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two months since that horrible night, and Brian was still in seclusion.
He wondered if Brian knew that "Love Lost" was topping the singles
charts and had gone gold. He wondered if it would matter to him.
P.M. knew the police were no closer to finding out who had killed
Darren. He made it a point to stay in touch with Kesselring. It was
the least he could do for Brian, and for Bev.
He thought of Bev, how pale and stricken she had looked on the day of
the funeral. She hadn't spoken a word, not to anyone. He'd wanted so
badly to comfort her. He hadn't known how, and the fantasy he'd had
about taking her to bed, tenderly loving her until her grief pa.s.sed, had
shocked him so much he'd been unable to do more than pat her cold, rigid
hand.
Angie Parks came down the circular stairs in a pink T-s.h.i.+rt that barely
covered her hips. She'd taken the time to add a bit of makeup
-a little mascara, a touch of lip gloss. She'd brushed out the knots
sleep and s.e.x had tied in her long blond hair, then had carefully
arranged it to give it a tousled, bedroom look.
The best way to get what you wanted from a man was with s.e.x. And she
wanted quite a bit from P.M.
She glanced around the big, gla.s.s-walled living room. It was a nice
start, she decided. A very nice start. She'd like to keep it as a
weekend place once she'd talked P.M. into Beverly Hills. That was
where stars lived, and she had every intention of being a star.
P.M. was her stepping-stone. Her romantic liaison with him had already
led to a handful of commercials and a nice supporting role in a TV
movie. She wanted better things, bigger things, and was willing to keep
P.M. happy to get them.
She was grateful to him. Without the interest that had come her way
since the press had picked up on their affair, she might have had to
take a turn doing some p.o.r.no flicks. A girl had to pay the rent. Angie
flexed her wrist so that the light caught the diamonds and sapphires in
the bracelet P.M. had given her. She wouldn't have to worry about rent
any longer.
She turned toward the gla.s.s doors and saw him standing on the deck. As
he stood in the early sunlight she thought he looked almost handsome.
And lonely. Even a heart as naturally ambitious as Angie's could feel
some pity. He hadn't been the same since the little boy had died. She
was sorry about it, really, but the tragedy had made P.M.
even more dependent on her. And the press was worth its weight in gold.
A smart woman took whatever opportunities came her way and made the most
of them.
She ran a hand over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pleased that they were firm enough to
stand without a bra. She walked up behind him, pressed them against his
back as she wound her arms around his neck.
"I missed you, honey."
He lifted a hand to hers, embarra.s.sed that his first thought had been of
Bev. "I didn't want to wake you up."
"You know I love it when you wake me up." She slipped around him, her
arms like long, soft ropes. With a little catchy sigh, she closed her
mouth over his. "I hate to see you looking so sad."
