The Spiral Path (15 page)

The Scarlet
Pimpernel
was a lavish production with a large cast, and it had required
five solid months of shooting in France and England. During production, he and
Rainey maintained their pact not to become lovers, though it became harder and
harder. The filmed passion was real, not feigned, and more than once he'd
almost asked her to carry what started on the set to its natural conclusion in
private.

Yet
he didn't. Not only was there a perverse pleasure in denial when they both knew
it was only a matter of time until they came together, but they were learning
so much about each other. The pressures of making a movie tended to strip away
facades and show an actor's real temperament. Rainey, he discovered, had a
bone-deep sense of fair play, and good temper even under grinding stress.
Though she was often intense, she also had an irresistible sense of humor.

He
particularly liked the courtesy and consideration that were as natural to her
as breathing. The crew members worshipped her. Though he abhorred prima donna
behavior, got along well with coworkers, and was famous for the generosity of
the crew gifts he gave during shooting, he would never have Rainey's relaxed,
natural friendliness. He always stood two steps apart from the normal world.

Except
with Rainey. He couldn't imagine that there were any similarities in the way
they grew up, yet the two of them resonated together.

By
the time of the wrap party at the end of production, exhaustion was universal,
and emotions flowed as deeply as the champagne. Moviemaking transformed cast
and crew into a temporary family, though sometimes a highly dysfunctional one.
Since
Pimpernel
had been a good shoot, with few major blowups and
considerable satisfaction, the knowledge that the family was about to be broken
up produced teary farewell hugs even between people who'd occasionally
threatened to throttle one another.

He
and Rainey had exchanged a few smoldering glances across the London restaurant
hired for the party, but he didn't try to approach her until the party was well
advanced. Halfway across the room, he was intercepted by the director. Gomolko
hugged him exuberantly. "You were everything I hoped for and more, Kenzie.
You're the best damned Sir Percy ever."

Not
fond of being hugged by men, Kenzie gently disentangled himself. "You get
the credit, Jim. You handled every aspect of the story beautifully, from the
romance to the adventure sequences." He and Rainey had had to fight
Gomolko to keep the love scenes more evocative than graphic, but things like
that were forgotten once the film was in the can. "This will be the
definitive
Pimpernel."

Beaming,
Gomolko headed off toward the attractive female production designer to express
his thanks for her undeniably brilliant work. Kenzie resumed his course toward
Rainey, avoiding eye contact with others so he wouldn't be sidetracked again.
He'd said his good-byes, and now she was the only person he wanted.

She
greeted him with a dazzling smile despite the circles under her eyes. After her
last scene, she'd thrown her hated corset away with a whoop of pleasure,
leaving her in Marguerite's lace-trimmed shift. If Kenzie hadn't had one more
scene of his own to shoot, he'd have carried her off then.

The
dress she wore tonight was shiftlike, a flowing green, gauzy fabric that
swirled around her ankles when she walked. Stretching out her hand, she said,
"I owe you for all of this, Kenzie. Thanks for wanting me in this movie.
It's been one of the best experiences of my life."

He
wanted to wrap himself around her in an embrace that would make them both weak
in the knees. He settled for kissing her hand, as courtly as Sir Percy.
"It wasn't only the movie I wanted you for. We had a date for the end of
filming. Are you still interested?"

"Oh,
yes." Her voice became husky. "But I warn you, what I really want to
do is go to bed and sleep for a week."

"What
a coincidence. That's close to what I had in mind." He swept her up in his
arms and carried her through the restaurant. After a surprised instant, she
settled into his embrace, head resting on his shoulder.

Accompanied
by hoots and applause from their colleagues, he took her outside to the white
limousine he'd ordered. Laughing, Rainey slid across the leather seat.
"The modern version of being carried off on a white horse. You have style,
Scott."

He
cupped her face, admiring the delicate bones and the honesty of her gray-green
eyes. Then he pressed his lips to hers. The last five months of kisses had been
for the camera. This one was for them--slow, intimate, unhurried.

When
they separated, she released her breath in a sigh. "Nice. A necking
session. Almost as romantic as when we solemnly exchanged blood tests last
month."

"As
you said, I have style," he murmured against her throat. Though he wanted
her intensely, fatigue had the advantage of muting his desire to the point
where he could enjoy the foreplay without wanting to rip her clothes off. There
would be time enough for that later.

They
had reached London City Airport before Rainey broke free long enough to stare
out the window. "What on earth are we doing here?"

"Flying
back to California."

"But
I haven't packed! I don't even have my passport."

"Don't
worry, I suborned Emmy. All your things are waiting for us."

Rainey
fell back onto the white leather seat, laughing. "I'm being abducted! What
a fabulous way to end a job. I trust we're flying first class?"

"Better
than that."

Kenzie's
assistant was highly efficient, and the arrangements for this escape had been planned
meticulously. As they approached the private jet, Rainey's eyes rounded like
saucers. "Kenzie, do you own this plane?"

"Yes and no. I own a couple of shares in a network of
private jets. When a shareowner wants to fly somewhere, the network arranges to
have a plane available."

They climbed the steps and entered a cabin arranged as a
comfortable lounge. A flight attendant approached and said with a musical
French accent, "Monsieur Scott, Mademoiselle Marlowe. I am Rochelle. May I
get you anything?"

He traded glances with Rainey, who was drooping under his
arm. "We both just want to go to bed and sleep until somewhere around
Boston."

"Of course, Monsieur. I shall tell the captain it is
time to depart. As soon as the seat belt light goes off, you may retire."

As Rochelle went forward into the cockpit, Rainey said,
"There's a bed?"

He nodded toward the wall behind them as he sat down in the
deep leather lounge chair and fastened his seat belt. "There's a nice
little bedroom and bathroom back there--I ordered this jet especially for that
reason."

She settled into the seat next to him, fastened herself in,
then reached for his hand. "This makes first class seem like
steerage."

He interlaced his fingers with hers. "Private jets do
rather spoil one."

They didn't speak as the jet taxied down the runway and took
off. When the plane leveled, Rochelle appeared again and escorted them to the
bedroom. "Monsieur, mademoiselle, please ring for me when you are ready
for breakfast."

After the door closed, Rainey studied the queen-sized bed,
which had a lace-trimmed satin comforter and mounds of pillows, vases of roses
secured in wall brackets, and plush scarlet carpeting. "It's a flying
bordello."

He grinned. "But a very high-class one."

She smothered a yawn. "I wasn't kidding about needing to
sleep."

"Agreed.
But won't it be nice to sleep together?" He nodded to the door behind
them. "There should be a nightgown waiting. You wash up first and go to
bed."

"I'll
be asleep by the time you join me."

"Not
to worry. Sixty seconds later I'll be sleeping as well." He turned off all
of the lamps except for a dim night-light, suddenly so tired that he ached.

Rainey
emerged from the bathroom in the cream-colored silk negligee he'd bought for
her. With her fine features and tumbling apricot hair, she was a sight to raise
dead men from their tombs. Yawning again, she slid into the bed. "I can't
believe you coordinated the nightgown with the bedding."

"Anything
worth doing is worth doing well." Removing his gaze from her with difficulty,
he went into the bathroom and stripped off his clothing, not bothering with
pajamas since he didn't own a pair.

As
promised, her breathing was slow and regular when he climbed into the bed
beside her, but she turned toward him drowsily. Soft and female, hair scented
with rosemary, she fit into his arms as if they were two halves of one whole.
He gave a deep sigh of release as layers of stress slowly fell away and ...
Rainey...

He awoke hours later
when she rolled onto her back and stretched like a cat. The comforter slid down
to her waist, revealing the flex of her lithe body under the negligee. "I
feel remarkably rested. How long since we left London?"

He
glanced at the wall clock. "About five hours."

She
propped her head up and regarded him thoughtfully. "How awake are you
feeling?"

"Quite."
He didn't move.

Their
gazes locked. "Strange," she whispered. "I've been looking
forward to this for months. I've had crazed, lustful dreams of ravishing you or
vice versa. Now that we're finally together--I feel shy."

"So do I." He hesitated. "I want everything to
be perfect, and that's impossible."

"Lovemaking doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to
be real." She leaned forward until their lips touched, soft and sweet.

The passion he'd been banking for so long flared into life.
They'd learned much about each other's bodies while filming. He knew the
texture of her silky skin, the curve of her shoulder, her individual scent,
provocatively female.

Yet all that was mere prelude to joining physically and
emotionally. They explored each other's bodies with increasing intimacy,
learning rhythms and signals with startling swiftness, building desire into
searing mutual fulfillment.