Genuine Lies (33 page)

“Really?”

“And outrageously expensive. No.” She wavered. “I don’t suppose I’d have to worry about it respecting me in the morning.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Julia caught herself and spread a layer of tissue paper over the dress. The rich emerald shimmered through, beckoning. “It isn’t right. It’s very generous of her, but it’s just not right.”

“The dress isn’t right?”

“No, for heaven’s sake, CeeCee, the dress is perfectly beautiful. It’s a matter of ethics.” She knew she was groping. She wanted that dress, wanted to feel it slide over her and change her into something, someone, elegant. “I’m Eve Benedict’s biographer, and that’s all. I’d feel better—” That was a lie. “It would be more appropriate for me to wear something of my own.”

“But it is yours.” CeeCee grabbed the dress and held it in front of Julia. “It was made for you.”

“I’ll admit it’s my style, and certainly seems to be my size—”

“No, I mean it
was
made for you. I designed it for you myself.”

“You made it?” Stunned, she turned full circle so she could study the dress held against her in the mirror.

“Miss B. asked me to. She wanted you to have something special for tonight. And she likes surprises. I had to go through your closet.” CeeCee began to wipe her damp palms on her
cutoffs when Julia remained silent. “I know it was sneaky. But I needed to get the fit right. You like rich colors, so I thought the emerald was a good choice, and the style … I figured I’d try for subtly sexy. You know, classy but not prim or anything.” Running out of steam, CeeCee sank to the bed. “You hate it. It’s okay,” she hurried on when Julia turned around. “I mean, I’m not like sensitive or anything. I understand if it’s not really your type.”

Julia held up a hand, realizing CeeCee was getting her second wind. “Didn’t I say it was beautiful?”

“Yeah, sure, but you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“I didn’t know you’d made it when I said that.”

CeeCee pursed her lips as that sunk in. “Right.”

Julia laid the dress aside again and placed her hands on CeeCee’s shoulders. “It’s an incredible dress, the most terrific dress I’ve ever had.”

“Then you’re going to wear it?”

“If you think I’m passing up the chance to wear a McKenna original, you’re crazy.” She laughed as CeeCee bounced up and hugged her.

“Miss B. told me I could pick out some accessories too.” Running full steam, she spun around to tear at the tissue paper until she unearthed a velvet pouch. “This rhinestone clip. I thought you’d wear your hair up, you know?” She demonstrated by sweeping up her own. “And snap this in. And the earrings. Shoulder dusters.” Eyes bright with excitement, she held them out. “What do you think?”

Julia jingled the long, glittery drops in her hand. She’d never thought of herself as the shoulder-duster type. Feather duster, maybe. But since CeeCee did, Julia was willing to risk it for one night. “I think I’m going to knock them dead.”

Two and a half hours later, after a long, indulgent female ritual of creams, oils, powders, and perfumes, Julia let CeeCee help her into the dress.

“Well?” Julia started to turn to the mirror, but CeeCee grabbed hold.

“Not yet. First the earrings.”

While Julia clipped them on, CeeCee fussed with her hair, tugged at the skirt of the dress, adjusted the collar.

“Okay. You can look.” Stomach jittering, CeeCee took a long breath and held it.

One glance told Julia the dress lived up to its promise. The dazzle of rhinestones added dash to the long, cool lines. The high collar and long, tight sleeves hinted at dignity. While the back hinted at something else altogether.

“I feel like Cinderella,” Julia murmured. She turned and held out her hands to CeeCee. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“That’s easy. When people start asking you about your dress, be sure to tell them you discovered a hot new designer. CeeCee McKenna.”

Julia’s feelings of panic had escalated several notches when she walked to the main house. The setting was perfect.

An ocean of flowers set off by a trio of ice sculpture mermaids. Linen-covered tables as white as the rising moon groaning under the weight of elegant food, champagne enough to swim in, the twinkle of starry lights strung through the trees.

There was a glamorous mixing of the old and the new, Hollywood’s tribute to youth, and to endurance. Julia thought it was epitomized by Victor Flannigan and Peter Jackson. Eve’s long and enduring love and—if the looks exchanged were anything to go by—her latest flirtation.

Jewelry glittered, outsparkling the fairy lights. The fragile scents of roses, camellias, magnolias, wafted around perfumed flesh. Music floated over laughter, and the ubiquitous dealing that used galas as handily as boardrooms.

More stars than a planetarium, Julia mused, recognizing faces familiar to the screen, small and large. And with the addition of producers, directors, writers, and the press, power enough to light any major city.

And this is Hollywood, she thought. Where fame and power arm-wrestle on a daily basis.

She spent over an hour mingling, making mental notes
and wishing it wouldn’t have been bad form to haul out her tape recorder. Needing a breather, she slipped away from the crowd to listen to the music at the edge of the garden. “Hiding out?” Paul asked.

Her smile came too quickly, so quickly she was grateful her back was to him. Because he enjoyed the view, he was glad of it himself.

“Catching my breath,” she said. She told herself she had not been waiting for him, had not been looking for him. Or wishing for him. “Are you fashionably late?”

“Just late. Had a good run going in chapter seven.” He offered her one of the two glasses of champagne he held. Looking at her, he wondered why it had seemed so urgent that he sweat out those last few pages. She smelled like a garden at dusk, and looked like sin. “Why don’t you fill me in?”

“Well, personally, I’ve had my hand kissed, my cheek bussed, and, in one unfortunate case, my ass pinched.” Her eyes laughed over the rim of her glass. “I’ve dodged, evaded, and avoided a number of pointed questions about my work on Eve’s book, tolerated numerous stares and whispers—relevant to the same, I’m sure—and interrupted a small, nasty quarrel between two stunning-looking creatures over someone named Clyde.”

He slid a finger down the earring that brushed one silky shoulder. “Busy girl.”

“So you can see why I wanted to catch my breath.”

Absently, he nodded as he scanned the clusters of people over terrace and lawn. They reminded him of the most elegant of animals set out to graze in an expensive zoo. “When Eve does it, she does it all the way.”

“It’s been a terrific party so far. We have quail eggs and button mushrooms from the Far East. Truffles and pâté from the French countryside. Salmon from Alaska, lobster from Maine. And I believe the artichoke hearts were imported from Spain.”

“We have much more than that. Do you see that man? The frail-looking one with thin white hair. He’s leaning on a cane and attended by a redhead who’s built like a—”

“Yes, I see him.”

“Michael Torrent.”

“Torrent?” Julia took a step forward to get a better look. “But I thought he’d retired to the Riviera. I’ve been trying to contact him for a month to set up an interview.”

Experimentally, Paul traced a fingertip down her spine, pleased when he felt her quick tremor. “I like your bare back almost as much as your bare feet.”

She would not be distracted—even if he’d lit a line of fire down her spine. She eased a cautious inch away. His mouth quirked. “We were talking about Torrent,” she said. “Why do you suppose he’d come all this way for free food and champagne?”

“Obviously he thought an invitation to this particular party was worth a trip. And there?”

Before she could tell Paul to stop playing with her fingers, she focused on the man he was watching. “I know Anthony Kincade is here. I don’t understand why Eve invited him.”

“If you don’t, you should.”

“Well, two of her husbands—”

“Three,” Paul corrected her. “Damien Priest just stepped onto the terrace.”

Julia recognized him instantly. Though he was the only one of Eve’s husbands who hadn’t been in films, he was a celebrity in his own right. Before his retirement at thirty-five, Priest had been one of the top money winners in professional tennis. A Wimbledon champion, he had also racked up wins in all the other Grand Slam tourneys.

Tall and rangy, Priest had a long reach and a wicked backhand. He had a gut-slamming sexuality a woman noticed instantly. Seeing him now, with his arm tucked around the waist of a young woman, Julia understood why Eve had married him.

His marriage to Eve had generated acres of print. He had been nearly twenty years her junior when they had eloped to Las Vegas. Though their marriage had lasted only one tumultuous year, it had given the tabloids fodder for months after.

“Three out of four,” Julia murmured, wondering how she could work it to her advantage. “Your father?”

“Sorry. Not even this could tear him away from a performance of
Lear.”
Paul sampled the champagne and thought how much he’d have liked to sample the taste of Julia’s long, smooth back. “Though I am under orders to report anything of interest.”

“Hopefully there will be.”

“Don’t borrow trouble.” He laid a hand on her arm. “Other than the husbands, I could point out any number of ex-lovers, old rivals, and displeased friends.”

“I wish you would.”

He only shook his head. “There are also plenty of people here who would probably be very happy to see this entire book business disappear.”

Irritation sparkled in her eyes. “Including you.”

“Yes. I’ve had a long time to think about you having someone break in and go through your work. Maybe it was just idle curiosity, but I doubt it. I told you from the beginning I didn’t want Eve hurt. I don’t want you hurt either.”

“We’re both big girls, Paul. If it helps ease your mind, I can tell you that what Eve has told me so far is sensitive, certainly personal, perhaps uncomfortable for certain people. I really don’t think any of it could be considered threatening.”

“She isn’t finished yet. And she—” Even as his eyes narrowed, his fingers tightened on the stem of the glass.

“What is it?”

“Another of Eve’s Michaels.” His voice had cooled, but it was nothing compared to the ice in his eyes. She wondered the air around them didn’t crackle. “Delrickio.”

“Michael Delrickio?” Julia tried to pick out the man Paul was staring at. “Should I know him?”

“No. And if you’re lucky, you’ll live the rest of your life without knowing him.”

“Why?” As she asked, she recognized the man she had seen come out of Drake’s office. “Is he that distinguished-looking man with silver hair and a mustache?”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Paul passed her his half-full glass of wine. “Excuse me.”

Ignoring the people who called his name or reached out to
lay a hand on his arm, Paul made a direct line for Delrickio. It might have been the expression in his eyes or the barely suppressed fury in his stride that had several backing off—and the burly Joseph moving closer. Paul sent one long, challenging glance toward Delrickio’s muscle, then trained his eyes on the don. With only the barest flicker of his eye, Delrickio had Joseph standing aside.

“Well, Paul. It’s been a long time.”

“Time’s relative. How did you slither through the gate, Delrickio?”

Delrickio sighed and chose one of the delicate lobster puffs from his plate. “You still have trouble with respect. Eve should have let me discipline you all those years ago.”

“Fifteen years ago I was a boy, and you were a slimy smear on the boot heel of humanity. The difference now is I’m no longer a boy.”

Rage was something Delrickio had long since learned to control. It snapped at him now, dug in its teeth, and was whipped back in a matter of seconds. “Your manners dishonor the woman who opened her house to us tonight.” With care and deliberation, he chose another hors d’oeuvre. “Even enemies must respect neutral territory.”

“This has never been neutral territory. If Eve invited you here, she made an error in judgment. The fact that you’re here tells me you have no conception of the word
honor.”

The raw anger flared again. “I’m here to enjoy the hospitality of a beautiful woman.” He smiled, but his eyes burned. “As I have done often in the past.”

Paul made a quick move forward. Joseph moved simultaneously. By slipping his hand inside his jacket, he turned the barrel of the .32 automatic he carried into the flesh beneath Paul’s armpit.

“Oh!” Julia stumbled and spilled a full glass of champagne over Joseph’s shiny Gucci loafers. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How awful. Really, I don’t know how I could be so clumsy.” Fluttering and smiling, she whipped Joseph’s handkerchief from his pocket, then squatted at his feet. “I’ll dry them off for you before it spots.”

The commotion she was causing had a ripple of laughter moving through the nearby huddle of people. Smiling artlessly at Joseph, she lifted her hand, giving him little choice but to help her to her feet—and position her between himself and Paul.

“I seemed to have soaked your handkerchief.”

He muttered something and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Haven’t we met before?” she asked him.

“A tired line, Julia.” Eve glided up beside her. “It almost ruins the effect of you kneeling at the man’s feet. Hello, Michael.”

“Eve.” He took her hand, lifting it slowly to his lips. The old need churned in him, darkened his eyes. If Paul hadn’t told Julia they had been lovers, she would have known it then, by the snapping in the air. “More beautiful than ever.”

“You’re looking … prosperous. I see you’re making old acquaintances—and new. You remember Paul, of course. And this is my charming, if clumsy, biographer, Julia Summers.”

“Miss Summers.” He brushed his lips and mustache over her knuckles. “I’m delighted to meet you, at last.”

Before she could reply, Paul had an arm around her waist and was pulling her to his side. “Why the hell is he here, Eve?”

“Now, Paul, don’t be rude. Mr. Delrickio’s a guest. I wondered, Michael, have you had a chance to speak with Damien yet? I’m sure the two of you have a lot of old times to talk over.”