One To Watch (Fantasy Heights) (6 page)

Once she’d let go and closed her arms around his neck, he subsided into one of the chairs and gave his verdict. “That was pretty good.”

She pressed her face into his neck and nipped at his skin. Pretty good, indeed.

Minutes slipped past as they sat, still joined, murmuring and willfully oblivious, when a discrete clearing of the throat reminded them where they were and returned them, reluctantly, to reality.

Jerod. Their observer, who was being remarkably diplomatic, all things considered. She was breaking three different conduct rules at the moment. Lingering with a client. Favoritism. Forcing a greatly outnumbered observer into a precarious security situation.

She looked up at him. He had his back to the wall, glowering at the crowd. He’d slung her dress over one shoulder.

“Sorry,” she told him. Then to Neil: “We better go.”

Neil leaned over to snag her dress. “My fault.”

Jerod made a ‘forget about it’ gesture. “No big. Just don’t tell Kara you left that dress on the floor. We’re all too young to die.”

She laughed, and Neil scoffed, nipping her neck once before placing her onto unsteady feet. Luckily for her, the dress was as easy to put on as it was to take off.

She broke yet another rule by walking Neil to his car. All the way there, she argued with herself that it would be wrong to ask him about Thomas. Yes, she really needed to talk to the man, and yes, she was really hurt and annoyed that he hadn’t called her back. But that was no excuse to impose on Neil.

She bit her tongue and sent him on his way with a smile.

Later, at home, she slipped into bed and straight to sleep, only to be wrested awake the next morning by Beverly again, this time to warn that her appointment with Dr. Carpenter had been bumped forward two hours. She had only half an hour to get conscious and showered and clear over to the other side of town for her psych evaluation.

She made it, but barely, wearing coral-colored capris, a white tank top and the most frivolous kitten-heel sandals ever conceived. Iced coffee clutched lovingly in one hand, she walked into chaos. Dr. Carpenter’s usually serene lobby teemed with people. Some wore Fantasy Heights security uniforms. They were outnumbered by performers and staff, among them Ben, Ridley, Beverly, Marla and Josh.

In the middle of them all stood the mousy Dr. Donna Carpenter, looking very much like a faded sepia photograph cast into a sea of Van Goghs. Her pale brown hair and petite, podgy build disappeared against the larger-than-life types. But when she raised her voice, the whole room stilled.

“Shoo. All of you. We’ll release the last three names as soon as I’ve finished their threat assessments.”

The good doctor did not look happy, and Amanda could sympathize. She’d always hated firing people. It had been her least favorite part of the bank management job. Of course, she’d never fired two groups of three people each, one right after the other. Kind of a strange way to do things.

Then again, maybe not. If Neil had been right that they meant to fire the existing head of resort security, a certain amount of finesse might be needed.

One way or another, they’d all find out soon enough, she figured. She forced a smile onto her face as she spotted Josh making his way over. He said, “Hey, stranger. How you been?”

Oh help, she thought. She wanted to blurt it all out about Fiona and the Internet search. Explain she’d felt she had no other choice than to pry into his past. But bringing up his late wife would hurt him. She knew it would. And she just couldn’t do it. What was she supposed to say? “Hey, I’m sure you don’t like to be reminded, but I wanted to say I was real sorry about that whole murdered wife thing. That had to suck, huh?”

No way. Not today. Maybe never, unless she could dream up the right way to approach him.

The kiss she pressed to his cheek lingered longer than ought to have. She sent up a very short prayer that Josh had made peace where his wife was concerned. “I’m great,” she told him. “Everything good with you?”

A smile radiated from his dark eyes, focused on her. “Yeah. Busy, though. You up next with the doc?”

She nodded. “Monthly check to pinpoint the location of lost marbles. And speaking of lost marbles, I don’t suppose you’ve seen my dear trainer anywhere around, have you?”

“Nah, he’s been gone all week. I don’t think he’s due back until later this afternoon.”

His brows were up, as if he were surprised she didn’t know.

Half a second before she’d quite worked up the courage to ask how she’d know anything at all about Thomas, Dr. Carpenter hustled her away, and into the green leather chair before her desk. “Sorry about that. Now. Tell me about the wedding.”

Amanda stared. She couldn’t remember mentioning it at their last session.

“Oh, don’t look that way. Steph told me Thomas and Josh allowed you to think it was your idea to invite them.”

“They didn’t… I mean… Well okay, maybe they did. But it helped to have them there. A lot.”

“How did it go?”

Amanda gave a painfully honest account, and the doctor did that annoying thing she always did, humming and nodding, then changing the subject.

“Any issues with the dismissals?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really think much about them, except to wonder who was leaving, and why they had to go. I mean, I know how diligent we have to be about the physical exams. I guess I just don’t understand how someone could fail a psych exam.”

The doctor tapped the end of a pen against her blotter. “You know, I’ve been here almost thirty years, and I’ve seen hundreds of people come and go. One thing I’ve learned is that people’s reasons for leaving don’t matter. The reasons they stay, on the other hand… Believe it or not, it’s never the sex that keeps the best performers here for any length of time.”

“I suppose not,” Amanda said. “Though I was thinking the other day. Worrying, actually, whether there’s any sort of technique I could learn to keep my head when I’m really aroused. Thomas can turn it on and off like a switch. How does he do that? And does anybody else worry about this stuff?”

The doctor smiled. “Only the interesting ones. Generally speaking, practice is the best way to gain a foothold over body chemistry. Give it another month or so. If you’re still having trouble, we’ve had luck with certain therapies.”

“Like what?”

“We’ll discuss that another time. I’ll need you to take a follow-up exam on the computer now. I’d rather have coffee and just talk, but I’ve got worlds to destroy.”

Amanda cringed sympathetically and went into the smaller office next door to finish up. She hurried through the test, answering the same way she always did, and on her way out, nearly ran headlong into Robert Warnous on his way in.

Up close, his age definitely showed. Lots of sun damage. Undoubtedly a lot of drug use, too. He looked haggard as he hurried past, though not without a long, lascivious stare at her legs.

Slimeball. What did Steph see in that guy? Star-struck, probably.

Too bad. Amanda would like to grab him by his faded black shirtfront, shake him, and then insist he get his son away from that buck-ass-crazy ex-wife of his. Not that he was any improvement as far as parents went. Poor kid.

She steamed about it during the drive home. No one had ever called to follow up on her complaint, and there was no sign of Gail or the boy all the rest of that day while the security company trailed in and out of the townhouse. This time, they measured and installed a couple components, but wouldn’t activate the system until an electrician could check the wiring.

While they worked, she sat in her office drawn, inexorably as a moth, back to the search results. She read the article over and over again, wondering why Fiona Cornell had put her onto the hunt. What did she gain by stirring up Josh’s past?

Amanda looked at Kay’s picture and clicked around through other articles until she found a picture of Simon Dixon, the confessed murderer. Nothing familiar about him. A mining executive about the same age as his victim. Handsome, but unremarkable.

She clicked around some more to see if the federal agent who’d died was pictured anywhere. Strange, how none of the articles ever named him. No specific agency ever mentioned, either, only ‘federal law enforcement.’ Very odd. And no amount of digging ever resolved what had become of the agent who’d been ‘gravely injured.’ The closest she came was an address for memorial donations.

Now more frustrated than ever, she roamed the house, wishing Thomas would call. She hadn’t forgotten what her mystery client had said about him, and how hot water got hotter every time she asked questions.

What did that mean? The only person she’d ever questioned was Josh. Who’d snubbed her. And repeated what she said to Thomas. Had Josh told someone else? Why would he do that? And why was it such a big deal?

Something had to give, soon. She couldn’t go on like this.

It soothed her nerves somewhat when the security crew plastered stickers on her windows and planted a sign in her front yard announcing her home now boasted an alarm system. Even better, a few hours more and she’d finally be able to tell Thomas off for not returning her call. They were due on set together late that evening. Several coworkers had requested her and Thomas for a savage seduction fantasy. She would play one of the captives at the mercy of Thomas and all those staffers. Nerve-wracking, to say the least. She was starting to fret when she walked into the greenroom to find Thomas waiting for her, cellphone pressed to his ear, and still in street clothes. He looked angry. Cold.

Fantastic, she thought. He was all sharp edges already. Forget telling him about Fiona or Gail—she probably wouldn’t make it much past hello without a fight.

Typically contrary, Thomas proved her wrong. He waved her in, doing this thing with his eyes and eyebrows that told her more distinctly than words that he was sorry. Genuinely sorry.

Not that she forgave him entirely, but she did allow herself to be pulled up close to his side and kept there by one long, lean, finely muscled arm. He looked down at her, still frowning, though his eyes had gone distant again while he concentrated on his phone conversation.

He listened a while longer before saying anything. “Keep me posted. I gotta go.”

He thumbed the
end
button and pocketed his phone. Focused on her now, he started out with a simple, “Hi.”

“Hey. Were you late getting back or something? Why are you still in civvies?”

“Yeah, late. How was your week?”

She clasped her arms around his waist. He rearranged them so that his hands could wander, cupping her buttocks and hauling her up against a solid, warm wall of muscular, tempestuous persuasion.

“Quit,” she scolded. “Save it for the set. And my week was fine, thank you for asking. Quiet, mostly, with a few interesting bits. How was yours?”

“Not quiet.”

The way he said it rang a few alarm bells. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. For one thing, I had a talk with Ben.”

“Oh, Jeez. Why do you two let Ridley get away with this diva nonsense? She doesn’t intimidate me, and the jealousy thing is ridiculous.”

He stared down at her, eyes sweeping from her eyes to her mouth. Her nerves began to hop, and then made her yelp when the greenroom door whipped open.

Jerod, the young security guy Neil had pointed out, poked his head through. He nodded at her but spoke to Thomas. “Sorry. You gotta come. He’s not going quietly.”

“Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

Jerod withdrew again leaving Thomas to explain. “Firing people sucks.”

“But you can’t go anywhere. We’re due on set in ten minutes.”

“No, you and the staff mob are due on set in ten minutes. Technically, I’ve got more than twenty before I join in. Plenty of time for me to convince that corrupt old fart he needs to leave before I drag him face-first through the parking lot and drop-kick him onto the highway.”

She blinked. Presumably, the corrupt old fart in question was the soon-to-be-former head of security. “Wow. Okay. No love lost there, I see, but what’s the deal? Jerod has the entire security department to back him up. Why does he need you?”

Thomas stared harder than ever, hard enough to make her squirm.

She couldn’t take much more. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Lots of things. See you on set.”

She held her hands up, sending him on his way with an annoyed, incredulous look as he hurried after Jerod.

What the hell was going on around here, lately? What was it with Thomas and her mystery client? Why did she always seem to be left in a trail of their shadowy, inexplicable dust?

“Whatever,” she grumbled, though with some genuine venom. She’d come to this place to reclaim her power. Feel desirable again, and restore a sense of control over her life. Instead, she seemed to burden herself with people determined to make her feel even more clueless and out of control.

She sighed, and despite everything, a concrete determination set in. She had to be practical. Her paycheck was great and getting better all the time. No other job she was likely to get any time soon would provide the type of financial opportunities this place could. And the sex was amazing, it went without saying. Turned out she really liked acting, too, and she had aspirations of becoming a headliner who could develop her own scripts and call her own shots.

She had every reason in the world to stay at Fantasy Heights. Okay, so some of her coworkers kept the challenge knob cranked to eleven, but it was her own dang fault if she let them control her fate.

She stripped off robe and slippers, running the very loose script through her mind while she headed on set. This one had been in use for years, one of the older savage seduction rooms that Thomas rarely used anymore but was still a favorite. The walls were lined with wood to resemble a ship’s hull. The room also had a ‘humbler platform’ as everyone called it. Amanda walked across the empty set to have a closer look. She’d never played a captive before, and had never used the apparatus. It was a wide, tall bench with a padded bar on top.

She climbed up to kneel on the bench, then slid forward a ways until the padded roll pressed against her hipbones. Later, once she was restrained on the device, she’d have to lean over the roll and have her hands cuffed to the wall. She’d be stuck in that pose, on her knees, bottom stuck out behind her in a particularly accessible fashion, breasts hanging out in the open, subject to all manner of play.