Phoenix Falling (12 page)

If she worked hard enough, maybe her sleep wouldn't be haunted by dreams of Kenzie.

* * *

After removing his makeup and changing into his own clothes, Kenzie collected the rented SUV that was one of his few perks on this production, and roared away from the desolate canyon where they were shooting. How the devil was he going to survive two months of this? A single day had gone by, and already his nerves were frayed to the point where it was hard to be civil to Rainey. He would continue because he'd given his word—but he hated to think what kind of shape he'd be in by the end of shooting.

Driving through the open countryside soothed him. Since arriving in New Mexico several days earlier, he'd spent every spare moment exploring, from rugged mountain peaks to hidden lakes, solitary meadows to dramatic ski slopes that teemed with people during the snow season. He'd stopped for coffee in a truck stop with an espresso machine, visited Indian ruins and modern pueblos. He'd even found a bed-and-breakfast establishment carved into a rocky escarpment, like the homes of ancient cliff dwellers. The place had so intrigued him that he'd booked it for Saturday night, so he'd have the experience of sleeping inside stone.

He wanted to absorb everything, because New Mexico spoke to him, even the barren canyon where they were filming. He'd visited areas of Arizona that looked similar, but they'd felt different. New Mexico had a spare, clear energy unlike anything he'd ever experienced. If forced to describe his reaction, he'd have to say this land touched his soul. A pity the whole movie wasn't being shot here.

About two more hours until dark. That should be enough to get him into balance, at least for tonight. He turned right onto a minor road, hardly more than a trail.

Which was worse, playing John Randall or being around Rainey? At the moment, Rainey was worse, he decided. For a novice director, she was doing well, authoritative without being intimidating, and clear about what she wanted. She was also an actor's director, inviting comments and collaboration when a scene was being developed. Her earnestness and passionate commitment entranced him as they always had.

No wonder his mind was flooded with memories.

* * *

The Scarlet Pimpernel
was a lavish production with a large cast, and it had required five solid months of shooting in France and England. During production, he and Rainey maintained their pact not to become lovers, though it became harder and harder. The filmed passion was real, not feigned, and more than once he'd almost asked her to carry what started on the set to its natural conclusion in private.

Yet he didn't. Not only was there a perverse pleasure in denial when they both knew it was only a matter of time until they came together, but they were learning so much about each other. The pressures of making a movie tended to strip away facades and show an actor's real temperament. Rainey, he discovered, had a bone-deep sense of fair play, and good temper even under grinding stress. Though she was often intense, she also had an irresistible sense of humor.

He particularly liked the courtesy and consideration that were as natural to her as breathing. The crew members worshipped her. Though he abhorred prima donna behavior, got along well with coworkers, and was famous for the generosity of the crew gifts he gave during shooting, he would never have Rainey's relaxed, natural friendliness. He always stood two steps apart from the normal world.

Except with Rainey. He couldn't imagine that there were any similarities in the way they grew up, yet the two of them resonated together.

By the time of the wrap party at the end of production, exhaustion was universal, and emotions flowed as deeply as the champagne. Moviemaking transformed cast and crew into a temporary family, though sometimes a highly dysfunctional one. Since
Pimpernel
had been a good shoot, with few major blowups and considerable satisfaction, the knowledge that the family was about to be broken up produced teary farewell hugs even between people who'd occasionally threatened to throttle one another.

He and Rainey had exchanged a few smoldering glances across the London restaurant hired for the party, but he didn't try to approach her until the party was well advanced. Halfway across the room, he was intercepted by the director. Gomolko hugged him exuberantly. "You were everything I hoped for and more, Kenzie. You're the best damned Sir Percy ever."

Not fond of being hugged by men, Kenzie gently disentangled himself. "You get the credit, Jim. You handled every aspect of the story beautifully, from the romance to the adventure sequences." He and Rainey had had to fight Gomolko to keep the love scenes more evocative than graphic, but things like that were forgotten once the film was in the can. "This will be the definitive
Pimpernel
."

Beaming, Gomolko headed off toward the attractive female production designer to express his thanks for her undeniably brilliant work. Kenzie resumed his course toward Rainey, avoiding eye contact with others so he wouldn't be sidetracked again. He'd said his good-byes, and now she was the only person he wanted.

She greeted him with a dazzling smile despite the circles under her eyes. After her last scene, she'd thrown her hated corset away with a whoop of pleasure, leaving her in Marguerite's lace-trimmed shift. If Kenzie hadn't had one more scene of his own to shoot, he'd have carried her off then.

The dress she wore tonight was shift-like, a flowing green, gauzy fabric that swirled around her ankles when she walked. Stretching out her hand, she said, "I owe you for all of this, Kenzie. Thanks for wanting me in this movie. It's been one of the best experiences of my life."

He wanted to wrap himself around her in an embrace that would make them both weak in the knees. He settled for kissing her hand, as courtly as Sir Percy. "It wasn't only the movie I wanted you for. We had a date for the end of filming. Are you still interested?"

"Oh, yes." Her voice became husky. "But I warn you, what I really want to do is go to bed and sleep for a week."

"What a coincidence. That's close to what I had in mind." He swept her up in his arms and carried her through the restaurant. After a surprised instant, she settled into his embrace, head resting on his shoulder.

Accompanied by hoots and applause from their colleagues, he took her outside to the white limousine he'd ordered. Laughing, Rainey slid across the leather seat. "The modern version of being carried off on a white horse. You have style, Scott."

He cupped her face, admiring the delicate bones and the honesty of her gray-green eyes. Then he pressed his lips to hers. The last five months of kisses had been for the camera. This one was for them—slow, intimate, unhurried.

When they separated, she released her breath in a sigh. "Nice. A necking session. Almost as romantic as when we solemnly exchanged blood tests last month."

"As you said, I have style," he murmured against her throat. Though he wanted her intensely, fatigue had the advantage of muting his desire to the point where he could enjoy the foreplay without wanting to rip her clothes off. There would be time enough for that later.

They had reached London City Airport before Rainey broke free long enough to stare out the window. "What on earth are we doing here?"

"Flying back to California."

"But I haven't packed! I don't even have my passport."

"Don't worry, I suborned Emmy. All your things are waiting for us."

Rainey fell back onto the white leather seat, laughing. "I'm being abducted! What a fabulous way to end a job. I trust we're flying first class?"

"Better than that."

Kenzie's assistant was highly efficient, and the arrangements for this escape had been planned meticulously. As they approached the private jet, Rainey's eyes rounded like saucers. "Kenzie, do you own this plane?"

"Yes and no. I own a couple of shares in a network of private jets. When a shareowner wants to fly somewhere, the network arranges to have a plane available."

They climbed the steps and entered a cabin arranged as a comfortable lounge. A flight attendant approached and said with a musical French accent, "Monsieur Scott, Mademoiselle Marlowe. I am Rochelle. May I get you anything?"

He traded glances with Rainey, who was drooping under his arm. "We both just want to go to bed and sleep until somewhere around Boston."

"Of course, Monsieur. I shall tell the captain it is time to depart. As soon as the seat belt light goes off, you may retire."

As Rochelle went forward into the cockpit, Rainey said, "There's a bed?"

He nodded toward the wall behind them as he sat down in the deep leather lounge chair and fastened his seat belt. "There's a nice little bedroom and bathroom back there—I ordered this jet especially for that reason."

She settled into the seat next to him, fastened herself in, then reached for his hand. "This makes first class seem like steerage."

He interlaced his fingers with hers. "Private jets do rather spoil one."

They didn't speak as the jet taxied down the runway and took off. When the plane leveled, Rochelle appeared again and escorted them to the bedroom. "Monsieur, mademoiselle, please ring for me when you are ready for breakfast."

After the door closed, Rainey studied the queen-sized bed, which had a lace-trimmed satin comforter and mounds of pillows, vases of roses secured in wall brackets, and plush scarlet carpeting. "It's a flying bordello."

He grinned. "But a very high-class one."

She smothered a yawn. "I wasn't kidding about needing to sleep."

"Agreed. But won't it be nice to sleep together?" He nodded to the door behind them. "There should be a nightgown waiting. You wash up first and go to bed."

"I'll be asleep by the time you join me."

"Not to worry. Sixty seconds later I'll be sleeping as well." He turned off all of the lamps except for a dim night-light, suddenly so tired that he ached.

Rainey emerged from the bathroom in the cream-colored silk negligee he'd bought for her. With her fine features and tumbling apricot hair, she was a sight to raise dead men from their tombs. Yawning again, she slid into the bed. "I can't believe you coordinated the nightgown with the bedding."

"Anything worth doing is worth doing well." Removing his gaze from her with difficulty, he went into the bathroom and stripped off his clothing, not bothering with pajamas since he didn't own a pair.

As promised, her breathing was slow and regular when he climbed into the bed beside her, but she turned toward him drowsily. Soft and female, hair scented with rosemary, she fit into his arms as if they were two halves of one whole. He gave a deep sigh of release as layers of stress slowly fell away and... Rainey...

* * *

He awoke hours later when she rolled onto her back and stretched like a cat. The comforter slid down to her waist, revealing the flex of her lithe body under the negligee. "I feel remarkably rested. How long since we left London?"

He glanced at the wall clock. "About five hours."

She propped her head up and regarded him thoughtfully. "How awake are you feeling?"

"Quite." He didn't move.

Their gazes locked. "Strange," she whispered. "I've been looking forward to this for months. I've had crazed, lustful dreams of ravishing you or vice versa. Now that we're finally together—I feel shy."

"So do I." He hesitated. "I want everything to be perfect, and that's impossible."

"Lovemaking doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real." She leaned forward until their lips touched, soft and sweet.

The passion he'd been banking for so long flared into life. They'd learned much about each other's bodies while filming. He knew the texture of her silky skin, the curve of her shoulder, her individual scent, provocatively female.

Yet all that was mere prelude to joining physically and emotionally. They explored each other's bodies with increasing intimacy, learning rhythms and signals with startling swiftness, building desire into searing mutual fulfillment.

Until, in the end, it was perfect
and
real.

Afterward they lay in each other's arms for a long time, not needing to speak. His mind drifted, refusing to think of past or future, wishing he could stay in the present forever. "This was worth waiting for."

"Yes—but I'm glad we didn't wait any longer. I might have succumbed to spontaneous human combustion." She nuzzled his throat. "There's something powerfully erotic about being surrounded by jet vibrations."

"Vibrations, vibrators. Surely there's a connection."

"What a wicked thought. I'm sure you're right." She trailed her hand over his torso. "I'm glad you don't shave your chest like some actors do."

He cupped her breast. "And I'm glad these are soft and real, not improbable silicone."

"I considered implants, but decided that if I couldn't get work on my acting ability, the silicone wouldn't make much difference."

"Anyone can augment a body, but few people can match your talent."

"You certainly know the best kind of compliment." She grinned. "Isn't there a saying that a man should compliment beautiful women on their brains, and brainy women on their physical attractiveness?"

"Since you have both, does that mean I can't compliment you at all?"