Let Me Count The Ways (8 page)

Mike had caught me off-guard last night. Somehow, he’d seen the me behind the mask. He’d intuited things about me that, quite frankly, I wasn’t altogether certain I wanted him to know. He’d disarmed me with his shyness, with his lack of pretension, his undisguised adulation. He’d let me think I was the one calling the shots. Then he’d turned the tables on me. By the time he was done, I’d have gone down on my knees, licked his balls and begged him for... anything, really. Whatever he wanted me to. Whatever he
told
me to beg for.

The thought was disturbing enough to get me out of bed, despite the protests of my more-than-pleasantly-sore muscles, and into the shower.

The bathroom--now, there was another eye opener. More glass in the form of the tinted panels that made up the ceiling and the frosted walls that surrounded the tub/shower and which, apparently, could be retracted if one wished to bathe
al fresco
. A glass tile mosaic covered most of the remaining walls, I refused to look at it too closely. I was sure, if I did, I’d find Mike’s signature there somewhere, worked into the design.

Was there nothing the man hadn’t thought to try his hand at?

Somehow, I’d imagined an accountant would be more... conventional. Methodical, practical, traditional, even a little boring; that’s really what I’d been expecting. But Mike, it appeared, was none of those. That should have been a good thing. And yet...

He was intriguing. There was no denying that. Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking to be that intrigued by a casual lover. He was interesting, unusual, captivating. I wasn’t looking to be captivated either. Not by anyone.

Claire Calhoun was damned good in bed, whether or not there were cameras rolling. She might play a submissive onscreen, if that’s what the role called for. She might even tease a lover into thinking she was there to fulfill his every desire, rather than the other way around. But, at the end of the day--when the cameras stopped rolling, when the grunting and sweating were over--everyone knew it had just been an act. At least for the most part.

I stepped beneath the shower’s powerful spray hoping to clear the confusion from my head. The warm water felt wonderful as it pounded at my sore muscles. It brought to mind the massage Mike had given me the night before. It brought to mind his hands and his mouth, his cock, his voice. Before I knew it, my hand had slipped down to finger my pussy, to rub my clit; already swollen, already aching. I groaned with the need I felt building within me.

Getting myself off would only relieve some of the tension. If I were really going to do the job right I’d need an assist. And, for that, I wanted Mike. I wanted him inside me now. I had half a mind to open the door and call for him. I wanted him to join me in the shower. To push me up against the wall and--

No. I snatched my hand away, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Sex would just have to wait. Right now, it was time to leave. I had a busy day ahead of me. I’m sure I had all sorts of appointments I was forgetting about.

I dressed quickly. Not willing to wait a moment longer than necessary, I gave up searching for my panties, slipped bare feet into my heels, stuffed my stockings and garter into my purse and used the phone by Mike’s bed to call for a cab.

Mike was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs in a bowl, when I found him. The little tiger-eye stud still glittered in his ear lobe. I’d thought it looked sexy paired with a suit. It looked even better juxtaposed against the burgundy velour robe he was wearing this morning. His eyebrows rose as he looked me over. “You’re dressed already?” He sounded disappointed. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

He’s really very sweet
. I smiled, intending to tell him so, but before I got a word out, my attention was captured by the large mango-colored bird perched on the back of one of the dining room chairs, feeding itself from a bowl of fruit.

“Oh, my God.” Changing course, I made a bee line for the bird who had stopped eating and was looking at me curiously. “Hello, there, gorgeous. Where did you come from? I didn’t see you last night.”

The macaw cocked her head to the side and murmured inquisitively.

“She was asleep when we got in,” Mike said. “I keep her cage in the spare bedroom because, you know, she can be kind of loud at times.”

“I’ll bet.” Maui Sunset Macaws are
very
talkative birds. They’re also a very rare hybrid. Most people have never even seen a picture of one. The only reason I knew anything at all about them was because I’d worked with one in a movie years ago. And this one here, with her marmalade-shaded front, faded-olive back and tail, and the almost iridescent sheen on her wings, was a dead ringer for that other bird. They both resembled golden parrot idols come to life. Which was exactly what the bird in the film was supposed to have been.

Smiling, I stroked the soft plumage that covered her breast. “What’s her name?”

There was a slight pause before Mike answered. “Zoe.”

At the sound of her name, Zoe turned her gaze away from me to look at Mike. She croaked softly.

“Oh.” I forced myself to show no emotion but chills were running down my spine. Zoe. Same name as the bird I’d worked with; same voice, same coloration. Coincidence? Imagination? So not likely.

Turning back to Mike, I smiled brightly. “It’s amazing how much she looks like the bird I worked with in
Inca Gold.”

Mike dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster and nodded. “She is.”

“She is what?” I replied, blinking innocently, pretending not to understand. Sidling away from the table, I mentally gauged the distance between the dining room and the front door.

“She’s the same bird. Her handlers retired about eight years ago. They were selling off some of their... inventory. So I bought her.”

“Ahh.” I was wearing heels. That might slow me down if I made a run for it. On the other hand, Mike was probably bare foot, so the heels might be an asset in that way. “That, ah... that’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”

“Creepy?” Mike stared at me. “No. Why would you say that? Zoe’s very sociable. She’d be miserable if she were locked in a cage in some pet shop somewhere or in a zoo. Or, worse yet, if she were sold to a breeder. She was hand raised. She loves being around people.”

I nodded. “I know. I remember.” I’d been very fond of Zoe. She was the most honestly affectionate female co-star I’d ever had. If I’d have known she was in danger of being sent to a zoo or anything else, I’d have bought her myself. That wasn’t the point. “It’s just that I feel a little uncomfortable with the thought of you collecting things that are... connected to me in some fashion. It feels kind of... I dunno... stalkery.”

Mike’s cheeks flamed red. “Claire, I--That’s...” He swallowed hard and tried again. “Be fair. This was
years
ago. At the time... I had
no
idea I’d ever actually meet you. Never mind that I’d...” He fisted his hands on the counter and stared at me with a troubled expression. “It’s not like... it’s not like I follow you home. I don’t loiter in alleys, picking things out of your garbage. Hell, how many months have I worked for you? And I still don’t even know where you live! How can you suggest that I--And, anyway, you came to me, remember?”

“I know.”

“I knew Dave was your lawyer. I never so much as hinted to him about... about anything! It was all his idea that you hire me. I never...”

I nodded. “I know that too.” Although, actually, it had been my idea, not Dave’s.

“And Zoe--I’d always wanted a macaw, all right? I don’t know why, but I did. Maui’s are beautiful. Everyone knows they have great temperaments and there aren’t that many of them, either. And, yeah, it was neat knowing she was
connected
to you. I won’t lie and say that wasn’t part of the appeal. Sure it was. But there was nothing, nothing sinister about it.”

“Maybe.” He’d always wanted a macaw? Right. Just like he’d always wanted a classic Jaguar. I was seeing a pattern here. And yet, improbable as it seemed, it had to be coincidence. Because he couldn’t
possibly
have known about the car...

The producer of several of my earliest films--including most of the ones I’d made here, in Topanga Canyon--had owned a similar make and model. Same color too, I think. I’d lost my innocence in that car.

Oh, not in a sexual sense, although the Jag’s back seat was certainly cushy enough for pretty much anything along those lines that you might want to try. No, my moment of truth had occurred in the front passenger seat. That’s where I’d come of age, so to speak. That’s where I learned about the dark, seedy underside of the movie business. Where I learned all about the dues I’d be paying. About the crucial difference between acting in movies and performing on film.

I’d nearly given up that night. I’d nearly packed my bags and fled LA. And, even now, I could still recall exactly how I’d felt. The shock. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The despair.

Can I live with myself if I do this? Is it worth it? How badly do I want this career? Isn’t there any other way?

There was another way, of course, but I didn’t know it then. I was told that this was the way things worked, the only way I’d ever get my foot in the door. I was young enough, and stupid enough, to believe it. By the time I learned the truth, by the time I realized I’d been lied to, manipulated, used, it was too late.

Last night, when the valet had pulled that Jag up to the front of the gallery, I’d nearly changed my mind. It had been years since I’d given any thought to that long ago night, but the sight of that car brought it all back. I didn’t want to go anywhere with the man who owned it.

I’d been on the verge of faking a headache and asking Mike to take me home when I hit on the idea of driving up to Mulholland as a way to buy us both some time. I was glad now that I had. And I wasn’t regretting anything this morning. But I
did
want to get away.

I smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I
am
right.” The toast popped out of the toaster, he ignored it. “People
do
collect celebrity memorabilia, Claire. It’s a business as well as a hobby for some folks. And I’m not saying it’s either of those for me. But, as a public figure, you should understand that. I’m sure you’ve donated personal items for charity auctions and other things, from time to time. Haven’t you? Who’d you think was buying that stuff? Fans, for the most part.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right.” Leaving my purse on the table I walked over to where he was standing. He turned to face me, still looking troubled. I slid my arms up around his neck. “You’re definitely right. I concede the point. Can we please stop arguing now?”

“We’re not...” He broke off, looking even more unhappy. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Claire. I’m just trying to make you understand. There’s a difference between being a fan; between admiring someone, even having a crush on them, and... and stalking them. We’re not all deranged, you know.”

“I know that.” I pressed myself against him deliberately as I leaned in to kiss him. Mike inhaled sharply, his skin heating on contact, just as it had the night before, back at the gallery, when I first touched his face. “And, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest you were deranged, Mike.”

If anyone was deranged, it was likely me. Because in spite of all my good intentions, all the stern lectures I’d given myself while I’d dressed, just that one kiss was enough to make my pussy wet. My nipples were tingling. The thought of getting naked again with him--right now--was almost irresistible.

“Claire...”

“Shh.” I backed away quickly, before he could pull me close or deepen the kiss. Before I could go down on my knees and wrap my lips around the erection tenting the front of his robe. “You’ve made your point. There’s a difference. I get that. Now... is that coffee I smell?”

“Uh--Yes.” Still red-faced, Mike lunged for the coffee maker and quickly poured out a mug. “Here. How do you take it? Cream? Sugar?”

“Just black, please,” I replied. My fingers grazed his as I reached to take the mug from his hand. He jerked and the mug nearly slipped to the floor. Luckily, I caught it in time.

I sipped my coffee and tried hard not to let my eyes drift south, tried hard to hide my smile. I liked it when he got flustered. I liked the sense of control it brought.
This
was the way things between us were supposed to be, wasn’t it? I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that I was dressed and he wasn’t? Maybe, next time we made love, I should keep my clothes on?

Mike cleared his throat. “So. How about breakfast? How does a
fine herbes
omelet sound?”

“It sounds lovely,” I said, feeling regretful. “But I don’t think I’ll have time.”

Mike looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

A car horn sounded from outside. I gulped a last swallow of coffee and put my mug on the counter. “I mean I have to leave. My ride’s here.”

“Your ride?”

“Mm. I called a cab while I was dressing.”

“But, why?”

“Because, silly, I have to go to work.” I slipped my arms back around his neck and pressed myself against him one more time. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“I would have been happy to drive you back to town,” he replied stubbornly, ignoring the compliment, seemingly unaffected by my smile.

I kissed him anyway. “Thank you. But I didn’t want to put you to any more trouble.”

“It wouldn’t have been any trouble.” He eyed me glumly, then blurted, “Am I ever gonna see you again?”

He sounded so tragic, it was all I could do to keep from laughing. “Well, of course you will. Unless you decide to drop me as a client, I’ll see you in two weeks, right?”

“I’m not talking about that,” he growled. “I meant... socially.”

Framing his face with my hand, I looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “I’d like that.” I kissed him again then turned away quickly. Grabbing my purse from the table where I’d left it, I headed for the door.

“Claire.” Mike’s voice stopped me before I was halfway across the living room.