie tended to strip away facades and show an actor's real temperament. Rainey, he discovered, had a bone-deep sense of fair play, and good temper even under grinding stress. Though she was often intense, she also had an irresistible sense of humor.

  He particularly liked the courtesy and consideration that were as natural to her as breathing. The crew members worshipped her. Though he abhorred prima donna behavior, got along well with coworkers, and was famous for the generosity of the crew gifts he gave during shooting, he would never have Rainey's relaxed, natural friendliness. He always stood two steps apart from the normal world.

  Except with Rainey. He couldn't imagine that there were any similarities in the way they grew up, yet the two of them resonated together.

  By the time of the wrap party at the end of production, exhaustion was universal, and emotions flowed as deeply as the champagne. Moviemaking transformed cast and crew into a temporary family, though sometimes a highly dysfunctional one. Since Pimpernel had been a good shoot, with few major blowups and considerable satisfaction, the knowledge that the family was about to be broken up produced teary farewell hugs even between people who'd occasionally threatened to throttle one another.

  He and Rainey had exchanged a few smoldering glances across the London restaurant hired for the party, but he didn't try to approach her until the party was well advanced. Halfway across the room, he was intercepted by the director. Gomolko hugged him exuberantly. "You were everything I hoped for and more, Kenzie. You're the best damned Sir Percy ever."

  Not fond of being hugged by men, Kenzie gently disentangled himself. "You get the credit, Jim. You handled every aspect of the story beautifully, from the romance to the adventure sequences." He and Rainey had had to fight Gomolko to keep the love scenes more evocative than graphic, but things like that were forgotten once the film was in the can. "This will be the definitive Pimpernel."

  Beaming, Gomolko headed off toward the attractive female production designer to express his thanks for her undeniably brilliant work. Kenzie resumed his course toward Rainey, avoiding eye contact with others so he wouldn't be sidetracked again. He'd said his good-byes, and now she was the only person he wanted.

  She greeted him with a dazzling smile despite the circles under her eyes. After her last scene, she'd thrown her hated corset away with a whoop of pleasure, leaving her in Marguerite's lace-trimmed shift. If Kenzie hadn't had one more scene of his own to shoot, he'd have carried her off then.

  The dress she wore tonight was shift-like, a flowing green, gauzy fabric that swirled around her ankles when she walked. Stretching out her hand, she said, "I owe you for all of this, Kenzie. Thanks for wanting me in this movie. It's been one of the best experiences of my life."

  He wanted to wrap himself around her in an embrace that would make them both weak in the knees. He settled for kissing her hand, as courtly as Sir Percy. "It wasn't only the movie I wanted you for. We had a date for the end of filming. Are you still interested?"

  "Oh, yes." Her voice became husky. "But I warn you, what I really want to do is go to bed and sleep for a week."

  "What a coincidence. That's close to what I had in mind." He swept her up in his arms and carried her through the restaurant. After a surprised instant, she settled into his embrace, head resting on his shoulder.

  Accompanied by hoots and applause from their colleagues, he took her outside to the white limousine he'd ordered. Laughing, Rainey slid across the leather seat. "The modern version of being carried off on a white horse. You have style, Scott."

  He cupped her face, admiring the delicate bones and the honesty of her gray-green eyes. Then he pressed his lips to hers. The last five months of kisses had been for the camera. This one was for them—slow, intimate, unhurried.

  When they separated, she released her breath in a sigh. "Nice. A necking session. Almost as romantic as when we solemnly exchanged blood tests last month."

  "As you said, I have style," he murmured against her throat. Though he wanted her intensely, fatigue had the advantage of muting his desire to the point where he could enjoy the foreplay without wanting to rip her clothes off. There would be time enough for that later.

  They had reached London City Airport before Rainey broke free long enough to stare out the window. "What on earth are we doing here?"

  "Flying back to California."

  "But I haven't packed! I don't even have my passport."

  "Don't worry, I suborned Emmy. All your things are waiting for us."

  Rainey fell back onto the white leather seat, laughing. "I'm being abducted! What a fabulous way to end a job. I trust we're flying first class?"

  "Better than that."

  Kenzie's assistant was highly efficient, and the arrangements for this escape had been planned meticulously. As they approached the private jet, Rainey's eyes rounded like saucers. "Kenzie, do you own this plane?"

  "Yes and no. I own a couple of shares in a network of private jets. When a shareowner wants to fly somewhere, the network arranges to have a plane available."

  They climbed the steps and entered a cabin arranged as a comfortable lounge. A flight attendant approached and said with a musical French accent, "Monsieur Scott, Mademoiselle Marlowe. I am Rochelle. May I get you anything?"

  He traded glances with Rainey, who was drooping under his arm. "We both just want to go to bed and sleep until somewhere around Boston."

  "Of course, Monsieur. I shall tell the captain it is time to depart. As soon as the seat belt light goes off, you may retire."

  As Rochelle went forward into the cockpit, Rainey said, "There's a bed?"

  He nodded toward the wall behind them as he sat down in the deep leather lounge chair and fastened his seat belt. "There's a nice little bedroom and bathroom back there—I ordered this jet especially for that reason."

  She settled into the seat next to him, fastened herself in, then reached for his hand. "This makes first class seem like steerage."

  He interlaced his fingers with hers. "Private jets do rather spoil one."

  They didn't speak as the jet taxied down the runway and took off. When the plane leveled, Rochelle appeared again and escorted them to the bedroom. "Monsieur, mademoiselle, please ring for me when you are ready for breakfast."

  After the door closed, Rainey studied the queen-sized bed, which had a lace-trimmed satin comforter and mounds of pillows, vases of roses secured in wall brackets, and plush scarlet carpeting. "It's a flying bordello."

  He grinned. "But a very high-class one."

  She smothered a yawn. "I wasn't kidding about needing to sleep."

  "Agreed. But won't it be nice to sleep together?" He nodded to the door behind them. "There should be a nightgown waiting. You wash up first and go to bed."

  "I'll be asleep by the time you join me."

  "Not to worry. Sixty seconds later I'll be sleeping as well." He turned off all of the lamps except for a dim night-light, suddenly so tired that he ached.

  Rainey emerged from the bathroom in the cream-colored silk negligee he'd bought for her. With her fine features and tumbling apricot hair, she was a sight to raise dead men from their tombs. Yawning again, she slid into the bed. "I can't believe you coordinated the nightgown with the bedding."

  "Anything worth doing is worth doing well." Removing his gaze from her with difficulty, he went into the
bathroom and stripped off his clothing, not bothering with pajamas since he didn't own a pair.

  As promised, her breathing was slow and regular when he climbed into the bed beside her, but she turned toward him drowsily. Soft and female, hair scented with rosemary, she fit into his arms as if they were two halves of one whole. He gave a deep sigh of release as layers of stress slowly fell away and... Rainey...

  * * *

  He awoke hours later when she rolled onto her back and stretched like a cat. The comforter slid down to her waist, revealing the flex of her lithe body under the negligee. "I feel remarkably rested. How long since we left London?"

  He glanced at the wall clock. "About five hours."

  She propped her head up and regarded him thoughtfully. "How awake are you feeling?"

  "Quite." He didn't move.

  Their gazes locked. "Strange," she whispered. "I've been looking forward to this for months. I've had crazed, lustful dreams of ravishing you or vice versa. Now that we're finally together—I feel shy."

  "So do I." He hesitated. "I want everything to be perfect, and that's impossible."

  "Lovemaking doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real." She leaned forward until their lips touched, soft and sweet.

  The passion he'd been banking for so long flared into life. They'd learned much about each other's bodies while filming. He knew the texture of her silky skin, the curve of her shoulder, her individual scent, provocatively female.

  Yet all that was mere prelude to joining physically and emotionally. They explored each other's bodies with increasing intimacy, learning rhythms and signals with startling swiftness, building desire into searing mutual fulfillment.

  Until, in the end, it was perfect and real.

  Afterward they lay in each other's arms for a long time, not needing to speak. His mind drifted, refusing to think of past or future, wishing he could stay in the present forever. "This was worth waiting for."

  "Yes—but I'm glad we didn't wait any longer. I might have succumbed to spontaneous human combustion." She nuzzled his throat. "There's something powerfully erotic about being surrounded by jet vibrations."

  "Vibrations, vibrators. Surely there's a connection."

  "What a wicked thought. I'm sure you're right." She trailed her hand over his torso. "I'm glad you don't shave your chest like some actors do."

  He cupped her breast. "And I'm glad these are soft and real, not improbable silicone."

  "I considered implants, but decided that if I couldn't get work on my acting ability, the silicone wouldn't make much difference."

  "Anyone can augment a body, but few people can match your talent."

  "You certainly know the best kind of compliment." She grinned. "Isn't there a saying that a man should compliment beautiful women on their brains, and brainy women on their physical attractiveness?"

  "Since you have both, does that mean I can't compliment you at all?"

  "A true master of flattery." She rolled onto him so that her legs bracketed his and her silky hair brushed his chest. "I like the idea of a week in bed."

  "So do I." He stroked his hands down her back. She was beautifully fit, her muscles taut under creamy skin. "I've got two and a half weeks before I have to leave for Argentina for my next job."

  "Damn." She gnawed her lower lip enchantingly. "I'm due in New York in two weeks, and I have to spend at least a few days vertical and doing business before I leave."

  He felt a stab of disappointment. He'd hoped she would come to Argentina with him, because already he hated the fact that they would have to separate. He kissed her navel. "We'll just have to make the best of the time we have."

  And they did.

  * * *

  Kenzie found that he'd pulled off the road, face sweating and pulse accelerated. Damnation, ever since Rainey filed for divorce, he'd tried not to think of those first glorious days, all pleasure and no pain.

  Because remembering was all pain and no pleasure.

  Chapter 9

  Since they were shooting in remote areas, transportation for cast and crew was done with rugged four-wheel-drive vehicles rather than the plush cars used on most productions. Rainey didn't care—to a tired woman, the backseat of an SUV was plenty good enough for sprawling out and gathering strength.

  The first requirement for a director was high energy, because the work was never done. After dinner each evening she watched the dailies that had been shot the day before, flown to Los Angeles for processing, then returned to New Mexico for viewing.

  Watching dailies required intense concentration as she made notes on the scenes and takes that worked best. Her editor back in L. A., Eva Yañez, would rough out a preliminary cut as they went along, which would save time and money in post-production.

  Before bedtime, she studied the next day's shooting schedule to decide if she wanted to go with the angles and shots she'd planned, or if her thinking had changed. It was essential to show up on the set completely prepared, because an indecisive director wasted time and undermined the confidence of cast and crew.

  Her cell phone rang. She groaned. Not opening her eyes, she flipped the phone open. "Yes?"

  It was Marcus Gordon. "How are things going, Raine?"

  "Pretty well." Most of the calls she received increased her stress level, but talking to Marcus usually relaxed her. Now his imperturbable good sense soothed the disturbance in her psyche produced by Kenzie. "We're on schedule, and the film we're getting is first-rate. Greg Marino is doing a great job as director of cinematography. He's getting exactly the look I want—beautiful but desolate. A long, long way from Randall's idea of civilization."

  "You must be doing something right, since the biggest part of your job is inspiring the rest of the crew to do their best work. How about Sharif?"

  "Amazing. He has so much charisma that he'd blow anyone less than Kenzie off the screen."

  "That good? I can't wait to see this movie. Speaking of which, I'm flying in tomorrow night for a couple of days."

  Her eyes snapped open. "Is that necessary? An executive producer usually has better things to do than hang around a set."

  "One of the conditions for getting the money was that I keep close tabs on what you're doing. Investors are a skittish lot, especially with a first-time director."

  Especially with a first-time female director, though Marcus was too polite to say that. "I look forward to seeing you. Is Naomi coming?"

  "Not this time, but she hopes to visit during the English location shooting."

  Rainey finished the call, glad Val would be arriving in a few hours. It had taken several days for her to arrange a leave of absence, and Rainey's temporary assistant had a lot to learn. Val did also, but Rainey had infinite faith in her friend's organizational skills, and her ability to master a job quickly.

  The phone ran again. "Hello?" This time it was Virginia Marlowe.

  Rainey sat up guiltily. She and her grandmother had talked after Darrell Jackson examined her grandfather's medical files and decided that he might be able to repair the aneurysm, but Rainey had been so busy she'd forgotten that this was the day of the surgery. "Hello, Gram. How did the operation go?"

  "Very well. They say your grandfather's prognosis is excellent."

  Rainey was surprised at the amount of relief she felt. "That's wonderful!"

  Virginia cleared her throat. "Our family doctor told me that Dr. Jackson managed a miracle. Thank you, Rainey. If not for you..."

  She blinked, unable to remember another occasion when her grandmother had used her nickname. "The credit goes to Darrell and his willingness to attempt such a risky procedure. I just happened to know him."

  "He told me how you met and how much time you spent with his mother before she died. You... you have a generous spirit, Rainey. Like Clementine."

  The few times in the past that Rainey had been compared to her mother, the intent had not been flattering. "I owe you whatever help you might need. After all, you two raised me, and taught me
a lot of things worth knowing, like the value of hard work and honesty." She hesitated. "People in my business are wildly overpaid. If you want a larger house, or a different car, or a cruise around the world, I'd love to give it to you."

  "We don't need your money," Virginia said with her usual tartness. Her voice turned uncertain. "But maybe when you're through with this movie of yours, if you have time to stop in Baltimore for a visit, we... William and I would both like to see you."

  Rainey swallowed hard. "I'll be there. It will be a couple of months or so, but I'd love to come under less stressful circumstances than the last trip."

  She ended the call as her driver pulled up in front of the hotel. It was far too late for her to develop a daughterly relationship with her grandparents. But maybe they could become friends.

  * * *

  When his emotions were under control again, Kenzie resumed driving. His map showed that eventually this small dirt road would connect with a larger one leading back to the hotel. Not that he was in any hurry to return.

  He swung around a curve, and slammed on his brakes as a screaming horse reared up in front of him. The vehicle slewed sideways and shuddered to a halt as the horse's rider crashed to the ground in the middle of the road. Swearing, Kenzie leaped from the SUV, hoping to God he hadn't hit the fellow.

  The man lying motionless on the road had silver hair and a face weathered by decades in the open air. For a horrible moment Kenzie feared he was dead. Then the old man coughed and his eyes flickered open.

  Kenzie knelt and looked for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?"

  "Don't... don't think so." The rider pushed himself cautiously to a sitting position, waving off Kenzie's attempt to make him lie still. "Not the first time a horse tossed me, and if I'm lucky it won't be the last."

  "I'm sorry. I should have been driving more carefully." Kenzie stood and helped the man up, then retrieved his fallen hat.