“Me, too.” They finished dressing in silence, and Kat led Bonita out of the closet and down the hall to the blue bedroom, her favorite guest room, before continuing downstairs to the kitchen. As she uncorked and poured the wine and pulled every appealing sandwich item out of the fridge, she wondered what Bonita would think of Proprietors. It was her first gay role and her best work so far. It had been murder to get them to film it properly, but the end result was worth it. If it got the reviews she was expecting, she could finally score more serious dramatic roles.

  Mrs. Clarke ghosted into the kitchen, eyebrows knit so firmly together that they looked like one long, black caterpillar. “Mr. Benson is here.”

  “Herbie? What’s he doing here this late?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. Shall I have him sent through?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “And will you require anything else, Ms. St. James?” Implicit in the question was another: Where have you been for the last two hours?

  “No, thanks. Unless you want a sandwich?” None of your business.

  “I never eat pepperoni after ten o’clock.” An indulgent smile curved her lips, and she patted Kat’s hand.

  Kat stared at her, bemused. “Why don’t you sleep in tomorrow to make up for your extra time tonight?”

  “Thank you. I will.” Mrs. Clarke left the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, Kat heard the front door open and close. Herb stomped into the kitchen, and Kat supposed Mrs. Clarke had let him in on her way to her suite at the back of the house—as usual, without saying a word. Mrs. Clarke treated Herb with disdain, and he returned the favor by ignoring her, uncharacteristically classy of him.

  He threw a supermarket tabloid in front of her, heedless of the array of sandwich makings littering the counter.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asked, hands on his hips, beefy fingers making fat fists. His bald spot gleamed in the overhead light of the kitchen.

  “A magazine.” She picked up her sandwich and took a bite, then put it down and surveyed the condiments. She added fat globs of spicy mustard to both sandwiches.

  “The picture, Kat. Look at the picture.”

  She picked it up. The photo was grainy but recognizably her.

  Holy shit, that was quick. The paper must have gone to press at midnight to get that pic onto the grocery-store stand. She tossed the newspaper back onto the table. “Not me.”

  “Gimme a break.”

  “Herb.” Her tone was a warning.

  He sighed loudly and picked up the other sandwich.

  “That’s not for you,” she said sharply, taking it out of his hand and putting it on a plate. “Make your own.”

  They both looked up as Bonita arrived in the kitchen doorway, her skin flushed and luminous from her shower. Her hair was gathered into a wet, loose knot on top of her head, and she was wearing pajamas. And slippers. There was no way to disguise the fact she was staying here. Kat crossed the kitchen, took Bonita’s hand and pulled her to the table.

  “Herb, meet an old friend of mine. Bonita Pritchard, meet Herb Benson, my manager.”

  Herb raised his eyebrows. “Old friend, huh? Having a pajama party?”

  “Something like that.”

  “We need to talk about this, Kat.”

  “My pajama party?”

  “No, your public threesomes. You’re getting out of hand.”

  “Herb, I told you. That’s not me in the picture.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Bonita picked up the magazine. Her lack of expression spoke volumes.

  Herb pointed a finger at Bonita. “She doesn’t believe you, either. Neither will anyone else with eyes in their heads. What you do in private is your business. What you do in public becomes our business. Use your head. Haven’t you ever heard of a camera phone? Every person on the planet has one.”

  She sat still, sandwich ignored, eyes on Herb as he stuffed a piece of lunch meat into his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. The diamonds on his watch gleamed in the light.

  “Jesus, I used to think you were smart,” he said with his mouth full.

  “Herb, you’re starting to piss me off,” she warned.

  “Good. Maybe then you’ll behave.” Another piece of capicola disappeared between his slippery lips. “We need to find somebody good to take you to the Pics and Pans ceremony this weekend.”

  “I’m taking Bonita.” She had been planning to go alone, but the words flew out of her mouth.

  He choked and coughed harshly. “The hell you are!” he said when he could speak.

  “Watch me. People take their mothers, their brothers. I’m taking my best friend.”

  He glared at her. “You need to take someone who will clean up your image a little, not throw more shit on the ceiling fan.”

  “Herb, I appreciate your advice, but I’m really fucking tired of listening to you tell me what I can’t do. Earn your paycheck for once and figure out how to spin it. I’m taking Bonita.” Kat took a huge bite of her sandwich.

  “Paycheck? I might as well cut my losses now. The buzz on Proprietors sucks. Once this ménage pic breaks, you won’t be getting any offers. I won’t be making a dime off of you.”

  “You want to exercise your option, Herb? Not a problem. I’ll have another manager before you even clear the kitchen. If I want one, that is. I’ve been thinking about directing lately. I don’t need a manager for that.”

  “Ha! That’s a good one. Being a bossy bitch doesn’t mean you’ll be a good director.” Kat saw Bonita’s eyes snap open. She placed a restraining hand on Bonita’s shoulder and held her in her chair while she put her sandwich in front of her.

  “Down girl. Eat. Herb’s an asshole, but he’s got a point. He is good at his job.”

  “Really?” Bonita looked surprised. The diamonds and polyester fooled most people. Herb had no taste whatsoever, but he’d been in the business for a long time.

  “Sure. I’m famous, aren’t I? Herb, listen up. That’s not me in the picture, and I’m taking Bonita to the Pics and Pans. Figure it out. Now beat it—you aren’t invited to our pajama party.”

  Herb pushed away from the table, leaving wide, greasy fingerprints on the wood.

  “How can you tell when an actress is lying?” he asked Bonita.

  “I don’t know,” she answered.

  “Her lips are moving.” He snatched a last piece of ham as Kat shoved him toward the kitchen door.

  Bonita was studying the newspaper photo again when she returned to the kitchen.

  “How did you know it was me?” Kat asked, curious.

  Bonita raised one eyebrow. “I can recognize you by any square inch on your body, and there’s a lot of it showing in that picture.”

  Kat began piling meat, pickles, peppers, mayo, mustard and coleslaw haphazardly back into the fridge. “You weren’t exactly celibate either.”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “But you’ve got this look on your face.” She made a pinched, cross-eyed face. “You look like you’re eating Lemonheads.”

  “Well, you put half a jar of mustard on my sandwich,” Bonita replied.

  “Did not.”

  Bonita lifted the top piece of bread.

  “Oh. Sorry about that. I’m easily distracted by incriminating newspaper photos.”

  “Why did you lie to your manager?” Bonita pushed away the last few bites of her sandwich and looked at Kat.

  “Habit?”

  Bonita’s soapy scent floated across the table. It reminded her of their well-scrubbed childhood, of comfort and home, making her feel cheerful. For the first time in months, she wasn’t bored. She didn’t feel like getting drunk or taking a sleeping pill. Bonita had come to her, for once. She crossed the kitchen and leaned down to slant her lips across Bonita’s mouth, and her feeling of contentment increased.

  Bonita had a beautiful mouth, full lower lip balanced by the perfect bow of her sweet upper lip, but even when she was relaxed, her mouth was controlled, guarded. She held her jaw tight. Bonita automatically censored every move she made. She was calm, in control, perpetually braced against…what? Life?

  Kat had never tried very hard to restrain her own wild impulses, but she recognized the effort it took to keep a wild side in check. She should respect that, but the habit of breaking Bonita’s self-control was too deeply ingrained. Kat could only resist for so long. Every time she saw those lips, soft and perfect and so, so stiff, she wanted to kiss them, take them, gently, harshly, all ways.

  By God, Kat would find a way to keep them together. If the dungeon wasn’t enough, she would think of something else. They were good together, too good to throw each other away, year after year. She would get that through Bonita’s thick head one way or another.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered against Bonita’s lips. “I know I called you, but what finally made you come?”

  Bonita said nothing. Kat would wait about another three minutes, and then she’d drag her back up to the closet and beat the answer out of her if she had to. The idea held a certain appeal. Spanking Bonita had gotten her so hot, Kat almost hoped she would keep stalling.

  But for once, Bonita didn’t make her wait at all.

  “I need a fix,” Bonita said, feeling something relax inside her at the admission.

  “You’re doing drugs?” The stunned look on Kat’s face prompted Bonita’s first real smile since she’d gotten out of the taxi. Kat was hard to surprise. Even harder to shock.

  “No, I’m doing you. My drug is you. I need you.”

  Kat’s eyes flashed. “Don’t tease me, Bonita. You cut me cold for three years, then you show up on my doorstep claiming you need me? Screw you.” She snagged the wine and the glasses and strode out of the kitchen.

  Bonita followed her into the living room and watched her set the bottle and their glasses on the low coffee table. Kat dropped onto a sleek leather couch and crossed her arms.

  Bonita crouched at her feet and took her hands, squeezing. “I did everything I could to stay away from you—”

  “I noticed.”

  “God, all that yoga, Tantra, the psychotherapy… I even stopped seeing your movies for a while.”

  “Now that really hurts.” Kat rolled her eyes.

  “But nothing works. Not for long. I can always feel you with me, right at the edges. I can’t shut you out, Kitty Kat. No matter how hard I try. I need you.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Kat pulled away from her and picked up her wine.

  “You know I can’t have you, not really, not without someone finding out, but nobody else even comes close to making me feel like you do—not unless they’ve got a whip in their hand.”

  “That shouldn’t make me happy, should it?”

  Bonita tried to laugh, but the chuckle scratched her dry throat. She picked up her wine and took a sip. “Didn’t you wonder how I got into BDSM?”

  “Nope. You fit the submissive profile—utterly controlling until you submit to agreed-upon acts for a limited amount of time. Did you realize you were playing our game with other people or was it subconscious? Either way, it’s a clever solution to a unique problem. I think you’re a fucking genius.”

  Bonita’s heart clenched at the bitterness in Kat’s black eyes. “That’s not fair.”

  Kat took a long drink of wine. “Fair? Three years, Bonita. You haven’t even talked to me for three years, and you’ve done God knows what with other women while I’ve been playing the unsatisfying role of America’s hetero pin-up girl. Are you surprised I’m angry?”

  Bonita slowly shook her head. “If it makes you feel any better, it stopped working. I thought BDSM was the solution to living without you…when I’m with a good Domme I can feel a whisper of what I feel with you, but I need you.” Bonita trailed off, staring into her wineglass. Yes, she’d had gotten very close to success when she had discovered BDSM, but not close enough. Kat was irreplaceable. Her dominance was natural, intrinsic, perfectly mastering Bonita’s submissive soul, and Bonita ached to please her.

  She jumped when Kat struck, leaning forward and grasping the knot of her still-wet hair, pulling her head back. She stared up into Kat’s glittering black eyes, stunned by the hunger she saw in their depths. Kat’s hand tightened painfully in her hair. “You’re looking for a yearly fling, huh? A quick hookup to take the edge off so you can go hide again, bury yourself in bumfuck New York, and pretend you don’t need me again?”

  Her breath was strained, and it was hard to speak past the lump in her throat. “You’re too famous now. You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and I won’t ruin it. I just need a fix. I’ll stay as long as I can, and then, yes, I’ll go back to Norton. Your career will be safe. No one will know.”

  “Is that what you think I care about? My career?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Not half as much as you do anymore.”

  Bonita couldn’t categorize the expression that flashed across Kat’s face, but it made her heart stutter and pound. “I want it to be like it used to be.”

  “You mean when I came running every time you called me?” Kat’s voice was savage.

  “You left me every time, too, you know,” Bonita said softly, matter-of-factly.

  They were talking about more than the past few years now. Their conversation had shifted to a specific moment. The afternoon Kat had left Norton for Hollywood. That choice had shaped their lives. At the time it had seemed necessary, logical, an ordinary milestone of growing up. It was only in retrospect that it took on so much significance.

  “I’m not blaming you,” Bonita said. “You needed to start your career. I would never have held you back.”

  “Hold me back? You pushed me to go.”

  “You wanted to leave,” Bonita countered.

  “You sent me away.”

  “I just gave you permission. You were dying to get out of Norton. Who could blame you? You were headed for Hollywood, your big break, movies, money. Look at you now—you’re a mega-star. You never would have been able to accomplish all that with me by your side.”

  “Yeah, America’s Come-Hither Queen can’t like girls. I get it. We did this whole scene three years ago. And the year before that. And the year before that. God, I’m so sick of this shit.” The rancor in Kat’s voice made Bonita stand up and take a seat next to Kat on the couch. Kat turned her face away.

  Stubborn, strong, hurt Kat.

  “I’m right,” Bonita reminded her.

  The truth brought Kat’s gaze to hers, and Bonita was transfixed by the guilt she saw, the pain and pride. Bonita knew Kat was manipulating her again. Her sensitivity to Kat’s emotions was predictable and powerful, one more reason Bonita held Kat at bay. Kat could put everything she was feeling into her eyes and make Bonita feel it, too. Not only her, half of America, Bonita reminded herself. She might need Kat, but Kat didn’t need her, as she had proved so clearly over the years.

  “So you say,” Kat said. “You always send me away so fast we never really get a chance to find out. When exactly did I fail you? I have come to you every time you let me for twelve years. When your parents died, I was there. I call you. I e-mail. I send you birthday presents, in spite of the fact that you send me annoying little thank-you notes, like I’m your aunt or some distant cousin. I’ve never given up on you, on us. What do I have to do to convince you, Beauty? For Christ’s sake, you think of me when strangers tie you up and fuck you to orgasm. My name was your safe word. But every time I get too close to you, you send me packing. Or you head for the hills. Why won’t you stay and see what happens, Bonita?”

  “You scare me,” Bonita said, gathering her courage. “I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you. Then we’ll really be in trouble.”

  “Is that it?” Kat grinned. “You’re such an idiot.”

  Bonita slammed her wineglass down on the coffee table. “What do you mean is that it? Don’t you dare laugh. I swear to God, I’ll catch the next plane out of here, and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you could really hole up and lick your wounds. You could push me away forever and pretend like it was my fault. Nice try, Beauty, but I have news for you.” Kat put her glass next to Bonita’s then embraced her, holding her tight. Bonita struggled, but Kat just laughed and held her closer. “You’re already in love with me. Just like I’m in love with you.”

  Kat stretched out on the couch and pulled Bonita’s resisting form down beside her. She pulled an afghan over both of them then dropped a kiss on Bonita’s forehead. “It’s always been love with us. We were just too young to understand. Once a year isn’t going to cut it for me, Beauty. I’m warning you—I want more.”

  Bonita wasn’t ready to give up yet, although she molded her body against Kat’s curves, sighing at the warm scent of jasmine. “What if you get tired of me? Or someone finds out and it ruins your career? You’ll hate me.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “You say that now. At least this way, I can still have you, once in a while. We haven’t burned any bridges.”

  “Beauty, we haven’t made any bridges, either.”

  “I don’t know where you get off being so philosophical. You aren’t exactly going on The Jenna Parker Show and declaring your love for me. Your precious career is still safe. You don’t have anything on the line.”

  “I’d call Jenna right now if I thought it would make you listen to me.”

  “You don’t have her number.”

  “Try me.”

  Bonita didn’t dare. Kat was impulsive, and Bonita didn’t doubt she would do it. And probably regret it like hell later. Bonita couldn’t do that to her. Kat’s career was paramount. It had always been paramount. For both of them.

  “We were kids, Bonita. We didn’t know what we were doing. How long are you going to punish me for leaving?”

  Bonita shook her head. “No more punishment. But I’m only staying for a week. I refuse to jeopardize your image.”

  “I am so goddamn sick of my image—isn’t it mine? Why can’t I do what I want?”

  “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” Bonita snuggled closer.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10