Chasing Harry Winston (20 page)

This was, finally, sufficient to rouse Emmy from her dreamlike state.

“George! Oh my god. I’m fully dressed. What are you doing?”

He answered her by pressing his mouth to hers. She continued to protest until he did that thing with her lower lip again. All the moisture from their mouths and the rising steam and the unique sensation of the hot water soaking through her clothes made Emmy feel like she was melting. Floating. Which is why she noticed when George pulled her sopping wet T-shirt over her head—it was, after all, heavy with absorbed water—but didn’t completely process this event. Tonight, like always, she was braless, the single perk of being boobless, so they both felt the immediate gratification of bare skin on skin, and it was this moment of intense contact that made Emmy wonder why on earth she had never felt this way before. If it weren’t so goddamn fabulous, she would have been humiliated to be thirty years old and not really understand what all the fuss was about. Not that it had ever been anything less than perfectly pleasant with her previous three boyfriends, but
this
? Who needed pleasant when there was
this
?

From that moment on, George ceased to exist as a separate person, or really as any person at all. He wasn’t a law student or the guy playing backgammon or a stranger she’d met minutes earlier; he was merely the body she desperately wanted to be near. It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he expertly removed her capri pants and cotton thong and allowed them to float away, and then, using only one hand while the other held her head to his lips, slid off his own shorts. He lifted her back out of the water and laid her gently on the pavement. The cool surface and air were a relief from all the heat. Emmy forgot she was completely naked in the presence of a total stranger and in view of god knew how many apartments; she didn’t worry for a single second about the state of her bikini line (just barely acceptable), the way her face flushed when she was excited (a deep wine color), or how flat her breasts looked when she lay on her back (very). She thought of absolutely nothing except how much she wanted him, and feeling him against her thigh, she maneuvered in every possible manner to get him closer, but he seemed to enjoy teasing her. It was only after what felt like an interminable amount of pressing and kissing and kneading each other that a condom materialized from his shorts pocket and George pushed into her, and Emmy knew, at that moment, she could no longer live without this.

It always baffled Adriana why people hated flying so much. Really, what was so awful about a few hours spent curled under a cashmere travel blanket sipping champagne and watching movies? The food was hideous, of course, even in first class, but when you came equipped with the staples (Zone bars, a Whole Foods mixed-fruit salad, and an Evian mister), it could actually be quite enjoyable. Especially when, like today, your seatmate was a handsome, famous, unattached actor. A TV actor, admittedly, but still a star on NBC’s most popular primetime series, a show even Adriana watched. He’d just gone through a very public breakup with a twenty-one-year-old trashy daytime soap star with a knockout body. Adriana had followed the whole tawdry affair in
US Weekly
, right down to reprints of the angry BlackBerry messages they’d exchanged one night from opposite coasts, and she was convinced he could do better. She’d thought it then, but now, sneaking subtle glances at his pretty profile and his sculpted biceps, she was quite positive.

Too bad
she
was taken, Adriana thought with an audible sigh. This caused her seatmate to glance up, a gesture Adriana consciously ignored. Lord knew there was no more challenging species than the ego-inflated entertainer—Adriana had dated enough actors, musicians, comedians, and professional athletes to consider herself an authority—and any girl worth her La Perlas knew that they responded to one and only one thing: a challenge. They were more like children than real people, Adriana always said, and so it stood to reason that the only thing they desperately wanted was what they couldn’t have—which is precisely why Adriana pretended he didn’t exist.

She had immediately recognized him when he claimed the aisle seat next to her but had provided only a “hmm” when he politely said hello. Filling the time between boarding and takeoff with as many chatty and upbeat phone calls as possible, and switching on her iPod the moment electronic devices were permitted—before
he
could make the decision to drown
her
out—Adriana felt as though she’d done an adequate job so far. And when the cheerful flight attendant asked if she’d like a drink, a request that Mr. TV Actor repeated to Adriana, she smiled only at the flight attendant, ordered another champagne, and once again donned her headphones.

Minutes later he pulled out a script and made a big show about flashing the telltale CAA cover. He began to read, although Adriana got the feeling he was really just flipping the pages for appearance’s sake. For her benefit, naturally—she was supposed to be impressed. She rolled her eyes and allowed herself to smile, a gesture he picked up on immediately. Adriana wasn’t the least bit surprised. He was, after all, just
waiting
for an excuse to talk to her.

“Are you listening to something funny?” he asked, flashing a pretty decent smile of his own.

Adriana wasn’t actually listening to anything at all. The headphones were merely a prop, something that indicated her disinterest in talking, and as she’d predicted, they’d done their job to perfection.

She glanced at him, waited a moment, and slowly pushed the left one off her ear.

“Pardon?” she asked with wide eyes. “Did you say something?”

“I was just wondering if you were listening to something funny. You were laughing….”

Adriana waited a few seconds longer than necessary to throw him off balance and then stepped in to save him. “Oh, did I? No, I was just remembering something really fun.” Vague. Suggestive. Mysterious. All Adriana’s specialty.

He grinned. Christ, he
was
cute. “Well, I’d love to hear about it. We’ve got nothing but time,” he said, extending his arms. “Four and a half hours, to be precise.”

“I might take a rain check,” Adriana said. Slowly, she tucked a loose tendril behind her ear, making sure that he got a good look at her delicate, feminine hands, with their elegantly long fingers and pale pink lacquered nails and unblemished skin, and then offered one to him. “Adriana,” she said, giving her name a little extra Brazilian inflection.

“Dean,” he said, swallowing her hand in his.

Of course she already knew this, but Adriana made no sign of recognition. “So, Dean, what brings you to LA today?” she asked innocently.

“Just some meetings. With some directors and studio people, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, you’re an aspiring actor! I had no idea.” She was laying it on thick now, but it was necessary. Of course no aspiring actor would fly first class, but he’d gotten too famous too fast; if she gave even an inch, his ego would crush them both. Plus, just a hint of recognition on her part would instantly plummet her from a sexy and sophisticated Brazilian New Yorker to a sycophantic starstruck fan, and Adriana would rather die than let
that
happen.

“Uh, no, actually, I—”

“Well, good luck with your audition! Are you nervous?”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not an audition. I’m actually already—”

“Dean?” Adriana interrupted sweetly. “Would you mind flagging down the flight attendant for me? I would just adore another glass of bubbly.”

He sighed, motioned for the flight attendant, and ordered a Jack and ginger in addition to Adriana’s champagne. “Do you live in LA?” he asked, now even more eager to continue the conversation, in order to correct her misconceptions.

“Me? In Los Angeles? Never.” Adriana laughed. “I’m just visiting a friend for the weekend.” It certainly wasn’t any of his business that her “friend” was actually her boyfriend, none other than Toby Baron, a name that would probably send poor Dean’s head into a full spin. “Nothing as exciting as a real audition! Is it for TV or a movie?”

His expression indicated defeat. To correct her assumption, he’d basically have to announce who he was—something his ego would never allow. She had him now, she was sure. So sure, she began to count.
Five, four, three, two, one, and…

“Say, Adriana, why don’t you let me take you to dinner? You and your friend, if you’d like. LA’s not half-bad…if you know where to go.”

Bingo. She still had it. She might be skirting thirty, but she could still get any man—well, almost any man, but that was probably Yani’s fault and not hers—to ask her out in ten minutes or less. Her work here was finished.

“Oh, I
so
wish I could, Dean, but I’m all booked up this weekend.” It required superhuman effort to say the words, but she
was
in a monogamous relationship. Just last week Toby had announced he was no longer dating other people, and he expected Adriana wouldn’t, either. Her first committed boyfriend—and perfect husband material to boot. Educated at all the right East Coast schools, made a name (and millions) for himself with big hits right out of USC film school, and currently one of Hollywood’s most sought-after directors. It gave her great pleasure to imagine her friends’ shock when, a mere few months down the road, she announced her engagement. And her mother! The woman would faint, Adriana was sure of it. Only these thoughts gave her the strength to reject this delectable treat of a man sitting next to her.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to do it in New York, then,” Dean said, all cocky confidence and killer smiles.

“I guess so,” Adriana shot back without a moment’s hesitation.
What’s a girl supposed to do?
she asked herself. A meal was just a meal, and no one could say she hadn’t been the model girlfriend so far. He was just so cute.

They chatted for the rest of the flight, and by the time they deplaned, Adriana knew exactly what she’d do to him in bed. She remembered only at the last possible second that she was supposed to meet Toby in the baggage claim.

“Dean,
querido
, I’ve got to freshen up a bit. I must say good-bye now.”

“I’ll wait. I’ve got a car coming to pick me up, so I’ll just drop you at your friend’s place,” he said, stopping outside a ladies room.

“No, darling, but thank you. You go ahead.” She lowered her lashes and looked up at him through half-closed eyes. “I’d rather we just wait for New York.”

“Love it,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll call you.”

“You do that,” she purred.

Adriana ducked into the restroom and killed five minutes freshening her makeup, after which she strode confidently to the baggage claim to meet her
boyfriend
. She wasn’t distraught to find a uniformed driver holding a sign with her name instead of a smiling Toby. They were going to have the entire weekend together, after all, and she could use a few minutes’ break from flirting, game-playing, and being otherwise fabulous. The driver hauled her Goyard trunk onto a luggage cart—rolling suitcases were
so
bourgeois—and handed her an envelope with the Twentieth Century Fox logo in the left corner.

“Mr. Baron sends his apologies for being unable to meet you,” the driver said, leading the way to the parking lot.

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Adriana said brightly. “I’m just going to nap a bit in the car, if you don’t mind.”

Once installed in the plush backseat of a late-model town car, however, Adriana found she was too excited to sleep. Two and a half months and she was finally going to see Toby’s legendary Hollywood Hills mansion. She read and reread his letter (
Darling Adriana, I’m so sorry to have missed you at the airport, but something unexpected arose at the last minute. I promise to make it up to you. Love, T
), noted his use of
love
—probably just a Hollywood affectation, she thought, since there was no way he actually loved her already…was there?—and sighed with pleasure. This whole monogamy thing was a breeze. Why on earth had she resisted for so long? It might not be quite as exciting as dating half a dozen men at once, but it certainly was less exhausting. Plus, as much as she hated to admit, her mother was right. Just this morning on the plane she’d noticed her thighs spreading a touch wider on the leather seat. When she bolted to the lavatory to investigate, she noticed a tiny line near her left eye—a wrinkle. To hell with those hideous fluorescent lights and those so-called security precautions that kept a girl from bringing proper skin-care products on board! A couple more inches of thigh-spread or—god forbid—a full-fledged crow’s-foot, and she wouldn’t be landing successful directors or hot actors. It was time to get serious and find someone who could care for her properly, and Adriana was extremely pleased with her own progress so far. At twelve years her senior (and a teensy bit dorky, she had to admit), Toby was blessed to have someone as young and gorgeous as Adriana, and he, thankfully, seemed to realize that.

As if on cue, Toby’s name flashed across her cell phone’s screen. She waited for it to ring three full times and then answered.

“William?” she asked in a confused tone.

“Adriana? Is that you?” Poor Toby sounded baffled and a bit indignant.

“Oh,
Toby
,
querido
! How are you, sweetheart? What a lovely note you wrote!”

“Who’s William?” he barked.

“William who, darling?” She sighed to herself. The whole charade was tiresome, but necessary.

“You thought I was someone named William. When you answered, you said, ‘William.’ I am asking you again: Who’s William?”

“Toby, darling, I just made a silly little mistake! You know how forgetful I can be sometimes. I’ve never even met a man named William, I promise.” Adriana lowered her voice and segued seamlessly from sweet schoolgirl to sexy seductress. “Now tell me, are you excited to see me? Because I am
very
excited to see you.”

“I can’t wait to get my hands on you,” he breathed into the phone.

Men were so easy to manipulate it was almost criminal. How could there be so many women who didn’t understand that with the smallest bit of discipline and a touch of creativity, they could have any man they desired?

Her other line clicked just as the driver pulled onto the 405 and Adriana said, “Toby, I have to take that. Will you meet me at the hotel when you’re free?”

“Is that William?” he asked possessively.

“No, darling, I’m sorry to report that it’s nothing as exciting as a secret lover. It’s actually my mother calling.”

“So you admit there
is
a secret lover?”

She laughed gaily and decided to give the poor man a break; besides, it wasn’t even challenging anymore. “There is absolutely no secret lover. Just a Brazilian mother in her fifties who wants to tell me all the ways I’ve been a horrible daughter lately.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said gruffly and hung up.

Adriana took a deep breath and clicked over. “Mama! So good to hear from you.”

“Tell me, Adi, wherever are you these days?”

“In the figurative or the literal sense?”

“Adriana, I am not in the mood for games,” Mrs. de Souza said.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, worrying not that her father had a heart attack or one of her hundreds of cousins had met an untimely death, only that her parents were considering an extended visit to New York.

“I just got off the phone with Gerard. He said you left this morning with a suitcase the size of a Land Rover.”

“You called my doorman to spy on me?” Adriana cried, forgetting that Toby’s driver could hear every word. “How dare you!”

“I called
my
doorman,” Mrs. de Souza shot back. “Adriana, I thought we just discussed this. Your father did not appreciate your American Express bill last month. It was, I recall, ten thousand on clothes and shoes, and another ten on travel and entertainment. You were ordered to significantly reduce all frivolous expenses, and now you’re off flitting around again.”

“Mama! I am not ‘flitting around’ anywhere. I happen to be in Los Angeles.” She lowered her voice and covered her mouth with her hand.

“I’m seeing a man. A
very
eligible man.” She lowered her voice even further, to a whisper. “This is not an expenditure; it’s an investment.”