Genuine Lies

be my own fault if she refuses to give me another chance.”
    “I like you like this,” he said as she dragged at the phone. “All hot and frazzled.”
    “Be quiet while I think.” After pushing the hair out of her eyes, she punched in the number, then let out a gasp.
    Paul merely grinned and continued to nibble on her toes. “Sorry. This is one particular fantasy I’ve got to fulfill.”
    “Now’s hardly the time—” Pleasure arrowed in, had her head jerking back. “Paul, please. I have to … oh, God! What?” She fought to catch her breath as the receptionist repeated the standard greeting. “Yes, I’m sorry.” He was working on her other foot now, sliding his tongue over the arch. Jesus, who would have thought sensation could ripple out from there all the way to her hairline? “I—this is Julia Summers. I have an eleven-thirty with Ms. del Rio.” He was up to her ankles now. Julia heard the blood roaring in her head. “I, ah, I need to reschedule. I’ve had a …” Hot, open-mouthed kisses along her calf. “An unexpected emergency. Unavoidable. Please give Ms….”
    “Del Rio,” Paul supplied, then grazed his teeth over the back of her knee. Julia’s fingers knotted in the tangled sheets.
    “Give her my apologies, and tell her …” A trail of hot, wet kisses up her inner thigh. “Tell her I’ll get back to her. Thank you.”
    The phone clattered to the floor.

Drake gave the guard at the gate a cheery salute. As he drove through, he began digging at his thighs and grinding his teeth. Nerves had brought on an itchy, spreading rash that none of the over-the-counter creams and lotions he’d applied helped. By the time he’d arrived at the guest house he was whimpering and talking to himself.
    “It’s gonna be all right. Nothing to worry about. In and out in five minutes and everything’s fixed up.” Sweat trickled, turning his raw thighs into a blazing agony.
    There were forty-eight hours left until his deadline. The image of what Joseph could do to him with those big cinder-block fists was enough to have him sprinting out of the car.
    It was safe. At least he was sure of that. Eve was in Bur-bank filming, and Julia was off interviewing the witch Anna. All he had to do was walk in, dub the tapes, then walk out.
    It took him nearly a full minute of rattling the doorknob to realize the place was locked. With the breath whistling through his teeth, he raced around the house, checking all the windows and doors. By the time he got back to his starting point, he was dripping with sweat.
    He couldn’t go away empty-handed. No matter how well Drake deluded himself, he knew he would never find the nerve to come back. It had to be now. Raking his fingers over his blazing thighs, he made it to the terrace in a stumbling run. He cast furtive glances over his shoulder as he picked up a small clay pot of petunias. The tinkle of breaking glass seemed as loud to him as the boom of an assault rifle, but the marines didn’t come come running in counterattack.
    The pot dropped from his nerveless fingers to shatter on the terrace stones. Still watching his back, he reached in through the hole he’d made and tripped the latch.
    Standing inside the empty house brought him a tingle of satisfaction and bolstered his courage. As he moved from kitchen to office, his stride was firm and confident. He was smiling when he opened the drawer. His eyes went blank for a moment, then he laughed to himself and pulled open another drawer. And another.
    The smile had turned to a grimace as he continued to yank open the empty drawers and ram them shut again.
    Julia couldn’t remember ever having a single interview exhaust her as much as her session with Anna. The woman was like an LP run on 78. Julia had a feeling she might find some interesting and entertaining tidbits mired in the orgy of words Anna had indulged in—once she had the energy to review the tape.
    She stopped in front of the house and sat in the car, eyes closed, head back. At least she hadn’t had to push or pry to get Anna to open up. The woman gushed like water through a broken pipe, her mind on constant overdrive, and her stick-figure body never settled in one place for more than a few intense minutes. All Julia had had to do was ask what it was like to design wardrobes for Eve Benedict.
    Anna had been off and running about Eve’s outrageous and often unrealistic expectations, her impatient demands, her last-minute brainstorms. It was