Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) (14 page)

She had always seen past the frustrations and emotions that had prematurely etched lines in his face. Now, as he brought his mouth to hers, he resembled the Alex Brannon she had always seen with her heart.

The intervening years between their first kiss on the mountain and this one fell away along with her inhibitions. Burying her fingers in the thick, honey-gold silk of his hair, Faith welcomed his hands and his lips, her body responding in ways she never would have known at eighteen.

Through his clothing, she felt the hardness and heat of him. The hands that had been so calloused from working in an auto body shop were only slightly less so now, and his caresses left her craving more intimate contact. Her thighs fell apart in silent invitation, and Zander responded by cupping her nearly bare mound.

Her backside and head pressed into the padded table while her torso rose to meet Zander’s mouth. His lips closed around her nipple, drawing it to a sharper point as the longest finger of his right hand sought the softest, most sensitive spot behind her bacon strip. Zander’s long, leisured strokes generated lubrication slicker than oil, and he massaged it into the firm pink pearl under the heel of his palm.

Faith’s mouth opened wide, her eyes closed and her abdomen rose and fell dramatically as Zander’s finger explored further, dipping inside her as he continued his intimate massage.

The gentle pinch of his lips and the soft nibble of his teeth at her breasts worked in concert with the motion of his right hand. He knew he’d found the spot he was looking for when she issued a ragged groan and clutched at him, one of her hands clamping around his wrist. Not to stop him, but to urge him on.

Hunching over her, the muscles of his right arm hard, he used his left hand to push her right breast closer to her left, enabling him to lap both her nipples at once. One long, hungry draw sent her into hip-bucking pleasure that left her thighs quivering and her slick tunnel constricting around his finger.

Zander withdrew and hopped off the end of the table. In one strong motion, he took Faith by her hips, tugged her bottom to the edge of the table, and raised her pelvis. He sank between her thighs and sampled her sweet earthiness, lifting her just enough to make sure that his tongue explored every part of her slippery seam. Faith gasped in shock and delight. No man had ever explored her so fully, so boldly, subjecting her to sensations that continued to escalate. When Zander covered her again to kiss her, his mouth tasted of the oil he had applied to her along with her own unique flavor.

She had never given herself so freely, so openly to a stranger.

But then, the man in her arms wasn’t a stranger. He paraded the streets as Zander Baron, but his touch was that of Alex Brannon, the man her heart had known, had kept alive.

He smoothed her hair from her face and used his thumbs to wipe perspiration off her brow while waiting for her breathing to return to normal. “I missed you,” he whispered, his simple confession giving her soul the same pleasure he’d given her body.

“I mourned you,” she responded.

He had the decency to look guilty, which made it easier for Faith to release the remnants of her anger.

“I can’t write a story about you,” she said.

“I’ll give you the interview,” he told her. “I was just being an ass—”

“I can’t write it,” she repeated, running her fingers along his cheek. “Not after this. It wouldn’t be right.”

“No one would know about this,” Zander assured her.

“Someone always finds out.” She smiled. “Brent probably knows already. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To seduce me? To tempt me into keeping Zander Baron’s big stupid secret?”

He phrased his answer carefully. “I came here because you were here. Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you from the second I saw you at the press conference.”

“
Personality!
will assign your story to someone else. Sooner or later, the truth about you is going to come out. Don’t you think it would be better if the story came from
you
? Hiding behind Zander Baron won’t keep—”

“I’m not hiding,” he said brusquely.

“What do you call it, then?”

“I’m working under a stage name,” he lamely explained, looking at a spot between her eyes rather than into them. “A lot of people have done it. Paul Hewson, William Broad, Gordon Sumner…”

“Bono, Billy Idol and Sting changed their names for their art, not to hide from their past lives.” She shifted from beneath him. Pressing close together, they lay on their sides, one of her legs between his.

“It’s just a name,” he insisted gently. “What difference does it make?”

“It makes all the difference,” she said. “There were times when we were kids when I thought I’d die if I didn’t get out of Booger Hollow. But once I left, I actually started to miss the place. It wasn’t perfect, it still isn’t, but it’s my hometown. It’s where I’m from, and it helped make me who I am today. I’m proud of where I’m from, and I’m damn proud of how far from that I’ve come. You should be proud, too, Alex. You don’t have to hide who you are behind Zander Baron.”

“I’m still the same guy who fell in love with you when—”

“Neither of us is the same,” she cut in. “Obviously, we still have certain feelings for each other, but we don’t know each other the way we used to.”

“We can change that,” he said.

“Yeah? How?”

He responded with a lazy, sexy half smile that was all Alex Brannon, and it took Faith back to a secluded mountain lookout beneath the sun-kissed, cloudless skies of Booger Hollow, West Virginia, where she had found her first love.

Chapter 7

Zander’s cell phone rang just as he exited his trailer. His artfully distressed wifebeater, part of his wardrobe for his role in
Everyday Achilles
as a struggling single father at war with drug dealers, offered little protection from the chilly wind etching new patterns in the desert sand.

The scene he was about to film was set in July. Temperatures in Death Valley climbed as high as 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer, so early spring was a much friendlier time to shoot. Computer graphics engineers would add the heat elements later, but for right now, Zander was chilled.

He warmed considerably, however, after he answered the phone.

“How did it go yesterday?” Brent offered instead of a hello.

“You should have waited around,” Zander said, following the bundled electric cables leading to the filming location.

“You were in there with her for over an hour,” Brent said. “I had things to do.”

“She’s dropping the piece,” Zander told him. “She thinks she put herself in a compromising position—”

“That’s the best kind,” Brent said.

“It wasn’t like that. Not exactly.”

“However it was, thank God, you got her to back off. The poor thing probably didn’t know what hit her,” Brent laughed lightly.

“She knew,” Zander said. “She returned fire, and her weapons are better than mine.”

“I’m just glad that sword isn’t hanging over your head anymore. Mind if I ask what you said to her?”

“I invited her to dinner tomorrow night.”

A beat of silence. Then, “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“Fawnskin.”

Brent groaned. “Zander, I can’t see anything positive coming from getting yourself in deeper with this woman. She’s backing off, for now, but the more she gets from you, the more likely everything you say and do will become material for
Pers
—”

Brent was still complaining when Zander disconnected the phone, handed it to a production assistant for safekeeping, and went to his mark prepared to take on a drug kingpin.

* * *

Zander had offered to arrange a car for her, but Faith decided to drive herself to Fawnskin, California, a pretty little resort town in San Bernardino County. She wanted her own vehicle at her disposal, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

She liked long drives, and the ninety-mile trip was relaxing. As she drove the picturesque route, she recalled the way her father often stood on their back patio in Booger Hollow, surveying his five-acre spread at the base of Kayford Mountain. “God made West Virginia,” he would proclaim, breathing deeply of the fresh mountain air.

On His day off
, Faith thought now, basking in the glorious vistas before her as her sensible compact gobbled up the miles between Pomona and San Bernardino. She loved the mountains back home and in the west, but California also offered hundreds of miles of coastland and desert plains to explore. The first time she had hiked Muir Woods and stood breathless at the base of a giant redwood that had taken root when the Romans reigned, she knew that she was home, that California was the place for her. The state overwhelmed her with its natural beauty, its diverse population and all the levels of excitement it offered, from star sightings at the Los Angeles Farmer’s Market to the occasional earthquake.

When Big Bear Lake came into view, Faith knew she was getting close to Zander’s house. She had never been to Fawnskin, yet a sense of muted excitement and eagerness energized her. It was the deep familiarity she felt every time she’d gone back to Dorothy after leaving for college. As much as she’d disliked Dorothy in high school, she’d come to love it as an adult, because it was where her parents were, because it was home. Alex’s presence in Fawnskin gave the small mountain that same feeling.

The beauty of the sunlight toasting the silvery-blue surface of the lake added to the excitement she tried hard to restrain. In the weeks since seeing Alex at the press conference, all she had wanted to do was spend more time with him. She had traded his story for the chance to revisit their history, but Faith believed she had done the right thing. She hoped Alex would do the right thing, too, not for a story or for her, but for himself.

She turned off Rim of the World Scenic Byway onto Seminole Drive. The blind driveway at the intersection of Seminole and North Shore Drive was the one she sought. Her heart began throwing itself against the wall of her chest as she carefully guided her car up the winding, tree-lined path to a two-story A-frame nestled in a shady grove of towering fir and poplar trees.

The dominant feature of the house was the A-frame, its tall, wide windows and French doors offering incredible views of Big Bear Lake and the mountains beyond it. Faith pulled her car as far to the left side of the driveway as she could, parking in the shade of a black cottonwood tree behind a silver sports car that looked like something from a sci-fi flick. Before she had taken the key from the ignition, the front door of the house opened and Zander ambled out in his bare feet, jeans and a T-shirt.

Faith couldn’t tell if he was glad to see her or if he had reservations about an invitation delivered in the heat of a thrilling moment. She grabbed her satchel and cardigan from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. Zander took her left elbow, tugged her to him, and gave her a sweet kiss on her forehead.

“You made it,” he said, relief evident in his tone and posture.

“It was an easy drive,” she said. “And your directions were excellent.” He took her satchel while she draped her cardigan over her arm. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“It’s a long way from that damn trailer in Booger Hollow, that’s for sure,” he mumbled.

“Your house is gorgeous, Alex,” Faith said. “It looks as though the mountain gave birth to it.”

“It’s Ponderosa pine, inside and out,” he said proudly. “And it’s all mine. It was the first thing I bought after I signed my multi-picture deal with Swirl Productions.”

“I thought you lived in L.A. or Bel Air,” Faith said.

“I have an apartment in L.A., but I only use it when I’m filming,” he explained. “I spend my off time here.”

“Away from all the hustle and bustle. No wonder it’s so hard to get shots of you out and about.”

“If you want to be seen and photographed in L.A., everyone knows which spots to go to,” Zander said. “All those punks you see shielding their faces from the paparazzi know what they’re gonna get when they shop on Rodeo Drive or have dinner at Mr. Chow’s. I avoid those places.”

“Because you don’t want to be recognized,” Faith said.

“Well, it worked until you came along.” He slid an arm around her waist when the front door opened before them.

“Miss Wheeler,” Brent said, coming outside. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Faith cut an annoyed glance at Zander.

“Brent was just leaving,” Zander said firmly.

“Of course,” Brent agreed. “I can take a hint.”

“If you could take a hint, you would have waited until Monday to give me the screenplays you wanted me to read instead of driving all the way out here this morning,” Zander chided.

“I’m just looking out for my favorite client,” Brent replied.

“You wanted to make sure that I came alone,” Faith said.

“You’ve got me all wrong, Miss Wheeler,” Brent said, backing toward the silver, bullet-shaped car. “I wanted to see if you would actually come at all.”

Faith’s hand reflexively tightened around Zander’s.

“Drive safely,” Zander advised, hoping to avoid a confrontation between Faith and Brent. “And slow down.”

“What kind of car is that?” Faith asked, taking a few steps toward it.

“A Fleming Viper.” Brent put on his Oliver Goldsmith sunglasses and struck the classic Speed Racer pose at the side of his car. Dressed in a cashmere turtleneck and worsted wool trousers, all in black, the talent agent resembled a secret agent circa
The Man From U.N.C.L.E
. “The company only made forty of them. It hits sixty from stop in 3.2 seconds with a top speed of 205 miles per hour. It’s got a 6.0 liter V-12 engine. That’s a 650 horsepower—”

“Yet it took you almost three hours to get here,” Zander cut in.

“I didn’t want to get ticketed,” Brent said. “Again. See you kids later. Stay out of trouble.”

Brent got into his car, eased it down the driveway and gave a short wave before turning out of sight.

“That car must have cost a fortune,” Faith said.

“About 700 G’s,” Zander said.

“I’d never spend that kind of money on a car.”

“Neither would Brent. He’s got the Fleming Viper on loan for three days from the set of one of his clients. And I can see that you’re not into investing in cars.” Zander patted the sun-faded red roof of Faith’s Camry. “I’m kind of impressed that you’re still driving this thing.”

“It’ll be eleven years in June,” Faith smiled. “You said it yourself, Alex. The Camry is a good car. It had its first oil change at Brody’s. I still have the little sticker Mr. Brody put on it, reminding me to get the oil changed every three thousand miles.”

Alex peeped at the odometer. “Seventy thousand miles? That’s it? Even so seems you would have upgraded by now.”

“Look, entertainment reporting is more glamorous than lucrative,” Faith said. “That car Brent drove off in is worth about eighteen times what I earn in a year. I made more money at the
L.A. Times
than I do at
Personality!
I traded the national byline for a few bucks. It’s worth it. I mostly drove this car from Dorothy to New York City when I was at school. You don’t really need a car to get around in NYC. Unlike L.A. As long as this thing keeps passing California emissions tests, I’ll keep driving it. Besides…I love this car. My car and my furniture have traveled from job to job with me, like faithful old friends.”

He shook his head. “You’re too sentimental.”

“You’re not sentimental enough.”

Zander let the remark pass without comment. “Come on inside and see the rest of the place.”

Zander got the door for her, and he closed it once she had entered the foyer, which opened into a great room with a twenty-four-foot vaulted ceiling. A deep fireplace centered within a roughly hewn stone framework enhanced the room’s stylishly rustic charm.

She followed Zander to the kitchen, which seemed small, but was completely modernized and opened into the dining section of the great room.

Proudly, Zander took her through the three large spare bedrooms, a storage room and a bathroom on the upper floor. Two bedrooms had views of the mountains, the third looked out on Zander’s two-bedroom guest house. Faith was impressed by the skylights and solar panels that had been installed throughout the house to provide light, heat and clean energy.

A two-story sunroom and the master bedroom were on the main floor. One large rectangular skylight above the deep, wide whirlpool tub brightened the master bath. The bathroom had no personal touches other than black bath and hand towels neatly hung over silver warming bars and a bowl of navel oranges propped between the twin basins sunk into the grey marble counter.

She salivated when Zander led her into an adjoining walk-in closet, which was bigger than her entire apartment. When they entered Zander’s bedroom, he seemed bent on rushing her through it.

“Hold on,” Faith said, planting her feet.

Zander shifted from foot to foot and cracked his knuckles, his unease becoming evident as Faith studied the one piece of art she’d seen in his home. Titled “Anna,” the Thierry Ona print pleasantly assaulted Faith’s eyes. A dancer in a blood red dress performed a jeté against a golden sun framed in burnt orange. The dancer’s brown limbs were long and thin, her head and face amorphous. Centered on the wall directly opposite the head of the bed, the print was the first thing Zander saw when he woke up and the last thing before he fell asleep.

“I like it,” Faith said, trying not to read too much into the presence and positioning of the print, though it stood at odds with the long-haired, sullen, outcast biker she had known.

“Brent saw it once and said it looked gay.”

“Have you noticed the way Brent dresses? He’s not exactly a paragon of heterosexual taste.”

“Could we move this tour along now?”

Not quite understanding why Zander was so uncomfortable, Faith let him off the hook. For the time being.

She liked the simple, masculine beauty of Zander’s home. His furnishings were sparse and uniformly practical in every room. The only adornment Faith noticed upon their return to the great room were three square wooden bowls filled with pecans, natural pistachios and walnuts situated on the darkly stained cocktail table in front of the sofa.

Faith had been most impressed by the studio tucked between the upstairs bedrooms. One wall was mirrored, the adjacent wall offering a heart-stopping view of the lake and mountains. Stained panels of solid Ponderosa pine covered the two remaining walls. A corner shelving unit housed a sound system, a flat-screen television, a wooden bowl heaped with bananas and apples, and neat rows of bottled water.

Faith instantly fell in love with the bright warmth of the room. Tossing her cardigan into a corner, she centered herself in a patch of sunlight in the middle of the room. Faith did what came naturally whenever she found herself standing before a large mirror. She struck first position.

Zander, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, watched Faith’s transformation with slack-jawed adoration. She straightened her spine and tucked in her pelvis, lifted her chin, and squared her shoulders. The heels of her white slip-on Keds touching, she turned her feet outward in a straight line. Her arms formed graceful arcs, her hands, palms up, elegantly positioned at her upper thighs.

With her hair twisted into a loose knot, her white scoop-neck T-shirt gave Zander an unencumbered view of her slender neck and collarbones. She moved from first position to second, third, fourth and fifth, her feet and arms shifting smoothly, lyrically. Her body seemed to tell a story as she brought her arms close to her chest, delicately folding them, and slowly bent forward, raising her left leg until she was in a full arabesque.