Exposing Alix (22 page)

Now the tables were turned. She was at his mercy.

He’d been waiting so long.

He slipped one finger into her and was instantly
surrounded by slick, wet heat. She cried out at his touch, hips rising and
falling as if he was already inside. He slid his finger around the hood of her
clitoris, stroked it gently. Soft, breathy sounds came at regular intervals. He
could hear the rhythm in her voice, feel it in the thighs that clenched and
released. Clenched and released. He kissed the length of her body, paused at
the soft skin above her hip, tangled his fingers in the black hair at her
mound.

He stopped to survey her, the white skin laid out before
him, the abandon in her every move. She was pulsing against his hand, which
rested at her navel.

She wanted more.

He leaned forward, spreading her knees, waiting until she
had relaxed completely before bending forward. He took in the musky scent as he
finally tasted her, tickled the soft flesh with his tongue. She jerked as they
made contact, and he grabbed her hips, not letting her move away from his
seeking and probing. He traced the edges of her, nibbled her skin with
exquisite tenderness. Then he went deeper, taking long, smooth strokes at the
edge of her clitoris, before dipping deeper, relishing every smell, every
taste.

She thrust against him, muscles flexing spasmodically. He
plunged his tongue inside and thrust. Her rhythm increased, and he met it,
pausing in between to suck gently on her peak. She moved faster, and he
substituted his finger for his mouth, thrusting with his finger and imagining
it was something more, imaging him reaching to her very core. Still, he kept
his mouth on her, applying pressure as he thrust. She paused, tensed, and he
sucked hard, joining every move, every sensation.

She dissolved in a scream. Her body leaped, shuddered, and
he pulled deeply with his mouth, taking as much of her as he could while she
collapsed around him.

When she lay still and silent on the couch, he drew back
and slid both hands beneath her. He stopped at her waist, looped his hands
loosely around her, and pulled her limp body into a sitting position.

“That, my dear, is the last time you dismiss me.
Understand?”

Mutely, eyes wide, she nodded.

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Now you can go.
I’ll see you at the party.”

Alix gave the pot of sweetly fragrant
white orchids centered on Gunther’s marble mantel a gentle pat and then moved a
collection of silver candles an inch to the left of the flowers. As she stepped
back to consider the arrangement, a steely-eyed matron in a white shirt and
black pants frowned from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Can I get you something, miss? Another glass of wine?”

“No, thanks,” Alix demurred. She had a strong suspicion
the woman with the bun so tight her eyebrows were mere centimeters from her
receding hairline would rather drown her in wine than let her disturb the
precisely executed party decor. Gunther loved to decorate for a party—or,
to be more precise, loved to hire someone to decorate for a party—so a
small army of “celebration facilitators” had been at the house ever since Alix
arrived at four that afternoon. They bustled around moving furniture, setting
up tables of appetizers, and decorating everything from the mantel to the
garden with white and silver-themed ornaments. Tiny white lanterns hung around
the door to the patio and shot sparkles of light across the moving pools of
water. Yards of delicate white organza were artfully draped around silver
plates of goat cheese, caviar, bread crisps, and thinly sliced vegetables.
Candles sparkled and threw shadows around the softly lit rooms.

Alix’s contribution to the spacing of the candles was
clearly not appreciated.

“Well, you just let me know if you need anything.” Tight
Bun eyed Alix’s attire of jeans and T-shirt skeptically. “The guests should
start arriving soon. Did you want me to keep your wine chilled while you get
ready?”

“No. I only need a few minutes to throw on my dress.” Alix
raised her nose and sniffed audibly. “Is that something burning?”

“Oh!” The matron’s jaw dropped, and a look of horror
crossed her broad, ruddy face. “My quiches!” She ran from the room, black
leather shoes squeaking all the way.

Relieved to be alone once again, Alix cocked her head at
the candles and moved them back an inch to the right. Bun Lady was right; her
instincts sucked. There was a reason why Gunther didn’t ask her to throw his
parties. It wasn’t just her lack of decorating skills. He knew how much she
hated these gatherings. She dreaded the questions, the laughter, the pointed
male glances. She knew when she made her movies that someday she might have to
deal with the public, but she hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be.

Because every time they laughed, it was like they were
laughing at her soul. Even if they were just movies, they did reflect her true
romantic ideals. Gunther told her she shouldn’t care what they thought. The
support she got from her fans—most of them women—should have outweighed
a few leering studio executives. But it didn’t seem to work that way. She had
learned to live through it, but she never liked it.

She tried to tell herself that tonight would be different.
At Gunther’s urging, she’d decided not to disguise herself in one of the frumpy
black dresses she’d worn when she was hiding from the press years before. After
all, this was Ryker’s movie, not hers. There was no reason for them to think
she was working on the film. It was even possible no one would recognize her. She
just had to focus on being one of the crowd. Attractive but not gorgeous.
Sociable but not memorable.

A tall order but not an impossible one. After all, she’d
been blending into crowds for years. This was just one disguise among many. And
if they did recognize her, she told herself she could handle it. She’d done it
before. Bob and weave, she and Gunther used to joke. Bob and weave.

Alix walked over to the patio and stepped outside. The air
caressed her skin, the temperature at the breaking point between warm and cool.
As the musky, sensual fragrance of a jasmine plant surrounded her, she realized
that this party would provide an additional challenge—this party would
include Ryker Valentine.

She sipped from her glass of smoky California chardonnay
and allowed her thoughts to take her back to the screening room. Back to
Ryker’s grim reaction, his pride bruised, eyes flashing when he realized she
intended to walk away and leave him in a pleasure-induced stupor. She hadn’t
meant to insult him, but clearly, she had. He didn’t understand—and she
couldn’t tell him—that she’d simply needed to regain control of the
situation. That she needed to be able to step back from her own desire and
experience the pleasure of his.

Her plan had backfired in the most spectacular way. He’d
taken every bit of her control and eliminated it. Even more than when they’d
been at the beach, he’d broken down her defenses and left her gasping. She
wanted him desperately, but was more sure than ever that she couldn’t give in.

Because she was starting to feel something for him.

Not love, perhaps, but something more than friendship.
Something more than respect. It was a dangerous emotion, whatever it was,
because with a man like Ryker, it was destined to end in disaster.

Which meant she needed to end things. As soon as possible.

She picked a tiny sprig of white flowers and held them to
her nose. She couldn’t do it here, at Gunther’s house. She couldn’t risk
Gunther finding out. He’d have nothing but questions for her, and Ryker as
well. And with the movie in a shambles, and Lena having just quit… Well, she
couldn’t add this to the mix. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryker or Gunther.

She thought through her options. Tonight she’d have to
play it cool, tell Ryker she had agreed to stay overnight at Gunther’s. He
couldn’t argue with that. Gunther was his boss, after all, and Ryker could
hardly insist she disappoint him.

It wasn’t much, but it would give her a night of breathing
room.

And after tonight?

After tonight, she’d have to be honest. Tell him things
were getting too intense, and she couldn’t handle it anymore. She needed room,
and they needed to finish the movie. He’d understand.

Wouldn’t he?

#

Ryker watched Alix flit around the room, bestowing her
highest-wattage smiles on the men least deserving of them. Tonight his
consummate chameleon had turned into a shallow social butterfly. Her tiny green
dress and high heels were like the worst sort of costume; in all the time he’d
known her, he’d never heard her giggle so loudly or so often.

Meanwhile, her eyes were blank, their green depths masked.
She introduced herself merely as “Alix,” and Ryker wondered how many people
recognized her for who she was. Gunther hadn’t mentioned her role on the set of
Salva’s Revenge
. He seemed inclined to leave it to Alix to reveal the
nature of her work. She steadfastly avoided questions, giggled some more, and
when asked directly what she was doing in LA, adroitly turned the subject back
to the questioner.

The crowd was composed primarily of Gunther’s friends—the
men who ruled Hollywood with a combination of money and style. They were
attorneys and bankers; they owned exclusive restaurants and nightclubs or
managed studios like Gunther. They sported heads of pure white or perfectly dyed
black, but little in between. Each carried a wife or girlfriend on his arm like
a tall, blonde trophy.

Ryker had never liked this crowd.

He watched as Anthony Sloane collared Alix by the caviar.
He was a short man with a round belly and thick jowls. A gold chain rested on a
smooth, darkly tanned chest. No one was entirely sure how Anthony had made his
money, but few believed it had been by following all the rules.

Something about the gleam in his eye didn’t sit right with
Ryker. He put one hand on the elbow of the silvery blonde chattering into his
ear and edged her toward the table of food Anthony had been hovering around all
evening. She continued without interruption, seeming not to notice when Ryker
positioned himself only a few feet from Alix and Anthony.

“Alix, you look familiar.” Anthony covered a cucumber
slice with caviar and slipped it between his lips as he talked. “Where have I
seen you before? Have I met you at one of Gunther’s parties?”

Alix sipped from her glass of wine, a smile plastered
across her full lips. She held a napkin with a half-eaten appetizer but made no
move to bring it to her lips. If Ryker wasn’t mistaken, she had done little
beside drink this evening.

“I lived in LA a few years ago,” she said. “Perhaps we met
then.”

“A few years ago? Hmm.” He stared at her another minute,
then snapped two fleshy fingers together. “Wait! I’ve got it. I never forget a
face. Gunther introduced us years ago. You’re Alix Z, aren’t you?” He chortled
and motioned to a group of men standing nearby. “It’s Alix Z, boys. You
remember Alix, don’t you? She directed
Candy Fever
and
Through the
Window
. Remember those little beauties?”

The heads whipped around, and appreciative smiles slowly
crossed their faces. They circled around Alix. Ryker gritted his teeth.
Something in the eyes of those men reminded him of the way a hungry man
approached a steak.

“I remember the films, but how could I have missed the
woman behind them?” Terrance Fillmore, a tall man with a crown of thinning
white hair, spoke appreciatively from behind his glass of wine.

“If I recall correctly, Alix prefers to stay clear of the
spotlight,” Anthony said, his gaze remarkably shrewd as he studied her. “Which
was no easy feat when her movies came out. When we heard Gunther had a woman
directing those films, we all thought he’d found the Holy Grail. Everyone wants
to find a new market for sex, and you had it—other women. I’m surprised
you made it out of LA alive.”

“Are you shooting something new?” Terrace asked. “You left
behind a lot of fans hungry for more, you know.” He flashed a smile.
“Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Alix shifted her weight, her gaze darting around the
circle before landing on Ryker, who had given up all pretense of listening to
his companion. “I’m…well…”

“She’s working with me,” Ryker broke in. “She’s going to
put a little more romance in
Salva’s Revenge
.”

“Romance?” Anthony shifted his attention to Ryker. “Is
that what they call it these days?”

“If that’s the case, then
Candy Fever
was one of
the most romantic movies I’ve ever seen.” A dark-skinned man at the other end
of the circle smirked. “I guess now when my date asks for a little romance,
I’ll know what to give her.”

Alix’s expression did not change. Ryker waited for her to
say something to defend her work, but she only smiled along with the men.

“It isn’t just about sex,” Ryker said. “Alix has a real
gift for the emotional side of a love scene. It’s all very important to the
film, right, Alix?”

Alix flipped her hair over one shoulder. “Sure, what could
be more important than sex?” she said lightly. “We’ve got to make sure we get
the moans right, you know, and cue the jazz music at the perfect time. It’s a
tough job, but someone’s got to do it.”

Ryker flinched at the nonchalant tone of her voice. He’d
gotten so used to hearing her defend her work it was impossible to imagine she
could dismiss it in one sentence.

“I thought you didn’t care for that sort of thing,”
Anthony said to Ryker, looking back and forth between him and Alix.

“What sort of thing?” Ryker asked.

Anthony waved his short, stubby fingers. “The softer side
of sex. Mood music, soft lighting, all that. We didn’t see much of it in
Garden
of Eden
, that’s for sure.”