Really Something (17 page)

The dust cloud rolled and tumbled into Tempest, oblivious to anything in its path, carving out the road as if the trio of vehicles owned that part of the asphalt.

Jerry Wiggs had arrived.

He pulled his rented Benz SUV into an angled space in the center of town, a Podunk, dot-on-the-map place if he'd ever seen one, stepped out of the car, and waited for the fans. The people to notice that he, Jerry Wiggs, had descended on their zit of land to bring them wealth and fame.

The rest of his crew slid into the spaces beside him, then got out of their black cars, looking more like Mafia than Hollywood. Apparently no one had told them to leave the dark suits and sunglasses at home. They were flanking what passed for a downtown strip, a few rundown stores, a parking lot with a couple cars on their left, a grocery store in front of them—Scotty had whined the whole way here about needing some Pepto-Bismol—and a hardware store to the right. Not much to look at, not much to do.

Jerry checked his pulse. Nope, he hadn't died and gone to Hell.

A little old lady hurried up to him, pushing a metal basket of groceries with a Pomeranian perched on top. Jerry leaned back against his car, a smile on his face.
Yes
, he practiced in his head,
he was
that
Jerry Wiggs
.
Yes, they were making a movie here and I promise, it'll be a doozy of a movie
.
One that would really scare your socks—

“You forgot to put in your quarter.” The woman shook a finger at him. “You can't park here if you aren't going to put in your quarter.”

“Lady, I can park here if I—”

She leaned into him. The Pomeranian let out a growl. “Are you arguing with one of your elders? Disrespecting the elderly?”

Jerry slid up onto the car's hood a few inches. “Uh, no, ma'am.”

“Good. Then put your damned quarter in.” She glared at him and stood there, waiting. One of her support hose slipped a little, bunching at her ankles, but she ignored it.

Jerry snapped his fingers, annoyed and embarrassed that the old lady had reduced him to feeling like a second grader. “Scotty! Give me a quarter.”

“Why should I—”

Jerry whipped his head around. “Did I ask you to argue with me? Just give me the fu—” He glanced at Grandma Psycho. “Freakin' change.”

Scotty muttered under his breath, but dug the quarter out of his gabardine pants and placed it in Jerry's palm. Jerry shoved off from the car, giving Grandma Psycho a “see, I'm doing it” look, then slipped the coin into the meter.

A sweet, cookie-dispensing smile spread across Grandma's face. “That's a nice boy.” Then she patted him on the cheek—actually patted
the
Jerry Wiggs on the cheek—and toddled away, her support hose hitching up and down with each step. The Pomeranian craned his head around his mistress, gave a bark of the last word, then watched Jerry warily until they rounded the corner.

“What kind of freak-ass place
is
this?” Scotty asked. “It doesn't even have a Starbucks. How am I supposed to get a mochaccino? And I don't see a dry cleaner. I can't iron my own clothes.”

Jerry gritted his teeth at the sound of Scotty's whine. He'd have fired Scotty years ago, if he could have. But he was Candy's nephew and in Jerry's book, whatever Candy wanted, Candy got.

Because if she didn't, Jerry's life was one living hell.

“This is called roughing it, Scotty. So shut up and find our hotel.”

“Uh, boss?” Leath, the new PA Jerry had hired within an hour after Allie left him and he realized he didn't know where the freakin' coffeepot was in his own office, put up a finger. He gave Jerry a weak smile. He was one of those skinny blond guys who looked like he could be knocked over by a strong wind, or by a woman with a good right hook. Wimpy and simpering enough to make Jerry happy. “There is no hotel.”

“What do you mean, there's no goddamned hotel? What the fuck kind of place did you bring me to?” Jerry's voice exploded out of his lungs. A young mother standing by the candy machine outside Joe's Sav-a-Lot tried to juggle her groceries into one arm and cover the ears of her two-year-old, but he was already crying, the little brat, whipping up a real storm of a tantrum.

“It's a small town,” Leath said. “The nearest hotel is thirty miles away.”

“And did you book us a room in this nearest hotel?”

Leath beamed. “I did.”

“And does this hotel have freakin' room service?” Jerry used slow, sharp words that even the brat could have understood. “Turn-down service? Mints on my goddamned pillow?”

“It's a…a…Ramada.” Leath's voice stumbled a bit.

“I didn't ask you what the name of the hotel was. I asked you about the
amenities
.” He drew the word out a syllable at a time, each one increasing in volume. “I need goddamned amenities or I get grumpy!”

The two-year-old's wails turned into the cries of a banshee. His mother again tried the juggling act to hurry him away, but he remained rooted to the spot, little tree-trunk legs pulling against her efforts.

“Will you shut that kid up?” Jerry said.

The woman shot him a glare, then squeezed the bags into one arm, scooped up her screaming ball of fire, and hauled him out to a minivan in the parking lot.

“Uncle Jer, that wasn't very nice. He was a little kid.”

“Which only means he's shorter than me.” Jerry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his car, taking deep breaths like Doctor Nonuting had told him to do. In, out, in, out, so he expanded his lungs instead of expending his fist into one of these idiots' faces. “Now someone get me Allie on the phone. I want to know what the hell she was thinking, bringing me to this godforsaken hellhole.”

 

Allie was in heaven. Curled against Duncan's warm body, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, she had definitely died and gone to heaven. Three times.

Making love with Duncan Henry hadn't been fun. Or entertaining. Or a way to pass seven minutes, as it had been with Geoffrey Dean. Or anything like it had ever been with any man she had ever slept with before. It had been amazing, incredible, and the entire
Roget's
entry under oh-my-god magnificent.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Hi.”

She beamed up at him. “Hi yourself.”

Duncan pulled Allie closer to him and cradled her jaw in his palm. “You are absolutely incredible.” He traced his finger along her jaw, down her throat, outlining her shoulders, her neckline in the shadowy darkness of her hotel room, the drapes still drawn against the morning sun.

Last night, Duncan had called and asked the temporary nurse to stay overnight, paying her enough of a bonus to gain the extra hours. Katie's squeal of delight at being right in her little matchmaking scheme echoed over the phone line and into the hotel room.

The night away from his sister had clearly been restorative for Duncan in more ways than one. He smiled at Allie, looking rested and happy. “You're beautiful—”

“That's the first thing you noticed about me?”

“No. The first thing I noticed about you was your hand.”

“My hand?”

“You were holding a rock when we met, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“You're intelligent,” he went on, not to be dissuaded.

“We haven't had too many conversations,” she pointed out. “More than a little of our time lately has been spent in bed.”

“Where you have shown you can be very smart and inventive.”

“Speaking of which, I just had the most interesting dream. Want to act it out?” She slid a hand down his torso, to cup another part of him that had already risen.

He grinned and stilled her palm. “After we eat. We do have to pause for a food break once in a while.”

“Order room service. Or we could call out for breakfast. And we'll eat in bed. Or even better, feed each other.”

“Or,” Duncan said, trailing a finger down the curves of her throat, skipping lightly over one her breasts, “we could eat off each other.” He stopped at the valley of her stomach, tracing a lazy circle. “This makes a perfect dinner plate.”

Desire surged within her anew, as strong as the first time, not sated by their lovemaking but rather stoked, because now she knew how good it would be and she wanted it again. “Whatever will you use for utensils?” she asked, teasing.

“This.” Then his mouth followed the trail of his finger. Allie's body bucked a little beneath him. She'd passed the need for foreplay hours ago. Just being within five feet of Duncan turned her switch to
ON
.

She'd imagined making love to him, but had never pictured anything beyond the act itself. Her mental fantasy reel hadn't included him holding her. The way he'd toy with her hair, trace the outline of her shoulder.

The way he'd look at her, as though he were committing her to memory.

And most of all, the way it would make her feel. Allie hadn't needed a dinner at Margie's or Spago's restaurant, or heck, a café in Paris to reawaken those feelings from high school. She'd been infatuated with Duncan then, and dreamed her heart together with his…and clearly never really lost that connection.

There'd been a detour into the awful marriage to Geoff, but then, this week, when Duncan had opened that door into his life and allowed her to see what made him tick, she'd understood.

Duncan Henry, so fiercely protective of his sister that he'd stood in her stead against a raging, perfectionist father. And now, he shouldered the burden of her care, and the blame for her accident, even as Allie knew there were more dimensions to the story.

All of that—coupled with making love with him—had now wreaked havoc with her plans to love him and leave him. Right now, she couldn't imagine anything that would make her want to leave Duncan Henry.

Ever.

Especially when he paused to circle his tongue around her belly button. Her nerves exploded so fast and furious, her brain became a sputtering, stammering mess, focused only on what Duncan would do next—and where he would do it.

He traced a lazy path farther along her torso. Allie's fingers tangled in Duncan's hair and she began to run down the mental possibilities of positions they had yet to try when her cell phone began to ring, dancing the slim Motorola across her nightstand. She tried to ignore it, but it kept on, a nagging interruption to real life. Damn.

There was only one person who could be calling her.

Which brought her back to reality. To the whole reason she was here. And it wasn't to make love to Duncan Henry. To fall for him.

“Hold that thought,” she said to Duncan.

He raised his head from her belly and grinned. “With pleasure.”

Allie flipped out the phone and said hello.

“Get your ass down here,” Jerry yelled. “We have a movie to make.”

Her reason to leave Duncan had just arrived.

Half of Tempest had turned out for the first day of filming on Wednesday. Clearly, the movie crew was a novelty, particularly in a town that prided itself on its ability to keep litter boxes fresh.

Allie had become a celebrity of sorts, an odd feeling for the woman who had once been as invisible as wind. She was hailed all over town, offered coffee at Margie's, the tab waved off; given a jar of jam from Aunt Ruby Mae's; a box of chocolates from a group of teen girls who wanted to ensure their place as extras.

Allie tried to avoid the extra attention, knowing drawing too much to herself risked exposing her identity. Allie Dean had made a name for herself in Tempest. Accomplished a lot. Allie Dean was commanding respect, making things happen.

If her real identity was exposed, how far would Allison Gray get?

Not very far, she knew. So Allie tried to stay out of the fawning Tempest limelight and stuck to the set—to her job—far from the barricades that Jerry had paid a local carpenter to erect. “It'll keep out the damned riffraff,” he said. “Not to mention the hillbillies.”

Allie had taken umbrage at the second comment, but bit her tongue. Undoubtedly, the people of Tempest looked like backward hicks compared to the sleek hipness of L.A. Still, the echo of Jerry's laughter ringing in her head rankled.

Besides, she had much bigger problems to contain than Jerry's mouth, Earl's growing ire—he'd already called her three times on her cell to complain about the disruption to Tempest's traffic patterns—and the town's incessant gossiping about who had what role in the film.

She was really starting to care about Duncan Henry.

In three weeks—because Jerry had made it clear he was on an accelerated shooting schedule to get this sequel into theaters for the Christmas season—she'd be heading back to L.A., leaving Duncan, Katie, and this town behind.

Trouble was, she didn't want to leave anymore. Sure, she wanted to leave Tempest—she hadn't fallen in love with the town—but she didn't want to leave Duncan.

Or go through with her plan.

Making love to him had changed the equation and all of a sudden she couldn't make two and two add up to that nice even four she'd arrived with weeks earlier.

“Allie, what do you think?”

“Huh?” She shook herself back to the reality of
Sorority Slumber Party Slaughter
, answered the director's question about a good location for the first exterior shot, took a few minutes to help round up a couple of extras who seemed to have gone missing, then headed off the set.

As she rounded the corner of the costumes trailer, she nearly collided with a five-foot-five female werewolf.

Covered from head to toe in thick, coarse bright pink-tipped hair, Lisa Connelly had been transformed. She had a long, bushy tail, thick, molded breasts, and narrow, pointed teeth. Her claws on all four paws had been painted red, all part of the character's normal look—a sort of beauty school student gone wild, with fuchsia hair and crimson nails.

It looked as though it had been designed for her—and it had, though Lisa didn't know it. Allie had worked behind the scenes with Natasha, the costume designer, to tweak the character to fit Lisa's real life persona. And boy, did it fit her. Perfectly.

“Thanks for the part,” Lisa said, her voice muffled by the heavy, doglike head, but her excitement clear.

“You're welcome. You're a really convincing werewolf.”

Lisa leaned down, placing one paw on Allie's shoulder. “I've got Wanda Wolfie's motivation totally down, too. Her PMS drives her crazy and when the moon comes up, the claws come out. You can't blame her for wanting to take out all those evil sorority sisters who teased her so badly because her cramps made her miss the pledging ceremonies.”

“Revenge,” Allie said with a smile, “it'll drive some people to murder.”

“Yes, it will.” Lisa leaned back and nodded, the wolf head nearly bonking Allie in the process. “I gotta go. I have to practice howling. See you around the set.”

Perfect. Everything was going exactly as she'd planned.

Everything except for Duncan Henry. She'd seen him last night again, even though she kept vowing to stop. But still, she was drawn back as easily as a moth to a flame, to the very man who had been so bad for her before.

The man she'd been unable to forget because he'd shattered her heart. It was like an addiction she couldn't break.

He'd won their little Truth or Dare game. She hadn't been able to make love to him and walk away.

She'd kept coming back, returning as easily as a yo-yo on a string. They'd found odd moments to steal away, for quick kisses, and longer moments in bed, and every time she told herself this would be the last time.

Hah. She might as well join Duncanholics Anonymous because she certainly wasn't giving up this one very easily.

As Allie left the set, her cell phone vibrated against her hip. Before she answered it, she knew who it would be and found a smile curving across her face before she said hello.

“What are you wearing?”

Her pulse raced, fire ran through her body. “More than the last time you saw me.”

Duncan tsk-tsked. “Hopefully you won't have that on tonight. Do you have dinner plans?”

“Depends,” she said. “What's the weather going to be like?”

“Why don't you ask your friendly neighborhood weatherman to do a personal forecast?”

Damn, she wanted him, more every second. Even when she knew better, knew she should be thinking about work, he consumed her thoughts. “Oh, I would, if I could find him.”

“Look behind the oak tree.”

She paused, then did as he said, peering around the tree to the right of her. Beside it stood Duncan, tall and handsome. The fire in her gut erupted into a full-out five-alarm blaze.

“What are you doing here?” She lowered her phone and clicked it shut.

He did the same. “Stopping by to see you.” He bent down and gave her a quick kiss, then pulled her behind the tree to give her an even better one.

“Just for that?”

“Mmm. I wish, but I have an ulterior motive. You promised me an interview. And every time I ask about it…well, we seem to get distracted.” As though to prove his point, he nuzzled her neck.

Oh damn, that was right. The interview. Bright lights, camera lenses directed on Allie's face, then blasting that countenance into every Tempest living room. How long would it be before someone recognized her?

After all, if Ira could, how implausible was it that someone else wouldn't?

“Ah, let me check Jerry's schedule and get back to you,” Allie said, stalling again.

“How about this afternoon? Come down to the studio around three, that way I can fit it in between news reports. We put it off any longer and believe me, the Indy stations will be on this like flies on roadkill and I'll lose my exclusive.” He slipped his hand into hers.

“Oh, I don't think that's going anywhere.” She agreed to the time and figured she could hang in the shadows of the studio and let Jerry do all the talking.

Since it was morning yet, Duncan had plenty of time until he had to be at the station. They started walking the perimeter of the property, avoiding the gawkers, heading to the quieter rear area, where a thick copse of fragrant sumac had formed a natural fence.

“What's it like doing the weather?” she asked, searching for a topic that didn't have anything to do with sex. And failing pretty miserably, considering the mention of weather sent her mind down a making love under warm sun rays path.

He shrugged. “It's a job.”

“But it must be good to get a forecast right? I mean, people love the weatherman when he's right.”

“Yeah, and I have this great record, too.”

But he said the words with no excitement, no hint of pride. “And that's bad, because…why?”

“It's not me predicting the weather.”

She stopped walking and glanced over at him. “What do you mean, not you? I see you myself on Channel Eleven every night.”

“I mean…” At this, he let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, displacing the waves, giving him a tousled, vulnerable look.

The kind that clutched at her heart and made her start to care even more.

“What?” she prompted when he didn't finish.

“I'm not the one doing the predicting. Hell, I can't even read half the software and data they've got over there at WTMT-TV.”

A mourning dove flew over them, its wings rustling as it settled into the lush greenery of the sumac. “What? How can you do the weather if you don't know how to read the programs?”

“Exactly.” He turned to her, his gaze earnest. “No one knows this, Allie. And hell, I shouldn't even be telling you, but you're from L.A. and before I know it, you'll be back there, right?”

She nodded, ignoring the sudden burst of disappointment at the thought of leaving. It was a crazy feeling. She didn't want or need Duncan Henry, or anyone in Tempest for that matter.

But she did. And the mere thought of leaving him now filled her with a pang so sharp, she had to draw in a breath to make it go away.

“And,” Duncan went on, “this may sound crazy, but you remind me of someone. Someone I knew a long time ago. I could tell her things, and trust that it would go no further than her ears.”

His gaze went off to some far-off spot and Allie's breath caught, held. Did he mean her, Allison Gray? Was he talking about those early morning conversations around the hard plastic desks in Mr. Benoit's room?

She opened her mouth to ask, then shut it again, afraid to hear another woman's name. Afraid he'd say no, that he'd mention someone else.

And break her heart one more time.

“Anyway,” he said, returning his attention to her, “that's in the past. She no longer lives here, and now, I have you, right?”

“Yeah.” Allie tried to work up a smile. What would happen if he found out she'd been lying to him? That she was Allison Gray, the girl everyone had called Allison the Whale? The Gray Whale? Would he turn away in disgust? Hate her for keeping the secret?

Or worse, tell her it all had been a big joke? That he had guessed long ago, and had just been stringing her along?

Allie pushed the thoughts away. “How
are
you predicting the weather then?”

“With my secret weather weapon.” Duncan paused. A lopsided grin took over his face. “A Magic 8 Ball.”

“A
what
?”

“That's what I use to predict the weather. Your average, run-of-the-mill, kids' toy. I mean, I get the basic forecast information from NOAA. They send us literally a book of faxes every day, but I use the Magic 8 Ball to fine-tune because I honestly have no idea what the hell I'm doing.”

She couldn't have been more stunned if he'd hit her in the head with a Monopoly board. “You're kidding me.”

“I'm not. It works.” He threw up his hands. “God knows how, but the silly thing is more accurate than Al Roker.”

“And no one knows?”

“Hell, no. They all think I'm some kind of weather god. Even my intern thinks I can make the sun rise all on my own. If people found out…Well, let's just say I'd be unemployed faster than you could sneeze.”

“And that would leave Katie in a lurch.”

He nodded, sober as a judge. “I'm all she has.”

Allie's heartstrings tightened. She hadn't wanted Duncan to be vulnerable. To open up to her. To show her a man that she could like…heck, even love, not with the wild infatuation of a teenager but with the deep, multidimensional love of an adult.

This man she was lying to was also living a few lies of his own. And every time she tried to untangle herself, the mess she was in only got messier.

Her plan had veered way off course. She could get revenge on all the Lisa Connellys in the world, and yet, Allie knew, there was no way she would forget the way Duncan's shoulders had been weighted down by the life that had changed him, the soft tones of regret in his voice, the vulnerability that had changed the football captain into a man who needed someone to care.

And make him remember that he, too, needed a life.

In a few weeks, she was supposed to leave Tempest. Go back to L.A. and put this town behind her, probably forever. But the chances of doing that without a backward glance were getting slimmer by the second.

Because she had fallen in love with Duncan Henry all over again.