Craig, Dede - Three Kisses of Lust (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (4 page)

Please accept my apology. You’ll have lunch with me. L.

Was he serious? Was he asking her or telling her? She walked over to the small black bin in the corner of the room and tossed the card and rose into it.

She crossed her arms over her chest and paced the short length of the trailer. Stopping at the dress rail, she yanked her denim cutoff shorts and oversized black tee shirt nestled between her wardrobe changes for the day. She slipped off her robe and quickly pulled up the shorts. She wanted to ignore the corny rose and card in the bin, but they compelled her to pay attention, and she glared at it.

Who the hell did he think he was? Okay, he was the studio owner, but really? After humiliating her? She pulled the tee over her head, biting her lower lip.

Her hands moved up to her hair, and she gathered it into a ponytail, before dropping it again.

Summer in LA was a hot and humid mess. She exhaled and fanned herself with her hand.

His devilish eyes flashed in her head. She pulled at the top of her tee then bent her head over and blew down her chest. Thinking of him made her feel even hotter.

She had never met him before. He was of course the son of Edgar Wright, always at the corporate office, and he pretty much kept out of the limelight. She had seen photos of him and his brother in Edgar’s office. They were probably in their teens at the time—identical twins. She had found the image fascinating. In the photo, they stood, mirrored on either side of a graceful Jackie O look-alike, probably their mother. Gia had heard she passed away from cancer some time ago.

She sighed, thinking of her own mother and the fight they had. Here he was without one, and she was having shouting matches with the only one she had. All because of an inane tabloid story.

Deciding to call her, she walked toward her bag to get her cell phone before remembering it was shattered, and Lana hadn’t brought the spare yet.

She moved to the couch and sat down, lifting her legs and crossing them on the wooden table. She would have to call her later.

She was so tired of refuting every story her mother saw in the tabloids or some ridiculous entertainment channel. If she’d dated just a third of the men she was claimed to be dating, she would need thirty-two hours in a day. She had little time for a man. Not that she didn’t want one—her body throbbed for a man’s touch—but there simply wasn’t time and no one she was interested in.

Liam was hot though. The hot planes of his chiseled face crawled into her thoughts again. Hot and certainly off-limits. She could just picture the headlines—“Gia gets it Wright.”

She knew the game too well. She made the mistake of posing with a well-known producer just once, and the tabloids had a field day. Since then she had done all she could to avoid public attention on her personal life or any situation which could be misconstrued. Besides, with her mother’s weak heart, she couldn’t risk causing her any added stress.

A sharp knock on the trailer door burst through her thoughts, and she flinched, jumping up. She paced carefully toward the door.

“Yes?” She leaned forward.

“Are you ready?”

It was Liam.

“No, go away.” She moved closer to the door, her body slightly hunched over while she listened. Her palms were clammy, and she clenched her fists, moving them across her chest.

He knocked again.

What the hell did he want? He was still her boss, she reminded herself, and he could in fact do what he wanted, which included stopping by her trailer whenever he felt the need. She moved her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat rise there. She shook her hair before leaning forward and pushing the trailer door open.

Her arm was still against the door, holding it open when he walked in. He brushed past her, and she was instantly hit with his scent, a shower-fresh ocean breeze. He smelled amazing. She inhaled deeply, unable to stop herself, enjoying the fragrance caressing her face. She shrugged and turned, not wanting him to see it affected her.

“Did you get my note?” His voice was calm and controlled. His gaze moved slowly between her eyes and her lips.

She swallowed, and a sudden thirst pricked her throat then she stepped forward, facing him. She stared up at his black, dense lashes. They were so long, she had a sudden urge to touch them. Her mind came back to her as did a crimson heat scorching her cheeks, and she turned away. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I’d rather stay here.”

“Lunch with me. It wasn’t a question. A lead actress has to eat. You’ve got a long shoot day. We’ve got a few hours, so it’s more than enough time for me to get you lunch. As an apology of course.”

She glanced at his black long-sleeve shirt with matching black pants. His sleeves were rolled up, and she caught the defined and muscled lines of his tanned arms. She looked up again. His pitch-black hair was cut shorter at the back and sides, with the top a mixture of styled and messy. It looked so silky, she pictured it wet under a running shower, then frowned, willing the thought to oblivion.

“Ms. Carelli, it’s lunch, not a proposal.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his full lips rose into an altogether irresistible smile. A won’t-take-no-for-an-answer smile mixed with a healthy dose of sexy. A smile she had to say no to.

“I can’t. I’m serious, I can’t be seen—”

“We’re not going to Mr. Chow. I’ll take you somewhere discreet. Call it a lunch meeting. Just meet me at the back of the lot. It’s empty. My limo is blacked out, so no one will see you. I’ll give you five minutes.”

He walked out leaving her standing there with her mouth open.

What a nerve! Hot or not, does he honestly believe he can tell me to jump and I will
? Oh God, he was her boss, of course he could. Within reason of course. But she couldn’t refuse lunch with him. Did she want to refuse? Her throbbing heart rate said no. She paced again, raking her hands through her hair. She moved her fingers to her temples.

She had to go. Maybe going was the right thing to do, and then she could tell him to stay away from her on a personal level. She could see where this was going. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Was she shallow to think if he was less attractive this wouldn’t bother her? She shouldn’t go. She should go out there and tell him no, thank you, but no. But, oh God, a small voice whispered, against every ounce of better judgment, that she wanted to.

She grabbed her large tan Hermès bag and slumped it over her shoulder before sliding her feet into her matching gladiator Louboutins. She retrieved her black aviator sunglasses from her bag and put them on, taking one last look in the mirror leaning against the trailer wall.

She walked out of the trailer, turning the corner at the end of the lot and toward the back. Thankfully a scene was in progress, so most of the crew were engrossed in their tasks and didn’t notice her slipping away. The last thing she wanted was to be questioned or, worse, spotted getting into his limo.

The back of the lot was huge and mercifully empty. It took her a minute to see the black limo. It was parked behind one of the larger green equipment trucks.

She jogged toward the waiting car, as quickly as she could given her four-inch heels. She made a mental note to start bringing flats in her bag.

A driver stood waiting at the opened door, his hand on the handle, his black driver cap perched low, almost covering his face. She shot him a half-lipped smile before climbing in, hoping he didn’t recognize her.

She could see Liam sitting in the center of the car. His long legs were splayed apart. She leaned in and sat down close to the door, watching as it closed, missing her leg by a hair. She could not, would not, allow herself to get too close to him. She turned her head to him, glad for her sunglasses blocking him from seeing any betrayed emotions.

He was watching her, his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a straight line. “You know, I’m not going to bite, unless you want me to.”

She glared at him then looked away quickly. “I’m comfortable, thanks.” She turned her face toward the window and moved her hands to her bag, fingering the soft leather between her fingers. Even though he sat almost the equivalent of two seats away from her, he was still too close. Every inch of her body was aware of his proximity. It tingled and stiffened in place.

“So, Gia, do you accept my apology?”

The sound of her name from his lips sent a small shock through her and she jolted. His voice was warm, seductive, like hot treacle. He sounded like he was trying to be almost cordial. So why did it seem more like a command than a question? “Do I have a choice? If not, then yes. If I do, then no.” She crossed her arms over her chest, concentrating on the passing scenery while they drove down Sunset Boulevard. She watched the grittiness of downtown morph at warp speed into the lush greenery of Beverly Hills. So they were headed to the Hills. She moaned silently. The only places to eat were in the various mansions littered across the landscape.

“Ambivalent petulance. Cute.”

She could feel his eyes on her, and every part of her body prickled under the glare. Thankfully the air-con was turned up, a welcome reprieve from the external and internal heat threatening to combust in her. The windows were tinted, and she gave a silent prayer of thanks.

“Where are we going?” She spoke without looking at him. Though she knew it could only be to his house given their direction.

“You’ll see.” His voice was a strained whisper, almost hoarse, and he cleared his throat.

The driver snaked up the winding roads toward the glittering homes, most of them obscured by impossibly high fencing or hedges.

The prickling storm in her body gradually subsided. She pulled her eyes from the familiar scenery and glanced toward him.

He was engrossed in something on his Blackberry, but otherwise remained silent.

She couldn’t help looking down at his hands. They looked strong, able, and a small scar stretched across his thumb. She watched his sandy arms, flexing and rippling while he typed on his phone. He tilted his head slightly up and caught her looking, returning the favor with a long and fervent stare, his lip curling up on one side.

She quickly looked away, bristling again under the intensity of his eyes. They were so serious, yet there was a glimmer of something else. An almost naughty shimmer containing a secret only he knew. Even though her gaze was averted, she knew he was no longer looking at her.

The driver stopped abruptly, and she saw a set of wide black steel gates opening slowly, before the car moved up a long and winding driveway. The sound of the tires on the gravel echoed and in the distance she saw a large Tuscan-style,, dusky beige mansion. They passed a triple-layered fountain smack in the middle of the driveway, water gushing from all sides in a perfect circular motion, until coming to a stop.

* * * *

Gia straightened her body and clasped her handbag just as she heard her car door being opened. “Thanks,” she said, then got out, meeting Liam’s gaze on the other side.

She turned then walked around the back of the limo, toward the mansion, her eyes focused on the massive entrance. She was by all accounts accustomed to the large Beverly Hills estates above Sunset Boulevard, but nothing had prepared her for the sheer size of these doors alone. Her eyes widened, and she lifted her head to take it in. They were at least thirty feet tall. She couldn’t help smiling at the enormous entry.

“The doors amuse you?” He was at her side, nodding toward them.

She turned toward him and couldn’t help grinning. “No, I love them. It’s ostentatious to say the least, but beautiful.” She looked back at the doors, studying the intricate and ornate carving on each.

He moved his hands palms up and gestured toward the house. “Indeed. This house was built approximately twenty years ago, the era of conspicuous consumption. My mother’s doing. She meticulously designed and renovated everything.”

She turned back to him, her head tilted up. “Well, inconspicuous it isn’t, but stunning. Was she an architect?” She watched his face. From this close, she could see his tan was natural, shading perfectly across the gorgeous angles of his face. A tiny mole peeked from just above his dark brow, right next to another small scar.