CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He held her in hisarms. Naked, her ample breasts pressed against his bare chest. Her hands clutching his shoulders, her eyes smoldered into his, daring him to take her lips, inches from his own. He held back, letting the heat build, letting her nipples harden, allowing them to dig into his chest. He was rigid with anticipation, with the certainty of what the night held for them. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, knowing she wanted him there. An impatient groan rumbled in her throat. It sent him beyond control, sent his lips diving toward hers.
And his phone rang.
He ignored it, still trying to smother her lips with his own, but the further he reached forward for her lips, the more insistent the phone rang.
Taylor startled awake, rubbing his face. An actual phone call woke him far too early, breaking into a dream real enough to make him rock hard. He struggled to the surface of consciousness to answer it.
“What have you been up to?” Laurel Lynn Rhinebeck, his publicist, drawled.
“What? What’s going on?” Sitting on the edge of the bed, untangling the sheets twisted around his torso, he had no idea what he could have done to set her off. For months now, other than the Fourth of July party, he had kept to a no activities schedule. The filming schedule was grueling; the stunts he chose to do himself demanding enough to tire him out by the end of each workday. The last thing he wanted to do was party it up on the town when filming ended for the day.
“So much for staying out of the media.”
“What? What’s out?”
“There’s a hell of an image on the cover ofHollywood Today.A woman in a bikini on her knees in front of your crotch. It’s quite a shot, Taylor. My entire office has dropped everything to devote itself to damage control on this.” Laurel’s Bronx accent slipped through when she was pissed, and it was evident now. “Ya betta get ready for lots of cameras this mornin’. My phone hasn’t stopped ringin’ since four a.m. Ya know ya agreed to stay out of the media during the filming. No bad press. I’ve got their lawyers on hold waiting to know why ya broke the contract.”
Shit!He couldn’t think straight. A hundred ideas swirled in his brain. Taylor knew exactly what the photo must look like. Never mind about the lawyers. It was too late to keep them happy. Sweat broke out as his imagination went further.If Roberta saw the picture, she would have a stroke!
“Would she?”a sarcastic voice in the center of his brain dared ask the question. “Maybe she wanted it? Maybe it was a setup, Taylor. She’s a writer.”
He shook his head, not believing the lies spinning in his brain.
“What’s going on, Taylor?” Laurel Lynn demanded.
“My next-door neighbor. I came home last night, and she was in her bikini in a kiddie pool cooling off, drunk. I had to help her out of the water before she accidentally drowned herself. I tried to get her to stand, but she, uh, slid down the front of me until she was in the position in the photo. Then I picked her up, slung her over my shoulder, and brought her into her house. I dropped her on her bed, covered her with a comforter, and took care of her dogs before I went home.” Do not mention the kiss on her temple or falling asleep.
“The article sez ya both disappeared in the house for hours. Ya didn’t leave until afta midnight.”
Shit! Shit! Shit!“That’s right. I sat in a rocking chair, watching her sleep to make sure she didn’t get sick and choke on her own vomit or anything. Is it a crime?” Taylor could hear Laurel’s eyes rolling in her head.
“Ya know how it looks.”
“I know how it looks. I didn’t know someone else was spying on us.” He knew his anger was getting the better of him. Where the hell had Alex and Dominic been? Why hadn’t they seen someone spying on him? Come to think of it, they hadn’t left the house when he went outside to see what Roberta was up to. If they had, they could confirm his story. The turbulence in his chest increased. “I was trying to do the right thing. She was passing out, couldn’t stand.”
“All right. I’ll play it up like that. Friendly neighbor, you save her life. Let’s hope she’ll cooperate. I’ll be over to talk with her later today.” Laurel disconnected before he could protest.
The voice in his head started up again immediately. Had Roberta staged the whole thing? The bikini, the scotch, was so out of character that it had not made sense last night. Now it made sense. He found himself staring out the window at the house next door. His feet had carried him there during the conversation with Laurel.
A flashing glint of the door glass startled him. Her door opened to let Goober and Tucker bound out into the yard. Roberta staggered barefoot on the deck stairs, her robe hanging open and hair disheveled. Her eyes squinted, her hand shading them while she leaned against the banister. She waited until the dogs did their business before tapping a dog biscuit on the wood banister. They bounded up the stairs and into the house. The sun gleamed off her pale, wan face, the last thing he saw through his window.No, there was no way she could have staged it or would have. Not even as payback over her manuscript.
?
Why, today of all days, does anyone have to bang on my door?The sound reverberated like cannon fire in a valley, the valley being the empty, anguished expanse of her skull. The staccato ratta-tat-tat was sharp and businesslike. It broke the silence and ease of the house, setting the dogs off. Their barking confirmed her suspicion it was someone unknown as they no longer barked at Mr. Eagan, Taylor, or Sara. Roberta flung back the bed covers and struggled to raise the cannonball on her shoulders. The raps came again. Quieting the dogs, she sent them into the living room, where they sat watching intently as she opened the door.
A slim, bleached blonde in a bright yellow suit that must have cost more than Roberta made in a week flashed a dazzling set of bleached teeth. “Hi, I’m Laurel Lynn Rhinebeck, Taylor Reyd’s publicity manager. Can I come in and talk?”
“Does it have to be now? I’m not feeling so good today.” She didn’t want to talk with this LA business queen. Not now, not ever.
“I know. And you’re going to feel worse when I show you this paper.” She pushed her way into the kitchen. The dogs hurried over for a sniff up her skirt. Laurel’s free hand tried shooing them away without actually touching them. Seeming more afraid of dog hair than the dogs themselves, she shouldn’t have bothered stepping over the threshold. She dropped her briefcase and Gucci bag on the kitchen table, brushing microscopic dirt and dog hair off the chair seat with a tissue that materialized from somewhere before gingerly sitting down. Her upper lip curled, her teeth flashed in the phoniest smile Roberta had ever seen.
“Have a seat,” Laurel said.
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” Steam was starting to build up in Roberta’s belly and rise. She pulled out a chair and called the dogs to sit beside the table. Laurel’s brows quivered while her eyelids fluttered like a cluster of butterflies. Seemingly regaining her composure, she opened her briefcase, pulled out a tabloid newspaper, and dropped it on the kitchen table.
Roberta stared at the front-page picture, trying to discern what it showed. There was Taylor in cargo shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. A figure knelt in front of him suggestively. Considering the bikini, it had to be a woman. It was a pretty hot image considering the proximity of her mouth to his crotch, her palms spread flat on his lower abdomen, and her eyes focused on the bulge before her eyes.