Exposing Alix (2 page)

Of course, Alix didn’t have any interest in a man like
Ryker. She knew far too much to make such a rookie mistake. Like every other
actor, director, and related Hollywood type, he was firmly excluded from
consideration for dating—or any other romantic endeavor, for that matter.

“I guess you had better come inside,” she said
reluctantly.

He nodded, and for a moment, the hostility spread from him
in waves. But it was immediately replaced with a bone-jarringly sexy smile, his
toffee-colored skin so warm and rich she was struck with the sudden desire to
taste it. In
Garden of Eden
, he’d been bare-chested for a significant
portion of the film, even bare-assed for one glorious moment, and she pictured
that skin now, exposed in all its rigid, masculine beauty. The light caressed
him, rippled across the shadows left by the hard muscles of his chest, the
curve of his buttock, the ridge of his thigh…

Lord, he would look pretty through the lens of her camera.

Alix shook her head. She was not going to film him. Just
talk to him.

“What did Gunther have to say?” he asked as she smashed
the door open with her shoulder. The warped wood tended to stick on humid days
like today, when the wind was unusually still and passing rain showers hung on
the horizon like a gray curtain floating in the breeze.

“Only that I’m going to want to say no, but I should hear
you out. So I’ll hear you out.”

“Gunther can be persuasive.”

“That’s putting it kindly. Can I get you something to
drink?” Alix carefully laid her binoculars on an end table. The cottage was
tiny, a one-bedroom retreat with an open living-dining-kitchen area and a huge
stone hearth that provided the only heat on cool nights. The wooden floor
creaked under her feet as she walked to the broad soapstone sink and pulled
down two chipped mugs. Rex followed half a pace behind, keeping his body safely
between Ryker and his mistress.

She swiveled her face toward Ryker. “Water? Iced tea?”

“Tea, please.”

He stood in the doorway, blocking the slanting afternoon
light. Alix rested for a moment and pictured him as a photograph, a rough black
silhouette framed in a soft yellow glow. She still had on her sunglasses, so
the image was washed in gray, giving it a moody, pensive air.

“Is something wrong?” He quirked a black eyebrow.

Heat flushed her cheeks, and she spun around, mortified.
“No…sorry. I was just thinking about, er, something else.”

His knowing look suggested he could imagine exactly what
that something else might be. Righteous indignation replaced her embarrassment.
Where did he get off assuming she was thinking about him? Maybe she was lost in
thought worrying about her sick grandmother or her boyfriend! Roughly, she
jerked open the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher of tea.

Rex, closely attuned to her feelings, whined softly and
thumped his stubby tail against the floor.

“Lie down, Rex.”

He gave her a mournful look, then stretched out his body
in the middle of the floor between the front door and the kitchen, head neatly
cradled in his paws so he could continue to watch diligently for any sign of
trouble.

Ryker chuckled, though she noticed he did not reach out a
friendly hand toward Rex. “Your dog doesn’t trust me.” Giving Rex a wide berth,
he ambled into the living area, where a wicker coffee table held an assortment
of photography magazines and a tattered book of Anne Lebowitz’s portraits.

“My dog is a good judge of character.” For the first time
in years, Alix found herself noticing the worn fabric covering the sofa, and
the crocheted blanket over the back suddenly looked tacky rather than homey.
She made an effort not to glance at the piles of photographs on the dining
table by the sink. The last thing she needed was Mr. Hot Pants looking through
the prints she’d made of her session last week with Paulina and Gregory.

She spilled tea into a glass, her gaze arrested when he
ran his fingers through his thick, blue-black hair. Fascinated by the simple
movement, she didn’t notice the glass had filled until tea dripped down her
hand. She jumped and set down the pitcher, wiping her arm across her body and
hoping he didn’t notice her clumsiness.

He settled onto the sofa, stretching out long legs on the
coffee table. Black eyes swept from her weather-beaten running shoes to
windblown hair. “They say dogs resemble their owners, but I’m afraid you don’t
look a bit like a Doberman. Did you inherit the creature, by any chance?”

“Rescued,” she said, handing him the tea. “And what do you
mean by that, anyway? How should a Doberman owner look?”

“German, for one.” He grinned, exposing bright,
Hollywood-perfect teeth. “Tall. Blonde. Aggressive. Like Gunther. You strike me
as more of the Labrador retriever type.”

Alix fought the urge to bare her teeth and snarl, just to
prove how aggressive she could be. Normally, she didn’t mind the fact that men
didn’t give her a second look. She’d made sure of that, actually. But for some
reason, coming from this man, it stung. “I see. How flattering. Now, perhaps
you could tell me what you’re here for? Of course, you had me at ‘Labrador,’
but why don’t we go through the motions anyway.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I wasn’t trying to
insult you. I may not like dogs, but even I can appreciate a Lab. My sister had
one, and he was gentle as a kitten, loyal—”

She held up a hand. “I know. Gentle, kind, shed like mad,
and don’t know the meaning of the word ‘guard.’ I am a woman living alone at
the end of a secluded road in a fishing village that has a population of five
hundred, on a good day. I’m happy with Rex here, thank you very much.”

He sobered. “Of course. You really need an alarm system of
some kind. You’re at least half mile from the nearest house. I could barely
find the place, and I had detailed directions.”

Tiny fingers of awareness danced along her spine at the
deep, sensual voice. If anyone resembled a Doberman, this man did. Lean,
muscled, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Though he now looked entirely at
ease, relaxed against her ancient furniture, she couldn’t forget the flash of
temper she’d seen when he handed her the phone. Ryker Valentine did not want to
be here, and all his joking couldn’t erase the sparks that glittered behind
those velvety eyes.

“I assume you got those directions from Gunther. Can I
also assume he told you how much I value my privacy?”

Ryker held a hand over his heart. “He made me swear an
oath on my mother’s grave not to share the location of this house, or the name
of its inhabitant, with anyone I know.”

“Yes, well, I hope you take that oath seriously. So let’s
get this over with. Why did Gunther send you, and what do you want?”

He shifted in his seat and took another sip of tea. The
water beaded up on the outside of the glass and ran down his hand. Helpless,
Alix watched the liquid trail across his skin.

Ryker set down the glass and rubbed his hands together.
“Right, let’s get to it.” The humor melted from his dark eyes. “Gunther’s
producing my next film, and there’s a bit more romance in this one than the
last. Gunther wasn’t thrilled with the way a few of the love scenes came out.
He suggested I hire a consultant.”

Ryker spit out the words as if they were distasteful. Alix
suppressed a smirk. So Gunther thought Mr. Oscar-Nominated Director needed help
with his love scenes, did he? She had to admit,
Garden of Eden
had
exposed some serious weakness in that area. It included a single sex scene that
most critics agreed appeared to have been appended onto the story for the sole
purpose of exposing Ryker’s very attractive behind.

Alix tried to look vague. “A consultant? What for,
exactly?”

He waved his hands with irritation. “Gunther thinks the
sex scenes are too cold, not enough emotion. I think he’s confusing a movie
about real life with some romantic fairy tale, but I suppose some people like
fairy tales. At any rate, he says you’re the best, and I have to admit, I liked
your work. I mean, the script was less than compelling, and your lighting could
use some improvement, but overall—”

Alix lowered herself into an armchair covered with faded
yellow-and-blue-flowered upholstery. “Script? Lighting?” she said, steeling
herself for what she knew was coming. For some reason she felt compelled to
make him say it. “What did you see? What am I the best at?”

“The best at sex,” he said impatiently. “Gunther showed me
Candy Fever
and
Through the Window
. Of course, I’d heard of them
but never got around to seeing them before. Not really my thing, you know.”

“Of course not,” she mocked. “How could it be?”

“I didn’t mean any offense.”

Alix narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t tell whether the
sincerity in his voice was real. That was an occupational hazard of dealing
with actors—you couldn’t trust a word they said. “Look, I’m not sure what
Gunther told you, but that was a long time ago. I don’t make movies anymore.”

He waved as if he expected her to protest. “
Through the
Window
was released two years ago. That’s hardly a long time.”

“It’s a long time to me.” She avoided his gaze, staring
out the window to the tall grasses waving on the dunes that flanked her house.
The sky had filled with clouds and the light inside wasn’t the best, but Alix
refused to remove her sunglasses. “To be honest, I only made those movies for
the money. It’s not something I ever intended to make into a career.”

He looked around the house and raised a curious eyebrow.
“Really? And you stopped making them because you
don’t
need the money
anymore?”

She bristled. “I had loans. Debts I needed to repay. I’ve
got other priorities now.” She glanced away, unable to keep from looking toward
the table.

Ryker picked up on the movement of her head immediately.
“Priority one?” he asked. Without a glance in her direction, he jumped up and
prowled to the table, his body moving like a cat on the hunt.

Damn it, why did he have to be so observant? She hurried
to follow. “This is private, Mr. Valentine.”

He fingered a black-and-white picture of a naked woman
mounting an equally naked man. The woman had long hair that draped over her
breasts. Her partner looked up at her with a mixture of intense lust and
complete adoration.

Alix snatched the picture from Ryker’s hand. “I’m working
on a collection of photos, but they’re not ready for viewing just yet.”

He leaned back, a smirk crossing his lips. “You’ve
progressed since your movies. Was the R rating too confining? Is that why you
quit?”

She straightened her back. “I always preferred
photography, Mr. Valentine. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of money to be
made in photography. But don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my movies. I made
movies about women and men who loved each other. Having sex was an expression
of that love. That’s why women enjoyed my movies—because they celebrated
something beautiful, sensual, and real.”

“Right,” he said, yawning, “real love. That’s what they
all say. Tell me, Miss Zahn, if you’re not ashamed of it, why does everyone in
this town think your name is Daisy? Which, by the way, is a stroke of genius.”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “No one would ever connect a director of sex
movies with the name Daisy.”

“They weren’t sex movies. They were love stories. And my
first name
is
Daisy.” She gritted her teeth. “Alexandra is my middle
name.”

“Someone actually named you Daisy?” he said incredulously.

“My mother had an unfortunate obsession with the flower—yet
another reason why fifteen-year-olds shouldn’t have children. You think I would
make that up?”

“I suppose not.”

“It doesn’t matter. As you just demonstrated, people make
assumptions about my films, Mr. Valentine. I prefer not to have those
assumptions applied to me in person.”

He leaned forward, close enough that she could feel the
warmth of his breath. “That’s too bad. Frankly, I would have been more
impressed if you could have just owned up to the whole thing.”

Alix closed her eyes and counted to ten. “I’m not hiding
anything,” she said, keeping a careful hold on her temper. “I’m a private
person.”

“Whatever.” He waved his hand negligently. “I’ll give you
one hundred grand, and I’ll double that if we win the Oscar for Best Picture.
Sound reasonable?”

Her mouth fell open. One hundred grand? As in, one hundred
thousand dollars? Hurriedly, she worked to regain her composure. “How much?”

“One hundred thousand dollars.”

She took a breath. “How long do you expect it to take? I
have a book I’m working on, and I need to get back to it.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “I need at least a month. We could
be finished by the end of June, if you can start right away.”

One hundred thousand dollars for a month’s work? Alix
ignored the bit about the Oscar as she feverishly struggled to do the math. She
could pay her taxes and renew the lease on her tiny darkroom. She could live on
the rest for at least a year, assuming she sold a few pictures here and there
in local galleries. A full year to work on nothing but her photographs.

She could finally finish her book.

It was a dream come true.

“Tell me again what you want me to do?” she asked.

“We’re almost done filming
Salva’s Revenge
. We did
the location work first and are finishing at the Bolvana studio in LA. You work
with me on the sex scenes. Give me some advice to spice them up or make them
romantic or whatever it is you do that Gunther likes.” His jaw tightened, and
Alix decided Gunther was a very brave man to piss off Ryker Valentine. “We
would shoot together and then look at the dailies and talk about the editing.
But make no mistake—I’m the director. You would just be making
suggestions.”