Celluloid Memories (20 page)

“You didn't have to stay all night. I would have been fine.”

“I couldn't leave.”

Her head came up and she looked at him, almost fully alert, but her eyes soft and questioning. “Why?”

He squeezed her hand. “You had a death grip on my hand.”

“Oh.” She tried to pull free.

He held on.

She looked at him. “Was that the only thing keeping you here?”

He stared back. “No, it wasn't. To be honest, I think I was afraid to leave. You might not let me back in.”

A vague smile played around her mouth, making her look incredibly sexy. “You didn't kiss me good night. I missed that.”

McCoy's stomach roiled. He recognized it as instant desire. “I can rectify that.”

But she continued to stare at him. “I want to know what happened, Mac. Because I thought…”

He touched his hand to her mouth and silently shushed her. Then he gently turned her face up as he bent to kiss her.

“You will. But not now.”

He made no pretense when his lips pressed onto hers. He was ready and she was willing. Their mouths opened against one another and the response was mutual and charged. Savannah rolled closer to him, her slim body undulating against him with a sleepy sensuality that rushed heat and blood to his groin and made him erect.

Savannah's mouth was soft and giving, and the kiss alone sent a wave of dizzying need through his body. He wanted to get closer. He wanted to feel her breasts beneath him, her soft thighs around him and himself inside her. It was so primal that McCoy was shaken by the intensity.

Savannah slipped her hand beneath his shirt to play her fingers on his chest. The tiny tips of his nipples were hard. She helped him shrug the shirt off over his head. He did the same with her light sweater but didn't even try to get the dress off. Neither wanted to stop touching long enough. Savannah pulled the dress from her shoulders, wiggled it down her hips and legs and kicked it off. She rolled onto her back, arched upward and unsnapped her bra. McCoy pulled it free and dropped it to the floor.

He bent forward to suckle a breast, rolling his tongue over the sensitive nipple of one and then the other as Savannah's chest heaved against him, and she moaned deep in her throat. She arched her back and groaned when his hand dug inside her panties and his warm fingers found the liquid opening, rubbing along the tender folds with a slow exquisite movement that had Savannah rocking her pelvis rhythmically against the source of her pleasure.

“Ooohhh, Mac. Yes…”

With his free hand, McCoy awkwardly worked his slacks open, and managed to pull his legs free. He gave his full attention back to Savannah in time to know that she was about to break, her fingers gripping his arms and shoulders as the tension increased in the deepest part of her body. He kissed her again, deeply, their tongues dancing together. He absorbed the panting sounds of her release as he continued to use his fingers to stimulate her tumultuous ride.

Savannah was breathing hard, her body loose and soft. McCoy didn't give her time to completely come down. Knowing she was still sensitive and wet and open, he wanted to catch the waves that rolled within her. He removed her panties, kissing her chest, her belly, as he did so. He lifted his body over her, his knees forcing her legs farther apart, and slid smoothly inside. McCoy gritted his teeth and grunted at the wonderful silky feel of her closing tightly around his penis. Her walls were still pulsing faintly from her first climax, but he began a slow steady thrusting.

Savannah responded, wrapping her legs around his hips and slowly grinding their bodies together. McCoy's hands moved beneath her butt to hold her at the right angle, and they performed a syncopated movement that grew heated and damp and desperate.

Savannah suddenly freed her hands and held them both gently to the side of his face. She kissed his forehead, and stroked his jaw, and held his head against her breasts. McCoy felt like she was offering forgiveness and absolution and the kind of tender love he wasn't sure existed anymore, or that he would ever find. The sweet gesture so moved him that he surged to an explosive release, feeling Savannah's arms holding him close, as if he might otherwise fall into an abyss to his death.

He couldn't have felt more alive.

S
avannah sighed deeply, rolled over and opened her eyes. She was alone in the bed.

She blinked at the ceiling, trying to remember if Mac had really kissed her awake, drawing a sleepy response from her and whispering she was going to be late for work, or if she'd only dreamt it. She still had her watch on from the day before and glanced at the time. She was definitely going to be late if she didn't get out of bed right now.

As she headed for the shower she spotted his jacket and shoes in the living room, and caught a whiff of brewing coffee.

In record time she had showered, returning to the bedroom to find that McCoy had left a cup of coffee on her bureau. She sipped it while she dressed.

He's a keeper,
she thought, surprising herself with the quick assessment.

Back in the bathroom for the last of her preparations, Savannah used her damp towel to wipe away the condensation on the bathroom mirror. She caught her own reflection and thoughtfully studied it. Her eyes were clear and bright despite the celebration the night before and the early-morning bedroom tango with McCoy. That was the image, however, that made her smile—the two of them entwined and going at it with joy and abandon. She
looked
positively content and satisfied. The only thing missing was the purr.

There was no time for a mental replay of the early morning when she and Mac had come to a mostly nonverbal understanding. She could still feel, however, the lovely and physical message he'd left on her body. Her lips looked even fuller from having been kissed, and from having known the full taste of him. Her nipples were still sensitive, as were her inner thighs.

Savannah returned her empty cup to the kitchen. Mac's jacket was still in the living room, but his shoes were missing. She looked through the window and saw him sitting in one of the poolside lounge chairs. He was fully dressed now and seemed to be enjoying his coffee, the peace and quiet and his own thoughts.

Savannah watched him for a moment, suddenly feeling a bit shy. Something had changed between them last night, but she wasn't completely sure what it meant, or where it would lead.

She went out to join him. McCoy glanced over his shoulder at her approach and smiled.

“Good morning.” He held out a hand to her.

She returned the greeting as she took his hand. McCoy gently pulled her closer and slipped his arm around her waist. He not only hugged her that way, but pressed a kiss to her breasts through her linen top. It was such a tender unexpected gesture, and sweetly erotic.

McCoy deftly shifted her and Savannah found herself seated on his lap.

“I can't do that,” she frowned.

“I'll let you know if you're too heavy.”

She sat, gingerly. It wasn't that she doubted the strength of his thighs, or feared appearing coy, but there was something very intimate about the position. And, playful. His arms looped lightly around her waist.

“I'm impressed. You're actually up and dressed in decent time.”

“
I'm
impressed. You're still here,” Savannah chuckled boldly, and then added. “You look so comfortable, sitting out here.”

“I am,” he said quietly. “What time do you have to be at work?”

“Within the hour. I won't be late. And you?”

“I have an eleven o'clock appointment and a lunch meeting at one. I'll call my assistant to double-check.”

“Maybe we should get going,” Savannah said, a little uncertain about what to expect the morning after.

“In a minute. Look, about last night…”

“No explanations needed,” she interrupted quickly, her heart somersaulting over the thought of what he
might
say. “The party was very nice. I owe Kay a big one. This morning here was—”

“Amazing,” McCoy now interrupted.

“Yes, it was,” Savannah agreed almost in a whisper.

“That's what I wanted to say, Vann.” He squeezed her waist, stroked her arm, pecked a little kiss on the side of her neck. “I wanted to tell you how special it was to me.”

Savannah slowly smiled, even though she felt alert and tried to read where McCoy was headed. She nudged her shoulder into his. “Is there something else?”

“God, no. Believe me, I thought of canceling all my appointments and maybe talking you into taking today off so we could spend it together.”

“And what would we do the whole day?” she asked with mock puzzlement.

McCoy sighed and closed his eyes briefly. She thought she detected a soft moan.

“Let me put it this way. Clothing would not have been required.”

He then slid his hand up her back to press against her head, moving in for a kiss. She'd never had a morning kiss quite like it. It was softly erotic, their lips and tongues teasing together. It was gentle foreplay, and she felt her body responding.

He caressed her moist lips with his thumb. “If we keep this up…” His voice was a husky growl, replete with longing.

“I know,” She nodded, her forehead against his.

Savannah shifted to get off his lap, acutely aware of the hardness of McCoy's growing arousal against her thighs.

He held her in place. “Wait a minute. There's something else I wanted to say. I have to attend an event next week. I was looking forward to—”

That was as far as he got when they both became aware that someone was at the front door of the house. They could hear the faint opening and closing of it, heavy footsteps on the tile entrance, followed by a deep male voice calling out.

“Vann? Anybody home?”

Savannah quickly stood up, as did McCoy when the intruder finally reached the side door leading out to the pool area.

“Hey,” the male visitor said, looking back and forth between Savannah and McCoy.

Savannah shook her head. “Hey, yourself. You're about two weeks late.”

She knew that McCoy stood silently, watching. She knew that he was drawing his own conclusions. She opened her arms as she walked toward the new arrival, and he did the same. They embraced, the taller man lifting her off her feet.

“Uncle Sam owns me lock, stock and my future pension. I got here as soon as I could. I have to fly out day after tomorrow.”

Savannah was about to make introductions when the two men naturally approached one another. The grinning stranger thrust out a hand to McCoy whose hesitation was imperceptible except to her.

“McCoy Sutton,” he spoke first.

“Harris,” the man responded.

Savannah touched Harris's arm, but she looked at McCoy. “He's my brother.”

 

Savannah accepted the hand of the valet who attempted to help her out of her car. Her legs got momentarily tangled in the voluminous flow of silky fabric, and the high heel of her dress sandals snagged in the hem. She fought with the dress but still managed to exit with grace, grabbing her evening clutch purse and the shawl purchased from Domino Hagan. She took a moment to compose herself before heading into the ornate theater complex where the black awards ceremony was being held and taped, to be televised later on network TV. Somewhere inside, Punch Wagoner was waiting for her.

To be honest, she would rather have attended with McCoy.

Harris's sudden appearance the week before had delayed McCoy's explanation of why he couldn't invite her. His attendance was not mandatory, but it was all about business. Over a Moroccan dinner a few nights later, McCoy had told her why. She'd heard all about Jeff Peterson and his sister, the would-be actress Cherise Kim Daly. McCoy was attending the awards with Cherise, a fact made more acceptable by his admission that he wished it could have been her instead.

While hearing firsthand Cherise's real place in McCoy's life, Savannah couldn't help being disappointed that business would take precedence over their private wishes. But, to be fair, Savannah had told McCoy with equal candor that Punch had already informed her that she would be going with him because the awards ceremony was a must-go-to event for her now that she was almost an insider in Hollywood.

All around her, what seemed like hundreds of formally dressed men and women were also headed into the theater. Savannah automatically searched for McCoy, but there were too many people and it would be easy to miss him. Punch had told her he would meet her in the foyer, since he had the tickets, and she was his guest. Donna had been unable to secure extra tickets to the event even though she was to perform, but Punch had called, excited about the prospect of introducing her to several producers and directors who would be in attendance.

She was still getting used to the idea of being an insider. And it made her uncomfortable. Savannah admitted that she loved the attention being given to
Fade to Black,
but it meant dressing up and being put on display. It meant possibly curbing her natural reticence and showing her enthusiasm when talking about her option. It would mean talking about her father, and she knew that maybe even a comparison would come up. The name
Will Shelton,
as she'd discovered in the last year, was a familiar name in the industry, especially among black professionals.

Savannah suddenly quaked at the thought that she might be compared to her father, or that others had raised their expectations of her because of who he was and his status in black Hollywood. But more than any of these considerations, Savannah was deathly afraid that she might, even inadvertently, embarrass herself or stain her father's reputation.

She was a little intimidated, but Punch Wagoner would accept no excuse from her not to attend. It was a golden opportunity, he'd said. Savannah knew he was right. Such moments were hard enough to come by and it would be foolish to ignore the one being offered to her. After all, she was representing more that herself and her work.

She stood near the ticket booth feeling alone and out of place, hoping for the remote possibility of spotting someone else she knew. Instead, Savannah found herself a one-person audience for a private show on Hollywood taste, fashion and industry functions.

She'd never seen so many skinny black women in her life.

Many of them were stunningly beautiful, but almost all had the carriage and presence of someone who wanted or needed to be seen, and who already counted themselves as a VIP. They smiled and postured, and posed with practiced ease in front of the cameras as they sashayed past the cordoned-off media photographers.

She'd also never seen so many black women with long flowing hair, thanks to the advanced technology of believable hair extensions and weaves.

The parade of women were a kaleidoscope of colorful sparkly gowns designed to flatter and reveal. Savannah glanced down at her own dress, purchased just the day before on a frantic search with Kay to find something smart, comfortable and affordable. She'd settled on a strapless gown by Donna Karan without any extra adornments or glitter. The design flattered her curves, and the color, a matte champagne hue, emphasized the honey tones of her skin. She'd even submitted to getting her hair professionally done, and a mousse of natural ingredients gave it body, shine and a funky spiked styling that she actually loved. Her jewelry consisted of a pair of diamond stud earrings that, ironically, her father had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She didn't bother with a necklace. Donna had pointed out that when the stars went out for the evening they hardly ever wore elaborate jewels. Less was better. None was more effective.

“You look fabulous.”

Savannah turned to the voice and found Punch viewing her from head to toe. His black tux made him look oddly uncomfortable, as if the outfit didn't quite suit his body type.

“Thanks. Can I go home now?”

He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. “Not until I have a chance to show you off and introduce you around. We need to start laying groundwork, and events like this one, where everyone comes out, are a good place to start.”

“If this is all about
Fade to Black,
wouldn't it be better to let the work speak for itself? Nobody knows me here.”

Punch was steering her toward the ticket taker and the entrance to the theater. “In answer to your first question, that's not how things work in Hollywood. In answer to your second question, that's about to change.”

He looked at her again with satisfaction and nodded.

“You do your father proud.”

“I hope so. I feel like he's done a lot of ground work for me just being my father. I…I don't want to let him down,” Savannah murmured.

In response, he took her hand and hooked it through his arm, patting it. “Just leave everything to me. I know what I'm doing.”

Savannah had never imagined that the much-touted event would be so unexciting.

For all the buildup about the awards show from others, she'd thought the night would be far more magical than it actually was. Because it was being taped, announcements, musical starts and award acceptances sometimes had to have two or three takes. Even during the proceedings on stage, the audience got up at will to leave and return to the theater, no one standing on ceremony. She became fascinated with watching how often some of the women left, presumably to use the facilities. But it finally occurred to her that they might also have been making repeated grand entrances to be seen and to catch the attention of important people.