No Regrets (26 page)

No. It was unimaginable. Molly might just as well still be a nun. Hell, he figured, although he knew she had turned thirty-one her last birthday, he'd bet she'd never been to bed with any of those bland, safe men she occasionally dated.

Not that Salvatore wasn't undoubtedly going to do his best to change that. The guy had had no qualms about hitting on her when she was a nun. Now that she was fair game, so to speak, he was undoubtedly planning to pull out all the stops tonight.

Although he knew his irritation was irrational, Reece glared up at the cloudless sky once again and wished for rain. An old-fashioned duck strangler that would flood all the streets and runways and ground hotshot Joe Salvatore's goddamn plane.

 

“I still can't believe you did this!” Molly exclaimed as Joe pulled out a chair for her.

“I invited you out to dinner,” he reminded her.

“You didn't tell me we were eating in San Diego.”

She'd been floored when he'd driven her to the John Wayne Airport and announced they'd be dining at the famed Hotel del Coronado. The table was on a deck overlooking the sunset-gilded ocean. When he'd stopped at the hotel deli—located in an old stone wine cellar—to pick up the dinner he'd already ordered, she'd understood why he'd instructed her to dress casually.

“You didn't ask.” His quick grin seemed designed to make her feel comfortable with him. “And I did mention taking you flying.”

When Joe had first called her, telling her he was coming to town and would like to see her, Molly had been afraid that things would be tense between them. But, missing his friendship, she'd agreed and had discovered that they'd fallen back into the easygoing relationship they'd shared before he'd kissed her. Before he'd proclaimed his love.

“You're right.” She returned his smile with one of her own. “Next time I'm asked out, I'll be sure to ask if the dinner part of the date includes a flight plan.”

He bit into a French fry. “Go on many dates do you?”

“A few.” Not nearly as many as Reece, she thought, comparing her occasional movie-and-pizza date with his hedonistic lifestyle. At least, she had to admit, most of the time he managed to keep his Hollywood life separate from his home life. And from what she'd been able to tell, Grace had not suffered any from the fact that her
father was one of the most sought-after bachelors in town.

“I'm glad.” He leaned back and took a long pull on his beer bottle. “I've been worried about you,” he admitted. “Worried the good Dr. Longworth might break your heart.”

She laughed at that. “Reece could never break my heart. He's my best friend.”

“So you keep saying. Which makes me wonder—” he leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers to her cheek “—why your face still gets warm and flushed whenever you talk about the guy.”

“I have a wonderful relationship with Reece and Grace,” she insisted quietly. “I'd never do anything to jeopardize that.”

He gave her another long look that made Molly feel he could see all the way into her soul. “Like admitting you're in love with the guy?”

“Joe…” She backed away. “Please. I don't feel comfortable discussing my feelings for Reece with you.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, but the concern didn't leave his sleepy dark eyes. “Actually, I didn't ask you out to heckle you about your love life, Molly.”

“Why did you ask me out?”

“For old times' sake. Because I miss you like hell. And because I wanted to invite you to my wedding.”

“Your wedding?” Her lips curved. Feelings of relief and joy flowed through her like warm summer sunshine. “You're getting married?”

“Next month.” He eyed her carefully. “You don't mind?”

“Mind? Oh, I think it's wonderful. I was so
afraid—” As soon as she realized what she was about to say, Molly clamped her mouth shut.

“That I'd go through the rest of my life carrying a torch for you?” he asked mildly.

Once again Molly felt the hated heat flood into her face. She took a long drink of iced tea in an attempt to quench the fire.

“I really did love you, Molly. Still do, for that matter, but in a much safer way. The trouble with torch carrying,” he murmured, the good-natured humor she'd always loved lightening his tone, “is that after a while you tend to burn your fingers.”

She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I love you, too.” It was the absolute truth. “And I'm so happy for you…. So, who's the lucky woman?”

“Naomi.”

“Naomi?” At first the idea surprised her. Then Molly realized they were a perfect match. Joe was impulsive, reckless and laughed easily and often. Naomi was serious, thoughtful and as calm as a warm tropical lagoon. She'd offer Joe an anchor, while he'd give her wings. “How wonderful for both of you!”

“We think so.”

“Does this mean you're staying on with the BIA?”

“Actually, we've decided to open a traveling clinic. Kind of pick up where you left off. Then later, after we have kids, perhaps…”

His voice drifted off as a shutter went down over eyes that only a moment earlier had danced with enthusiasm. “Hell. I'm sorry, Molly. I get talking about Naomi and our plans, which we're pretty psyched about, and my mouth just runs away with me.”

“Don't worry about it. You're right to be excited about your plans. They sound wonderful. Including the children.”

“You really ought to have a passel of kids of your own.”

“I know.” She thought it was a sign of personal growth that she could finally admit her secret desire out loud. “And I will, one of these days.”

“Good.” His renewed smile bathed her in a warm and approving light. “So, back to my invitation. The wedding's going to be on the rez. Think you can make it?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.” Molly laughed with heartfelt pleasure, feeling as if the brisk ocean breeze had just blown away one of the last shadows hovering over her past.

 

After bestowing a dazzlingly seductive smile and a twenty-dollar tip on the parking valet who took her Porsche, Tessa made her way down the garden path to the bungalow at the Château Marmont Hotel. The hotel, secreted away behind the giant billboards and sun-bleached glitz of the Sunset Strip offered its guests an old-world charm and the ultimate in privacy.

“And tonight, we're offering a one-of-a-kind entertainment package to our Gold Star guests,” she said as she brushed by a leafy green elephant-ear plant. “A private performance, so to speak, from Tessa Starr, the girl most likely to become a hooker.”

She laughed at her bad joke. Thanks to the combination of pot and Valium she'd had today, she was floating. Tonight's party was with a big-money oil guy from Alaska who was looking to invest some of his black gold in the movie business.

Although her reputation for bounced checks and drugs had made her pretty much casting poison in town, causing her to finally cave in and accept Elaine Mathison's offer to come to work for her, Tessa had not given up on her dream of becoming a star. After all, this
was
acting in a way. Before each date, Elaine would give her a rundown on the client, allowing her to become whatever fantasy woman he desired.

When she'd learned that one of Elaine's other girls, Janis, had gotten this gig, Tessa had paid her two hundred bucks to call in with menstrual cramps.

“This could be your big chance,” she told herself. “This could be the night you hit the big time.”

Since she hadn't been given any specific instructions, she'd dressed carefully for what could be the most important audition of her life. The sea green silk dress was so thin, it was almost transparent, inviting a man to look closer to see whether or not he was imagining the naked breasts beneath it. She'd considered dispensing with underwear altogether, but since the dress was only long enough to cover the essentials, she decided that might be overkill and opted for a matching lace G-string. That, a pair of pearl studs and some spindly high-heeled sandals and she was set. As if she were hovering somewhere above her body, Tessa watched herself knock on the door. Although she'd become an expert at feigning pleasure, there was nothing fake about the quick, sharp breath she drew in when the man opened the door.

He was, in a word,
gorgeous.
His hair was thick and long enough for a girl to run her fingers through. His eyes were a goldish brown that reminded her of a lion,
his nose was as straight as an arrow, his jaw could have been carved on Mount Rushmore, and his mouth… Dear God, when he smiled, she experienced a sudden need to feel that mouth between her thighs where dewy moisture was already gathering.

“Mr. Evans?” This had to be a mistake, she decided. Obviously she'd written the bungalow number down wrong. Guys who looked like this did not pay for dates. Well, some of the famous ones did, she allowed. As one well-known actor had told her, it made sex simpler. But one look told her that with this man sex would never be simple.

“That's me.” His grin could have melted every ice cap left in his home state. He was wearing black jeans, a black cashmere turtleneck, and his feet were bare. He had, Tessa thought irrelevantly, the most beautiful feet she'd ever seen. She wondered if he was the kind of kinky guy who'd want his toes sucked, and hoped he was. “And you must be Janis.”

His deep baritone voice wrapped around her like a black-velvet cloak. “Tessa.” Her answering smile was not the slightest bit feigned. Tessa decided this had to be the best two hundred dollars she'd ever spent. “I'm afraid Janis had to cancel at the last minute. Her mother was ill.”

“Too bad.” His expression, as it swept over her, suggested he didn't mean that for a minute. “Would you like to come in?”

Their eyes met and in his gaze Tessa viewed myriad sensual promises. And something else. Something she would think about later when her head was clearer and her body wasn't feeling as if someone had put a torch to her skin.

“I thought you'd never ask.” As she brushed by him in the doorway, she let her hip glance against the front of his jeans and felt the hardness beneath the black denim. Oh, yes. This was going to be a night to remember.

She accepted his offer of champagne and sat down in a satin upholstered wing chair, crossing her legs in a way that offered him an enticing view of her feminine attributes.

“Aren't you going to have any?” she asked as she watched him pop the top on a can of ginger ale.

“I'd better not. I'm a recovering alcoholic,” he said easily. “The stuff's poison to guys like me.”

“Oh.” Alcoholism was not Tessa's favorite subject. Last month, when she'd been hospitalized for an accidental overdose, the doctor had suggested a Twelve Step program. Tessa had left the hospital that same day. “Well, I guess that just leaves more for me.”

“You're welcome to as much as you want.”

She laughed at that. “Do you know,” she said in a breathy voice, “I was just about to say the very same thing to you.”

It was his turn to laugh. They spent the next few minutes chatting, and although Tessa tried her best to draw him out, to learn what type of movie he was looking to invest in, and how much capital he was willing to put behind a film, his answers remained frustratingly vague.

“Well,” she said finally, polishing off her third glass of champagne, “I guess you're just one of those strong silent types.”

His beautiful lips quirked. “I guess I am.”

“Lucky for you that's my favorite type.” She rose from the chair, crossed the room on a long-legged feline glide and settled herself on his lap. With an expertise born of too much practice, she bent her head and touched her mouth to his.

The shock was hot and instantaneous, shuddering through them both like rocket fire. He pulled back far enough for her to see the smoldering embers in those tawny lion eyes.

“Tell me that was an earthquake.” His ebony velvet voice had roughened. Deepened.

“I think it was us.” Her own uncharacteristically shaky voice was little more than a whisper.

He paused, still holding her gaze as his fingers tangled in her hair. “More,” he said finally.

“More,” she echoed, weak with relief. There had been just a fleeting, terrifying second there when she'd sensed he was considering sending her away.

But he didn't send her away. Instead, his mouth met hers, harsher this time, in a breath-stealing, teeth-grinding kiss that engulfed them both in heat and sent flames licking through her blood. She opened her lips to the hot probing of his tongue, shuddered as she felt his hands on her breasts, breasts that were straining for his touch, and reveled in the immediate swell of his erection against her bottom.

He shouldn't be doing this, Dan tried to tell himself over the pounding of his blood in his ears. It was suicide. But when he felt her breasts swell beneath his palms, felt her nipples tighten to small stones, he was struck with an illicit, overwhelming urge to rip that ridiculous excuse for a dress away and take them in his
mouth while he buried his throbbing penis deep inside her hot wet flesh to quench the fire raging through his loins.

The rasp of his thumbs made her nipples burn, and the hard male flesh pressing against the cleft of her buttocks made her desperate with the need to have him inside her.
Now.

Murmuring something inarticulate that was half moan, half cry, Tessa broke away from the kiss, stood up, caught hold of the hem of the dress and began to pull it over her head.

“Don't,” he said suddenly. Sharply.

“What?” She stared at him disbelievingly. Her entire body was desperate for satisfaction, and from the huge bulge in his jeans she knew that he'd been every bit as affected by the heated kiss as she was. So what the hell was his problem?

“Not yet.” When his voice came out on a croak, Dan cursed himself.
What a fucking screwup. Kovaleski,
he berated himself without mercy as he remembered the video camera hidden in the arrangement of hothouse roses on the mantel. “Aren't we supposed to…I mean, shouldn't we take care of business arrangements first?”