Scent of Triumph (34 page)

She relaxed against him, needing his reassurance, pushing thoughts of Max, and Jon and his marriage from her mind. Cameron was here with her now, here for her. His breath felt warm on her neck.

“This is perfection,” he murmured. “Utter heaven, lying here like this, with you in my arms. Dani, I adore you.”

Danielle shifted in his arms, tilting her face to his. “Cameron, we should probably leave before....”

“Before what, before I tell you how much I love you?” Cameron brushed his lips against her face, his body tensing. “I do, you know, like I’ve loved no other.”

A warm, musky scent rose from his skin, and as Danielle breathed in his aroma, she felt her body naturally responding. Tonight, she needed comfort. Her lips found his and they kissed, tentatively at first, then with increasing fervor. Danielle shuddered in his arms, murmuring his name.

She felt his hands exploring her neck, her back, her hips, and as his hold on her tightened, she knew that she could not break free of his muscular embrace, but nor did she want to. She let go, and let herself fall under his trance.

Cameron shifted his attention from her lips to her neck, then her décolletage, then paused. He framed her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes. “There’s no turning back now, Dani.”

Danielle averted her eyes and looked away. As she did, Cameron sat back in the seat and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Danielle knew Cameron wasn’t taking her home, and her natural sense of propriety tightened in her chest.
Should I?
She glanced at Cam, considering.

After a short drive to Cameron’s home in the flats of Beverly Hills, he guided her through the massive front door of his two-story brick Tudor-styled home. He paused in the foyer, kissing her on her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, then finding her mouth, softly, teasing and tantalizing with his tongue, taking his time. “Are you ready? he whispered.

Danielle felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, felt herself give in to Cameron’s touch, while their desire flamed within. Then, in one swift motion, he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to his bedroom.

Should I?
she thought again, savoring the sureness of his touch, his strength and virility.
After everything I’ve been through, I long for someone to hold me and make love to me.
Not since Max have I...
She blinked back hot tears and rested her head against Cameron’s chest.
Just for tonight,
she decided.
No one has to know
.

They slipped from their bonds of clothing, and Cameron continued caressing and kissing her, his ardor growing more insistent. His gentle touch gave way to raw power, and Danielle succumbed to his pure passion as his intensity, which bordered on roughness, heightened his sexuality. As their bodies melded together, Danielle discovered a primal sensuality she had never known before, and she felt herself slide under his spell as their lovemaking went on for hours. With each wave of ecstasy, Cameron brought her to a new level of pleasure. Danielle had never known such rapture with a man before.

He woke her before sunrise, and she dressed quickly to return home. She felt embarrassed about coming home so late, but her family was asleep. Even her neighbor had dozed off, and when Danielle woke her, Anna seemed genuinely happy that Danielle had had such a wonderful time at the Hollywood party, accepting that the party had gone on all night, then she made her promise to share all the details later.

After Cameron kissed her and slipped out the door, Danielle lay in bed smiling to herself, smelling the scent of him on her skin and thinking. And before she drifted off to sleep, she couldn’t help but wonder,
where will this lead?

“So where the hell is Cameron Murphy?” Lou Silverman barked into the phone on his desk.

“I don’t know,” Erica replied, her voice wavering across the wire. “But I’ll find him.”

“We were to have met at ten o’clock Monday morning. It’s already Wednesday and there’s still no sign of him. I can’t use Cameron in your picture, Erica, if this is any indication of his future behavior. He’s easy to replace.”

“Please, Lou, give me twenty-four hours. I’ll find him, and I swear to you, he’ll never pull this stunt again. I’ll stake my own salary on it, Lou.”

“Hate to see you do that, Erica. But you’re absolutely right, he’ll never do this again, because if he does, he’s finished, not just with me, but with every major studio. I’m doing you a favor now as it is.” Lou paused, lowering his voice. “Don’t let me down, Erica, or it’s your contract we’ll be discussing next.”

“No, you’ve been more than accommodating.” Erica sounded repentant. “I promise, once production begins I’ll see to it personally that Cameron is on the set early every morning.”

“You do that. Now find him.”

Erica hung up the phone, then quickly dialed another number. A man answered in Cantonese. “Hello? Sammy, it that you?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Erica. You remember me, Sammy. I’m looking for Cameron.”

“No, Cameron not here. Sorry.”

“Wait, Sammy, don’t hang up. Has he been there?”

The line was quiet.

“Sammy?”

“Okay. He been here. Not today, though. Yesterday. You too late, Miss Erica.”

“Where did he go?”

Silence.

“Sammy? Do you know where he went?”

“I can’t say on phone.”

Erica thought quickly. “I’ll come there then.”

“No, you not come here.”

“Yes I am, Sammy. And don’t run away,” she hissed. “You stay right there, or I’ll tell the police what I know.”

“Okay, okay. You be here in fifteen.”

“Twenty,” she replied, snatching her car keys and French leather purse from the kitchen counter. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She slammed the phone down, her anger blazing.

Erica jumped into her Dusenberg roadster and raced through town, tires screeching. In barely twenty minutes, she was in Chinatown, skidding through a turn onto a pot-holed street. “Shit!” She slammed on the brakes in front of a dilapidated house, its windows boarded. She flew from the car, ran to the rear of the house in her stiletto heels, and banged on the door.

The door swung open and a slight man cowered before her. Erica was twice as large as Sammy. She put her fists on her hips and glared at him. “Where is he?”

“I tell you, okay? I write it down.” Sammy scribbled an address on a scrap of paper and handed it to her with trembling hands. “Don’t tell anyone I tell you. Very bad for me.”

“Bad
joss
, huh?” Erica snatched the address and stormed out, cursing in Spanish. She scowled at the paper, immediately recognizing the address. Her shoulders slumped in dismay.
Damn Cameron a thousand times to hell!

She didn’t have far to go. Her next stop was in a grimy downtown industrial area near the railroad tracks. She parked, pounded on the door, and waited. No answer.

Looking from side to side, making certain she wasn’t observed, she opened her purse and withdrew a pick and tension wrench she had stolen years ago from a drunken locksmith in a border town bar. She tried maneuvering the lock cylinders, but to no avail. Frantic, she kept trying. At last, the lock gave way. She stepped inside.

The air was sickly sweet and dense with smoke. She sniffed the air. Opium. She tiptoed through the hazy corridor until she reached a stained drapery. Shoving it aside, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness.

The putrid odor of human waste assaulted her nose. She pressed her white chiffon scarf over her nose and mouth to keep from gagging. Her eyes burned from the malodorous mixture of smoke and stench. Blinking hard, she wiped her eyes, smearing her mascara. She glanced around in desperation. Tattered cots lined the wall, but only one held a body.

A low moan emanated from the deathly white lips of the motionless figure. The man was clad in stained, wrinkled pants, his chest bare, his hair matted. Erica suppressed a wave of nausea. Cameron. Just like old times.

She hurried across the room and the stench intensified. “Cameron, get up. Time to go,” she whispered hoarsely. No response. She rolled him over, and his head lolled listlessly off the bed. Startled, she pressed her fingers to his throat, found a faint, slow pulse, and breathed a small sigh of relief.

Hooking her arms under his, she heaved him off the bed and dragged him across the room. Erica was a tall woman with substantial strength in her well-developed arms and shoulders, and she knew how to leverage her body. She had done this before.

As she moved him, Cameron’s eyes glazed over in delirium. His garbled speech was incomprehensible and he had no control over his limbs. Erica dragged him through the hallway and out the door. She propped him against the building and ran to the Dusenberg. Pulling the car onto the sidewalk, she pushed him into the passenger side, slammed the door, and jammed her key into the ignition. She turned the key. Nothing.

In her rear view mirror, she could see two men running from the exit, shouting about money and shaking their fists.

“Come on, baby, start.” Perspiration seeped through her hair and dripped down her silk blouse. The Dusenberg sputtered, coughed, then roared to life. She floored the accelerator.

A half hour later, ensconced in her Bel Air mansion, Erica gave her domestic staff the rest of the week off with pay. Better to be safe, she always thought. No telling who might wag their tongue to a tabloid newspaper.

When the help had gone, she dragged Cameron onto the rear porch and dropped him onto a lawn chaise.

When he regained consciousness, she screamed at him, “Don’t ever do this to me again, or so help me, I’ll kill you.”

* * *

Several days later, Erica sat in her spacious, sun-drenched kitchen and stared at a cup of coffee, thinking of Cameron, who was upstairs dressing for his meeting with Lou Silverman. Erica had covered for Cameron during the horrible gut-wrenching days it took for the opium to exit his system. He might have been the love of her life, but he put her through hell.

Yet on a good day, no one was more fun than Cameron Murphy. He had a magnetic charm. Erica smiled as she reminisced. When he took her shopping for a new dress, he couldn’t buy just one dress. Instead, he’d purchase a dozen, with accessories to match, showering her with generosity. And the parties! People flocked around him. His extravagance was legendary.

But so were his indiscretions. Erica gulped her coffee. They’d been thrown out of the finest hotels around the world for their violent arguments. She rubbed her thumb along the line of her jaw where Cameron had punched her one evening, shattering the bone. She’d confronted him, screaming, and biting his ear. They were on location, and production had stopped on the film. Of course, Lou had been livid.

Her makeup artist always managed to cover the scars left on her body by Cameron, but even today she was seldom filmed from her left side. She shook her head as she remembered the highs and the heartaches.

Cameron had soaring, jubilant heights one day, then black, bottomless depressions the next. She’d lived with the constant fear that one day he’d die of an overdose or in an automobile accident, or that he’d be shot by a lover’s husband. In the end, Erica was exhausted.

It had been three years since she’d divorced him, but she hadn’t given up hope. She still dreamed he’d break free of his demons and return.

She blinked back despair. Maybe he needed to hit rock bottom before he could turn his life around. But how much worse could it get? He appeared to be failing in every way: physically, professionally, emotionally. Erica sighed. How long could she, should she, hold out hope?

When Cameron’s manager, Harry Nelson, told her that Cameron was broke, she had used her box office power to sway Lou, insisting that Cameron be given a part in her new movie. “But he’s just a drunken saloon singer,” Lou had said. “Do you still love him that much?”

“Of course not,” she’d smoothly lied. “But he’s perfect for the part. Besides, you can get him at a good price.” The deal was sealed, then Cameron had gone out to celebrate.

Erica stared into the depths of her coffee cup, searching for answers in the murky blackness.

Cameron entered the kitchen, jolting her from her thoughts.

“How do I look?” he asked. He wore a cream linen jacket, dark sunglasses, and a hat tipped at a jaunty angle.

Erica couldn’t help but smile. “You look like a star. Now, don’t forget what I told you, and here—” She tossed him her keys. “Take my car.”

“Thanks, and Erica?”

“Yes?”

“I owe you one.” His face lit up with a grin, his white teeth dazzling against his suntanned skin.

Erica scowled. “You owe me a lot more than one.” She looked into his eyes and found that, to her chagrin, it was impossible to be angry with him when he turned on his charm. She relented, and gave him a kiss on the lips. “Get out of here, and don’t wreck my car.”

“
Hasta luego
, me darlin’.” The screen door slammed behind him, and within minutes, Erica heard the throaty rumble of her Dusenberg roadster.

Lou punched a button on his intercom. “Yes, Gladys?”

“Cameron Murphy is here. Will you see him now?”

“Send him in.”

When Cameron entered his office, Lou made no motion to stand or acknowledge him.

Cameron crossed to Lou’s massive desk, nervously turning his hat in his hand, his eyes downcast. “About my disappearance last week, Mr. Silverman. There was a death in my family back east. In Boston. Pity my poor old aunt, God bless her soul.”

Lou knew Cameron was lying. He leaned back in his chair, lightly tapping his fingertips together, studying Cameron through narrowed eyes. Lou valued honesty and integrity. He could smell a charlatan a mile away, and Cameron reeked of duplicity. Finally, he said, “You understand the studio is taking a risk with you.”

“Beg your pardon, sir, but I have millions of fans from my record sales and concert appearances. There’s little risk.”

“Only the financial risk of costly delays.” Lou clipped his words. “And you haven’t recorded a song in what, three years?”