L.A. Confidential (8 page)

He flashed her a relaxed grin, then reached out and closed his palm over her clasped hands. “Besides, I
am
working.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, delighting in the softness of her skin. “We're scouting locations, remember?”

“Right.” She shivered slightly.
Good.

“Cold?” he asked, certain her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature.

“A little. The ocean air.”

They were cruising south on the Pacific Coast Highway toward Santa Monica. Beside her, the sun had begun its nightly descent into the ocean, and a wash of orange and purple filled the sky, reflecting off the gold of her hair. It was a beautiful, magical tableau, and he wanted to hold the moment close to his heart.

But it was all an illusion. They weren't lovers out for a twilight drive. Instead she was sitting next to him, her mind probably going a million miles a minute as she wondered where he was taking her…and what was in store for her once they got there. He wondered how long she could hold out before she asked again.

“Ken…”

Fifteen seconds.
He stifled a grin as he turned to her. Her hair was blowing free, and he tucked a strand behind her ear, the tiny moment of intimacy tightening
the band around his heart even more. “You'll see when we get there.”

“Hmm.” She turned in the seat to face him better, then tied her hair back with a rubber band she'd dug from her purse. “Will you tell me if I guess?”

He answered the tease in her voice with a slow smile. “You want me to tell you if you're cold, warm…or hot?”

“Yes, well, um…” She shifted in her seat again, frowning at the countryside. “Are we stopping in Santa Monica or going farther south?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“You're the one calling the shots.”

He took his eyes off the road long enough to look at her. “Am I? I wasn't completely sure.”

“Trust me,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I'm completely at your disposal.”

“How nice for me.” He'd pitched his voice low and was rewarded by the spot of color that touched her cheeks.

She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “Do you plan to let me in on what you've got in store for me? Or is that as much of a secret as where we're going?”

“I thought you liked surprises.”

“I thought I did, too. But this one's got me a little on edge.”

In that case, he'd already accomplished at least part of his mission. “It's just dinner, Lisa. And I'm not the Marquis de Sade. Just relax and enjoy the drive.”

 

E
NJOY THE DRIVE
. Lisa leaned back in her seat, wondering how he expected her to do that without knowing
what he had planned. She was completely at his mercy and flying blind.

And considering her little episode in the hotel room earlier, she was also more than a little…well, on edge. She wanted to keep as much control as possible, and he wasn't helping by keeping her in the dark.

Scowling, she cast him a sideways glance. “Not even a hint?”

He reached over and flipped on the radio, fiddling with the dial until he found an oldies station. He didn't say a word, just started humming along with a Beatles's song.

Frustrated, she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. Ken could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and she knew better than to try to drag out information that he didn't want to reveal. Still, she wished he'd say something, anything. She'd agreed to his absurd condition, and that meant that tonight she was his. Part of her couldn't believe she'd agreed to such a trade, and another part of her—the bigger part, if she wanted to be honest—couldn't wait to get started with the bargain.

The road curved, and they had to part company with the beach. She watched, trying to pay attention to where they were, as he maneuvered the streets of Santa Monica. Adorable stucco bungalows lined shaded streets, set back just far enough from the main roads for a little peace and quiet.

Lisa took a deep breath. Even several streets inland she could taste the salt of the ocean in the air, and once again she was struck by how much she'd missed Los Angeles. She'd always assumed she'd live in one of those little bungalows, fighting traffic every morning to get to the studio before the phone started ringing.

Years ago she'd thought Ken wanted the same thing. At the time he'd been renting a three-bedroom house just off Wilshire with an orange tree in the backyard. He'd loved the house, even though he never had time to spend in it. And it was for that reason that his news that he'd moved into the hotel had not only surprised her, but concerned her.

She wondered if he'd given up his plans to open a diner, too. She almost asked, but she was pretty sure he had. Surely another Ken Harper restaurant would have made the news. But she'd never heard about a diner.

“You okay?”

Real concern reflected in his eyes, and she nodded, deciding not to ask about the diner. Their arrangement might be sexual, but that didn't mean it was personal. Not anymore. It had quit being personal the night she'd caught the red-eye to New York five years ago.

“I'm fine.” She conjured a smile. “It's just…just that I always loved this neighborhood.”

He rested his palm against the back of her neck and rubbed lightly. “I remember.”

“Oh.” She frowned, flustered. “Right. Of course.” She turned to squint at him as a new thought occurred to her. “Is this coincidence, or are you trying to throw me off balance?”

His fingers stroked upward, soothing her tense muscles. “What do you think?”

She couldn't look at him. “I'm not sure what to think anymore.”

“Then don't think. Just enjoy.”

“I'm not supposed to enjoy. I'm supposed to be working.” And she was so on edge, not knowing what to
expect, that enjoyment didn't seem within the realm of possibility.

“Just relax,” he said, reading her mind, as usual.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know what I'm thinking.”

His magic fingers grazed the back of her neck, warm and tempting. Her nipples peaked, straining against the thin lace of her bra, and she silently cursed, telling herself it was the cool evening air and not the result of Ken's touch.

“I know you, Lisa.” He took his hand away to shift gears, and she felt herself relax, even as a blanket of disappointment surrounded her. “I've always known you.”

“Do you? Because I don't think I know you.” The Ken she remembered was solid and dependable. Sexy, yes, but not seductive. Had Ken changed? Had she? Or was she reacting not to him, but to the situation?

“Did you ever know me?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Of course.” But she couldn't meet his eyes. Instead she looked out the window so that he couldn't see her expression. Had she focused so much on her work that she never really got to know him?

“Mmm.”

At his noncommital response, she turned to look at him, but didn't try to reassure him.

“Well,” he said, “it doesn't matter now, does it?” With the side of his hand, he stroked her cheek. “That was all a long time ago, right?”

Her breath caught, but she managed a nod. “A lifetime.”

He glided to a stop in front of a valet stand. “Hungry?”

“Supporting the competition?”

He flashed a grin as he handed the keys to the valet. “They make a fabulous crÈme brûlée.”

“Tim'll have your head if he hears you.”

“You'll keep my guilty secret, though, won't you?” He slipped his arm around her waist, and she leaned against him automatically. His arm tightened just slightly, and she realized with a start her proximity to him. For a split second she considered jumping away, but she hadn't been held in a long, long time and it felt rather nice. Nice, but disconcerting.

When he'd said he wanted her as a condition of helping her, she'd assumed he'd meant sex—wild, hot, passionate sex. But this was Ken she was dealing with. Sweet, innocent, Southern Ken. She should have realized he wasn't the seduction-for-revenge type. Flirting, sure. But wild sex? Not his style.

Not at all.

And damn if she wasn't disappointed.

A
LICIA DRUMMED
her fingers on the vanity, her eyes trained on the phone she'd just hung up. She'd known Tina Strombard ever since the little twit had interned for her while Alicia had anchored the news. Now that Tina was Winston Miller's receptionist, Alicia'd resorted to sending the twit presents. So far, the payoff hadn't been particularly amazing—a few tidbits about casting, early news about where Miller was filming his latest, general crap Alicia could chat about during her morning show.

But today…well, today she'd hit pay dirt. And she was pissed as hell.

Not one day had passed since Ken Harper had practically patted her on the head and shoved her out the door. He'd made it clear. No filming in his precious restaurant. Certainly can't do a favor for a woman he used to date. Nothing that might upset the oh-so-mysterious mystique of his precious restaurant. And now he'd gone and opened the door to a full production crew. Not only would they likely be filming for weeks, but Oxygen was going to end up splashed all over a movie screen.

Bastard.

Her fingernails clicked on the wood as her fury grew. What was it Tina had said? Something about sending some tramp location scout to convince Harper to open the restaurant. Well, she must have been awfully persuasive.

She wondered just how persuavive. Had the little bitch just spread her legs and invited Harper in? Alicia imagined so, and that really burned. She'd offered Ken the same, and he'd practically turned up his nose.

What the hell did the little tramp have that she didn't have?
Nothing.
Alicia had her own talk show, for God's sake. And there was no way in hell Alicia was going to believe that Ken preferred a tramp to someone of Alicia's caliber. No way at all.

And she certainly couldn't believe that his bimbo location scout was so amazing in bed that Ken would do a complete one-eighty. No, that just wasn't possible. Something else was going on.

The little witch had something on Ken. Some bit of dirt. Some piece of gossip. Something. But what?

She didn't have a clue. But she hadn't earned an Emmy because she didn't have instincts. She had excellent instincts.

Something wasn't right. The kind of something that Gavin wanted as spice for her show.

Alicia intended to figure out exactly what that something was.

 

“S
O DID
I
LIE
?” Ken asked.

Lisa looked up, surprise in her beautiful eyes. “Lie?”

They were walking along his favorite section of the Third Street Promenade, near the topiaries designed to look like giant dinosaurs. He stopped at a cart selling espresso and ordered two cappuccinos. “About the crÈme brûlée. It was the best ever, right?”

She laughed. “It was pretty good,” she said.

“I've got to figure out a way to get their pastry chef to come work for me.” He paid the vendor and took the drinks.

“Well, just be your usual charming self and I'm sure the chef will fall all over himself to do anything for you.”

“You think?”

They stopped at the corner, and she turned just long enough to flash him a saucy look. “Absolutely. Isn't that how you got where you are today? Your famous charm?” She cleared her throat, then ran her tongue over her lips before looking away. “Isn't that why I'm here?”

Sadly, it wasn't. She was there because she needed him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Except…

There had been moments that had seemed almost normal. Moments when he felt almost right, almost whole. They'd had a wonderful dinner. No games, no double entendres. Just a man and a woman sharing a meal and conversation. They'd talked about everything and nothing—certainly nothing important. She hadn't mentioned her movie; he hadn't mentioned their deal. It had almost been like old times.

And now he realized that she was about to burst with curiosity. On his mental scoreboard, he chalked one up for the home team. Before he was through, he intended to score a touchdown.

He slipped his arm around her waist as they turned toward the beach. “You're not here because I'm just so damn charming. You're here because you need me, and I insisted you be here.”

“True.” She tilted her head to look him straight in the eye, not the least bit intimidated by the censure in his voice. “But you have to agree you're pretty persuasive.”

“Persuasive.” He mulled over the word, amused by how she was holding her own. “And here I was hoping for handsome and sexy. At least as hot as…who is it all the women like so much? Mel Gibson? Or is it Russell Crowe now?” He stroked his fingers over the sleeve of her T-shirt, moving down until his fingertips caressed her bare skin. “Either way, I'm willing to settle for persuasive.”

“Oh.” Her hard-fought cool was slipping.

He put his arm around her shoulder to pull her close. “Sure you're not cold?”

“No.” She glanced down at his fingers grazing the goose bumps on her skin. “Um, I mean, yes. Yes. It's chilly.”

He took his hand from her shoulder long enough to slide out of his jacket and put it around her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

They strolled another block in silence, and Ken fought the urge to touch her again. When they reached the next street, he gave in and took her hand, part of him irritated with himself for giving in to desire so easily, another part of him feeling a little like a high school kid out on his first date. Ironic, since the plans he had for Lisa were anything but prom-night innocent.

As they walked, she looked down at their clasped hands and then back up at him, a smile and a question in her brown eyes. “How about now?”

“Now what?”

“Will you tell me where we're going now?”

“Wouldn't you rather it be a surprise?”

“I've had a lot of surprises already, and I think there's a lot more to come. I think I'd like to know this one little thing.”

“For you, anything.” He let go of her hand and spread his arm out in front of him. “We're here.”

She blinked and looked across the street, then back into his face. He kept his expression serious.

“Here?” she repeated. “The Santa Monica Pier?”

“Absolutely.” He extended his arm in invitation. “Shall we?”

She shook her head, half smiling, but she linked her arm through his, and they walked across the street to the boardwalk leading up to the pier. They walked in silence past the vendors selling cotton candy and roses. To their right, waves broke on the beach that stretched out below the pier, the froth lit up in the moonlight. To the left, a Ferris wheel turned, giving tourists and natives a romantic view of the city skyline.

“Remember when we came here?” she asked.

Of course he did. “Every detail.” He'd never forgotten a second of their first date.

“Oh, look!” She turned, tugging him with her as she rushed to the glassed-in building on their left. “Well, damn. The carousel's not running tonight.” She tossed him a sad smile. “Too bad.”

“Would you have taken a ride with me if it were?”

“Why not?”

“We rode it on our first date.” He heard the harshness in his voice and cursed himself for not keeping a better check on his emotions. “I guess I'm not sure if riding it tonight would be nostalgic or callous.”

“Listen, Ken, I don't know what you think…” When she turned to face him, he saw a tear in her eye, and felt a moment of guilt, wondering if he'd put it there. She straightened her shoulders, the gesture giving her some semblance of control. “Well, I have some idea, considering this little deal you put together, but I want you to know you're not exactly right.” Her voice was firm.

“How do you know I'm not right if you don't know what I think?”

“I'm relatively intelligent,” she said. “And I just want you to know I never meant to hurt you.”

He opened his mouth to tell her she'd done a damn good job of it anyway, but he caught himself before the words were out. He wasn't there to fight about the past; he was there to move on.

She licked her lips. “I'm sorry I never told you that before, but when I left I was thinking of my job. I thought…” She trailed off. “Never mind.”

With effort, he swallowed, managing to force down the lump of tenseness in his throat. He didn't want to hear her excuses and apologies, and he feared he was going to give in. He was
that
close to pulling her into his arms and telling her that all was forgiven. But it
wasn't
forgiven or forgotten. And he'd do well to not harp on some sentimental image of how it used to be.

“You thought what?” he asked, knowing he shouldn't be opening that door.

She tilted her head back to look at him, her lashes
damp with unshed tears. “I thought we could still see each other.”

He bit back a mirthless laugh. “Even though you'd just run off to New York with another man? Oh, sure. I can see how you thought that had all the makings of a fine relationship.”

“It was a great opportunity. And I wasn't dating him. Not then. He was just my boss.”

Ken bristled, not sure he believed that. “Even if, you were still thousands of miles away.”

“Couples do it successfully all the time.”

“Maybe. If they're focusing on their relationship and not their careers.”

“My career is my life. And you had a career, too.”

“I'm not the one who left.” He stopped in the middle of the boardwalk, then waited for her to turn to face him. “That is why you left, right? Your career?”

She nodded.

“And that's why you came back, too.”

Her lips pressed together, but again, she nodded.

“Seems like I'm always getting sloppy seconds.” The anger he wanted to hide edged into his voice and he fisted his right hand, trying to tamp it down.

“I told you why I came back.” Brusquely, she swiped a lock of hair behind her ear. “I haven't kept any secrets from you, Ken. You know exactly why I'm here.”

“You're right. And you know exactly what I want.”

“I thought I did.” She looked around the pier, turning a slow circle. “But…”

“What?”

“I—I don't know. I'm confused.” She squared her shoulders and continued on before he had a chance to ask what she meant. “I guess I'm unclear if this is one
of the places you have in mind for Winston's movie, or if this is where…well, if this is where…” She lifted one shoulder, the blush on her cheeks obvious even in the dim light. “You know.”

“Where I plan to seduce you?”

“
If
you plan to seduce me.” She sounded almost disappointed, and he had an inkling of how intrigued she was by his proposal. Good. He wanted her intrigued, wanted her interested and willing and ready for him…when
he
was ready.

She swallowed, twisting her hands in front of her. “This place is more sweet than hot. I don't think it's seduction territory.”

“You don't?”

When she looked up at him, he thought he saw sadness in the depths of her eyes. “We came here for our first date, Ken. It's a wonderful place, but I don't think of it as sexy. It's special, but it's sweet.”

“I'm not sure I agree.” He moved toward her, closing his hand on her shoulder when she tried to take a backward step. “I don't think we've explored its full potential.”

She squinted, wary. “What do you mean?”

Combing his fingers through her hair, he bent, breathing in the clean smell of her skin. “For example,” he whispered, “have you ever made love on a Ferris wheel?”

 

H
IS WORDS BLAZED
a path of goose bumps down her spine, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “I, um, no. I can't say that I have.”

“Maybe it's something we should try.”

Her head was spinning, and she certainly wasn't
thinking about Winston or her job. Instead, she was about to dissolve into a puddle of mush, simply from the caress of his words.

Running her hands through her hair, she turned and wandered to the edge of the pier to look out over the ocean toward Pacific Palisades, grateful he took his hand off her shoulder and let her go. This wasn't Ken, not the Ken she knew. He was playing some kind of game. Earlier, he'd been nothing but sweet and innocent. Schoolboyish, almost. A few hours later and he was practically Barry White, seducing her with his voice. And doing a damn good job of it.

She closed her eyes, annoyed with herself. Of course he was playing a game—he was playing it with
her.
And from what she could tell, he was winning. Certainly if the goal was to make her quake and tremble and imagine his hands running over her body, he'd already won the grand prize.

She heard him move up behind her, then closed her eyes as his hand slid around her waist. “What do you think?”

“About what?” she asked, stalling.

“The Ferris wheel.” He bent until she could feel his warm breath tickling the back of her ear. “Shall we give it a try?”

She must have said yes, because the next thing she knew they were standing in line and the operator was holding the door to the bucket open for her. She stepped in, automatically steadying herself on his arm when the bucket swung from her movements.

As soon as she was seated, Ken sat next to her, and although she could have sworn the bucket was wide enough for both of them, he was practically on top of
her. His leg brushed against her, and the point of contact suddenly seemed like the focal point of the entire universe. He rested his arm on the back of the seat, his fingers dangling down to tickle her shoulder. He seemed to be touching her all over, stroking and caressing her, and yet in reality, the only contact between them was one tiny spot on her leg and his fingers on her shoulder.