And what about Amber? Had she thought she was special? Had she been?
Perhaps it was best that he’d ended my line of questioning, because there were some answers I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I let out a weary breath and was ready with a grateful smile when Reeve set a plate in front of me, and another at the spot next to me. He didn’t sit yet, grabbing utensils and napkins next and making one more trip for mugs and the coffee pot.
As he filled my cup, I nodded to the unopened LA Tribune that was also on the counter. “A newspaper?”
“What’s wrong with a newspaper?”
“Nothing. Except the death of trees. Welcome to the modern age, Reeve, where you can get your news on an environmentally friendly device called an iPad.”
He shook his head emphatically. “It’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not.” I took a sip from my mug. “It’s better.”
“My father used to read the newspaper,” he said, sliding onto the stool at my side. “As time goes by, my memories of him fade, but him and his Sunday paper – that’s a constant. As long as they continue to print, I’ll subscribe.”
“I take back everything I just said. I’m a bitch.” It wasn’t like I could have known, but I couldn’t help being disgusted with myself as I stuffed a bite of frittata in my mouth. “Holy shit. This is really good, Reeve.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“Thank you for making it,” I said, better late than never. “Where did a guy like you learn to cook?”
“My grandmother. She believed that every good Greek boy needed to know his way around a kitchen.”
He was tender when he talked about his family, reverent even, and I had a feeling he’d tell me more if I prodded. There were things I could learn from the conversation, but I couldn’t bring myself to pursue it. I would only use the information for gain, and while that was my agenda with him, it felt wrong to defile that now.
So I said simply, “You can feed me any time you like.”
“Can I, now?” He reached over and picked a piece of orange off my plate. “Open.” When I did, he placed it in my mouth but didn’t let go, holding it there with his finger and his thumb. “Now suck.”
I slid my tongue under the slice and sucked both the fruit and his fingers until he was moist and sticky and the space between my thighs wasn’t far from the same.
“I may have to remember this for the future.” His voice was huskier than it had been a moment before.
“Please do.”
Reeve reached for the business section as we dug into the meal, which I took to mean he preferred to eat in silence. I decided to give him that, picking up the entertainment news.
“Are you actively auditioning right now?”
I turned my head toward him and found him peering at me sideways. “No. The show’s going strong. I figure I can be happy with that for the time being.” Or content. Or maybe just not miserable. Besides, my career wasn’t really my focus at the moment.
Reeve made an mm sound, returning his eyes to his paper. I might have assumed he was bored with my answer, but I heard something else underneath. If he had something to say, I wanted to hear it.
I swiveled toward him. “Do you not approve? After all the other women you’ve dated, it’s probably embarrassing to be seen with one who plays a silly robot’s voice on network television.”
He threw me a sharp look of disapproval. “Don’t do that. You aren’t that girl.”
Not what girl? I wanted to ask. Because all I could think was that he meant I wasn’t Amber. And I knew that.
He lowered his paper. “You just seem to not be entirely satisfied with your role on the show. When you talk about it, you’re always demeaning it.”
I started to refute him, but I couldn’t. So I sighed. “It’s not a dream part, no. But the show’s a hit. And next year the producers have talked about making me a simulated life form instead of just a voice that comes from the walls.”
“So you’d be on screen but you’d be playing a robot?”
I probably imagined the mocking in his voice, but if I didn’t, could I blame him?
I let out a groan and covered half my face with my hand. “I know. It’s not much better.” My hand fell to the counter. “But neither are the roles my agent is suggesting for me. They’re all fluff. Pretty face, valley girls with no substance. They’re just as humiliating. Only in a different way.”
“The curse of being beautiful,” he said, and this time I knew he was mocking me.
I wadded up my napkin and threw it at him. “Not a curse. But being attractive doesn’t always put me in a position of power despite what it does for you.”
He’d suggested that at his spa, and while I’d understood what he meant, I enjoyed being able to throw his judgments back in his face.
Except it didn’t work quite the way I’d hoped. “I don’t know about that. I bet you could get the roles you want. You simply aren’t going about it the right way.”
“You’re right,” I said tersely. “I should invite myself over to my agent’s house some Saturday and swim naked in his pool, and I’ll probably get my pick of scripts.”
His eye twitched, the only indication what I’d said bothered him. “You could also demand that he give you better parts. Remind him that, yes, you could play those bimbo roles, but since you’re also smart and talented, it would be a waste of your time. If he fails to acknowledge that truth, then you need a new agent. And with the success of your show, I’m sure finding someone else to represent you shouldn’t be a problem. If that’s what you really want, you should go for it.”
It had been an idea I’d tossed around more than once, always deciding against it for no other reason than habit. I was used to being told what role I was supposed to play. By men.
But here Reeve was telling me something different. Telling me I had options. Encouraging me to make my own decision.
I didn’t know how to respond so I faltered and dismissed him. “You don’t even know if I’m talented. You’ve never seen me act.”
But he wouldn’t let me get away with that. He tilted his head and said, “There are some things you just know.”
There were layers to his statement and in the back of my mind I wondered what other things he just knew. What things he just knew about me. But more dominant than those questions were the strange emotions surging inside me, noisy and bright and overwhelming like a carnival. Maybe I wasn’t fun or sassy or “entertaining,” but I was here. He’d made me breakfast. He’d given me options. He’d fucked me like I liked. And maybe he’d hurt my friend.
But he made me breakfast.
I picked up my coffee and sipped it, swallowing down the tight knot forming in the back of my throat. Reeve was still staring at me, and it made me feel both self-conscious and prized. Threw me off balance.
Needing something else to steal my attention, I glanced toward the rest of the newspaper stacked in a pile next to us.
The lifestyle pages were on top and as soon as I saw the featured article, my grip tightened on my mug. It recapped the Valentine’s Ball that Reeve had been at the night before, and, fittingly, his picture was front and center. He looked fantastic in his black-on-black Dolce & Gabbana tuxedo, almost as stunning as he’d looked when I’d seen him in it the night before.
“I would have gone with you,” I said, nodding toward the paper. The offer wasn’t coming from disappointment or a need to push forward in our relationship, but from a genuine want to be that for him. To be his plus one.
It surprised me and immediately I tried to think of a way to take it back.
Before I could, he spoke. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” His smile slipped away. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that.” His tone was serious, and I braced myself for whatever he was setting me up for. “I can’t date you right now. And I’m not going to take you out in public.”
My chest tightened and the knot in my th
roat returned, and I felt like crying or screaming.
I couldn’t do either. So I sat up straighter. “When you said I wasn’t entertaining, I didn’t realize that you meant I was miserable to be with.”
He laughed. “‘Miserable.’ Very funny.”
I scowled, hurt by his declaration, humiliated by his amusement, on the verge of deeper, more intense emotions that I refused to reveal. I stood, ready to gather my things and leave.
“Sit down,” Reeve ordered, suddenly sober. He waited until I, reluctantly, did. “I meant, I won’t take you out yet. I don’t appear in public with women I’m seeing until I’ve been with them at least two months.”
“You don’t?” I was astonished as much as relieved.
“No. I don’t. No exceptions.”
I did the math in my head, calculating my own two-month graduation date. “So you won’t take me out in public until the end of March?”
His lip turned up, teasing. Challenging. “If you’re still around.”
“I will be.” My words were resolute.
“I kind of think you will.” He angled toward me and ran his hands up and down my bare thighs.
It was distracting, but not so distracting that I couldn’t ask, “Why the rule?”
“Lots of reasons. Mostly because, despite popular opinion, I don’t think that the media has any right to my private life. They can speculate all they’d like, but I’d rather give them as little to feed on as possible.”
There were actors and actresses I knew who felt the same, sneaking around the paparazzi for first dates and booty calls. It was completely reasonable for Reeve to adopt that sort of guideline for himself, even if having a set-in-stone probationary period was a bit inflexible.
Then I realized what that meant about getting to his other resorts, getting to Wyoming. My stomach sank. “And that’s why you won’t take me traveling yet either.”
“Correct.” He sounded almost sorry about it. “It’s also why we’ll only see each other on weekends until then. Weekdays are filled with business and promoting and since I work a lot from home, there’s no telling who’s going to be around here at any given time.”
Dammit.
Two months until I had any chance of getting where I needed to be most.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I scowled, wishing he weren’t touching me like he was. Wishing I had only my frustration to focus on. I gathered what I had of it up against him. “It would maybe have been useful to tell me some of this.”
“Why?”
The cocky glint in his eye irked me more. “Because then I would have known what to expect. It could have saved a lot of agitation on my part.” I pushed his hands off of me and swiveled so my knees were toward the island, away from him. Two months.
Dammit.
“You’re right,” Reeve said quietly at my side. “I should have told you.”
I turned my head slightly toward him, surprised by his admission of guilt. “Then why didn’t you?”
He looked like he wanted to turn me back to him, but he refrained. “Maybe I like seeing you agitated.”
Yes. I was sure that was true. “Maybe you’re just an asshole.” The damn man simply smiled.
Then his expression slid into something more serious. “Maybe I didn’t tell you because I hoped I could be a person who did make exceptions.” He let a beat fall by. “But I’m not.”
I knew what he was saying. Knew in my skin, in my bones, and while I didn’t know why he hoped he could be someone other than he was or what – or who – had driven him to that desire, I understood exactly what it was to want to change. To try to change. To find it impossible.
And I knew what it was to expect that the people around you could live with that.
My annoyance and resentment dulled into a mournful acceptance. I was committed to finding Amber, even if it took longer than I’d originally planned. Even if each step of the way I found more common ground with my adversary. Even if I discovered he wasn’t an adversary at all.
I let out a silent breath, determined to make sure he wasn’t leaving out any part of his no-exception rule. “What about the women you’re only seen in public with once?”
“Means I was with them for at least two months. Then when I took them out, they probably failed the night in public. Or I was just over them.”
“You’re so cavalier. Like I said, ‘asshole.’” But I was thinking about what else he’d said. “Failed the night in public.” So there were more unwritten rules I didn’t know about? Would there be other hurdles I didn’t expect?
He leaned toward me and whispered in my ear. “Stop worrying, Blue Eyes. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves. I’d rather be the one to devour you.”
That, I was also sure, was true. And I didn’t think he meant “devour” in just a sexual connotation, which made it even sexier that he’d said it. My body was already humming from before when he’d stroked my thighs, and now, though he’d sat back in his chair, his breath on my skin had left me heated. Even under everything else going on in my head, that always stayed constant – the simmer of arousal in my blood, stirred simply by his presence.
The discussion was over, but I wasn’t quite ready to let it die. “Are there women who never make it to the two-month mark?”
“Many. There are women who never make it past night one.”
But I had. And so had Amber. Plus all the women I’d seen him photographed with over the years. To think there’d been more.
I planted my elbow on the counter and propped my head up on my hand, pivoting to face him. “Huh.”
“‘Huh’? What does ‘huh’ mean?”
In that way that it was sometimes easier to point fingers at other people for the faults I didn’t want seen in myself, I laid out my hypocritical judgment. “It means you’re an even bigger slut than I thought you were.”
“Did you just call me a slut?” Now I was sure he wanted to spank me.
I grinned. “If the shoe fits.”
“It doesn’t. It’s your shoe.”
“Now you’re calling me a slut?” I deserved the turnaround, but I didn’t deserve the term… not anymore.
“Yeah. I am.” He stood and closed in on me, pulling me to the edge of my seat so that I had to open my knees around him. “What’s more, you like it.”
I put my hands on his chest like two stop signs, not pushing him away, but not letting him get closer until I made this clear. “When we’re having sex, yes, Reeve, I like it. A lot, in fact. But not just in regular conversation. Mostly because it was true at one time, but it’s not anymore. At all. You know, I can count the men I’ve been with in the last five years on one hand?” I could count them on two fingers, to be precise.
“Really?” He didn’t bother hiding his surprise.
“Yes, really.”
“Huh.” He also didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction. “I guess I’ll have to save the slut reference for when you’re underneath me.”
“That would be preferred.”
Without any warning, he picked me up and threw me roughly on the countertop, pinning my arms above my head with his hands.
“Like this?” His eyes danced with dark pleasure. I squirmed, trying to get loose, but his hold on me only tightened. “Is this what you wanted, slut? Such a fucking dirty girl. Such a greedy little whore.”
Yes. Exactly like this. His tight grip on me hurt and the counter edge dug into my lower back where his hips pressed against me, but I was instantly aroused, my breathing heavy, my mouth and pussy ready for invasion.
His gaze went to my lips, and then slid up to my eyes. He kept my hands pinned, but his pressure loosened and I stopped pretending to fight him. And the way he looked at me – with interest, with adoration – it stirred goose bumps to poke from my skin and made my chest flutter.
“Emily,” he said, and I realized I liked my name when he said it. “Stay over every night you come here.”
A lump formed in my throa
t. “Okay.”
I wanted him to kiss me, thought that he might, but he stood up instead. “Now look what you did.” Following his gesture, I found his pants tented.
He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come shower with me so you can take care of this and prove how miserable you make me.” He left, completely sure I would follow.
I did. Of course I did, and as I took each step behind him, I remembered what I’d known since the day he’d shown up at my apartment and kissed me for the first time. What I’d somehow let myself forget. Whether or not Reeve was an actual killer didn’t really matter. Whether or not he’d pushed Missy Mataya from a cliff or ordered someone to do it, or – God, please no – done anything that had gotten Amber killed, Joe was right to be concerned for my safety.
Because, little by little, moment by moment, without any shred of doubt, Reeve was certainly going to kill me.
CHAPTER 16
The consequence about a pleasant Sunday with Reeve was a Monday filled with guilt. My stomach ached as I drove into my incredible job in my amazing car given to me by an enthralling man who should be my enemy rather than my lover. If I was going to spend my weekends with him, then I needed to do my best to keep the rest of my free time focused on other ways to find Amber. Not that I had a lot of free time. With twelve-hour production days and limited avenues of investigation, it wasn’t like there was a lot I could do.
But by the time I’d checked in at the lot, I had an idea of something I could do – I could talk to Chris Blakely. Frankly, I should have followed up on it before and if I hadn’t been so consumed with my fascination about Reeve, I would have. Though Chris hadn’t known Amber, he’d known Missy. He’d spent time at the Palm Springs resort with her. Surely he could tell me something new about Reeve during that time. Give me some inside dirt about the couple. His theory about the cause of her death would be worth a conversation alone.
While I wasn’t as certain as Joe was that my phone calls were monitored, I decided it didn’t hurt to be cautious. Also, Chris hadn’t given me any indication of his opinion on Reeve. That meant I needed an excuse to reach out to him. I could bring up Missy as an afterthought. Luckily, a suitable cover story came up at that morning’s table read.