Seduced and Betrayed (5 page)

"Ethan Roberts? He saw the—" And then Zeke realized the significance of Mueller's remarks. "You know who I am," he said, and he wasn't referring to the fame he'd achieved via the silver screen.

Mueller nodded. "You're the kid who fell over Shannon's body that night."

"Well, why the hell didn't you say something when I first came in and asked about the apartment, if you knew who I was?"

"What for? It wouldn't make no difference to anything, would it?" Mueller shrugged. "Couldn't see no point in bringing it up, not if you wasn't going to take the place."

"Point?" Zeke said, inexplicably irritated. "No, I guess there was no point, but it certainly would have been the polite thing to—"

"Hello?" A lilting female voice, accented with the soft vowels of the deep South, came floating from the direction of the open front door to the apartment. "Mr. Mueller, is that you?"

"Dammit, Angel—" the speaker was male, his voice rich with exasperated affection "—don't go running in there like that. For all you know, an ax murderer could have broken in while we were gone."

"An ax murderer would have used his ax to break the door down," the woman said. "I didn't see any signs of dam—Oh, all right. You go first, if it'll make you happy."

A man appeared from down the front hallway with a brown paper grocery sack cradled in one arm. He was as lean and rangy as a big cat, with a cat's watchful eyes and instinctive wariness. He tensed when he saw Zeke standing in his living room, automatically shifting his stance to keep the woman safely out of reach behind him. And then he caught sight of the superintendent and relaxed. Infinitesimally.

"Mueller," he said, a question in his voice and eyes.

"I got a prospective tenant here," Mueller said, jerking his head toward Zeke. "Showing him the place."

"See?" the woman said, giving the man a saucy little smile as she slipped past him. "I told you it wasn't an ax murderer."

Zeke smiled his most charming, aw-shucks, I'm-really-perfectly-harmless smile. "I'm sorry if we startled you."

"Oh, you didn't startle me," she said, returning his smile with one of her own. "My husband's the one with the suspicious mind." She held out her hand. "I'm Faith Shannon. And this is my husband—"

"Jack," Zeke said, unconsciously interrupting her. "My God,
you're Jack Shannon."

"Yes, that's right."

Suddenly uneasy, Faith shifted her gaze back and forth between the two men. They were staring at each other as if they'd just seen a ghost. "Jack?" she said hesitantly, reaching out to put her hand on her husband's arm.

"It's all right, Angel. This is an old—" he hesitated briefly, as if he weren't quite sure of the proper word "—friend of mine. I haven't seen him for twenty-five years. Not since right after Eric died." He shifted the grocery sack he held so he could offer his right hand. "How are you, Zeke?"

"Stunned," Zeke said as they shook hands. "Completely stunned. I had no idea you were the tenant Mueller was talking about. Or that the apartment I was going to look at was 1-G. He never said a—" Zeke broke off in midsentence and turned to face the man in question. "Why the hell didn't you say anything about this?" he demanded.

"No point until you decided to take it," Mueller said, unperturbed by Zeke's hostility. "So, have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Decided to take it."

Zeke didn't even have to think about. "Yes," he said. "I'll take it."

Mueller nodded, as if he'd known the answer all along. "Stop by my office before you leave," he said, and headed for the front door. "I'll have the rental agreement ready for you to sign." He paused, waiting until he had everyone's attention. "Ask the Shannons about the woman in the mirror," he said, his voice low and dramatic. "They'll tell you she's real."

Nobody said another word until he had walked down the hall and out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

And then Faith Shannon sighed and shook her head. "Mr. Mueller is a very strange man," she said. "It's very disconcerting."

"It's irritating as hell, is what it is," her husband grumbled.

"But he's right, you know," Faith said to Zeke. She reached out to take the sack of groceries from her husband, transferring it to her hip as she spoke. "The woman in the mirror is real. I've seen her. And so has Jack."

Zeke tried not to look too skeptical. "And did your lives change?"

"Completely," she said blissfully, and smiled at her husband over the top of the grocery sack.

He smiled back and reached out, tenderly brushing back a tendril of hair that lay against her temple.

Zeke felt as if he were watching them kiss. Passionately. He cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I'd better be going. Let you two, um... finish your packing."

"Oh, we're finished for the day," Faith said, shifting her attention back to her guest. "I was just going to put on a fresh pot of coffee to go with the baklava—" she tapped the side of the grocery sack "—Jack couldn't resist. You're more than welcome to join us, ah..." Her smile was both charming and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I guess I didn't catch your name."

Jack Shannon gave a muffled snort of laughter at the quick look of surprise that crossed Zeke's face; being so completely unrecognized was a novel experience for him. "Angel, this is Zeke Blackstone," Jack said, before Zeke could introduce himself. "One of Hollywood's brightest lights?" he prompted. "Actor. Director. Producer."

"Actor?" she said hesitantly.

"You know, like in the movies?" he teased gently, then flashed a grin at Zeke. "You'll have to forgive her. She's only seen about five movies in her entire life."

"It's been more than fi—Oh, my goodness." Faith put her free hand to her chest, her eyes wide as she stared at their guest. "Of course. Zeke Blackstone. I read an article about you in
People
magazine while I was waiting at the dentist's office last week. It was about your new movie... ah..."

"
Sacred Ground
," Zeke supplied.

"Yes, that was it.
Sacred Ground.
It looked like a very interesting movie," she said earnestly. "The article predicted it would be a big hit."

"Let's hope so," Zeke agreed drily.

Faith shook her head. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you."

"It happens all the time," Zeke lied.

But Faith wasn't quite as innocent as she looked. "I doubt it," she said with a sweet smile, "but thank you for trying to make me feel better." She hefted the bag of groceries, resettling it on her hip. "I'll have that coffee ready in a few minutes."

"And I should be going," Zeke said. "I've intruded long enough."

"Nonsense. You haven't intruded at all," Faith said firmly. "I know you and Jack must have a lot to talk about." She looked up at her husband. "So, please, sit down, both of you, while I go make the coffee."

There was a second or two of silence after she left the room. "Only five movies in her entire life?" Zeke said, his tone somewhere between scandalized and incredulous.

Jack grinned. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" He motioned Zeke to take a seat on a long brown leather sofa. "But that's Faith. She had a rather sheltered upbringing."

"She's a lovely woman. You're very lucky."

"Yes, I am." Jack said simply. He gave Zeke a level look. "So... are you really moving in here?"

"Just temporarily," Zeke said quickly, suddenly feeling as if he had to justify himself to Eric Shannon's brother for staying in the apartment building where Eric had died. "Until my daughter's wedding is over or the construction on my house is finished, whichever comes first."

Jack nodded understandingly. "I was drawn back, too," he said. "Temporarily. And it changed my life." He glanced at the big ornate mirror on the wall. "Maybe it's your turn now."

Chapter 3

She dreamed about him that night. Vivid dreams. Heated dreams. Dreams that left her damp and aching and feeling oh, so desperately alone. She awoke in the early morning hours, flushed and fevered, with her fragile white silk nightgown twisted around her thighs and her pillow clutched to her breasts. There were tears on her cheeks.

It had been years since she'd dreamed about him. Years longer since she'd cried over his memory. So many years that she'd thought... hoped... prayed she was finally, completely over him for good. And then, with just one look, one touch, one whispered exchange in a room full of people, and she was on that emotional roller coaster ride all over again.

Aching for him again.

Crying for him again.

With a strangled moan of denial and rage, Ariel threw back the white satin Porthault sheet that covered her. If she couldn't sleep without dreaming about him, then she wouldn't sleep at all.

She'd done it before. And survived.

She'd survive it again.

She slid across the big empty bed and got up, automatically reaching for the silk robe that lay across the tufted white velvet fainting couch at the foot, automatically stepping into the quilted white satin mules that sat, side by side, beneath it. But it was too warm to put the robe on, her skin was too hot and... itchy. The mules were too confining. Tossing the robe across the foot of the bed, kicking off the mules, she walked barefoot across the plush carpet to the tall glass doors leading out onto the terrace.

She wanted to fling open the doors and feel the cool air on her skin but the alarm would go off if she did that, bringing the Beverly Hills police and the people from the private security company. She pressed her palms against the cool glass, instead, and then her cheek and her breasts and her thighs, willing it to draw the heat from her body, knowing it couldn't.

She pulled away from the glass door with an anguished cry and hurried across the bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the thick white carpet, her thin silk nightgown floating out behind her. She jerked open her bedroom door, leaving it gaping behind her, and ran down the wide, curving staircase, a ghostly apparition flying through the dark, shadowed house as if she were being pursued by demons. She paused at the back door for a moment and took a deep breath, calming herself long enough to remember the security code and punch it in. And then she was flying again, running lightly across the smooth gray quarry tiles to the very edge of the pool.

She hovered there for a long moment, her arms at her sides, her bare toes curled over the tiled edge of the pool, watching the moonlight glimmer on the surface of the water. It was almost enough. And then a breeze rose up out of nowhere, playfully lifting her hair from her shoulders, pressing her thin silk nightgown against her body, caressing her skin like a lover's teasing fingers. And it was suddenly all too much to bear.

Without thinking about appearances or the inappropriateness of it, without thinking of anything except finding relief from the heat that plagued her, Ariel lifted her hands, each to the opposite shoulder, and pushed the straps of her nightgown off. It fluttered down her slender body, soft as a sigh, and pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it, a beautiful butterfly leaving her silken chrysalis behind, and dove into the water.

The first shocking chill of it was just what she needed, sending a jolt through her overheated senses, soothing the itch that seemed to come from inside her skin. She gave herself up to it, letting the momentum of her dive send her gliding along the bottom of the pool. She surfaced at the shallow end, pressing her hands against the wide, tiled steps for leverage, pushing up and out of the water, her head back, her spine arched so that her thick, shoulder-length hair was slicked away from her face as she broke the surface.

The breeze was there to meet her. It played over her wet skin, first cooling, then caressing it, causing goose flesh to ripple across her arms and her nipples to pull tight and pucker as if they'd been touched. She pressed her hands to her breasts and sank back down into the water. It danced around her like a lover bent on seduction, lapping at her shoulders, undulating against her stomach, swirling between her thighs.

With an inarticulate sound, part a cry of dismay, part a sigh of surrender, Ariel rolled over onto her back and let the water cradle her... let the memories take her.

They were all there, hovering at the edge of her mind, as crystal clear, as real, as immediate, as if they had happened the week or the day or the hour before, instead of twenty-five years ago.