Married Lovers (32 page)

E
lliot Von Morton was well aware that his affair with Anya wouldn’t last. He was a high-powered divorce attorney, he’d seen the worst of what went on between men and women, he was wise enough to know that it couldn’t last
.

One thing he did know for sure–Anya had turned into a drug
–his
drug. When he was with her, all sense of reason deserted him. She was a prize he’d never imagined he’d find. A young beautiful creature who understood his sexual needs and catered to them like a dedicated maestro
.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do. Nothing that shocked her
.

She had a past, this girl with the face of an angel. A dark past Elliot had no desire to investigate. He was quite certain there were things he would not care to know about. She was
his
now, and that’s all that mattered
.

The day his divorce became final, things changed. Anya changed. She became sulky and not so obliging
.

Elliot did not understand why, but it didn’t take long before Anya enlightened him, “I want you to marry me,” she said. “I want to be Mrs Elliot Von Morton.”

At first he refused to entertain the idea. He was fifty-six years old, and to marry a girl young enough to be his daughter would be beyond foolish. But Anya was adamant, and the more he said
no, the more she stopped catering to his very specific sexual needs
.

He soon began noticing how flirtatious her attitude was becoming toward his male friends and acquaintances, and it worried him that she might leave him and move on to bigger and better, exactly as she had done to Seth
.

Dammit! Why
not
marry the girl? He’d spent enough time and money on her. He’d pulled strings and arranged for her to become an American citizen. He’d facilitated her need to change her name. He’d buried her past–whatever that might be. The truth was that he’d re-invented her. She’d come to him as a slutty-looking waif, and he’d turned her into an impeccably groomed and stylish young woman
.

Yes, Elliot decided, he
would
marry her. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

It wasn’t a big wedding–quite low-key, in fact. They honeymooned in the Bahamas and returned to New York after a week. Elliot did not wish to stay any longer–he missed his chains and whips and handcuffs. Elliot was addicted to the pain Anya inflicted.

Anya was not sure what she was addicted to. Shoes. They were the only thing that gave her any pleasure. Other than her shoe collection, nothing mattered. She was empty inside, unable to feel anything except a cold indifference. She had thought that marrying an important man like Elliot might fill the void, but no, nothing helped.

And then one day Elliot took her to the première of a movie one of his clients had produced, and she met Hamilton J. Heckerling. He was older than Elliot. And richer.

In Hamilton’s eyes Anya recognized a ruthlessness that matched her own. Hamilton J. Heckerling was a far more glamorous figure than Elliot Von Morton. Elliot worked in a New York office. Hamilton J. Heckerling roamed the world making huge blockbuster epic movies.

Anya decided it was a way of living that might appeal to her, so she set about seducing Hamilton, and when she discovered that his fetish was watching women together, she knew he was all hers.

There was only one problem. Elliot Von Morton.

He did not remain a problem for very long. Sadly, he expired in the middle of one of their sexual games–suffering a massive heart attack.

Anya had not heard him utter the “safe” word–a word that signaled he’d had enough.

Six months later Hamilton announced their engagement at a New York dinner party.

Shortly after that, Anya became Mrs Hamilton J. Heckerling.

“W
e’re on the biggest friggin’ roll
ever
!” Cole announced. “We’ve signed almost fifteen hundred memberships in ten days–it’s unbelievable what’s happenin’.”

Cameron agreed. It
was
unbelievable, a success neither of them had imagined. Don’s killer lawyer had dealt with the Mister Fake Tan situation–the whole thing had gone away, so now they had nothing to worry about except keeping up the pace.

“We’re gonna havta expand,” Cole declared. “This is just the beginning, babe. We’re on fire!”

They’d already hired two more trainers and a massage therapist, and what with so many new clients, space was at a premium.

“I’ll speak to Iris,” Cameron said. “I know there’s an empty floor downstairs, it might be perfect.”

“Yeah, call her first thing Monday.”

“I will.”

Cole threw Cameron a long penetrating look. “What’s up with you lately?” he inquired, leaning across the desk. “You should be doin’ handstands, yet you’re sittin’ here all quiet an’ moody. You’re not your usual self.”

“I’m tired,” she confessed.

“New boyfriend runnin’ you ragged?” Cole said with a sly smile.

“Don’s great,” she said half-heartedly. “He gives me my space.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing, Cole,” she said, wishing he’d leave her alone. “Really–I’m fine.”

Although she wasn’t fine, she was utterly confused. The previous weekend she’d spent with Don at the beach, it had been idyllic–comfortable and fun and the usual amazing sex because Don was a master in the bedroom–and anywhere else they cared to get it on. But on Tuesday he’d informed her he had a big aversion to funerals (like who didn’t?) and that he simply couldn’t go to Marty’s without her by his side. And of course he had to attend, out of respect for his best friend’s sister. And who was his best friend? Ryan Richards.

So she went with him, albeit reluctantly.

Walking into the church, the first person she saw was Ryan. Their eyes met, and that was it. She’d felt the same way she had that night outside
Chow’s
. It was a seminal moment.

Later, when everyone went back to the Richards’s house, she and Ryan had experienced a short time alone together. She’d walked outside to the back patio while Don was busy talking to other people, and two seconds later Ryan was there.

“Hey–” he’d said.

“Hey–” she’d responded.

They’d stared at each other for a long silent beat, sparks flying.

“Uh, I hope Evie’s okay,” she said at last, feeling quite dizzy.

“I hate to say it, but I know she’s better off.”

“And you?” she said, noting that he looked stressed. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he replied, suppressing an insane urge to grab her hand and get the hell out of there. “How about you?”

They were both being so polite, and yet who cared? She wasn’t listening to the words coming out of his mouth–she was
too caught up in his bluer than blue eyes. So intense, so sexy, so tempting.

Leaning toward her, Ryan said in a low voice–“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“You have?” she replied, feeling ridiculously light-headed.

“You’re with my best friend,” he said, clearing his throat. “So I guess you’re on my mind.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

“Cameron,” he said sincerely, “all I want is for you to be happy, and if Don makes you happy—”

“He does,” she said, a tad too quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, unconvincingly.

“You don’t sound it.”

“Well, I am.”

“Don can be difficult, you know. He has a reputation. Loves women, but has a habit of moving on when it suits him.”

“Why do you keep on warning me about your so-called best friend?”

“Maybe I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Does it really matter to you?”

“You know it does.”

“Hey–hey–hey–what’s going on with you two?” Don said, appearing beside them. “Trying to sneak off for an illicit affair behind my back?” He grinned, enjoying what he knew to be a foolish assumption. “Making a run to steal my girl, Ryan?”

“Right,” Ryan responded, summoning a forced smile. “We’re busy planning our escape.”

“That’s okay,” Don said, still joking as he threw his arm around Cameron and deposited a kiss on her cheek. “I think I got a lock on the situation. Right, beautiful?”

She smiled weakly. It was the kind of humor she didn’t need.

Later, driving her back to
Paradise
, Don had said, “You know, I think Ryan really likes you. Good thing I got you first.”

“What makes you think that?” she’d murmured.

“I dunno–he’s kind of different around you. Like he’s got a thing for you.”

“It’s your imagination,” she’d said, her heart pounding.

And ever since then she’d been thinking about how to break it off with Don.

Tonight they were going to a dinner at Phil and Lucy Standards’. Maybe tonight she’d tell him it was over.

She’d miss him, but she knew for sure that he simply wasn’t the one.

Lucy raced around her house making sure everything was set for her very important dinner. Phil was completely on board. Ever since she’d discovered him screwing his now very ex-assistant, he couldn’t do enough for her. Plus he was still bombarding her with gifts. So far she’d received the very latest Cartier watch, an antique diamond bracelet from Neil Lane, exquisite gold and diamond necklaces from XIV Karats, and the offer of yet another new car.

“Enough,” she’d admonished. “You’re spending a fortune.”

“And you, my dear,” Phil had replied, “are worth every red cent.”

Talk about guilt ridden!

She didn’t care about the gifts, she only cared about her script, and the dinner party–which was to be her launching pad for a big career comeback.

Once she included him in her plan, Phil changed the dynamics of the dinner. “We do not want a house full of people,” he warned her. “Two producers are more than enough. Keep it down to Ryan and Hamilton.”

“Are you certain they’re the right two?”

“Definitely. Nobody’s going to read your script while they’re
here. But with Hamilton and Ryan you’ve got that competitive thing going on between them. They’ll both take it home. Ryan will read it himself, and Hamilton will give it to one of his development people to look at. Who knows? You might even create a bidding war.”

Phil wanted–or at least he pretended that he wanted–to read the script before the big night. She’d said no, because she would prefer for him to be surprised along with everyone else. Besides, she was nervous for him to read it at this late stage; he’d have criticisms and comments, and now was not the time to deal with his professional opinion.

She wondered how Phil would react when he got a look at Marlon. Hmm…a touch of payback was not such a bad thing.

Once they’d cut the number of guests down, she’d decided to hire only one chef and a helper who would double as a barman. None of Mandy’s suggested army of people, and they certainly didn’t need valet parking. Their enormous driveway–way off the main road–could accommodate dozens of cars.

The children had gone off with Nanny, most of the animals were ensconced in the tree house, the table was set, there was nothing left for Lucy to do except get ready.

She had a hunch it would be a very special evening.

“I’m engaged!” Lynda shouted out the good news as she sashayed into
Paradise
later than usual, flashing a small diamond ring on her engagement finger. “Carlos asked me last night and I said yes–yes–YES!”

Everyone gathered around her, Dorian already planning what style of dress she should wear, and how the flower arrangements at the reception should look.

“I am so happy for you,” Cameron said, giving her a big hug. “You’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“You bet your fine ass!” Lynda exclaimed. “Carlos has been dragging his feet forever, but last night he finally came through.”

“Everyone–this calls for a celebration,” Cole announced. “
Obar
, tonight–eight o’clock. Are we on it?”

“You bet!” Lynda grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. “I’ll tell Carlos.”

“Yeah,” Dorian said dryly. “Carlos in a gay bar. Can’t
wait
to see
that
!”

“He’ll be fine,” Lynda giggled. “He’s been around you guys long enough. I am so
HAPPY
!”

“Let me see the ring,” Cameron said.

Lynda proudly displayed her hand.

“It’s lovely.”

“Tell that to Carlos later,” Lynda said, beaming. “He spent
mucho
bucks.”

“Oh, God!” Cameron suddenly remembered the dinner party at the Standards’. “I can’t come tonight, I promised Don—”

“Cancel!” Dorian said sharply. “Our Lynda getting engaged is more important than whatever you have to do with your big star boyfriend.”

“I can’t cancel, but I’ll try to come by later.”

“Ha!” Dorian sniffed. “I think I liked it better when you
weren’t
getting laid.”

“For your information,” Cameron retorted, “I was always getting laid, you just didn’t know it!”

“Uh
ha
! Now I understand why you would never let me fix you up with Carlos’s friends!” Lynda exclaimed.

“She’s a secretive one,” Cole said.

They should only know just
how
secretive. Which reminded her, wasn’t it time she did something about getting a divorce?

Yes. Perhaps Don’s killer lawyer could help her. The only problem with that was that she hadn’t told Don she was married. And now, with breaking things off with him on her mind, it was not the right time.

She had two things other than work on her agenda–the first was to break up with Don, and the second–to find her own lawyer.

She’d do both things. Soon.

“I wish we didn’t have to go tonight,” Ryan grumbled.

“We have to,” Mandy responded. “Lucy would never forgive me if we canceled two hours beforehand. She’s gone to a lot of trouble–they haven’t had people over in years.”

Ryan was thinking what a difficult week it had been, dealing with Evie and the kids after Marty’s unexpected suicide. He’d found himself taking care of everything–starting with the funeral, getting out of the six-month lease on the rented house, Marty’s Will–in which he’d left jack-shit–and dozens of other small matters. He was tired, and he still hadn’t faced Mandy about the divorce situation. Every time he came close, something happened to stop him. The last thing he felt like doing was going to a dinner party.

Seeing Cameron at the funeral with Don had done nothing to help his frame of mind. It had only reminded him of how stuck he was in a loveless sexless marriage.

And to make matters worse–Don had not been able to wipe the smile off his face. Now his best friend really did have everything.

But what about Cameron? Was she just as happy? Was Don the man she wanted to be with?

Obviously yes. She was with Don Verona, and that was that.

“If you moved into my house,” Don said, as Cameron opened her front door, “I wouldn’t have to dodge photographers and take a different route every time I pick you up.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “But you love giving them the slip. It’s a game you enjoy winning, and so far you’re doing an excel
lent job. Apart from that night at
Paradise
, we’re totally flying under the radar.”

“That we are,” he agreed. “The gossip rags are
still
linking me with Mary Ellen. How about that?”

“She must be thrilled.”

“Poor kid. I
do
feel sorry for her.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Do you really think I’m that heartless?”

“No, just a big player.”

“By the way, Miz Paradise, I think I should tell you that you look amazing tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, it’s a fact,” he said, escorting her outside to yet another of his many cars. “This is my new baby,” he said proudly. “A Bugatti Veyron.” He didn’t bother to add that it was the fastest sports car around
and
the most expensive–his latest toy had set him back almost a million bucks. Things were pretty hot in the talk-show business.

“Wow!” Cameron murmured. “It’s a fantastic-looking car, but I still prefer my Mustang.”

Laughing, he held the car door open for her. “You’re a funny lady,” he said. “Nothing impresses you, does it?”

“Hey Don,” she said, suddenly remembering Lynda and her engagement, “if the dinner finishes early, can we go by
Obar
? Cole and Dorian are throwing a little celebration for Lynda–she and Carlos finally got engaged.”

“Who is Lynda? And where’s
Obar
?”

It irritated her that he did not remember the people she worked with, even though he’d come by
Paradise
and met them all.

Maybe they weren’t famous enough for him.

No. Don wasn’t like that, he was merely forgetful.

“Oh c’mon, you can’t forget Lynda, she’s our receptionist. Latina. Gorgeous. And
Obar
is a fun restaurant on Santa Monica.”

“Sure, we’ll stop by if we get through in time. But only if you spend tonight at
my
house.”

“You’re always trying to blackmail me.”

“Deal?”

“Do I
have
to say yes?”

“Actually, you do.”

One more night wasn’t about to make any difference. It wasn’t as if Ryan was single and waiting for her, he was still very much married.

And what could she do about that?

Absolutely nothing.

Anya was puzzled. Hamilton had been home for twenty-four hours and so far he had not touched her or ordered in an expensive call girl so he could watch the two of them make love for his enjoyment. This was unlike Hamilton, who, with the help of Viagra, had quite a robust sexual appetite, especially as he’d been away for almost a week.

Anya did not mind enacting scenes for Hamilton with other women. In her mind she turned every other woman into Velma–the only person she’d truly felt anything for.