Honey Moon (23 page)

She pushed against his hips to make certain she hadn't lost her effect on him and discovered that she hadn't. His hand slid between their bodies and closed around her breast. She tensed, not wanting so much intimacy so quickly. He slipped his thumb inside the bikini bra and found her nipple. She began to pull away.

"Just what in the goddamn hell do you think you're doing?"

She sucked in her breath at the sound of the gruff, familiar voice coming from behind her.

Scott released her slowly, removing his hand from her breast and frowning at the interloper over the top of her head. "Do you have a problem?"

Turning slowly, she confronted a furious Dash Coogan, his face as dark as a thundercloud, invisible six-shooters riding on his hips. He was paying no attention to Scott, but was glaring at her instead, and he looked as if he were ready to take on all of Dodge City.

"You're drunk," he accused.

Lifting her chin, she returned his stare glare for glare. "I've had two beers. Not that it's any of your business."

"What's this all about, Mr. Coogan?"

Scott's respectful form of address seemed to make Dash even angrier, and the corner of his mouth curled unpleasantly. "I'll tell you what it's about, sonny.

You're getting a little too free with your hands."

Scott looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I don't see what this has to do with you.

She's a consenting adult."

"Not even close." Lifting his arm, he jabbed his hand toward the house. "You get your butt back there right this minute, little girl. That is if you're sober enough to walk that far."

She drew herself up to her full height. "Go to hell."

"What did you say to me?"

"You heard me. I'm not a
little girl
, and I have no intention of letting you order me around. Scott and I

are leaving right now for his apartment."

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I wouldn't bet on it."

She had to tilt her head all the way back so she could stare him down. A dangerous excitement had taken hold of her, a need to dance on the edge of a perilous cliff. "We're going to his apartment, and I'm going to spend the night there."

"Is that so?"

Scott was growing increasingly uncomfortable. "Honey, I don't know what kind of relationship you have with Mr. Coogan, but—"

"We don't have any relationship at all," she said, daring Dash to contradict her.

His voice was low and flat as he addressed Scott. "She's just a kid, and I'm not going to have you taking advantage of that. The party's over for tonight."

"Mr. Coogan—"

Ignoring him, Dash grasped Honey's arm and began steering her across the sand toward the house, just

as if she were a disobedient five-year-old.

"Don't you do this to me," she hissed between her teeth. "I'm not a child, and you're ruining everything."

"That's exactly what I had in mind."

"You have no right to interfere."

"You don't even know that boy."

"I know that he's a great kisser." She tossed her head, deliberately making her curls fly. "And I imagine he'll be an even better lover. He'll probably be the best lover I ever had."

He didn't slacken his pace. Her shorter legs were having a difficult time keeping up with his longer ones, and she stumbled slightly in the sand. His grip tightened on her arm. "That wouldn't be too hard, would it?"

"You don't think I've had lovers before? That just goes to show what you know.

I've had three lovers

just this summer. No, four. I forgot about Lance."

Instead of taking her back up on the deck, he drew her around the side of the house. "Oh, I know you've had lovers. All the men on the crew talk about how easy you are."

She came to a dead stop. "They do not! I never did anything with a single person on the crew."

He pulled her forward. "That's not what I hear."

"You heard wrong."

"They told me you'll undress for anything in pants."

She was outraged. "I will not! I never undressed for a man in my life. I—" She clamped her mouth shut, realizing too late that he'd trapped her.

He shot her a triumphant look. "You're damned right, you haven't. And we're going to keep it that way for a while."

They had reached his car, a four-year-old Cadillac Eldorado. He opened the door and pushed her inside. "Just in case you're lying to me about how many beers you've had, I'm driving you home."

"I'm not lying. And you're not my father, so stop acting like one."

"I'm the closest thing you've got to a father." He slammed the door.

As he stalked around the front of the car, she remembered a time in her life not all that long ago when she would have given anything to hear him speak those words. But something inside her had changed. She didn't know when it had happened or why. She only knew that she didn't want him to act like a father any longer.

When he got behind the wheel, she confronted him, turning her head so swiftly that one of the gold hoops swung forward and bounced against her cheek. "You can't lock me up, Dash. I'm not a kid anymore. I like Scott, and I've decided to go to bed with him. If not tonight, then another night."

He pulled out onto the road, tires spinning in the gravel. He didn't speak until they had passed the guardhouse at the entrance of the private compound and were out on the highway. As the headlights of a passing car cast slanted shadows over his face, he said softly, "Don't give it away cheap, Honey. Make it mean something."

"Like
your
affairs?"

He snapped his head back to the road. She waited. When he didn't say anything in his own defense, her anger grew. "You make me sick. You'll go to bed with any woman who throws herself at you, but you still have the nerve to give me lectures on morality."

He hit the button on the radio, blasting George Jones through the car and drowning out any further conversation.

13

A light flicked on inside the house. Eric had been dozing, but his head snapped up. Music and muted conversation still drifted over from Liz's party next door.

He glanced down at the illuminated dial on his watch and saw that it was nearly two o'clock. He had to be on the set in five hours. He should be home in bed instead of skulking in the shadows of Lilly Isabella's deck, waiting for her to return from the party.

Another light went on. Unzipping the dark green wind-breaker he had slipped into earlier, he wandered over to the sliding doors that led from the deck into the house and lit a cigarette. There were no curtains on the windows, and he could see the room inside. It held low contemporary furniture in neutral tones that served as a background for the wall of enlarged color photographs that dominated the room. Some

of them were portraits of Guy Isabella in various roles he'd played, others artistically posed male nudes. He rapped on the glass.

She appeared almost immediately. Her upper arm held a faint red mark from the silver slave bracelet she had just removed, and her feet were bare. When she saw who was standing on her deck, she gave him a mischievous grin and shook her head. He grabbed the back of one of the tubular deck chairs, turned it so it was facing the doors, and sank down into it.

She slid the door open and regarded him steadily for several seconds. "What do you want?"

"Bad question, sweetheart."

"You're a real tough guy, aren't you?"

"Not me. I'm gentle as a lamb."

"I'll bet. Listen, I'm tired and you're trouble. That's a bad combination, so why don't we just call it a night?"

He stood and flicked his cigarette over the rail into the sand. "Sounds like a good idea." Stepping past her, he entered the house.

She splayed one hand on the hip of her dark blue slacks. He saw that her fingernails were unpainted and bitten nearly to the quick. The flaw intrigued him.

"That's funny. I can't remember inviting you in."

He gestured toward several of the nude male photographs. "Friends of yours?"

"The Hall of Fame of my old lovers."

"I'll bet."

"You don't believe me?"

"Let's just say that most of them look like they'd be more comfortable in a steam bath than in bed with

a woman."

She sank down on the couch and stretched like a cat who had gone too long without stroking. "Funniest thing. That's what I've heard about you."

"Is that so?"

"You know how rumors fly about good-looking actors. You're all supposed to be gay."

He laughed, then took his time enjoying the generous lines of her body.

She had enough self-confidence to be amused instead of insulted by his perusal.

"Is this where I'm supposed to surrender to your mesmerizing sexuality and take off my clothes?"

"I don't know if I'm ready to give up the pleasures of those steam baths."

She laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "Why do I have the feeling my guardian angel was looking the other way when I let you in the door?" She stood and yawned, this time lifting her silken blond hair from her neck. "You want a nightcap before you leave?"

He shook his head. "I have an early call."

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Dillon. If you want to stop by some time next week, I might be persuaded to open a bottle of Chateau Latour and play my Charlie Parker tapes for you."

He had no intention of making it that easy for her. "Sorry, I'm going on location."

"Oh?"

Flipping up the collar on his windbreaker, he walked over to the patio doors.

"Maybe I'll call you when I get back."

Her head shot up. "And maybe I won't be available."

"I guess I'll have to take my chances." He let himself out, then grinned and lit a cigarette.

* * *

Dash was in the paddock inspecting the fetlock of one of the three Arabians he was now boarding along with four other horses when Honey arrived at the ranch. She got out of her car and walked toward him, her full prairie skirt whipping around her legs, the eyelet trim at the hem playing peek-a-boo with the hot afternoon breeze.

She wore the skirt with a white knit tank top, powder-blue sandals, and tiny gold balls in her just-pierced earlobes. In the week and a half that had passed since the party, Liz had taken her on two shopping trips, and she now had a new wardrobe of flouncy little dresses, slacks and tops that had cost a fortune, designer jeans, silk T-shirts, belts and bangles and shoes in every style and color. These past few nights she had found herself standing in her closet simply staring at the beautiful fabrics. It was as if she had spent years suffering from a particularly acute form of malnutrition, only to be confronted by a banquet table laden with food that was irresistible. No matter how much she looked, she couldn't get her fill.

Some of the clothes even seemed to be taking on a life of their own. A few hours ago she had fingered a shimmery little ice-blue evening gown, an updated version of a flapper's dress, and had fought a nearly irresistible urge to put it on, even though she was planning to drive out to see Dash. The gown was hardly designed for a casual afternoon visit to a dusty ranch, but she'd barely been able to resist.
Slip me on, the shimmery blue gown seemed to say. If he
sees you wearing me, he won't be able to resist you.

Her hand felt clumsy as she lifted it to wave at him. "Hi!"

He nodded but didn't stop what he was doing. She gripped the top rail of the fence and watched. The

sun felt good on her back and arms, but it didn't ease her tension. They hadn't spoken since the night of the party.

He finally finished inspecting the horse and walked over to her, all sweaty and smelling of the stable. He took in her feminine attire but didn't comment on the absence of her customary baggy jeans and faded T-shirt. One part of her wished that she had worn the blue evening gown after all.

"Nice of you to tell me you were stopping by," he said sarcastically.

"I called, but nobody answered." She slipped her foot off the bottom rail. "Why don't I go inside and make you some lemonade? You look hot."

"Don't bother. I don't have time to be sociable today."

She gazed at him steadily. "You're really mad at me, aren't you? You've given me the deep freeze ever since Liz's party."

"Is there any particular reason why I shouldn't?"

"Dash, I'm not Janie. There wasn't any reason for you to turn into Father Avenger."

She had uttered the statement mildly, but his temper immediately flared. "I turned into your friend is what I did. You were smearing yourself all over that boy like a bitch in heat. It was one of the most disgusting things I ever saw in my life. And I don't even know why I bothered to stop you. I'll bet he was on the phone to you that same night, and you were in bed with him by morning."

"It was a little later than that."

He cursed softly, and an emotion that almost seemed like pain furrowed his forehead. "Well, you got what you wanted, didn't you? I just hope you're ready to live with yourself knowing you gave it away

so cheap."

"That's not what I meant. I meant that he didn't call me that night. He called me the next day. But I haven't gone out with him."

"Now why is that? I'm surprised that somebody so anxious to explore life's mysteries didn't just get right down to it."

"Please. Don't be so mad." She tried to curb her tongue, but a devil inside prodded her on. "I wanted to talk to you about it first."

He snatched off his hat and slapped it against the side of his jeans, sending up a puff of dust. "No. Uh-uh. I'm not going to turn into your damn sex therapist."

As if she had moved outside her body and was standing on the side observing, she heard herself say,

"Liz told me I should go to bed with him."

His eyes narrowed and he slammed his hat back on his head. "Oh, she did, did she? Now why am I not surprised? The way I remember it, she was pretty free with her favors, too."

"What a rotten thing to say. As if you weren't?"

"That doesn't have the slightest thing to do with it."

"You make me sick." Turning on her heel, she stomped away.