Temptation's Kiss (4 page)

She got up, fanning herself with the script. How could she have missed that scene when she had read the script before? She blamed it on her habit of skimming over the directions in the script in favor of her character's dialogue. There was no dialogue in the love scene. There was only direction: where T.K. would put his hands; where, when and how she was to moan as if in ecstasy.

She looked over at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. It was 9:13 p.m. Blanca didn't usually go to bed this early. Blanca had made a copy of the script for
her personal use. She grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table and dialed her number.

As soon as Blanca answered, she cried, “Did you read the love scene?”

“Fabulous, isn't it?” Blanca said sleepily. “I haven't read anything that perfectly erotic in a long time. It's a mature scene with two people who truly love each other. It's tender because it's goodbye for them, even though neither of them is aware of it. Bella gets killed the next day. It's the kind of scene people are going to be talking about for a long time, especially women. Bella directs him. She shows him how to love her like she wants to be loved, and Bass is more than willing to oblige. I tell you, women are going to fast-forward to that scene when it comes out on DVD again and again and live vicariously through you.”

“I don't know if I want them to live vicariously through me!”

“Don't tell me you're getting cold feet,” said Blanca with an indulgent laugh. “Do you know how many actresses would kill you to replace you in that scene?”

“I'm sure there would be quite a few,” Patrice admitted. “I'm still leery about showing so much skin.”

“No, you're nervous about portraying a black woman as a sexual being,” Blanca lightly accused, her tone still humorous. “Patty, I understand your reticence, but think of the portrayals of black women in Oscar-winning roles. You've got a maid, a psychic who was the comic relief and a tortured soul who has an affair with the white man
who was one of the guards on duty when her husband was executed. There is no example of a black woman loving a black man the way he should be loved. Sleep on that, and call me tomorrow. I'm your friend as well as your agent. If you really don't want to do the role, then I'll start looking for something better for you.”

Patrice sat down hard on the couch. Blanca was right. There was so much negativity out there where black men and women were concerned. Moviegoers needed more positive examples of black men loving black women. Sex was a normal, healthy part of being in love with someone. The manner in which it was expressed in the script was not salacious or pornographic.

She took a deep breath. “I don't have to sleep on it. I want to do it. I just panicked for a moment, there. Sorry to wake you.”

“I wasn't asleep,” Blanca denied.

“Blanca, I've been calling you and waking you up for a few years now. I know how you sound when you first wake up.”

Blanca laughed. “All right, you got me. Good night, chica.”

“Good night,” Patrice said softly, feeling a lot better about the script. She hung up the phone, picked up the script, sat down and continued reading. Bella was killed the next day. Good death scene, Patrice thought. She died bravely. Later in the script, Bass avenged Bella's murder.

Tears were in Patrice's eyes when she finished reading.
She wondered what T.K. was doing at that moment. Had his flirting been genuine? Or had he done it just because he knew women expected him to be charming and attentive when they were with him?

T
hat night, T.K. was running on the beach near his house in Malibu. He liked running at night when the world around him was quieter. He liked running on the beach because of the extra resistance the damp sand provided. He got a better workout. An added bonus was that the sound of the ocean soothed him.

He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. Much of the heat of the day had dissipated, but it was still a temperate seventy-five degrees out. Sam, his golden retriever, sneezed next to him, and T.K. laughed. “What's the matter, boy, am I kicking up too much sand for you?”

Sam, of course, didn't answer but happily ran on beside his human. They were only a half mile from the house. T.K. would be sure to spoil him a little tonight—maybe
give him one of those doggy ice-cream treats he loved so much.

Now that Malcolm was gone, Sam was his only housemate. When he was alive Malcolm had loved to care for Sam. Sometimes T.K. would walk into the living room and find man and dog sitting in front of the TV watching some inane comedy, Malcolm laughing uproariously and Sam smiling. Occasionally, when he would go into the living room now, he would expect to find Malcolm there. He supposed it would take his mind a while to accept that his brother was gone forever.

At the house, he and Sam jogged up the back steps of the house that led from the beach. He doffed his shoes on the balcony. He didn't want to track sand into the house. Sam patiently stood while he wiped him off with an old towel he kept on the balcony for that purpose. They entered the house through the kitchen entrance.

He got a bottle of water from the fridge and poured some in Sam's dish for him and drank the rest. Then he began the trek upstairs. Although the house was big at five thousand square feet, it wasn't ostentatious. He preferred clean lines, and possessions weren't that important to him. The furnishings were expensive only because he thought you got what you paid for. He was a big man, and the last thing he wanted to worry about was his bed collapsing under him because it was cheaply made. He was sensible in that way.

Sam followed him all the way to his bedroom. At the door, he turned to the dog and said, “I'll be down in a few
minutes. I want to shower, and then I'll give you a good brushing and a treat for being such a trouper tonight.”

Sam peered up at him as though he understood him perfectly, whined, turned around and padded back downstairs.

T.K. walked over to the nightstand next to the side of the bed where he slept and pressed the message button on the answering machine. His mother had phoned while he was out. “Your father and I are going to New York for the weekend and will be leaving Aisha alone in the house. If you would call her to check on her once or twice while we're gone, we would appreciate it.”

T.K. dreaded doing that. Aisha turned into a sultry vixen when she spoke with him over the phone. It was as if she lost the ability to speak normally. Why she thought he wanted to hear his brother's girlfriend cooing in his ear, he could not imagine. Trying to sound sexy wasn't going to make him warm up to her. He kept his distance because whenever she looked at him there was a hungry, predatory expression in her eyes.

He hated to put a pregnant woman in her place, but if it continued he was going to have to bluntly do so.

The next message was from Mark. “I just got off the phone with Blanca Mendes, Patrice's agent. That's one formidable lady. She's sensible too, though. They didn't ask for any outrageous perks, but she made sure to protect her client's rights. Patrice will be able to start in late August when we begin filming. She has another film that begins rolling in March, though, so we need to
be finished with her scenes before then. I don't anticipate running over schedule, but you never can anticipate the elements, and you're going to be in the Badlands. Have a good night.”

T.K. had been pulling off his clothes as he listened. Naked, he strode into the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. Patrice Sutton. He tried not to think too much about her. She was so sweet. When he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he imagined he could still smell the enticing scent of her.

It was too soon after his breakup with Edina to consider allowing another woman to get close to him. He knew most people expected the male in a relationship to have a roving eye, but in theirs it had been Edina who had cheated on him—repeatedly. Plus, she had had the gall to blame him. His schedule, she accused, didn't allow them enough time to grow as a couple. What she meant was he wasn't there every night to satisfy her sexual needs. Well, she hadn't been with him every night to satisfy his needs either, but he hadn't gone out and found some willing substitute for her. To be truthful with himself, he was more embarrassed than heartbroken because he had suspected for some time now that Edina, who was an actress, was with him only to further her career. He wasn't conceited enough, even though he was admittedly a fine example of a black male, to believe that he could be the complete answer to a woman's prayers. No man was that perfect. A woman had to be happy with her life without a man in it before she could find happiness with a
man. She needed to know what she wanted out of life and be willing to sacrifice for it. That was Edina's problem. She wanted instant gratification. She wasn't willing to work for happiness and didn't care who she hurt in her efforts to coast through life.

When he was feeling particularly depressed he would ask himself if he had been a better lover whether she would have cheated. Then he would remind himself that he was never a selfish lover. When they made love, he had given her his full attention. Now he knew how women felt when men cheated on them: dignity and self-worth take a beating. The truth was cheaters will stray no matter how well their significant others perform in bed. They're selfish and greedy, always looking for the next thrill.

He wasn't about the next thrill any longer. In this fake world in which he made a living, there were too many people who were looking for a thrill, ready to provide one or had enjoyed one too many and had ended up dead, broke or both.

He had been working as an actor for nearly eighteen years—half his life. He'd been through his stupid stage during which he'd believed the hype about how talented he was and gladly accepted the hangers-on, the groupies and all the false adulation that went with it. These days, he spurned insincere people.

Of course, because the insincere usually outnumbered the sincere, he spent a lot of time alone, which was fine with him.

Patrice Sutton, though, was worth pondering. He smiled when he remembered sparring with Farrell over her. Why had he done that if he truly was not ready to consider letting another woman into his life? Farrell had genuinely been interested in asking Patrice out, but while Patrice was in the ladies' room T.K. effectively convinced the young rival for her affections that she was off-limits. Perhaps that hadn't been fair to Patrice. She should have had the opportunity to either accept Farrell's attentions or turn them down. To his credit, T.K. was probably saving her from a broken heart because Farrell, at twenty-five, was a long way from abandoning the player's lifestyle. Women were constantly throwing themselves at him. And unlike T.K., who had learned to turn them down, Farrell was still flattered by the attention and willing to take advantage of the eager women.

After a quick shower, he dried off and put on his robe. Stepping into a pair of black leather slippers, he went downstairs.

Sam was waiting for him at the bottom, intelligent eyes smiling. He apparently hadn't forgotten the earlier promise of a treat.

“Yeah, yeah,” said T.K. with a laugh. “You earned your ice cream tonight.”

Sam turned and trotted ahead of him to the kitchen. T.K. wondered what the tabloids would make of one of the most popular movie stars in the world spending a Friday night with a dog. They wouldn't call him a stud then.

 

Her cell phone ringing woke Patrice Saturday morning. She gave the display a bleary-eyed stare. Then she pressed Talk. “Hey, Patrick, what's up?”

Her younger brother by two years laughed. “You sound drunk. I know you don't drink that much so I must have woken you.”

“Excellent deduction, Professor Sutton,” said Patrice as she sat up in bed.

“I've got my doctorate, but it'll be a long time before I'm tenured,” said Patrick, still chuckling. “I hear you're going to be cavorting with T. K. McKenna in a Western. It's about time they made another good Western with black lead actors.”

“I know. Isn't it pitiful? The last watchable one was
Posse
with Mario Van Peebles,” Patrice enthusiastically agreed.

“Didn't Will Smith make a Western?” Patrick asked.

“Yes, he did,” Patrice said. “I'll leave it at that.”

Patrick laughed. “It wasn't that bad. Anyway, big sis, congratulations, I'm proud of you. Now, don't go falling in love with T. K. McKenna. Nina says he's never been down the aisle. She says he's either a hard-core bachelor or gay. Either way, you'll wind up getting your heart broken.”

Patrice wondered when her sister-in-law, who was a full-time law student, had time to read the tabloids. “He's not gay.”

“I didn't think he was,” said her brother with a bit of
relief in his tone. There was a muffled exchange in the background, and then Nina's somewhat squeaky voice came over the line. “Hey, Patty. What's up?”

“Hi, Nina,” Patrice said with real pleasure. She liked her sister-in-law. She had a zest for life. She kept her usually shy, bookish brother happily on his toes trying to keep up with her.

“I know you couldn't care less, but Edina Edwards was on a late-night talk show a few nights ago talking about her engagement to some music mogul. I can't recall his name. Anyway, the host looked surprised and said he didn't know she had broken up with T.K. You could tell he said it just to provoke her. They broke up about four months ago. He was just needling her for getting engaged so soon after it was reported that she'd cheated on T.K. and that's why they'd broken up. He got his money's worth, too, because she got up and stormed off the set. You didn't hear about it? It's all over the Net and the entertainment news shows!”

“Poor T.K.,” said Patrice. She knew that T.K. and Edina Edwards had ended their relationship but none of the particulars. She only knew that they had been a couple for over two years. They had met while doing a film together.

She didn't feel inclined to gossip about him now, especially after meeting him and liking him as a person. He must be hurting after the way Edina treated him, she thought sympathetically. And now she's gotten engaged
to someone else after only four months—possibly to the man she cheated on him with.

“Yeah, poor guy,” Nina said. “But yay for you, sis, because I don't agree with my husband, who thinks you should try
not
to fall for him. He's available, and he's fair game. I say, go for it!”

Patrice laughed. “Please, Nina, don't go putting those thoughts in my head. The man is scrumptious up close and personal. I'm going to have a hard enough time working with him day in and day out without constantly having images of him naked in my mind!”

Nina laughed heartily. When she was over her laughing fit, she said seriously, “I know you were saying that to humor me. You're so levelheaded, Patty. Sometimes I wish you would live it up and break your rules for a change.” She sighed. “I'm putting my money on T.K. If anybody can make you loosen up, he can.”

Patrice took that as a challenge—not that she thought for one minute that T.K. had any notion whatsoever of seducing her. Still, it was a nice fantasy that she and her sister-in-law were cooking up. “He's just a man,” she said nonchalantly. “I've resisted men who were better-looking than T. K. McKenna.”

“Yeah,” sighed Nina, “but they weren't T.K.”

Patrice heard a muffled conversation, and then her brother was back on the line. “My wife was getting a little too worked up over that actor,” he said jokingly. “And I did phone for a reason. Nina and I've got a few
days off from work and school and thought we'd bring you the Jeep since we'll be coming over tomorrow.”

“That'd be great,” Patrice cried, touched by their thoughtfulness. She was going to have to fly back to Albuquerque and drive the car home if one of her brothers or sister hadn't offered. “You two haven't been out here in a while. You can make it a mini-vacation. I'll prepare the guest room. And I'll happily pay for your flight home.”

“Don't worry about that,” Patrick said. “We're doing okay. We can afford to pay for ourselves.”

Patrice knew her brother was proud. Trying to give him a gift was like wrangling a steer. “You're going to be paying for the gasoline to get here. It's only fair that I pay for your flight back home.”

“No, sis, save your money. You may not always have good years in Hollywood, you know. You don't want to wind up on a reality show.”

Patrice laughed. Her brother worried about her career choice. She supposed she should thank her lucky stars that he was the only one in the family who thought she should have become a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer or anything else except an actor. It was the kind of talk she expected to get from her parents, but they were cool with her choice.

“Actually, Patrick, I could probably survive on what I made on my last film for the rest of my life if I left Hollywood and moved back to Albuquerque.”

“Whoa,” said Patrick, sounding genuinely impressed.
“No wonder everybody and his momma wants to be an actor.”

“There are definite perks that come with success in this field,” Patrice said. “So can your big sister pay for those plane tickets now?”

“Nah,” said Patrick. She'd known it wasn't going to be that easy.

“Then I'll have to plan some really nice things to do while you're here,” Patrice told him.