Friends and Lovers Trilogy 03 - Seduced (18 page)

Admiration and bone-deep love flowed through her being as she gazed up at her moonlit Prince Charming. A strong-willed champion with a heart of gold. She quirked a devilish grin, pushed him back and shifted so that she straddled his hunky body. “I’ve been reading about this technique called
The Black Bee
.”

He smiled. “Let’s rock and roll, tiger.”

Rudy wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he expected after relaying the details of Luc’s death. But it certainly wasn’t stony-faced silence. “It’s all right to cry, Jean-Pierre. I know you cared about Luc.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I know you were friends. I was an idiot last fall, thinking that you still had feelings for him. That he might try to steal you away from me. My reaction was childish and weak.”

Jean-Pierre clasped his hands in his lap. “Let us not talk about the indiscretion. Not now. Let me … let me absorb this first.”

“Sure. Okay. Just … let me know when you’re ready.” Nervous, he scraped his teeth over his lower lip, and winced. Man, JP had socked him good. Who knew the gentle soul had it in him?

“I’m sorry I hit you,
mon amour
.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Jean-Pierre slid him a sideways glance.

“Right. Not now.” Damn, this was tough. “I’m feeling a little awkward here, honey. You
are
upset about Luc, aren’t you?”

Jean-Pierre twisted his thumb ring round and round … and round. “I am sorry that he died so horribly, of course. Passing out and hitting his head on the coffee table? How tragic.”

“He might have tripped and hit his head,” Rudy said, striving to make the alcohol-related death less tawdry. “They couldn’t be sure.” He specifically left out Sofia’s scenario. Jake was right. Why imply murder? This was bad enough.

“Regardless, this was a senseless mishap. I mourn the loss of the man who used to be my friend.”

“Used to be?”

The wiry Frenchman dropped his head back against the sofa, released a long sigh. “Luc changed. Hollywood changed him. He was aggressive and competitive. Shallow. Although, I suppose if I looked back honestly on our relationship, he was always vain and selfish. Anyway, things were not going so well for Luc. Professionally. Personally.” He lolled his head left, caught Rudy’s gaze. “He came on to me.”

Rudy swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“More than once.”

“Okay.”

“I blew him away.”

“Off,” Rudy corrected with a slight smile.

“What?”

“You blew him off. Not away.”

Jean-Pierre’s lips curved into the semblance of a grin. “Ah,
oui
. Off. He was drunk at the time. He drank a lot. Too much. I tried to be patient. Tried to be his friend. I know it was difficult for him. The rejection. There is a lot of rejection in Hollywood.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I do not like it there so much.”

Rudy frowned. “Then why did you stay so long?”

Jean-Pierre looked at him as though he was dense. “I was waiting for you to make up your mind about us.”

Okay. Maybe he was dense. He’d allowed his insecurities to muck up this relationship good and plenty. He shifted on the couch so that he was facing the younger man. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about this right now, but let me say this much. I never doubted
us
. I doubted me.”

“Semantics.”

Man, he wasn’t going to make this easy. Rudy fingered his goatee and studied his partner at length. His shirt was mis-buttoned and wrinkled. His socks were mismatched and he had a fierce five-o’clock shadow. Very un-Jean-Pierre like. Dark circles marred his normally luminous brown eyes, and his skin lacked its normal peachy glow. “You look beat.”

“I have not been sleeping well.”

“Want to talk about it?” What the hell? He’d keep trying until he broke through.

Jean-Pierre licked his lips, surprising Rudy with a curt nod. “There is a part of me that wishes to ignore what I have been feeling. What I have been going through. It is embarrassing to admit that one is not as strong as he’d always believed. My analyst …”

“You’ve been seeing an analyst?” Rudy fisted his hands in his lap to keep from reaching out in sympathy. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“I did not want you to know I was having … trouble.”

His temper flared. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you had troubles of your own, no?”

The lame helping the lame. He sighed. “No. I mean, yes. I’m sorry. Go on.”

Jean-Pierre raked his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. “I have some things to say.”

Rudy braced himself.

The Frenchman squared his shoulders. “I resent that you pushed me into moving to Los Angeles to accept a job I could have lived without. Ah,
oui
, it was a chance of a lifetime, but so was my relationship with you.”

Rudy swallowed a lump. “I …”

JP cut him off with a raised hand. “I resent that you did not trust my judgment. Nor did you trust that I would not stray and rekindle my affair with Luc. I resent that, instead of talking to me about your insecurities, you wigged out and took solace in another man’s arms.”

“Okay. Can I …”

“I resent that you did not respect me enough to call to let me know that you were alive after going AOL for hours.”

“AWOL.” Rudy shifted. “About that …”

“I resent that you did not ask me to stay after I threatened to leave you. That you did not drag me off of the airplane. That you only visited me in LA four times in six months and that you did not stay, or at some point drag me home. I resent that you tried to cancel my coming to Hollyberry Inn.”

“Not cancel. Postpone. Yeah, I know,” he said when Jean-Pierre smirked. “Semantics. But …”

“I do not like living in Los Angeles. I do not want to be a famous costume designer to the stars. I would be just as happy,
happier
, designing costumes for amateurs in regional theater. I am tired of being the strong one. The patient one. I am at my wit’s end, Rudy. I do not wish to be jerked around any longer.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I want to be in a committed relationship.”

Rudy smiled. “So do I.”

“With you.”

He laughed, his anxiety evaporating with the knowledge that Jean-Pierre still wanted to pursue their relationship. “God, I hope so. Honey, I bought this place for us. I want us to be together. I’m sorry it took me so freaking long to come around, but I know what I want.” He grasped the other man’s hand and squeezed. “You.”

Jean-Pierre blinked. He shook his head and swallowed hard. “You are making it most difficult for me to be angry,
mon amour
.”

“Good.” Rudy sobered. “Wait. I have to … we need to talk about the indiscretion. I need to wipe the slate clean. I know you said details weren’t important, but in this case, I disagree.”

Jean-Pierre glanced away. “I am most weary. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“No, now. Tomorrow is a new day. I hope.” He massaged a dull throbbing in his temple, cursed the lingering guilt. “The fact that I was even tempted to stray, that I came so close … well, that in itself is unforgivable.”

“No, not unforgivable. I understand more than ever that jealousy can drive a person to most uncharacteristic behavior.” Jean-Pierre paused, crinkle his brow. “What do you mean,
came so close
?”

Rudy confessed his sins on a rush of breath. “There was some inappropriate touching, but I stopped him before things progressed. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want it.”

“All this time I thought … and you were
faithful
?”

“Did you not hear the inappropriate touching part?”

“Ah,
oui
, but …” Jean-Pierre fell back against the couch. “I should be angry with you, or at the very least annoyed, but I am too numb.”

“It might creep up on you tomorrow. The anger.”

Jean-Pierre sighed heavily. “I doubt it.”

Rudy’s shoulders caved with relief.

Out of the blue, his partner’s eyes filled with tears. He thumbed them back, dropped his chin to his chest, and spoke to his suede clogs. “Do you think Luc suffered?”

Rudy blinked at the change of subject. “No,” he lied. “His blood alcohol was through the roof. I seriously doubt he felt much of anything.”

“I was supposed to meet with him today. He wanted to bounce a new story idea off of me. I forgot. He must have let himself in. Must have thought I’d stepped out. He was waiting for me.” A tear coursed down his cheek. “And now he is dead.”

Rudy pulled his partner into his arms and rocked him as he silently wept. His heart ached for a dozen different reasons, none of them involving jealously, all centering around love. Like Afia and Jake, and Lulu and Murphy, he and Jean-Pierre were meant to be.
I am open and ready for a long-term relationship.

With a weary groan, Jean-Pierre pushed out of the embrace and swiped away tears. “I am sorry, Bunny. I am exhausted. I will be better …”

“Tomorrow?” Rudy finished with a crooked grin.

Jean-Pierre took a steadying breath and glanced around the great room. “Nice furniture.”

“I’ll give you the grand tour …”

“Tomorrow?” Jean-Pierre finished with a watery smile.

Rudy basked in that smile, tentative though it was. Holy Streisand, he’d missed this man.

“Let us go to bed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Together?”

Jean-Pierre nodded.

Rudy’s heart pounded. “As lovers?”

“As friends. Just now, I am in need of a friend.”

Rudy stood and offered his hand. “I can do that.”

Los Angeles, California

J
oe spent the short walk to the mini-mart and back trying to get a handle on this insane day. Talk about action-packed. Good news: Jean-Pierre was safe. Bad news: Dupris was dead. Good news: Sofia’s publicist miraculously cooled the media’s attention on the
accidental
death in her home by … Bad news: Turning up the heat on her so-called secret affair with a former FBI agent.

At least the press thought she was still somewhere in Arizona. Unfortunately, that made his home a hot zone. The thought of reporters staking out his house and digging into his past set his teeth on edge.

He scanned the perimeter, soaked in the sights and smells of Los Angeles. The City of Angels. Home to more than 3.5 million residents. Top attractions: Hollywood, Disneyland, Beverly Hills, Venice Beach, and Malibu.

Fantasyland. The superficial haven of eager starlets, hungry actors, and greedy producers. Media-spinning publicists and fast-talking agents.

He’d never had much tolerance for the entertainment industry. Hollywood types raked in millions while police officers and teachers scraped by. Where was the justice in that? Maybe he’d spent too many years dwelling in the underworld. Unlike Sofia and her sister Lulu, he’d lost his sense of the fantastic. There was a time, long ago, when he’d been able to lose himself in the hard-hitting, fast-shooting, animated world of Dick Tracy. As a boy he’d devoured comic strips and books relaying the antics of the super intelligent police detective who butted heads with various colorful villains. Gangsters, arsonists, kidnappers. Tracy tackled them all. Later on, Tracy’s creator incorporated personal wrist communicators and other futuristic gadgets.

Oh, yeah, he’d dug that techno-fantasy era bigtime.

Joe smiled. Suddenly the fact that he tuned into “Spy Girl” and occasionally
enjoyed
it, didn’t seem so suspect. Although, Sofia fascinated him more than the show. He could look at her for hours on end and never tire of the vision. The sight of her kicking evil-doer ass, albeit fictional, was a bonus turn-on.

He unlocked the door of their hotel room and quietly slipped in. She’d said she was hungry, surprise confession of the year, but she’d looked dead tired when he’d left her. Understandable. It had been one hell of a day. A day that had left her exhausted, and him with a lot of questions.

He set the sack of groceries on the desk, glanced at the two double beds. She wasn’t sprawled on either one. Her Gothic costume was heaped on the hunter green arm chair, the babydoll platform shoes kicked to the corner.

The bathroom door was closed. Maybe she was in the shower. He had a surrreal vision of her standing naked in the stall, hot water slucing over those voluptuous curves as she shampooed that vibrant dyed hair. In his mind’s eye, the water ran purple, then red. Stained water swirling into the drain.

Just like in Hitchcock’s
Psycho
.

He shook off the disturbing vision of Sofia getting knifed by a crazed cowboy. Jesus, he was beat. His mind kept straying off on tangents spurred by Sofia’s musings. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, slipped off his tie, and tossed it on the desk alongside the bulging plastic bag. Plastic bag. Plastic shower curtian. “Sofia? You okay in there?”

No answer.

He nabbed a beer from the six-pack he’d purchased, unscrewed the top, and took a deep swig. He glanced at the door. “Sof?”

Silence.

He rolled his head to ease a kink, moved over and knocked.

Still, no answer.

He turned the knob and peeked in. His pulse raced at the sight of her submerged in a bubble bath, head lolled to the side, eyes closed. “Sofia.” She didn’t stir and, Christ, his heart nearly blasted through his ribs with dread. He moved in and touched her bare shoulder. “Sof.”