Читать книгу L.A. Confidential - Julie Kenner - Страница 10

“THANKS FOR CHOOSING the Bellisimo, Ms. Neal. Enjoy your stay.”

Through a haze of exhaustion, Lisa thanked the clerk as she clutched her room key, still not quite believing that Avenue F was footing the bill for her to stay in a hotel as lush as the Bellisimo. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and now she was having trouble remembering her name, much less what she did with her luggage. She looked down toward her ankles, trying to find the matched set of suitcases her mother had given her years ago and fought a wave of panic until she remembered the bellhop had taken them.

Stifling a yawn, she surveyed the lobby, trying to find the bellman and her bags. The hotel was just as she’d remembered it. Polished marble columns, polished hardwood floor, everything shiny and gleaming and not the least bit understated. The place practically smelled of money, and it attracted the type of clientele who were drawn to that particular scent.

Exactly the kind of atmosphere Ken had wanted for his very first restaurant—a prestigious address with a crowd made up of climbers and those already at the top. As Lisa glanced around, she knew he had to be pleased. Not some small part of his success was tied to his skill in choosing the right location.

Some sort of convention was going on, and the lobby was filled to overflowing with men and women in suits sporting little plastic name tags. When the crowd finally parted a bit, Lisa caught a glimpse of the bellhop near the bank of elevators. With a wave, she signaled that she was on her way.

Actually getting to him was a bit more tricky, and she ended up having to squeeze between the stacks of luggage left lying around by the conventioneers, a process that took a lot more energy than she had left. She finally made it, though she ended up feeling frazzled and far too jostled for comfort.

After handing the bellhop her room key, she ran her hands through her hair, sure she was probably making it a spiky mess. Not that it mattered. The one thing she wanted was to get to her room, then collapse on her bed for a long nap and spend a few blissful hours completely ignoring the problem that had kept her awake in the first place—how she was going to persuade Ken Harper to help her.

The bellhop punched the elevator button, and Lisa leaned against the cool marble wall as they waited for a car to arrive. In truth, persuading Ken wasn’t her biggest worry. No, what she feared most was her reaction—and his—when she saw him again.

When she’d told Ken she was leaving five years ago, she had no way of knowing that he’d been planning to ask her to marry him that very night. She’d found out the next day when she’d gone to the restaurant to say goodbye to Tim and Chris and all the other friends she’d made. Tim’s usually cheerful face had seemed cold and closed off, and she’d pushed him to tell her what was wrong.

When he told her about Ken’s plans, she’d gone cold inside, but she hadn’t changed her mind. Ken had wanted to wait until marriage to sleep together, but Lisa’d never made any promises. If anything, she’d been completely forthright. Marriage wasn’t on her radar—then or now. Five years ago she’d been entirely focused on her career. Her whole life she’d wanted a career in the film industry, and she’d had no intentions of getting distracted by a relationship. Maybe someday she’d marry and have a family, but not now—and certainly not back when she’d moved to New York.

Not that leaving had been easy. She adored Ken. Maybe they hadn’t slept together, but his kisses, his touch, his nearness had always done amazing things to her body, making her breathless and tingly in a way no man since had ever made her feel. He had always been a perfect gentleman—had never teased her sexually and then pulled away. And despite the firm boundaries in their relationship, there’d been a chemistry between them that was undeniable.

She’d wanted to sleep with him, had wanted him to gather her in his arms and make love to her for long, endless nights—but she’d fought the feeling, using all her effort to box that passion and push it to a secluded corner of her mind.

In a weird way, Ken’s old-fashioned insistence saved her. Her reaction to him was explosive, and she wasn’t sure she would have been able to keep her focus if they’d given in to passion.

The bell sounding the arrival of the elevator pulled her from her thoughts, and she stifled a shiver. Now that she was here, she was terrified that she’d react just as powerfully to Ken—but that he’d only react to her with anger and hurt.

“After you, miss.” The bellhop held open the door, gesturing for her to enter the windowed elevator. He followed with his cart laden with her luggage, and a swarm of conventioneers piled in after him, pushing her all the way to the back. A wave of claustrophobia swept over her, and she turned around to look through the glass at the lobby coffee shop, trying to ignore the uncomfortable press of people behind her.

Her gaze swept the lounge, taking in the chic attire of the Los Angeles elite. Still early morning, and already the movers and shakers were having their breakfast meetings, making decisions. Producers were meeting with directors, agents were meeting with actors, and more than anything, she wanted to be in on the action.

With a little sigh, she pressed her forehead to the glass and was just about to close her eyes when a familiar movement caught her eye. She blinked, trying to figure out what she’d seen.

And then there it was again—a starched white shirt, khakis, broad shoulders, a head of thick brown hair. He moved with the casualness of the completely self-confident.

Her pulse quickened. Even from behind, she knew that body, knew the way those broad shoulders moved as he walked, knew the way those strong thighs felt beneath her fingers.

The elevator stopped and most of the conventioneers stepped off. She knew she should move away from the glass, quit watching before he turned around. But she couldn’t tear herself away. He was following a hostess to a table near a potted palm, and when they arrived, he pulled out his chair and turned around to sit, facing her.

From her angle above him she couldn’t see his entire face, but what she could see made her stomach twist with memories, both delightful and disturbing. Slowly, almost as if he felt her watching, he lifted his head and seemed to look right at her.

She gasped and took an involuntary step back, banging into the bellhop’s cart and almost tripping.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“What?” She was still staring at the glass, trying to work up the courage to step closer to see if he was still looking up at her. “Oh. Yes. I’m fine. Just tired. Long plane ride.”

“Well, you’ll have a room and a comfortable bed soon.”

She nodded vaguely as she gripped the handrail, her fingers tight against the brass bar. Trying for casual, she stepped toward the glass and peered through it to the lounge below. Their eyes met, and her body tingled from a rush of warmth that spread through her, languid and inviting. She held his gaze until, finally, the elevator rose high enough that she could no longer see him.

She exhaled, her breath shaky. She had no idea if he’d really seen her, or if he’d just been looking in her direction. Even if he had seen the woman in the elevator, would he recognize her after five years? She didn’t know.

She gnawed her lower lip, knowing one thing for certain—at least on her part, whatever chemistry, whatever magic, had been between them five years ago, was just as overwhelming today.

IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HER. Absolutely not. No way.

He’d been repeating the mantra for more than ten hours, ever since he’d noticed the woman rising in the elevator. The woman with the slim figure and the chin-length blond hair. The woman he imagined was Lisa.

Not possible. And not worth obsessing about.

He needed to quit obsessing and to focus on his work. He’d left the hotel right after breakfast to run the gaunt-let between his clubs and restaurants in Orange County, Ventura and Palm Springs. He’d crawled back to Oxygen at midnight and the restaurant was now hopping with late-night energy. Though the dinner crowd had left, the place was by no means empty. A few late diners dotted the tables, along with folks who’d come in for dessert and coffee. In the lounge area, a small crowd had already gathered on the dance floor as the jazz band cranked out favorites from the thirties and forties.

Ken eased his way from the main dining area to the lounge, trying to focus his thoughts. They focused all right—directly on the woman in the elevator. There’d been something about the way she’d looked at him, something about the way she’d held herself. And he’d been unable to rip his eyes away.

Frustrated, he took a seat at the bar, then tugged at his tie, loosening the blasted thing.

“Something on your mind, boss?” Chris put down a napkin, then topped it with a tall glass of sparkling water.

“Just thinking about old times.”

“Not surprised. Coming up on five years. That’s a hell of an accomplishment.”

True enough, but what Ken was thinking about wasn’t his restaurant; it was his ex-girlfriend. Still, he didn’t intend to clue his bartender in on this particular neurosis, and he lifted the glass in a toast. “To five more years.”

Chris nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Not on the job you won’t,” he said in a jokingly stern tone.

“Whatever you say, boss,” he said, grinning as he turned to help one of the guests.

Ken swiveled on his stool, surveying the restaurant he’d started on a shoestring five years ago. No wonder he’d had such a visceral reaction to the woman in the elevator. Five years ago Lisa had walked out. In one week he’d face the anniversary of both her departure and his grand opening. Who wouldn’t be a little raw? And it was certainly no surprise that he was seeing ghosts in the elevators.

But that’s all she was—a ghost. Ken needed to forget Lisa and to move on with his life. Not that he was interested in jumping back into the dating game. What he’d told Tim was true. If the right woman came along, great. But he had no intention of searching her out. Considering he had to hire someone to run his clothes to the dry cleaner’s and pick up his groceries, he had no time to waste looking for a date.

Once upon a time he might have been craving the domestic life, but no more. He’d made a success of himself, and he had everything he could possibly want. Everything. He didn’t need to go hunting up trouble.

He was practicing not thinking about Lisa, or the woman in the elevator, or women in general, when the maître d’, Charles, caught his eye, signaling for him to come over. A woman was standing next to Charles, her face obscured by the ornate columns near the entrance. Since Charles tended to be protective of Ken’s time, if he thought it was important for Ken to meet her, chances were she was a celebrity, a restaurant critic or some other mover and shaker in the Hollywood scene.

His professional demeanor in place, he moved toward the front of the restaurant. As he drew near, he realized who the woman was, but by then it was too late to turn back gracefully. Instead, he steeled himself and headed forward.

Alicia Duncan turned as he approached, her television-ready smile gleaming. “Ken!” She held out a hand for him to take. “Kiss, kiss! It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“Alicia.” He took a fortifying breath. As usual, she looked so picture-perfect it was scary. In the two years he’d known her, Ken didn’t think he’d ever seen her without every hair in place and her makeup just so—even during some of their more intimate moments.

He clasped her hand in his, and let go as quickly as etiquette allowed. “What a nice surprise.” He was in no mood to hear Alicia’s pitch again, and he said a silent prayer that maybe she really had come only for a late dinner.

“I was hoping to catch you.” She leaned in closer and he could smell bourbon on her breath. A lot of bourbon. “I need to talk to you. A favor.”

“Alicia—”

She held up a hand. “Dammit, Kenny. Just five minutes? Can’t you spare me five minutes of your precious time?”

He cringed at the nickname, but nodded. “Five minutes.”