Infamous

She’d been in Los Angeles four years and she was hungry. Really hungry. Hungry like one living on the streets, digging out of trash cans, looking for something to fill you up, get you by.

Because, God knew, she wanted to go somewhere. She was determined to go all the way, too, all the way up, to the top. Fame, fortune, power. She wanted the whole bit.

It was time to do what she’d left Bozeman, Montana, to do. Time to make Hollywood hers.

CHAPTER THREE

THEY WERE CUTTING HER hair off.

The next morning, covered in plastic drapes, Alexandra stared aghast as Juan Carlos lifted chunks of her waist-length hair and began to chop it off to shoulder length.

She’d had long hair—really long, down to her butt—since she was a little girl. Being the only daughter, her father had wanted her to be a princess and insisted she leave her hair long. Soon he’d learned her hair was the only thing he could control, as his princess preferred jeans, boots and playing with LEGO, blocks and army trucks.

Alexandra had kept her hair long for her dad and now she found herself fighting tears as it was whacked off.

“It’ll be beautiful. You’ll be beautiful,” Juan Carlos reassured, catching sight of her tear-filmed eyes in his station’s mirror. “Be patient. You’ll see.”

Alexandra wanted to believe him. And it was just hair, nothing more important than that. And if she couldn’t handle getting her hair cut, how would she handle the other changes coming in the next few weeks?

With her long hair in pieces all over the floor, Juan Carlos patted her shoulders. “Now we change the color.”

Thirty minutes later, Alexandra was still trying to get used to the smell of bleach and chemicals from the cream applied to her hair. They were doing a two-color process—overall color and highlights—and the smelly foils on her head made her want to gag. Did some women willingly do this?

Juan Carlos had told her he was giving her warm amber highlights and promised to make her a Hollywood golden girl.

Alex wasn’t so sure about the golden part.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled her nerves, drew a deep breath and counted to ten.

At ten, she opened her eyes, caught a glimpse of her silver-wrapped alienlike self in the mirror and closed her eyes again.

This was not going to work.

Back at home five hours later, Alexandra looked in the mirror at the new, improved version of her. Her hair shimmered with a multitude of highlights, precision-cut to fall in thick, sexy waves around her face, playing up her black-lashed blue eyes and the strong cheekbones she didn’t know she had.

The makeup artist had shown her how to use color and liner to subtly darken and define her lips, her brows, her eyes.

And studying the new, improved Alexandra, she thought she looked good. Pretty. Pretty in a way she’d never been before. Feminine but smart. And confident. Strong. And that’s the thing she hadn’t known she could be on the outside. On the inside, she liked to roughhouse with the best of them, riding bareback, helping in the roundups, slinging barbwire along with the ranch hands. She’d learned early that she had to keep up with her brothers or she’d be left behind, relegated to the kitchen and the laundry room at home, and if there was anything Alex didn’t want, it was woman’s work. Housework. Domestic chores that kept her locked inside when the sky was huge and blue beyond the windows of the house, where the land stretched endlessly, waiting for exploration and hours of adventure.

Alex’s lips half curved, and she stared, fascinated, at the face of a woman she realized she barely knew.

She really was pretty, almost pretty like the girls in magazines. And maybe it was makeup and expensive hair color and a professional blow-dry, but she wasn’t the fat girl she’d been at eleven and twelve and fifteen. She wasn’t even the sturdy, healthy nineteen-year-old who’d arrived in Hollywood eager to make movies.

Reaching up, she touched the mirror, touching her reflection, the shimmering tawny lips, the dusty glow of cheeks and eyes that looked midnight-blue in the bathroom lights.

“Be confident,” she whispered. “Be brave.”

And with one last small, uncertain smile, she turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom, hitting the light switch on her way out.

In the living room she turned on the front porch light, and before she could decide if she should turn on the stereo or the TV or pick up a magazine to read, the doorbell rang.

Butterflies danced through her middle, spinning up and into her head.

God, she was nervous. Scared.

Why was she so scared? It wasn’t as though she’d never been out with Wolf before. It’s not as if she hadn’t ever been alone with him either.

Hands pressed to her sides, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of all the reasons why she’d come to L.A. and all the things she wanted to learn, to do, to prove. Maybe Wolf Kerrick was way out of her league and maybe this was going to be a rocky couple of weeks, but doing this, playing this part, would help her succeed.

Wiping her damp hands on the side of her black trousers, she moved to the door and opened it.

And then he was there, even bigger than she remembered, taller, more intimidating. And twice as beautiful.

Maybe that’s the part she found so disconcerting, too. Because she’d been around big men all her life. Brock was six-four, and Cormac a half an inch below that. But her brothers were more rugged—handsome but lacking the dark Latin sensuality that made Wolf’s eyes just a little too dark and his lower lip a little too full and his black lashes a little too long. It’d be one thing if he didn’t know his effect on women, but he did, and it only made him more dangerous. Wolf wasn’t so much charming as lethal.

“I just need to get my purse,” she said, opening the door wider and doing her best to hide her nerves. “Do you want to come in?”

“If you’re just getting your handbag, I can wait here.”

She silently disappeared, legs distinctly trembly as she went to the couch to scoop up the little evening bag she’d laid out earlier. The bag was so pretty, a small, black, handsome couture bag that looked simple but cost a fortune. Alexandra had seen the price tag when the stylist had presented it and gasped. The stylist had merely winked. “It’s covered in your budget,” she’d said.

Now Alexandra clutched the bag beneath her elbow, feeling briefly like a glamorous celebrity herself. She knew it was all hair and makeup and wardrobe, but still, it was such a treat, such a delight to feel genuinely pretty for a change.

“So what are we doing tonight?” she asked, returning to join Wolf at the door.

“Thought we’d have some drinks, get a bite to eat.”

Alexandra nodded and closed the door behind her. She turned to head down the front steps, but Wolf hesitated and, reaching behind her, checked the door, giving the knob a twist, making sure it was locked.

She shot him a quick glance as they walked toward his Lamborghini. The fact that he’d double-check her door touched her, made her feel surprisingly safe.

She was still looking at him when his head turned and his dark eyes met hers. She shivered inwardly and amended her last thought. Make that as safe as one could feel with a wolf.

It was a warm night and the fog hadn’t yet moved in. Wolf headed to Santa Monica, where he pulled in front of the luxurious Hotel Casa del Mar, which stood next door to its famous sister property, Shutters on the Beach.

The Casa Del Mar, built in 1926, was once the grandest of the opulent Santa Monica beach clubs and hotels, and a recent fifty-million-dollar renovation had returned the historic property to its former magnificence.

Although she’d never been there until tonight, Alexandra knew that the Veranda, the elegant lobby lounge, was famous for its literary crowd. Screenwriters and novelists hung out in the celebrated bar, with its enormous windows overlooking the sea and the plush velvet chaises and chairs scattered for comfortable seating.

The Veranda was packed when they entered, but miraculously an alcove opened up for Wolf and the cocktail waitress immediately took their drink orders.

Alexandra had thought the lounge was crowded when they walked in, buzzing with laughter and conversation, but the buzz seemed even louder now that Wolf had entered the room.

Everyone was looking their way, men and women alike watching Wolf, openly fascinated.

“I forgot. You’re such a star,” Alexandra said, sitting on the edge of her red velvet chair, afraid to relax and possibly ruin her artfully styled hair or carefully applied makeup.

“You forgot?”

“Well, I forgot it was like this.” She pressed her hands against the chair’s edge. “Everyone always looks at you. They watch everything you say and do. It’s incredible. I guess that’s what star means. You’re the focus of everyone and everything.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “People are curious. They want to know if I’m as interesting as the characters I play.”

“Are you?”

He laughed softly. “No.” Reaching out, he took her hand, brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips and then curled her fingers over his and kissed the back of her hand, all while his gaze held her transfixed. “I’m sorry to say, I’m really quite boring.”

She didn’t believe him, not for a second.

Not when his eyes, glowing with an inner fire, belied his words, and Alexandra felt her belly clench as his lips moved across her skin.

He was not boring. Not now. Not ever.

Wolf tugged her hand, pulling her up and out of her chair, drawing her firmly toward him.

“Wolf,” she whispered in protest.

He ignored her, pulling her down into his chair so that she sat awkwardly on his lap.

“Wolf,” she repeated fiercely, blood surging into her face, darkening her cheeks.

“You were too far away,” he said.

She felt the hard heat of his lap through her thin black trousers and it threw her, flustered her so that she tensed, going rigid in his arms. “And now I’m a little too close,” she choked, her breath catching in her throat as his hand moved to the small of her back, holding her more securely.

“I think you’re perfect.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Have I told you how much I like your hair?”

She felt as though everyone in the Veranda lounge must be looking at her. “Please let me off. People will talk.”

“But isn’t that the point? Don’t we want them to?”

He was right, of course, but even knowing why she was on his lap didn’t change the way she felt or how her body was responding—because it was responding. Her nerves were jumping and strange things were happening inside her, sharp hot streaks of sensation starting with the tight coil in her tummy and then racing to her breasts as well as lower, deeper, making her legs twitch and her mind wander.

“Stay here for our drink and then I’ll let you off,” he said, rubbing the small of her back as though it were perfectly ordinary for her to be on his lap with his strong hands casually caressing her, and maybe he could pretend ease, but Alexandra felt as though she’d pop out of her skin any moment.

His touch wasn’t soothing and she wasn’t relaxing. She couldn’t relax, not when he was stirring dormant feelings and even more dormant nerve endings.

Her lower back was tingling, sizzling with heat and pressure, warming to life beneath the dizzying touch of his hand, and that burn was starting to make her ache in places she didn’t want to ache. Her breasts were already growing fuller, more sensitive, and her belly was coiling hot and tight, making her think of escape. Relief.

She looked up into his face.

Had he had this effect on her four years ago? Somehow she didn’t think so. She couldn’t imagine it. Would she have very different feelings about him today if he had? “I think that’s long enough,” she whispered.

“Not even close.” And then his hands were on her waist, fingers sliding up toward her breasts, and she sucked in air, eyes widening in mute fascination.

He was turning her on. Really turning her on—and in public, too.

“Wolf. Let me go. Now.”

“We’re supposed to be lovers.”

Her mouth was parched, her lips painfully dry, and she licked her lips, trying to moisten them. “I know, but does this have to be in public?”

“If it’s not public, no one will know.”

Alexandra thought she’d run to the bar and make her own drink if the cocktail waitress didn’t return soon. “But maybe … maybe we can be one of those mysterious couples that don’t really do PDAs.”

“PDAs?” he asked, his head tipping back against the velvet chair as he watched her with lazy interest.

His hair was thick, glossy black, and he wore it a little long. And in a way it reminded her of a wolf pelt—thick, dense, male.

And Wolf was very male.

Alexandra struggled to swallow. She couldn’t remember ever being this thirsty before. Her body was burning and her throat felt absolutely parched. She pressed her lips together, feeling her teeth beneath.

“PDAs?” he prompted again.

“Public displays of affection.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “But I’ve no problem with public displays of affection if I like my woman.”

He’d trapped her in his eyes, and she gazed helplessly into the deep brown depths, a color somewhere between cocoa and black coffee, thinking they seemed endless, so dark, so deep, so alive with that unique fire of his.

One of his hands trailed up her spine, tracing her backbone and the little vertebrae between.

She shivered beneath the light caress, aroused despite her fierce desire not to be.

He had exactly the right touch, not too firm, not too delicate. And there was something about him, about his size and strength, about the tilt of his head and the mocking glint in his eyes that made her feel small and pretty and feminine. But not just feminine. Desirable. As though she were the only one in the room. The only woman in Los Angeles. California. Make that the planet.

Her pulse quickened and she found herself staring into his dark eyes, eyes that from far away were black but close like this had the smallest splinters of silver. Those shards of silver made her wonder if it was the lounge’s soft light or the fire that burned within him that made his eyes glow, turning him into some fierce and beautiful work of art.

Fire and ice.

The words whispered through her head and wrapped uncomfortably tight around her heart.

Because that was really who he was, she realized, looking at his face, the hard but expressive sensual features, the glossy black hair, the equally strong black brows.

“Now you’re staring,” he teased, his hand sliding higher up her back to rub between her shoulder blades, finding the little knots and balls of fear and tension. And magically he smoothed the knots away, rubbing firmer and then lighter, heating her, melting that resistance within her.

She wasn’t sure when she began to lean into him, seeking his touch, his warmth, but somehow his chest was where she wanted to be.

The cocktail waitress materialized with their drinks, and Wolf gestured for her to set them on the low table at his elbow. Smiling, she left the drinks and moved on, but not before giving Alexandra a brief inspection from beneath her lowered lashes.

Alexandra saw the look the waitress had given her and she wondered if everyone would look at her that way.

Wolf handed her martini glass to her before lifting his. They clinked glasses and Alexandra tilted her chocolate martini to her mouth, curious about a drink she’d heard of but never tried.

It was smooth, hot, strong, sweet, and she wrinkled her nose as she swallowed.

“Don’t like it?” Wolf asked, watching her.

“It’s different.”

“I take it different is bad.”

She smiled ruefully. “Different can be good. But in this case, different is just different.”

“Mmm.” His dark eyes glowed, and she felt, if not saw, the laughter within.

“You’re not laughing at me, are you?”

“Actually I am.”

And as she opened her mouth to protest, he caught the back of her head in his hand and pulled her close to cover her lips with his.

She inhaled at the sudden touch of his mouth on hers. It was a shock to her senses, his mouth so cool and firm, tasting of sweet chocolate and icy vodka. She shivered, her breasts peaking. At her shiver, his mouth hardened, the kiss deepening, the pressure parting her lips.

Her head spun, her senses swam, her body danced with pleasure that was as hot and sweet as it was electric.

The electric part dazzled her all over again, and blindly she leaned into him, searching for him, searching for more of the sensation and pleasure he offered.

Finally he lifted his head. She blinked, tried to focus, but she could only feel her mouth, soft, swollen, sensitive and it amazed her, this way he had of winning her over, taking her objections and melting them as surely as he’d just melted her.

Lifting her fingers to her mouth, Alex pressed down on her lips, feeling how the lower lip quivered and how her blood raced in her veins liquid-hot.

One kiss and she wanted more.

One kiss and she wanted to slide her hands into his thick ebony hair, twine her fingers through the glossy strands and hold tight, hold his face to hers so she could feel him, his beard and mouth, jaw and chin.

“You’re looking a little more relaxed,” he said, catching her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth, where he kissed the pulse beating frantically in her wrist.

“I think it’s the chocolate martini,” she said unsteadily.

His eyes creased. “I thought it was my kiss.”

She lifted her glass to her mouth and took a greedy gulp to hide the fact that he was making her nervous all over again. Those butterflies in her stomach had returned, only this time they felt more like forks of jagged lightning.

The chocolate-flavored martini slid down her throat, cool and tantalizing but also empowering. The cocktail made her feel stronger, calmer than she would have otherwise.

By the time they headed for home, close to midnight, Alexandra was laughing and surprisingly at ease.

She didn’t know if it was that first chocolate martini or Wolf making an effort to be charming, but she’d ended up having fun.

After drinks at the Casa Del Mar they’d driven to Houston’s for steaks and salads and glasses of wine. Again everyone had stared when they’d entered the darkened brick building, and again the hostess had magically found them a table.

Wolf hadn’t been the only celebrity dining at Houston’s that night, though. There’d been several other well-known entertainers, and two of them, both men, had stopped by their table to say hello.

Now Wolf was walking her to her door. After she unlocked the door, she stepped inside, and he followed her in, closing the door behind him. For a moment she felt a spike in nerves again, nerves and anticipation. Would he kiss her again?

But instead of a kiss, he checked each room, made sure everything was as it should be before saying good-night, giving her a platonic peck on the forehead and returning to his car.

His brotherly kiss jolted her back to reality. The kiss on the forehead was a kiss in private, a kiss behind closed doors and an indication of how things really were.

She wasn’t his love, wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even really his date. She was just a girl hired to play a part. Any kisses, any whispers, any sexy innuendos were for the public and the press, wherever the hidden photographers might be.

Alex leaned against the door and remembered the kisses earlier. There’d been so much heat between them. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt unbelievable. Glamorous. Funny. Delicious.

“Delicious,” Alex repeated, turning out the small hall light and heading for her bathroom, where she pulled her hair into a ponytail and washed her face, getting rid of the makeup.

In bed, Alex curled onto her side, covers pulled up high, so high that they covered her chin and the middle of her ear.

So you learned something important tonight, she told herself. You learned that there’s a difference between real and pretend, truth and fiction. Tonight was make-believe. And it’s okay to enjoy the make-believe, but don’t get it confused with reality.

You’re doing a job. That’s it.

No emotions, no hopes, no feelings.

This, she reminded herself sternly, is business.

The next morning Alex was at work when the flowers arrived. Three dozen very long-stemmed pink roses in a stunning hand-blown glass vase. Oohing and aahing, the entire Paradise Pictures office staff broke away from their tasks to look over Alexandra’s shoulder as she read the card.

Thank you for an unforgettable night. Looking forward to another. Wolf

Kristie, one of the other production assistants, snatched the card from Alexandra’s hands. “Wolf?” she said, flashing the card at everyone. “There’s only one Wolf I know of.”

“Hmm,” was all Alexandra said as she sat down in her chair and pushed the extravagant roses toward a corner of her desk to make some room to collate the scripts she’d just photocopied. It was one of the first jobs she did every morning. There were always script changes during the night, and the new, updated scenes had to be distributed to the cast and crew immediately.

But Kristie wasn’t to be put off. She leaned across Alexandra’s desk and held the small white florist card in front of Alexandra’s eyes. “Wolf.”

Alexandra looked up, her gaze meeting Kristie’s. “I think that’s what it does say.”

“Wolf Kerrick?”

Alexandra suppressed a sigh. “What do you want me to say, Kristie?”

The young, bubbly production assistant from Duluth, Minnesota, arched her eyebrows. “You’re seeing Wolf Kerrick?”

Alexandra shrugged as she reached for the next set of pages and stapled the corner. “I don’t know if I’m seeing him. We went out last night. Had dinner and drinks—”

“Is that the first time?”

“Um, well, not exactly. We’ve had lunch. And then he’s stopped by my house a couple times—”

“For real?”

Alexandra suppressed a smile. Kristie’s expression was priceless. “We’ve only just met in the past week. Who knows where it’ll go?”

But Kristie wasn’t looking at the card anymore, she was studying Alexandra. “It’s more than that. Something’s going on. You’re different, you know. You’re … pretty.”

Alexandra’s eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t pretty before?”

“Not like this.”

Rolling her eyes, Alexandra grabbed the florist card from Kristie and shoved it in her desk drawer. She tried to focus on the job in front of her, but Kristie hadn’t budged and the other girls were still watching and waiting.

She knew she had to say something. They were desperate for a morsel of news, some juicy little tidbit, and isn’t this what Alexandra had agreed to do? Play the part? Become Wolf’s new love interest?

Shaking her head, Alexandra finally looked up. “If he proposes, I’ll let you all know.”

Three o’clock that afternoon, the studio’s main number rang and the receptionist took the call and then buzzed Alexandra to let her know she had an incoming call from Wolf Kerrick. Unfortunately the receptionist chose to use the intercom to tell Alexandra of her call, instead of a private line.

With Kristie and the other girls staring in rabid fascination, Alexandra picked up her phone and took the call off hold. “Alexandra Shanahan,” she said as crisply as possible.

“Wolf Kerrick,” the voice answered at the other end of the line. His voice was deep and husky and tinged with amusement.

Alexandra didn’t know if it was the timbre of his voice, or the amusement in it, but it immediately set her teeth on edge. “Hello.”