Lovers and Liars (23 page)

“I
’m starved.”

Melody couldn’t take her eyes off of Jack. She was still on the bed, holding the coverlet over her breasts. Twilight was settling over the desert, etching it in rainbow hues. Against the window Jack was boldly outlined by the setting sun as he pulled his trousers up over green-and-black briefs. He was breathtaking; he was magnificent.

And he had just made love to her.

Just the way she had imagined.

Still shirtless, he straightened to catch her staring. He grinned then sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “Crazy, huh?”

Oh, God, I love you, Melody thought. She wanted to shout it to the world, to him. She wanted to tell him how fantastic making love with him had been. Instead she stared helplessly.

Jack shrugged on his shirt. “I hope the food is decent
around here. Hey, Mel, I almost forgot, I wanted to run something past you.”

Instantly Melody was sitting up very straight. “Jack, why don’t you wait and we’ll grab something to eat together and we can discuss your ideas then?”

Jack’s gaze as it touched her was warm and relaxed. “Okay.”

Melody scrambled out of the bed, grabbing her clothes, her heart pounding with excitement—now they were going to have dinner together!—and she fled into the bathroom. Jack watched her, affectionate amusement lifting the corners of his mouth. He’d been with enough women to know she didn’t want him to see her body, as if she had something he hadn’t seen before. For a moment he couldn’t believe he had really slept with her. Then he shrugged it off. He turned to stare out the window, his thoughts full of the shoot now and the character he would be playing. He was so immersed in reflection that he didn’t even hear her when she returned from the bathroom, fully dressed.

“I’m ready,” Melody said almost shyly.

“Mel,” Jack said in the hall, “I had this great insight yesterday. That this is Nick Ryder’s last chance at salvation, his last chance to rediscover his compassion, his humanity. To rediscover himself as a man. What do you think?”

Melody blinked. “What?”

“We’re talking about my character,” Jack said impatiently, then repeated what he had just said. They had entered the vast terra-cotta-floored lobby. Indifferently he scanned the area without making eye contact with anyone, a feat he’d long since perfected, despite the fact that most if not all gazes were trained on him. There were a dozen or so guests in the lobby, including
a
woman who was checking in with her back to him, and two of the crew, Jack’s hairstylist and his boyfriend-assistant. Then Jack eyes went wide, zooming in to the woman in the fitted red jacket and straight black skirt, to the mass of disheveled blond hair cascading over her broad shoulders.

No way.

Jack stared.

There was no way it was her.

“Thank you,” she said to the clerk, and Jack’s heart jumped. Even before she turned, just from the sound of her voice, he knew who it was.

The broad from the North-Star party. The broad who had stood him up.

She was reaching for her bag when she saw him, and she froze in midmotion.

Jack couldn’t look away. Neither could she.

For a long moment their gazes locked.

She was even better than he’d remembered. He had forgotten the impact she’d had on him. It was like being jolted by an electric current. He had forgotten how strong and sexy her body was. The black skirt fit like a second skin, clinging to her long, strong legs.

Then she straightened, smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Why, hello,” she said. Casually, oh-so-casually. As if she hadn’t stood him up. “We’ve met before, I think.”

She thought?
What, she couldn’t even recall that they’d met? Was he so forgettable? He, Jack Ford, superstar and sex symbol to millions of women?
Millions
. Which reminded him of the fact that she didn’t even know who he was.

Jack couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe her. His jaw was as tight as a vise, but he managed to get the words out. “Oh, we’ve met before, all right,” he said. “I remember it very well.”

38

L
ansing knew exactly where to find her at this time of night. He wasn’t really in the mood to be doing this. He had had to cancel his date with that hot little blond receptionist,
and that irked him completely. She had a great ass, shown to perfect advantage in the tight knit dress he’d seen her in yesterday, and a pair of knockers that begged to be played with. Instead he was cruising downtown to have a chat with a hooker. Too bad he was repelled by the thought of being with one—at least that would take the edge off. Now he’d have to wait but, hopefully, only until tomorrow. Then he’d have lunch with the receptionist—what was her name? Melody … yeah, that was it. Pussy for lunch. Why not?

Feeling increased aggravation—or was it frustration?—a very clear image of Melody as she must have looked, sitting at her desk, talking to him over the phone, invaded his mind. Now this was a truly incredible situation, he thought sarcastically, braking hard for a red light.

He had the hots for her, and it was getting worse.

And she was completely indifferent to him. It irked him. Frustrated him. He was not used to this. Women always fell into his lap (and into his bed) when he turned on his considerable charm.

But not Melody.

She was infatuated with her boss.

Christ!

He pictured, as he had dozens of times, her lush body naked, pink-and-white, wonderfully curved, her full bottom in his hands, her even fuller breasts against his chest as he plunged into her—damn, damn, damn.

Of course he had an impossible hard-on now—just what he needed when he was going to have a possibly unpleasant conversation with a hooker.

He shoved Melody out of his mind.

Leah worked out of a stable run by a pimp named Ramon. He was typical: tall, black, overdressed, swaggering. He seemed to have three other girls in his stable, but Lansing wasn’t positive. The girls all worked a couple of blocks between Twentieth and Twenty-fifth on the West Side in Manhattan. They lived in a deluxe accommodation uptown—if you considered Harlem uptown and deluxe. Ramon had a sheet a half an arm long and carried a piece. He also
carried a ten-inch silver hunting knife strapped to his left ankle, in a snakeskin boot.

He spotted Leah walking out of an alley at five minutes to midnight. She had just blown a john, obviously. She had dark blond hair, a shade lighter than Jack Ford’s, permed, frizzy, and shoulder-length. An incredible body if you liked them tallish and slim, which he didn’t. Lansing slowed the rental car and cruised alongside her, leaning out his window. “Hey, doll!”

She saw him and sauntered over. “Hi,
doll
,” she mimicked. “Fifty bucks I blow you in the car.” Her voice had become a purr. Her face was heavily made up, so he really couldn’t tell what she looked like. “Extras are my pleasure—but they cost more.”

“I’ll take it,” Lansing said, opening the other door. He watched her move around the front of the car, shaking everything deliberately. Braless, of course. Round and firm in one of those spandex tops with a matching miniskirt.

She got in, slamming the door. “You can touch,” she said, taking his hand and holding it to her breast, “but that’s an extra.” Then she reached out and found him through his trousers.

He had lost it, fortunately, but to his dismay it jumped right back up. “I guess you’re ready,” she said enthusiastically. “Got quite a package there, eh, bud? Those balls must weigh a ton!” She cupped each one, then ran a long fingernail up and down his penis. “My, my!” she breathed. She actually seemed excited.

“Look, Leah,” he said briskly, grabbing her hand tightly and lifting it off but not releasing it. “I want to discuss some business with you—and I don’t want a blow job.”

“You prick!” She struggled. “Let go! I don’t talk business, not with you or anybody!”

“I’ll give you the fifty,” Lansing said, yanking on her. “Just be still and listen to what I have to say.”

She watched him warily.

He held out fifty dollars, watching as she counted it. “I’m a private investigator. I was hired by your brother to
find you and bring you home. He’s real concerned about your welfare.”

Her eyes widened. “Rick?”

“No, Jack Ford. Although Rick is living with Ford. In L.A.”

Leah stared. “What does he want with me?”

“He wants to help you out, I guess. Better yet, why don’t you fly out to see him and ask him?”

Leah stared, then laughed. “Help me out, huh? Does he know what I do? That I’m a hooker?”

“I told him,” Lansing said evenly. “We can leave tomorrow night.”

“Why should I leave? I’ve got everything I need right here. Besides …”—she grinned—“with the right guy, I like what I do.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of Ramon.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone. If I wanted to leave, I would. But I like this setup. I make five hundred a day, easy—no sweat. I got a great pad and jewelry and plenty of blow and all the clothes I need. You tell me why I should leave to go meet some faggot brother who thinks he has to save my soul? Fuck him!”

“Look at it as a paid vacation,” Lansing suggested.

She snorted. Then her eyes dropped to his crotch, and she was quick as a snake. She had him in her hand, his pants unzipped. “Good Lord, what a meaty one!”

Lansing tried to breathe. All his mental resistance was crumbling fast. “I haven’t ever paid for it,” he said, “and I have no intention of starting.”

“I’ll bet you don’t pay for it,” she murmured, and suddenly she was ripping open a rubber with her teeth and rolling it on.

It was hard to breathe, but he tried one last time. “Leah, you could start over. Ford has money and power—he’ll help you.”

She pulled up the spandex skirt, revealing shaved bareness. Oh, Christ! was all he thought. He slid onto the middle of the seat and lifted her onto him. They both gasped at the same time.

“Suck my tits,” she said, shoving a suddenly bare nipple in his face.

He obliged.

39

R
ick was used to it.

Everybody was talking and laughing in the corridors at eight
A.M
., waiting for the first bell to ring. Everybody had somebody, except him. He leaned against a locker, glaring at anyone who happened to look at him. Not too many kids did. There was a nice two- to three-foot radius surrounding him—as if he had an invisible wall protecting him from intruders. No one breached it. Sometimes a couple of girls swung past, looking, pointing, and giggling. Making his ears burn. He knew they were making fun of him.