L.A. Confidential (7 page)

“That's a great outfit. You can, like, wear it to work, but it's also great for dates for the weekend or whatever.”

“It's great,” Lisa agreed.

“Want me to take it to the dressing room for you?”

“No, thanks,” Lisa said, fully intending to announce that she was just browsing. Instead, though, her traitorous mouth took over and said, “I'm looking for something for a date.”

“Ohhhhh!” The girl nodded. “Something fun and flirty. Gotcha.”

Lisa mumbled something noncommittal, totally irritated with herself. This wasn't a
date
date. She was not
dating
Ken. She was going out with him, yes, but only because that was his condition for helping her, not because there was anything left between them. It was about the job.
Job, job, job.

“You okay?”

Lisa nodded. “Fine. The thing is, it's not exactly a date. It's a business deal, too.”

“Colleague or opponent?”

She frowned. “Pardon?”

The girl ran a hand through her hair, spiking it and making Lisa wonder if magenta sparks were going to start flying. “Is the guy someone you work with, or someone you're trying to get something from?”

“Oh. The second.”

The girl grinned, and Lisa saw a smear of purple lipstick on her front tooth. “I know just the dress.” She bounced toward the window and took down the red dress, the one Lisa'd been eyeing. The one Lisa knew better than to wear on a date with Ken.

“Oh, I don't think so…”

“Trust me. This dress will seal any deal.”

Lisa licked her lips. True, she wanted Ken's help, but what she didn't want was to seem too eager to participate in his rather decadent conditions—no matter how titillating the idea might be. If she were smart, she'd wear her denim skirt and a sweater, comfortable and casual.

Except her brain didn't seem to be calling the shots, and she found herself nodding and reaching for the dress. “I guess it wouldn't hurt just to try it on.”

Probably smelling a sale, the girl pretty much danced toward the dressing room, picking up accessories as she went. Lisa followed meekly, feeling a bit like a child following the pied piper. By the time they hit the dressing room, the girl had gathered the red dress, a sequined bolero-length sweater jacket, strappy red sandals, and a red leather clutch bag.

“It's all yours. Let me know if the size isn't right.”

Nodding, Lisa took a deep breath and entered noman's land. Once she went in, she knew she wasn't leaving without that dress. And once she got it on, she was even more sure. It was, in a word, stunning. The material was a rayon-silk blend that felt fabulous against her skin. And skin was pretty much all that was against it, at least up top, because the upper portion of the dress was two simple crisscrosses of gathered material sewn together at the neck.

The design accentuated her cleavage, leaving a bare back and very little to the imagination. The rest of the dress was just as provocative. A tight waist flared out into a dancer's skirt that could, if she wanted, reveal all with a simple twirl.

The salesgirl had done a good job guessing Lisa's shoe size, too, and the sandals fit like a dream. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the dressing room curtain aside and stepped out, wanting to take a look at the ensemble in the three-way mirror.

“Ouch! Girl, that dress is hot!”

Lisa did a little mini twirl in front of the mirror, careful to not let the skirt flare too high, and had to agree. “It is, isn't it?”

“Is he cute?”

An image of Ken's piercing blue eyes and solid jaw flashed in her mind. “Better than cute. He's handsome.”

The girl, who never seemed to stay completely still, bobbed a bit more and clapped her hands. “Awesome. You've got to get it. You look like a movie star.”

Lisa glanced over her shoulder, catching her reflection in the three-way mirror. It truly was one heck of a dress. She felt sexy. Confident. As if she could take
over the world, and certainly as though she could seal one little deal.

Besides, the truth was, she wanted to see his eyes when he saw her in this outfit.

Knowing her credit card would come close to keeling over from the strain, she nodded. “I'll take it.”

“Excellent. Shoes and purse, too?”

“What the hell? It's only plastic.”

The girl grinned. “Does that mean you want the sweater, too?” She reached into the dressing room and emerged with the dainty thing. “It gets cold near the beach at night…”

She let the words hang until Lisa rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “Fine. Add it in. I can't do much more damage.”

“Trust me,” the girl said a few minutes later at the cash register. “I totally wouldn't steer you wrong. This is one hot outfit. It's going to, like, totally, clinch your deal.”

Lisa took the shopping bag and nodded. The girl was undoubtedly right. But what deal would get clinched? Her deal for Ken's location? Or Ken's deal…for her?

K
EN'S PRIVATE OFFICES
were located on the mezzanine level of the Bellisimo, adjacent to the restaurant. He'd spent the hours since the lunch rush pouring over Tim's magazine, thinking and rethinking locations for Lisa's movie—locations for a seduction.

Tonight he was going to start out sweet and simple, crafting an erotic buildup for maximum effect. From the way he'd come on at breakfast, she undoubtedly expected him to urge her into his bed for a long night of sensuous delights. As tempting as that sounded, Ken intended to throw her off balance. He'd start out romantic and work his way up to seductive. By the time Lisa ended up in his bed, Ken wanted her desperate for him. His plan might have been formed in anger, but that didn't change the bottom line. He intended to have a good time—a damn good time—when Lisa ended up in his bed.

They'd agreed to meet in front of the restaurant at seven, so at five he wrapped up, putting away Tim's magazine and the tourist map of L.A. The hotel was hosting a pharmaceutical convention, and he stepped
from his office into a crowd of people leaving the two smaller ballrooms.

He moved with the group toward the elevators and stood pressed between a tall woman in a tailored suit and a short man in a sweater vest as he waited for the elevator to arrive. When it did, the crowd practically pushed him on, and he moved to the back, only noticing when he turned around that Lisa was in the front near the control panel.

“Twenty, please,” he said.

Her hand raised to punch the button, and he could tell the exact moment she recognized his voice. Her shoulders stiffened, and she cocked her head then turned around to face him.

“Hi,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed, and he wondered what she was thinking. “Hi.”

She shifted and he noticed the garment bag she was holding. “Shopping?” The dress was blood-red, with not too much material on top, and he couldn't help but imagine how absolutely gorgeous she'd look in it. He imagined her pressed against him, his hand cupping her bare back. Feeling himself harden, he shook his head, trying to rein in his newfound lust. “For our date, I hope.”

Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darted to the other passengers as she pushed the bag behind her. “No.” She lifted her chin, her voice indignant, and Ken remembered how adorable she looked when cornered.

That he could still rattle her thrilled him in some deep, masculine way. She'd wounded his pride, and it was reassuring to know it had cost her at least something when she'd left him.

“I, uh, just needed a few things,” Lisa said.

“Including a super-sexy little red dress?” Because he couldn't help it, he let his gaze roam over her body, his blood pulsing hot as he imagined those sweet curves under his fingertips, when he met her eyes he saw annoyance and something else. Something potent.

Before he could analyze her look, she blinked and straightened, leaving only a put-out expression. “So why are you going up to the rooms?”

He stifled a grin, amused by her efforts to change the subject. “Just heading home.”

The elevator stopped and the conventioneers stepped out. He moved toward her, taking advantage of the space they left. A thin veneer of hurt and anger surrounded him every time he got near to her. But despite that—or perhaps because of it—the need to touch her almost overwhelmed him. He fisted his hands at his sides. He wasn't going to. It was becoming a matter of principle; he was going to build up his touches until they were both insane with need. Of course, he was close to that point already, a fact that left him a little concerned about the wisdom of his plan. But he didn't intend to back down now.

“Home?”

“Something wrong with that?”

Her forehead creased, and he moved nearer, the floral scent of her perfume driving him a little insane. “You live here? In the hotel?”

“Moved in a few years ago.” He didn't mention he'd moved in after she'd left town.

He propped his hand on the wall behind her as he leaned closer. “Besides, I've got everything I need here. A little kitchen, a living room…” He ducked his head
until his lips grazed her hair, hoping he was driving her as crazy as he was driving himself. Summoning every ounce of willpower in his body, he resisted the urge to taste her earlobe. “A bedroom.”

“Oh.” She stepped backward until she was pressed against the wall, but couldn't escape the circle of his arm. “I, um, why?”

He shrugged, not comfortable examining his reasons. “Seemed easier than mowing the lawn. Keeps me closer to work.” He spoke with a light tone, but she squinted, as if she knew she wasn't hearing the full story.

The elevator stopped on fifteen, and Ken was grateful for the reprieve. A woman wearing a terry-cloth robe over a bathing suit stepped on. “Could you hit the pool level, please?”

Since they had company, Ken stepped back, releasing Lisa from the circle of his arms. She rushed to push the elevator button, clearly relieved to have reclaimed some personal space. Lord, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to reach out and pull her close and demand answers. Wanted to possess her, body and mind, until the hurt melted and the fury faded and he had his heart back.

Stepping further back, he curled his hands into fists, concentrating all his energy on keeping control. Tim was right. He was playing with fire, and he was the one that was going to get burned.

The elevator stopped on eighteen, and the woman for the pool got off. Alone, they stood there, not looking at each other, the air practically crackling between them, until they reached the twenty-fourth floor and the elevator doors slid open again.

“I—I'm sorry,” she said. “I guess I forgot to hit your floor.”

“No problem. I can find my way home.”

She draped the bag over her arm and straightened the strap on her purse. “Well, this is my stop.”

As she passed by him, he caught her arm. “Lisa.”

She turned, eyes wide and curious. “Yes?”

“Wear the dress.”

Her lips twitched, and her gaze drifted over him, her examination so slow and thorough he hardened under the caress of her gaze. After a moment she blinked, then moved into the hallway, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Maybe I will,” she said with a shrug. “For you, maybe I will.”

 

“D
O YOU HAVE AN UPDATE
for me?” Even from across the country, Winston's voice sounded crisp, clear and no-nonsense.

“I've only been here a day and a half.” She'd been debating wearing the dress when he called, and now she pulled the bedspread off and wrapped it around her naked shoulders, not wanting to talk to Winston in her underwear.

“A lot can happen in a day. I locked in two locations in San Francisco this morning. Nice town, San Francisco. If you don't come through for me, looks like I'll be spending some time there—and finding someone else to be my producer.”

Her stomach lurched. She couldn't let him pick San Francisco. She needed this too badly. She hesitated only briefly, then took a deep breath and took the plunge. “The truth is, I made a deal with Harper.”

“It's all set? You got the restaurant?”

She crossed her fingers. “I'm meeting him in an hour to go over the details.” Not exactly a lie.

“And the rest of the locations?”

“Ken's going with me to scout a few later tonight.”

He grunted. “Well, I've got to give Greg credit. Looks like you were the best man for the job.”

After he said goodbye, she took ten deep breaths, wondering if the fates were going to punish her for spinning little white lies. Not that she'd said anything truly inaccurate. But she hadn't exactly left Winston with the full picture. Hadn't mentioned, for example, that the deal still needed to be sealed—with herself.

She shook her head, determined to be Scarlett O'Hara and deal with that tomorrow. Right now she had enough to deal with—such as figuring out what exactly Ken wanted. And deciding what the heck she was going to wear while he took it.

She dropped the bedspread and headed back toward the mirror. She'd already put the dress on and taken it off five times, and now she really needed to make up her mind and get her makeup on or she was going to be late.

Making a face, she ran her hands through her hair, feeling frazzled and anything but in control. She couldn't blow this.
She couldn't.
Hell, Winston thought the deal was locked in. He was probably already packing his bags and making reservations at his favorite Los Angeles hotel.

She gave her reflection a long, steady look. “But it's not a done deal until you meet his conditions.”

Thinking about what that meant, she ran her hands over her breasts and her stomach, closing her eyes as she imagined Ken touching her. He wanted to, that much she knew. She'd seen it in his eyes at breakfast and again in the elevator. He wanted to touch her, wanted to make
love to her. But she'd also seen anger buried beneath those icy-blue eyes.

Ken might want her—but he also wanted her to pay.

Wondering exactly what the price would be, she licked her lips as she ran the material of the dress between her fingers. Silky and seductive, the dress made her feel feminine and powerful. After only a moment's hesitation, she slipped it on, the material as soft as a lover's touch. She twirled in front of the mirror, realizing she wasn't a whole lot more dressed wearing it than not wearing it.

She knew he was angry—that was more than clear. But there'd also been a hunger in his eyes when she'd gotten off the elevator at her floor, as though he was imagining her in the dress—and out of it. Truth be told, she liked knowing that hunger was for her. She hadn't felt feminine in a long, long time. And despite the bizarre circumstances, the feeling was intoxicating.

Closing her eyes, she sat on the edge of the bed, her body thrumming from the memory of the way his face had looked before the elevator doors had slid closed. The slight curve of his lips, the dark passion in his eyes.

With a sigh, she grazed her hands lightly over the material, feeling it caress her thighs, her skin warming despite the coolness of the fabric. Her nipples tightened, and she stroked her hands upward, cupping her breasts as she teased her nipples with her thumbs, all the while imagining Ken's mouth, warm and wet, laving her breasts.

Moaning, she lay back on the bed, knowing she should stop, but not wanting to. Her body burned, her breath coming rough and jagged. Ever since she'd seen
him, she'd been tense, her libido out of control, and now she wanted the release, needed it, even. Needed to get it out of her system before she saw him again and did something she'd regret.

There wasn't much to the top of the dress, and she slipped her hand under the material. Her nipple was tight and tingly, and she stroked it lightly with the palm of her hand, her touch little more than a tease. She imagined Ken's hands on her, and the sensations rippled through her, the warmth filling her belly and pooling between her thighs. His imaginary kisses trailed down her body, teasing her thighs, urging her legs apart.

She trembled, entirely lost in the moment except for the tiny part of her that wished she weren't thinking of him.

Dipping her fingers down, she touched herself, her fingers stroking the material of the dress along the apex of her thighs. She sighed, the sound low in her throat. Arching her back, she grazed the tips of her fingers up her thigh, sliding the material up her leg, needing to feel the cool rush of air as the material drifted over her. Her fingers traced the edge of her panties, then trailed over the damp silk at the crotch.

She imagined Ken leaning over her, his lips near hers, his rough hands stroking her sides, his body hard against hers. The air did nothing to cool her burning body, and she rubbed her fingers in a circle over the damp material, her breath coming faster and faster until she came with a gasp, her body warm and trembling as she curled up into a little ball, trying to keep a hold on some tiny bit of the ecstacy.

As she was hugging her knees to her chest, sanity returned, and she wondered what the hell she'd just
done. And why. She felt better, yet somehow she felt worse—not to mention scared. In just a little bit she'd see him again. Had she gotten him out of her system? Or had she only primed the pump?

“You're a mess,” she whispered.

It was true. And she knew one other thing for certain—no way was she going out with Ken Harper wearing that damn red dress.

 

“S
O WHERE ARE WE GOING
?” Lisa asked.

They were in his Jaguar, the top down, and he turned to get a better look at her. She hadn't worn the dress, and he'd felt a twinge of disappointment when he'd seen her standing in the lobby wearing a knee-length denim skirt and a simple T-shirt. She still looked sexy as hell, but he'd been hoping that she'd wear the dress because she knew he wanted it.

She's not doing this to make you happy, Harper. She's doing it to get what she wants. Business. Only business.

And wasn't that always the way? An invisible band tightened around his chest as the inevitable, infuriating truth set in—Lisa was there because she needed something. Just as she'd left five years ago because he
couldn't
help. Now she was back because he could.

Dammit.

He resisted the urge to pound his palm against the steering wheel, instead gripping the wheel so hard he was probably going to leave permanent indentions.

She was there for business, and he was there to exorcise the past. Not romance. Not love. Not even a date. He needed to remember that. Needed to keep it foremost in his mind before he lost himself again.

“Ken?” She was twisting her hands in her lap. “Did you hear me? Where are we going?”

“Don't you trust me?”

“Don't you have to work tonight?” A nonanswer.

“Nope. I'm all yours.” He
should
be working. Not only were Sundays usually busy, but he and Tim made a habit of going over the specials for the next week every Sunday night.