The Perfect Kiss (3 page)

“Believe me, you couldn’t. There’s…no hope.”

“There’s always hope,” he said, the darkness of his gaze hinting at arrogance. “And I never take no for an answer.”

Then God help you,
Anya thought sadly as she turned and took her place on the set.
God help you.

* * *

She was good, Zach thought. Damned good. Better even than her photos had suggested. The smoldering sensuality
conveyed in her eyes, her mouth, her body was a unique essence no film could ever really capture. Seeing her in person was an almost mystical experience. The way she moved, the way she looked and smiled was pure sensual poetry.

Julian had been right about her eyes, Zach thought. They were compelling, mesmerizing but…somehow different. And then he had it.

The color.

The color of her eyes was different from the pictures he’d been looking at earlier. The revelation startled him. The photos had shown them to be as blue as a summer sky, but now they were the most amazing shade of gray—silver actually—and so light and transparent they seemed to be bits of crystal.

And Zach couldn’t seem to look away from them, from
her.

Overhead speakers blasted music, a dark, decadent, dangerous-sounding song that blended erotically with the setting and made Zach think of moonless nights, tangled satin sheets and unspeakable fantasies.

Anya reclined on her side against massive gold-tasseled pillows. She propped herself on her elbow, and slowly, ever so slowly, drew one knee up to reveal a long, tantalizing glimpse of leg and thigh that practically had the mesmerized crew salivating and Julian Sindel gushing in ecstasy.

Hell, he was no exception, Zach thought, backing even more deeply into the shadows. His palms itched to feel their way up that silky leg, to explore deeper and deeper until he found the delicious warmth that remained hidden beneath her clothing. Her ruby lips parted as she leaned toward the camera, and her lids became heavy and sensual.

She looked exactly like a woman who was waiting for
her lover, a woman who was every man’s fantasy, and Zach found himself falling irrevocably under her spell.

He tried to recall the dollar signs Anya Valorian represented, tried to remember that success was the name of the game. He reminded himself once again that she was perfect for Seduction.

And for seduction.

He wanted her, he realized, in a very basic man-to-woman way. He wanted to bury his face in the silvery cloud that was her hair, wanted to leisurely sample the sweet lushness of her lips, the soft fragrance of her cool skin. He wanted to press himself against her, feel her heart beating against his own as she whispered to him, touched him, thrilled him.

He wanted to explore every inch of her beautiful body, and he wanted her to do the same to him. He wanted her naked, slick and ready, wanted to hear her breathy words of praise, her hot, greedy demands and her shuddering, desperate pleas. He wanted to be the man, the
only
man, who could answer her every prayer.

Her gaze found his as her tongue licked her lips. Whether a deliberate act or merely a reflex stimulated by the excessive heat under the lights, Zach didn’t know.

Nor did he care.

The effect on him was exactly the same. He was turned on, incredibly aroused, and as he tore his gaze from hers, he looked around the room.

Every man in the place wore the same enraptured, slightly dazed look he knew mirrored his own. For some strange reason, Zach experienced an almost overwhelming feeling of possessiveness. He suddenly hated the notion that all those men were thinking the same thoughts about Anya Valorian that he’d been thinking.

Which was ridiculous, of course. When he signed her to
an exclusive contract, this was exactly the kind of reaction he’d want her to generate because it was exactly the kind of reaction that would launch Renee Alexander to the top again—and Zach right along with it.

Men would buy Seduction in their vain attempt to possess Anya Valorian, and women would buy it in their desire to emulate her. The visceral elements were all there, ready to be tapped, and Zach couldn’t afford to let his own hormones get in the way—no matter how they raged. His need for success was even more powerful, more relentless than his desire. Anya Valorian couldn’t know it, but she was no match for someone as bloodthirsty as Zach Christopher.

Their gazes touched, looked away, met again and lingered. Shock waves rippled through Zach, for it wasn’t seduction he read in her eyes now. It wasn’t passion or need that radiated from those silvery depths.

What he saw in Anya Valorian’s eyes was fear.

CHAPTER TWO

A
nya was scared. Terrified. More frightened than she had ever been in her life.

She leaned forward urgently and spoke to Karl Aldermann, “Is he still following us?”

“He’s back there all right,” her driver said grimly. “I’ll try to lose him at the next light.”

Beside her in the back seat, Freida Aldermann, Anya’s housekeeper, makeup artist and friend, wrung her hands nervously. “I knew he was trouble. Oh,
liebchen,
the moment I saw the way he looked at you back there, I knew he would be dangerous.” Her blue eyes glowed in the flashing lights from the street. “He could destroy everything,” she whispered frantically.

Anya turned and glanced out the tinted back window. She could see his headlights in the distance, keeping a steady, measured pace. Like Freida, she knew who was in that car. She had no doubt whatsoever.

Zach Christopher was following her.

Zach Christopher, an arrogant, headstrong, thoroughly determined man who never took no for an answer.

Anya’s heart pounded against her chest. She felt weak, hot and cold all over. With her growing frustration toward his stubbornness came another, deeper, far more dangerous sensation.

Excitement.

She could feel the heady emotion mounting inside her. He was getting nearer, drawing so close she could sense the strength of his will, the ruthlessness of his pursuit.

Hurry,
she thought. The word beat a relentless litany in her head.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

But whom was she coaxing? she wondered desperately. Herself…or Zach?

It was a question she was afraid to answer.

Oh, what should she do? Stop and confront him? Order him to quit following her? Demand he leave her alone?

Or should she run from him, as far and as fast as she could? Because Freida was right. Zach Christopher was a dangerous, dangerous man. Of that Anya was certain. There was something inside him, a darkness of his own, that drove him relentlessly, that made his single-minded determination a deadly threat to her.

Because Anya couldn’t allow him, or anyone else, to get too close to her.

She couldn’t allow anyone to learn her secret.

She couldn’t allow herself to forget, even for a minute, who and what she was. No matter how much she might want to.

Why else had she turned down such a lucrative contract when she so desperately needed the money? Because a long-term commitment was something Anya couldn’t even consider. Too many appearances would be required for which she would be unavailable. Too many questions would arise. Too many suspicions would be aroused. People would start to wonder, to talk….

Somehow, she had to find a way to make Zach Christopher leave her alone. His very proximity made the ache grow and strengthen inside her. With one brief touch, with one possessive look, he had made her passions rage out of control.

You can never know the love of a man, Anya.

She closed her eyes, remembering Gershom’s final warning. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton. “Hurry,
Karl,” she said hoarsely. “Lose him. For God’s sake, whatever you do, lose him!”

The car shot forward into the darkness. Lights from the street grew dimmer and dimmer as they drew homeward. The dark streets, the abandoned neighborhood welcomed her. The desolateness comforted her. She could lose herself here, in a place time had forgotten.

Up ahead, a traffic light changed to yellow. Instead of slowing, Karl stepped on the accelerator. The big car sped through, and Anya saw Karl quickly glance in the rearview mirror.

“The light caught him,” he announced with a note of triumph in his tone. “We can lose him now.”

“Thank God,” Freida murmured, her hands still moving restlessly in her lap.

We can lose him now.
Why didn’t Anya feel enormously relieved by Karl’s words? Why didn’t she feel comforted by them? Why, instead, did she feel such bitter disappointment, such a keen sense of loss?

You’re losing control, Anya, she told herself sternly. After ten years of living in relative isolation, her return to the limelight had taken its toll. No wonder she felt so disconcerted, so edgy. It had nothing to do with Zach Christopher and everything to do with her impossible situation.

As the car turned into the dark, run-down neighborhood and glided down the street, Anya gradually began to feel stronger. The old houses, with their shuttered windows and their tightly locked doors, stood mute and blind. She was in her element here. The dark silence settled over her like a blanket. Anya snuggled into the anonymity. No one asked questions here. No one came to her door. No one cared.

In this neighborhood, it was live and let live.

Or die.

* * *

The gleaming black Mercedes slipped along the darkened streets like a hungry cat on the prowl. It lunged through a caution light and sped away into the night, red taillights blurring in the cold drizzle of rain that had begun to fall.

The light turned red, and Zach ground his own car to a halt, cursing violently and rapping his fist impatiently on the steering wheel.

Run the damn light,
he ordered himself.
She’s getting away.

And he might have done precisely that had it not been for the memories he always carried with him, memories that were only a little paler with age, only slightly less painful with time. He closed his eyes briefly, vainly trying to blot out the image of Matthew’s face, forever young in his mind, laughing and shouting, “Just run the damn light, Zach. Show ’em what this baby can do.”

The truck had come out of nowhere, tons of steel and horsepower and momentum that had broadsided the brand new sports car….

Zach opened his eyes and saw the faint glow of taillights disappear into the darkness. “Damn it,” he muttered. The light changed, and he tromped the accelerator. The Viper shot through the intersection, tires whining on the wet, glistening pavement.

His memories were gone now, carefully buried once again in the cold, vaulted recesses of his mind. He let the urgency of his mission consume him.

He didn’t quite understand what had possessed him to follow Anya Valorian after the shoot except that, instinctively, he’d known, after talking to her, that he was in for a battle of wills. She wasn’t going to be persuaded so easily. He realized that now, but the knowledge was far from discouraging.

His will could be strong, too—incredibly strong, as Anya
Valorian would soon discover. Finding out where she lived had seemed a clever stratagem, an offensive maneuver that would make the ultimate resolution considerably smoother. At least she wouldn’t be able to avoid him.

And so he’d gone outside and waited in his car for her to leave Sindel’s studio. Zach had followed them for blocks as the car had woven an erratic trail to a section of Manhattan he was unfamiliar with. The neighborhood, near the Hudson River, was old and run-down, with boarded-up buildings and vacant lots that now carried only echoes of a once vibrant life.

There!

Through the misty rain, Zach caught a brief glimpse of their lights. They were turning left. He gave them their lead then followed, easing the Viper to the curb and killing the engine as the Mercedes swept into a driveway halfway down the block.

Zach rolled down his window and listened to the night. He heard the unmistakable rumble of a garage door closing, then nothing. Silence.

A chilly wind blew through the car, carrying the scent of the river, a dank, musty odor that was faintly unpleasant. At one time the neighborhood had probably been as posh and desirable as Park Avenue, but now the old brownstone mansions, with their ivy-covered walls and crumbling facades, wore the distinct look of time and decay.

Zach studied Anya’s house, watching for the lights to come on, searching for some sign of life, but for whatever reason, the rooms remained cloaked in darkness.

After a few moments, he got out of his car and slowly walked down the street. He stopped in front of her house and gazed up at it. The wind sifted through the dead leaves in the gutter, and a bare limb scraped across a window, the
sound as spine-chilling as fingernails raking down a chalkboard. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked.

But all else was silent. Eerily still as if the looming structures around him housed no life at all. The very air symbolized the ravaged street, with its pungent scent of decomposing leaves and rotting soil.

Zach pulled the collar of his jacket closer around his neck against the chill of the wind and rain. Was it his imagination or had it suddenly gotten colder? Darker? Clouds obscured the full moon, and the streetlight in front of Anya’s house was out.

He took an uneasy step toward the gate and placed a hand on one of the spiked rods. He shoved it open, and the rusty hinges whined and moaned like a woman in agony. Zach cast a wary glance over his shoulder, almost expecting to see lights flickering on and concerned neighbors peeking from their bedroom windows.

But nothing disturbed the night.

He had the uncanny notion that very little would bring these people from their homes once darkness descended.

Pushing the gate open wider, he stepped through to the yard. This was going beyond business now, and he knew it. He was going beyond ethics, beyond common decency, but he felt compelled to explore Anya Valorian’s private space, to make her acknowledge the rest of the world—but mainly him. Her cool brush-off earlier still stung.

With a muttered oath at his own stupidity, Zach rounded the corner and moved toward the back of the house. The bare limbs of trees and bushes guarded the rear courtyard like skeletal sentinels, and the odor of decay saturated the air. He stopped for a moment and scanned the back of the house. A balcony trimmed in lacy filigree overlooked the garden, and with a start, Zach saw a misty silhouette move along the railing.