Picture Perfect (9 page)

“You’re amazing,” I say almost as if talking to the moon. “How did you get to be so
amazing
?”

He smiles. “My mama raised me right.”

“I guess she did,” I mutter before his lips come crashing down on mine. I wrap my legs tight around his hips and open myself up to him for the third time tonight.

His throaty groan is so deep as he thrusts into me that I almost don’t hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. The rasp of his breath in my ear nearly muffles the click of the front door opening, and the hum of blood rushing through my body entirely drowns out the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

But no amount of passionate groans and gasps can disguise the mocking cry of Alan’s voice as his shout pierces the still air of the bedroom.

Chapter 7

“Alan,” I gasp as he flips the lights on full blast, their harsh glow capturing every detail, every trace of Jack’s and my carnal activities. I wriggle out from under my stunned lover who tumbles onto the floor as I scratch at the bed in search of a sheet to cover my naked body. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think that question would be more appropriately directed toward you. And the talent, here,” Alan adds, flapping a hand at Jack as he coolly slips out of his suit jacket. He strides across the room and, as if reincarnating Mr. Rogers, calmly hangs the expensive garment up in the closet. Taking care to brush off a piece of lint and smooth out the shoulders, he is eerily taciturn. Jack lifts an eyebrow at me, and I shrug my shoulders.

But when Alan turns abruptly, his steel blue eyes trained on me, I am even more confused. I don’t know what to make of his icy glare. Anger? Jealousy? Only a few hours ago he seemed all too thrilled to be rid of me—both matrimonially and professionally speaking. Not that I’d expect him to be all smiles about finding his wife in bed with a younger man, but he is the one who initiated the divorce proceedings…and who’s been having an affair with my assistant for the past six months. Seems hardly fitting for him to cop an attitude with me for sleeping with Jack.

Jack, though, appears to have less trouble interpreting Alan’s cold stare. Taking it as a threat, he leaps to his feet and plants his nude body, arms akimbo, between us. Silently, he stands his ground. I can’t help but find this utterly flattering. My young lover defending me against my older, wicked husband. It’s like a scene from one of those tawdry novels set in eighteenth century rural England where a young bride is married off to a wealthy old codger and gets caught fooling around in the barn with a hunky farmhand.

I stifle a smile.

Alan, apparently, is far less amused by Jack’s gallantry. He peers around his shoulder. “You wanna call off your bulldog before I call the police?”

I have seen this intimidation tactic of his before. He often resorts to empty threats when arguing with media outlets, claiming he’ll pull advertising unless reviews and articles of our shows are featured prominently in the arts and entertainment. Cable shows often get a bad rap for being unworthy of such exalted attention; but Alan’s bullying makes sure our programs get the spotlight they deserve even though he’d never actually make good on his threats.

I, however, am not some wet-behind-the-ears junior editor.

“Oh, relax, Alan. You know it would take them half an hour to get here anyway with that twisted canyon road.”

“They could send a chopper,” he counters with all the peevishness of a schoolyard thug.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, tossing my legs over the side of the bed. “It’s not like you’re Spielberg or anything.”

The muscle in Alan’s jaw tenses. He never likes having his success compared to that of great Hollywood moguls. Even though he is well respected and highly paid for his work, he still yearns to be top dog in the industry. It’s one thing knowing that there are other, more powerful men running the town, it is quite another to have it shoved in his face. But after six months of him cavorting around with my assistant behind my back while I was sitting at home hoping we would get back together, I’m not feeling very charitable. One can hardly blame me for having a little fun at his expense.

Getting to my feet, I pick up the kimono that I’d tossed on the floor before climbing into bed with Jack. The sheet covering my body falls aside, and I take my time wrapping the silk robe around myself, noticing with some pleasure Alan’s inability to look away. Jennifer may be some perky, petite little blonde, but I am a woman with hips and breasts and the kind of curves that he could never deny having loved and desired. And from the look on his face, it’s clear he still does. Desire me, anyway. 

Jack obviously discerns it, too, glancing back at me to see what has captured Alan’s attention. I tilt my head toward the door. “Give us a minute, Jack?”

He relaxes his arms, but not his attitude. “You sure?”

I nod, and he moves in front of me and embraces me, kisses me. It’s not the passionate tongue-tangling we’d shared earlier, but the kind of kiss that says, “
I’m
her man now.” I know it’s all a showy macho gesture, but I love it nonetheless. 

Alan clears his throat with obvious intention, and Jack breaks away. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” He picks up his discarded beach towel, wraps it around his waist, and quietly exits the room, pulling the double doors closed, but not before giving Alan a good hard stare.

My soon-to-be-ex-husband twists his lips, silently admonishing me.

“Oh, don’t even go there,” I shoot at him, folding my arms across my chest.

“You never answered me.” He moves toward me, cautiously predatory, like a barnyard cat after a thieving mouse. “What are you doing here?”

“My car broke down,” I offer, taking a step in his direction, not allowing him to unnerve me.

“And what does that have to do with fucking the talent in my bed?” he demands, edging closer.

“He’s not just
the talent
, Alan.” I put another foot forward, challenging him.

“Oh, is he your boyfriend now?”

I lift a shoulder. Not because I’m trying to be coy, but because I honestly don’t know. I haven’t really worked things through that far. Still, it works in my favor. I can plainly see the irritation on his face.

“What’s the matter, Alan? Does it upset you that I might actually find another man more appealing than you? That you’re
not
the center of my universe.”

“I should have you both arrested for trespassing.” He inches forward, tightening the gap between us.

“My name is still on the title. It isn’t exactly trespassing if you’re one of the owners.”

Alan presses his lips into a hard, grim line. “That doesn’t give you the right to bring your little boy-toy over whenever you need a lay. We have to have some boundaries, Lauren.”

“Boundaries? You’ve been sleeping with Jennifer for six months!”

“Jennifer?” He furrows his brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My assistant. Don’t try to deny it. Your little secret is out. I know all about your schemes, your treachery, your
adultery
.”

“Adultery? I’ve never cheated on you.”

“I’d like to know your definition of cheating,” I say drumming my fingertips on my upper arms. Really, the gall!

“Pretty much what I just walked in on,” he replies flatly.

I shake my head at him, seeing his game. “You are a piece of work. You think you can get out of our pre-nup by claiming
I
cheated? Oh, that is a laugh, Alan.”

He points toward the bed. “I’ve got the evidence. What have you got?”

“I have a witness. A co-conspirator,” I assert.

He moves in, so close I can see the pulse in his neck throbbing beneath his collar. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“A loose end you forgot to tie up.” I hold firm, refusing to back down, refusing to be bullied.

But then he does something totally unexpected. He kisses me. Hard. Wrapping his hands around my arms and pressing his body against mine, he forces me backwards. I stumble over my feet as I struggle to free myself, pushing my fists into his chest. The backs of my legs collide with the bedside nightstand, toppling over a lamp. The sound of it crashing onto the hardwood floor sends Jack bolting through the double doors, and in seconds, he’s wrenching Alan off of me.

I watch as his knuckles slam into the side of Alan’s face. It only takes one blow to knock him senseless, another one to send him collapsing onto the bed. He puts up a hand to defend himself, and a twinge of fear, worry, panic—I don’t know what—has me leaping between them as Jack charges forward, his elbow pulled pack, his fingers curled into a ball. 

“Jack! Stop,” I cry.

He freezes mid-swing. His brown eyes light on me, and I wrap my hands around his closed fist.

“You’re protecting him?” The confused, hurt look on his face only mirrors my own feelings.

Alan, in perfect form, takes this moment to shove me aside and sucker punches Jack in the gut. He doubles over, and Alan jabs him under the chin. But Jack recovers quickly and lands another powerful blow to my husband’s fat head, knocking him back onto the bed again.

“Alan, what are you doing?” I shout at him as he slides off the silk sheets and scrambles across the floor, wrapping his fingers around the lamp I knocked over in our tussle. Jack takes a fighter’s stance, preparing for battle, as my dimwitted spouse clumsily gets to his feet, dragging the light with him.

“He’s half your age! He’ll kill you!” I scream in an attempt to thwart him.

Alan pays my warnings no regard as he lifts the lamp over his head, but my so-called boy-toy swiftly disarms him, wresting the weapon from his grasp. Alan slumps to the floor, sweat and tiny droplets of blood from a split lip staining the crisp blue of his shirt. I kneel at his side, a streak of something almost maternal compelling me to tend to him.

“What is wrong with you?” I beg.

The lamp clangs to the floor by my feet, and I look up to see Jack’s nude form, having lost his beach towel in the fight, striding toward the door. I call after him, but he keeps moving.

“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to go,” is all he says.

I turn back to Alan to find him smiling smugly at me.

“Evidence,” he says, pointing to his face.

“Goddamn you! You wanted him to beat you up.”

I leap to my feet and tear off the kimono, tossing it at Alan’s head. I turn on my heels and stomp out of the bedroom and down the stairs, the sound of his insipid voice ringing in my ears. To think that I could ever have loved a man who could be so vile, so calculating, makes me want to wretch. And to think that I actually defended him from Jack, who could only have seen that as a betrayal of his trust. I know he would never have really hurt Alan. What I don’t know is why I felt the need to ensure that.

My thoughts oscillate from rage to remorse and back again as I march into the kitchen and grab my garments from their pile on the floor. I shove my body into them, fury and heat and pure hatred pounding through my veins.

But when I notice Jack leaning over the center island, his forehead in his hand, fully dressed except for the leather motorcycle jacket still hanging over the barstool, all the enmity drains from my boiling blood and the only thing left is regret.

Somehow, seeing that jacket sitting there, waiting for me, nearly brings tears to my eyes.

He could have left.

I tug on my sandals, swallowing down the melon-sized lump in my throat. “Let’s go,” I muster, but as I move past him, Jack grabs my arm and spins me toward him.

I can barely meet his eyes.

“Tell me the truth.” His voice is filled with a boyish ache, like a child who’s just discovered that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. “Do you still love him?”

“Love him?” The question sounds ridiculous to my ears.

“You protected him. From me.”

I drop my gaze, unable to bear his disappointment. “I know.”

“But I was protecting
you
.”

“I know,” I say staring at the imprint of the St. Nicholas medallion beneath his T-shirt. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He lifts my chin. “Look at me, Lauren.”

Reluctantly, I oblige, the full force of his scrutiny weighing on me like a two-ton Buick. 

“Is it over?”

For a moment, I don’t know if he’s talking about me and Alan or me and him. But the look in his deep brown eyes tells me all I need to know.

“It’s over.”

***

I cling to Jack’s warm body as he steers his bike onto Wilshire Boulevard toward my Westwood condo, the ride from Malibu taking only minutes due to the lateness of the hour. I’m not quite ready for it to end. Getting off the back of his motorcycle means having to face the fact that I don’t know what he really wants from me. Or what I want from him.

That heartbreaking look he’d given me before we left Malibu was so full of expectation and worry, I almost wanted to hop a flight to Vegas and recite a handful of vows in front of some Elvis look-a-like just to prove my love for him. But
love
? Lust? Yes. Desire? Absolutely. Fondness? Indeed. But full on, grown up
love
? I’m not so sure about that.

Perhaps it was just an adrenalin-fueled reaction from our scuffle with Alan, or the afterglow of the intense connection we’d shared before the night turned ugly, but that soul-searching gaze of his had my head spinning with fairy tale notions and a real desire to ride off into the sunset with him. But the sun has long since set, and now I’m more confused about my feelings for him than ever.

My relationship with Alan, on the other hand, is far less murky. His conniving, his underhandedness, only proved to me that what we once had is long gone and can never be revived. And no amount of wistful strolls down memory lane can change that. The fact that he would go so far as to entice Jack to attack him only shows how truly despicable he is capable of being. I always knew that he had a set of titanium balls when it came to business, but I never thought he’d turn his guileful methods on me.

To be honest, though, it was his ruthless ways that first attracted me to him. Watching him devour mealy-mouthed executives trying to weasel out of ad contracts was a powerful aphrodisiac when I first worked for him. He was fiery, whip-smart and relentless in his pursuit of success. Coming from a family of complacent Midwesterners, I saw in him what I aspired to be. Of course, back then, he was the good guy, and I was his ally. His partner on the fast-track to Hollywood glory. But somewhere along the journey, we lost each other. And he found another ambitious woman to join forces with.