Sandra Marton - Hollywood Wedding

Zach knew he’d pushed things to the edge as it was, fast-talking the guy into leaving him on the top of the mountain with nothing but his equipment, an avalanche transceiver, a flask of hot coffee and a couple of thick sandwiches for company.

“I dunno,” the pilot had said, scratching his head, “most people go up there with a guide.”

But Zach had persisted. The day he couldn’t talk his way into or out of a situation hadn’t dawned yet. He’d presented his skiing credentials as he would have presented a block of blue-chip stocks for the president of a multibillion-dollar bank and finally the man had shrugged, muttered something about it being Zach’s neck, not his, revved the engine, increased the pitch of the blades and left him to the gods and the mountain.

The day had been incredible. And, Zach thought with a start of surprise as he scrambled into the copter, it wasn’t over yet.

Someone was waiting for him. It was the woman from last night, dressed in a skintight spandex ski suit that showed off every inch of her lush body.

Zach smiled as he sat down beside her and put his lips to her ear so he could be heard over the noise of the copter.

“What a pleasant surprise.”

She smiled back “I thought it would be.”

At least that was what he thought she said. It was impossible to hear, but then, what did a man really need to hear when he was gazing into a pair of thickly fringed amber eyes set above a deliciously turned-up nose and a pouting mouth?

She moved closer, lay a scarlet-tipped hand on his arm and brought her lips to within a breath of his ear.

“I hope you don’t mind. I talked your pilot into taking me along while he collected you.”

Zach’s smile tilted as her thigh settled gently against his.

“Mind? Hell, no. I’m delighted.” The helicopter rose into the air and Zach leaned closer. “My name is—”

“You’re Zachary Landon. I know.” She smiled. “I’m Keri.”

Zach drew back so he could look at the soft, smiling mouth that promised paradise, at the high thrust of the breasts that made a man’s hands ache to touch them. A surge of desire flooded through him and he pulled the woman into his arms and kissed her.

A man would have to be crazy to turn down a woman like this. She was beautiful and she would sleep with him simply because she enjoyed it. She wasn’t like his ex-wife, who used sex for gain. And if she didn’t believe in fidelity any more than the former Mrs. Landon had, at least she hadn’t taken any vows pretending she did.

Keri’s hand began to trace a path up his thigh. Zach caught her fingers in his, and she gave him a slow, dazzling smile before she arched toward him and put her lips to his ear again. Her breath danced along his skin.

“He’s gone,” she said. “I sent him away.”

There was no need to ask who, or what, she was talking about. Zach smiled as he brushed his lips against hers.

“Good,” he said, his mouth against the pink shell of her ear, “just so long as you understand that I’ll be gone, too, in a week.”

Her smile was sexy, her fingers cool as she clasped his face in her hands and drew it close to hers.

“But what a memorable week it’s going to be,” she said.

Zach kissed her again, more deeply this time, and then he drew her close and gazed out the open door as the helicopter swept across the valley.

Today, he had claimed the mountain. Tonight, he would claim the woman. And if he was lucky, he would not tire of either until it was time to return to the real world. He would go back to Boston, to the house on Beacon Hill and to the brokerage firm that bore his name.

Any man not satisfied with all that was nothing but a fool.

Thirteen hours and another world away, Eve Palmer yawned as she made her way across the dark, silent courtyard of her Los Angeles apartment complex to her front door.

It was two in the morning and she was tired to the bone.

She had risen before six, fought the freeway traffic in her beautiful but ailing sports car and taken the first of a day’s worth of meetings at eight. Ten hours later, she’d grabbed a sandwich while she viewed the dailies of Triad’s current movie-in-progress, a dog of a film she’d inherited from her predecessor.

At nine o’clock she’d fixed her makeup, slapped a smile on her face and gone to a cocktail party. At eleven, she’d let Dex Burton, Hollywood’s newest up-and-coming macho male lead, whisk her off for a late-night supper so they could talk business. At least, that was what Dex had claimed.

Eve made a face as she jabbed her key into the lock of the front door and stepped into her tiny living room. But the only business Dex had wanted to do was in bed.

“You give a little, you get a little, lover,” he’d said, flashing her a toothy grin.

It had infuriated her but it hadn’t surprised her. She’d learned the lesson early, that men saw nothing wrong in trading power for sex. If it was more obvious in Hollywood than it had been in foster homes back in Minnesota, it was only because Hollywood had more powerful men and beautiful women per square mile than any other place on the planet.

Eve had managed to keep smiling, to pretend she didn’t understand Dex’s sleazy message. But when his hand had slipped under the table and slid casually up her thigh, her self-control had vanished. She’d told Dex what he could do with his charm and his nonexistent talent, and now here she was, still without a lead for Hollywood Wedding, the film that would determine the course of Triad’s future, and hers.

The apartment was warm and stuffy. Eve kicked off her shoes and headed straight for the air conditioner, sighing as the first cool blast came sweeping through the vents.

A shower, then bed, she thought as she took off her jacket. It wasn’t just the long day that had tired her, it had been standing around at that cocktail party, putting on a bright face to convince the world that rumors of Trident’s imminent demise were exaggerated.

At least the other rumors had eased off, the ones that had plagued her after fate had brought Triad into her life.

No. That wasn’t quite accurate, Eve thought as she undressed. It wasn’t fate that had handed her the top spot at Triad. It was Charles Landon, and that was why the rumors had flown.

Struggling film-production companies were as common as crabgrass, but for a multimillionaire to put a woman at the head of such a company when she had never held that kind of job before—that wasn’t common at all.

That Charles had done it on little more than a whim was something the rumormongers couldn’t comprehend. In her better moments, Eve had to admit it was hard to blame them. She’d had trouble comprehending it herself, she thought as she pulled the clips from her hair.

Her chin lifted in an unconscious gesture of defiance as a cascade of pale golden curls tumbled down her back.

But her relationship with Charles had been strictly business. She had not wangled responsibility for Triad from an old man in some cheap game played out between satin sheets. She had simply been in the right place at the right time, and Charles had taken it from there.

Sometimes she’d been tempted to stand up in a place like Spago’s, bang on a water glass and announce that to the world.

But she never had.

One of life’s most painful lessons was that denying a lie sometimes only gave it the aura of truth.

Eve had learned that at seventeen, when her foster father had tried to molest her. After months of complaining, someone had finally believed her. Eve had almost wept with relief, but it had been short-lived. Her foster father had pointed an accusing finger at her and convinced his wife and the social worker that it was Eve who’d come on to him.