Infamous (3 page)

He gave a harsh groan and plunged into her. It was all she needed. She fell into the darkness and the fairy lights exploded around her.

• • •

Jessica came back to herself as Morgan picked her up off the floor and carried her into the next room. He deposited her on the bed, then pulled off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.

She struggled for some composure.

“That was nice,” she said. “It must be late, though, I’d better get back downstairs.”

Morgan tossed his shirt aside and began pulling off his pants. Her gaze locked on him in shock. He was still fully aroused.

“Nice?” He lifted one eyebrow as he shed the rest of his clothes. “Oh, no, Jessie,” he said. “You promised I could have you any way I wanted. I’ve just gotten started.”

• • •

Hours later, Jessica slid cautiously out of the big bed. Her body was sore, but sated in ways she couldn’t have anticipated at the beginning of the night. Quietly, she padded back into the sitting room and slipped into the silk dress. Giving in to impulse, she tiptoed back to the bedroom door for a final look at her dark lover.

Moonlight from the open curtains washed the color from the room. In a tangle of sheets, Morgan’s big body was the only solid thing in a ghostly landscape. Jessica knew lots of handsome men, but somehow none of them ever seemed quite as
real
as Morgan. What would he do if she curled herself against his solid warmth and begged him to let her stay as she had begged him to take her?

She straightened and turned back toward the door. She was sex and scandal. She might be fun for a night, but he would not want her in the morning. She would spare them both that. Carrying her shoes, she let herself out of the suite.

• • •

In the bedroom, Morgan listened to the quiet snick of the door. Her exotic scent lingered in the room. It was a taunting reminder that he was there and she was gone. He could command her body for a night, but she would slip through his fingers in the light of day. Rolling onto his back, he stared sightlessly at the ceiling as his beautiful wife fled back to her glittering life.

Jessica pushed her chair back and propped her feet up on her desk. She hadn’t talked to Mason in weeks, and he seemed willing to make up for lost time now. The last ten minutes had been an update on who had been snipped, sucked, lifted, or injected by whom and with what.

“Swear to me right now Jessica, if I ever Botox myself immobile like that you will
not
let me leave the house. Honestly, this town needs some type of cosmetic surgery rehab.”

She made the appropriate encouraging noises into the receiver. She had no idea where Mason got his never-ending supply of medical inside info, but it always checked out.

She made herself comfortable and waited for him to segue into who was screwing who, both literally and figuratively. It was nice to hear his voice sounding so cheerfully malicious again. She wouldn’t bring up their last conversation at the party. She had spent the last few weeks trying not to think about that night herself.

Consequently, his next question came as an unwelcome shock.

“So, sweetie, we haven’t seen tall, dark, and gloomy in a while. Where did the two of you disappear to, anyway?” He let the end of the sentence rise up into a question.

Her face flooded with heat. Mason was one of only a handful of people who knew she and Morgan were married. It was something they hadn’t discussed in years. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, darling.”

He laughed delightedly. “Oh, please
do
tell Uncle Mason everything.”

“Well,” she drawled, “I hardly think any of it was too shocking seeing as how we are married.”

“Still? These things can be remedied, you know. There’s no need to let a bad weekend in Vegas linger on like this.”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list. Schedule bikini wax, buy milk, get divorce.”

“You really should, J. It’s not healthy, you hanging on to this weird non-relationship. You need closure and all that nonsense.”

“Right.” She remembered Morgan, sleeping among the tangled sheets in the hotel room. “Closure, sure.”

Mason was still talking.

“I never understood what you saw in him anyway. I mean he’s richer than God and I suppose he’s passably attractive in a disapproving, puritanical kind of way, but where does that get you?”

She remained silent, so Mason answered his own question.

“Crying on my shoulder at three
A.M.
— that’s where. If that’s all he’s good for, why not pick someone who could at least show you a good time? It was like you dropped off the face of the earth for those months you were with him. You never even told me how you met, anyway.”

She sighed. It was true, she had cried on Mason’s shoulder, but they had never discussed her relationship with Morgan and Mason hadn’t pushed. It looked like those days were over. He obviously wanted answers now.

Mason could be tenacious and he was her oldest friend. Lying was not an option.

“It was right after I finished my first book.”

“You took some time off; decided to rent a house up the coast and mope or something. Don’t tell me Heathcliff was brooding on a windswept beach, too.”

“Don’t be silly. He was there on business and decided to bring his daughter. They rented a place a few houses down from me.”

“Good grief. I totally forgot you are an evil stepmother. What was the little horror’s name, Kathy? Kelsey.”

“Kinsey.”

“Whatever. I can’t picture you as stepmom, darling. Is that where things went south? Daughter didn’t like the new mummy?”

No. It was not where things had gone wrong. She had actually only met Morgan after several days of meeting Kinsey during walks on the beach. Kinsey had dragged her home like a stray kitten. Mason wasn’t too far off, though.

“I’m probably not the girl most fathers want as a role model for their daughters.”

“Well, no one put a gun to his head. I mean, I presume he was the one who popped the question at some point, possibly he had to say ‘I do’ to make the whole thing legal. It’s not like he just woke up one morning married.”

“The weekend in Vegas thing wasn’t far off. The whole thing happened too fast; he didn’t really know me.” She took a deep breath and admitted the truth, “He didn’t know who I was, what my life was like.”

Dead air hummed through the telephone line. She had apparently robbed Mason of speech. When he finally recovered, his voice was almost a screech.

“Didn’t
know
you? He didn’t
KNOW
you? Jess,
everyone
knew you then. We were in all the papers, on the news, it’s not like it was some deep, dark secret you kept from him.”

“Dearheart, it may come as a huge shock to you, but there are people out there who do not consider our lives newsworthy. Morgan is a venture capitalist. I believe he switches over to FNN when the entertainment news comes on. It’s not his field.”

There was more silence while Mason digested this. Then he rallied and continued.

“Ok, so you meet. In a moment of supreme stupidity you do the runaway marriage thing with Mr. Big Business Man. I can see where you might have gotten bored and opted out, but what was his problem? I mean, it’s not like he could even accuse you of gold-digging, you had the book coming out and … . Oh.”

Mason put the pieces and the timing together.

“I take it the book was not a good thing for him? Didn’t you tell him about it?”

“Of course I did, but obviously I told him it was fiction. Like you, it didn’t occur to me that he didn’t really grasp who I was.”

“His loss.” Mason sounded indignant. “Judgmental prude. That book was fiction. If he couldn’t see past the media feeding frenzy, he didn’t deserve you.”

“Whatever.”

“And, you still haven’t answered why he showed up last month. It didn’t look to me like … .”

“Mason.” She interrupted him. They were so not discussing this. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook here.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It was just a one-night thing. I promise I’ll tell you all about it later. Kisses to Susan.”

She pushed the off button on the phone decisively. Enough of
True Confessions
for the day. She had no idea why Morgan had shown up. Hollywood parties were not his thing. As for the rest of it… she had picked that apart for days afterward and she wasn’t going there again. Closure. Sure. Like that was going to happen.

Leaning forward, she picked up the one framed picture on her desk. A wet, sand-covered puppy wriggled in the arms of a wet, sand-covered girl. She touched her finger to the girl’s face. Kinsey Riley. Her heart contracted a little. Kinsey was laughing up at the camera as she struggled to remove the dog from what was left of their sand castle.

Strange as it seemed, gaining a stepdaughter had been one of the best things to come out of her marriage. Morgan might not have wanted to keep her, but Kinsey had. After Jessica had moved back to L.A., Kinsey had e-mailed her almost daily.

At first she had tried to discourage the correspondence. Morgan, she suspected, would not approve. She hadn’t had the heart to outright reject Kinsey, though. Four years later, they were still pals.

• • •

Jessica pushed her chair away from her desk and stretched her legs out in front of her. She examined her bare feet and pink toes critically. Did she need a pedicure?

Probably not, she conceded. She had already eaten lunch, answered her e-mail, cleaned out her junk drawer, and googled “rutabaga.” And yes, the Google search had been a totally random impulse. It was probably time to admit to herself she was not writing.

It wasn’t a problem she was used to dealing with. Little stumbles in the middle of the story or searching for just the best words, but not an inability to focus her thoughts. Writing came easily to her. It should. Even though her work sold as fiction, everyone knew she based it on people and events in her own life. Of course the names were changed and a few details twisted around and exaggerated, but basically she wrote about real behind-the-scenes life in Hollywood. It made the characters easy, the plotting easy, and of course the selling of the book the easiest of all.

It was ironic, because when she had started writing the last thing on her mind had been starting a career. It was the year she turned nineteen, the year of The Incident, the year that changed everything. J.T. had been furious. Even her mother had made a rare appearance — more to grab her share of the publicity than out of any real maternal instinct.

Mason and Susan had gotten married.

She’d gotten therapy.

No one had gone to jail or, worse, rehab.

Her expensive Beverly Hills therapist had suggested she write as a way of organizing her thoughts and emotions. A few months later, she had mentioned the technique to a friend over drinks. The friend had known a literary agent — if she was interested in being published, he could get her manuscript read.

The next thing she knew, she had a contract. All so easy, when one knew the right people and wrote about the right things.

She was under no illusions about the literary value of her books. They sold for the same reasons the grainy pictures of celebrity couples on holiday sold — it was literary voyeurism.

In the end, the therapy had worked. After the book was finished, she had felt emotionally drained and, for the first time in her life, sick of Hollywood. She had driven up the coast and rented a house on the beach.

Enough. She had to drag her mind out of the past and concentrate on at least an outline for her new book. She had plenty of material and some vague plot ideas, but somehow none of it was coming together.

When her phone rang, she grabbed it off the cradle with almost pathetic eagerness. She wasn’t so eager for the distraction that she didn’t check the caller I.D., though. The last thing she needed right now was another heart-to-heart with Mason.

“M. Riley.” The name flashed on the screen with the number and her hand froze midway to her ear. She stared disbelievingly at the display. In four years, Morgan had not called her once.

Of its own volition, she watched her finger press the talk button. Her mouth was dry and she cleared her throat, desperately trying to get a sound out.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was hesitant and high pitched. Not Morgan. “Jessica? Are you there?”

“Kinsey,” she managed. “Hey,
chica
, what’s up?”

Still odd. Kinsey e-mailed, she texted, she IMed, but she did not call.

“Jessica, I think I’m sick. My stomach hurts really bad.”

She took a deep breath. Kinsey had called. She sounded like she was crying. This couldn’t just be an upset stomach.

“Ok, don’t panic. Where’s your dad?”

“He’s meeting with clients at a new company today and I can’t get him on his cell phone. He’s not supposed to be back until late tonight.”

“Ok, who is in the house? Your housekeeper?” She searched her memory for the name. “Is Mrs. Henson there?”

“She only stays until noon. I told Dad I could stay by myself in the afternoons this summer.” She sniffed. “Please, Jessie, can you come? It’s been hurting really bad for hours and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who else to call.”

She looked at her watch. Morgan and Kinsey lived in a suburb of Los Angeles. It was outside the city in an exclusive area in the hills. The neighborhood boasted acreage homesites and lots of privacy. Unfortunately, it meant Kinsey was somewhat isolated.

She made a decision.

“Okay, I’m on my way. It’s going to take me about an hour and a half to get there. I’m going to hang up now, but I want you to call me if you feel any worse.”

Sliding her feet into a pair of beaded thongs, she grabbed her bag and rushed for the door. Her little red Beamer was fast and maneuverable. If she got lucky with the traffic, maybe she could make it in an hour.

On the highway, the panic set in. What was she doing? She wasn’t a doctor. What if Kinsey were seriously ill? Had she had her appendix out? Jessica pressed her foot down on the accelerator and the little car flew along the road.