"Yes, a sister with an incurable wanderl.u.s.t. She says before the end of the year but that could well mean December thirty-first," Amanda said. "What about you? How long do you think that you'll stay?"

My stomach raced with the question. I twirled the red wine in my gla.s.s and stared beyond Amanda, across the kitchen toward the stove where the chef and his a.s.sistant a.s.sembled our meal.

"Please say you're moving back for forever," Amanda said. Her voice was low and there was a deep need contained in her voice. "To have both of you here? In Los Angeles?" Her gaze flitted from me to Lane. I was the friend of her childhood and Lane the friend of her present. "That would be too perfect for words."

I smiled at Amanda. "How about I'm here for right now."

My response didn't hold a big enough commitment for her, but it was all the commitment I could give. My work called for this place, Los Angeles, the ranch, perhaps even Sterling, right now. But I did not know what I would need in three weeks, three months, or three years. I was not a resident of only Los Angeles, or America. Having lived abroad, I was now comfortable as a resident of the world.

"So, I have to be satisfied that you're here for now?" Amanda asked. Her mouth was in a half smile. She wanted more but I could not give it, I dare not. I'd already stretched our friendship to the limit once before when I'd left after her mother died. Even now, she knew only some of the reasons, not all. "I mean you and Sterling are all grown up now so if something happens..."

Heat curled up my neck and filled my cheeks. I couldn't answer. To say nothing would happen between Sterling and me was to lie to Amanda and Lane, and also to myself. The heat between Sterling and me was too hot to ignore. Near the end of that summer, after our families had discovered what brewed between us, I'd told Amanda about kisses and holding hands. Her face, then, when we were teenagers, had screwed up into disgust with the idea of her best friend kissing her brother. I hadn't told Amanda everything. I hadn't been completely honest. At the time, I didn't think it wise to share the entire truth.

I tilted my head toward my gla.s.s. I kept some of those same secrets, now. As I'd gotten older and time had pa.s.sed, it seemed unnecessary to share them. But the other secrets about our families? I worried I might drive a wedge between her and me and Sterling if I ever shared those.

Sterling Rhiannon sat across from me at the dinner table and in the candlelight her skin glowed. Her conversation during dinner had been insightful and charming and funny. I could have listened to her all night. She was worldly and sophisticated, but she still retained that southern Californian charm. With dessert finally over, I relaxed into my chair. I placed my napkin beside the plate that contained the remains of my chocolate bread pudding.

"Man," Ryan exclaimed from the head of the table, "I can't believe I forgot, we forgot," he waved his hand toward Dillon. "We got the call today about The Legend Kills!"

Webber leaned forward, "Excuse me, as your agent, I got the call today about The Legend Kills, and"-he turned his gaze to me-"while Mike Fox's offer is good-"

"Good? Good? Webber, are you high? How greedy are you?" Ryan asked with a giant what-the-f.u.c.k-smile on his face.

"I am your and Dillon's agent so, indeed, I am meant to be a pretty big f.u.c.king pig." A smile split Webber's face. He knew what he wanted, what he was after, and he never wavered in his pursuit of the best deal for his clients. "The offer is good, but we will be countering."

My gaze flitted from my winegla.s.s to Amanda and then to Ryan.

"Whoa, wait, what's up with that face, Sterling?" Ryan's brow creased. "That is not a happy face."

"I have another film ready to go." I looked toward Amanda. "Something personal to us."

"Cami agreed to direct The Lady's Regret?" Amanda asked.

I nodded.

"No wonder Daddy is in such a rush to make The Legend Kills," Amanda said, taking a sip of her wine.

"Why am I the only one who didn't realize how much Dad hates The Lady's Regret?" I asked.

"Maybe because after Mom died you spent your senior year of high school absent and high?"

"Ouch," Ryan said.

"It's a fair statement. I can take it." I glanced over at Rhiannon. "There were a number of personal losses that year and being a teenaged boy, in Hollywood, I did in fact do some things of which I'm not particularly proud, things that caused me to miss out on a couple of years."

"Daddy totally spent the first year after Mom died drunk and raging about that script," Amanda said.

"I didn't hear much-I had the music turned up loud in my room," I said.

"I couldn't take it so I went to Gayle's place in Malibu," Amanda said.

The rest of the dinner guests had gone silent. Five pairs of eyes stared at us. Each face held a slack-jawed look, as though they were watching a mini-series.

"What?"

"Just mesmerized by this healthy dialogue about parental dysfunction and death," Ryan said. "Really, you two should be the poster children for recovery."

Amanda rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

"No, seriously," Ryan continued. "Most times, if you lose a parent you go have another drink, get high and disappear for a year. Amanda, you had a big brother who went on a drug bender and you locked yourself in your room? You guys are lucky to be alive, much less functional. Statistics indicate that we should have lost one or maybe both of you."

Those were sobering words and I looked from Ryan to Rhiannon. Her eyes flickered from Ryan and she met my gaze. Rhiannon was the reason-the only reason-I had survived. Everyone thought my survival was due to Gayle's help and for Amanda that was true. But for me? I survived because of what Gayle represented. She was Rhiannon's mother and Gayle represented a possibility and a hope that Rhiannon would someday return to L.A.

At seventeen and eighteen and even through college I hadn't realized that it was that hope that drove me to try and pull back from the brink. h.e.l.l, I doubt I'd truly known that until right this minute. But now as I sat here, across from the most beautiful and talented woman I'd ever met in this world, I knew. I knew that Rhiannon was the reason that I had survived, that I had worked hard and tried to make something of myself. I had wanted to be ready for when she came back to Los Angeles. Ready for the opportunity I had now.

"What are you going to do?" Ryan asked. "Please don't tell me we have to make a Legend movie without you. I mean I like your dad, but Sterling, come on, the guy can barely function without you on set."

"He may have to this time," I said. "He hasn't left me much of a choice. Either I go into prep on The Legend Kills and forget about The Lady's Regret, or you are looking at the former President of Production for Legend Films."

"No f.u.c.king way," Webber said, breaking the shocked silence that had descended on the dinner table. He crossed his arms over his chest. "No way Steve s.h.i.tcans your a.s.s."

I lifted an eyebrow and eyed Webber.

"Okay, maybe, maybe, knowing Steve. But come on, you've got one of the best gigs in town and with that sweet-a.s.s perk list? Parties. Expense account. The ladies..." Webber's eyes drifted to Rhiannon and he clapped his mouth closed. "Okay, maybe not the ladies, now, but, dude, you're not going to pa.s.s up backend points on a Steve Legend film to go make some pansy girly film are you?"

"Webber?" Amanda said and shook her head. We'd all become immune to the non-p.c. things that flew from Webber's mouth.

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe I am."

An hour later I grabbed my keys and walked over to Amanda. She and Rhiannon and Lane were huddled on the sofa having a girly gabfest. I'd listened to Webber and Dillon and Ryan tell me all the reasons why I had to make The Legend Kills and yet none of their reasons were convincing. My gut told me to make The Lady's Regret. My gut told me I had to break free of Dad and that this project was the way to do it. The Lady's Regret had been Mom's project and written for her by Rhiannon's father. This was the film I was meant to make, and with the option set to lapse, if I didn't make The Lady's Regret now there would never be another opportunity to make the film. Apart from everything else, I owed it to Mom to get it done.

"I should go," Rhiannon said as I approached. She reached for her phone and pressed her finger to an app.

"Uber will be here in fifteen," Amanda said. "I'd take you but I've had too much of this." She lifted a bottle. "Wait, Ryan is sober. Let me ask him. Ry-"

"No, please," Rhiannon said. "Uber is perfect."

"You didn't drive?" I asked.

Her upturned face glowed in the candlelight. My gaze devoured her face and flitted down her body. She looked like an angel with her full lips and white-blonde hair that covered her shoulders. Simply standing in front of Rhiannon asking her whether she drove had made me hard. It was like I was seventeen all over again.

"I grew up in Europe. I'm used to not having a car. There was no need, really. I never got a license."

"You're back in L.A., you'll have to get one now."

She opened her mouth, but paused. Her eyes flickered back to her phone then to me. "Perhaps."

My gut tightened. That one word, "perhaps," felt like a sucker-punch to the belly. She was noncommittal and this Los Angeles adventure might only be a blip in Rhiannon's life. A moment in time when Rhiannon cares for Gayle and then returns to Paris. A hard shield dropped around my heart. A cold feeling entered my limbs. She'd fled Los Angeles once and not returned for nearly a decade. Perhaps there would be a repeat of that behavior.

"I can give you a ride," I said.

Amanda and Lane stopped talking and they both looked at me and then at Rhiannon.

"Don't be silly," Rhiannon said. "Aren't you living over in Beverly Hills-"

"Actually Venice," I said. "I renovated a place in Venice."

Rhiannon's eyes widened with my words.

"You live in Venice?"

I nodded. I wasn't certain why, but her gaze flickered from me toward the floor.

"All right then," Rhiannon said. She stood with a graceful fluidity and the dark cinnamon scent that trailed her entered me. Want unfurled in my belly. A hot need to grasp her and press this beautiful woman to me. "It's out of your way, but thank you. I accept."

We said our goodnights and thank yous and walked out the door together.

Chapter 5.

Rhiannon.

The darkness in the car did little to soothe the heat that clutched my body. Sterling's nearness made me want to run my hands through his thick black hair and pull him toward me and kiss his lips. To feel them move across my neck- "What are you working on now that the Malibu series is complete?"

"Hmm." I pulled my gaze from Sterling's lips and looked out into the night. "I've been drawn to Venice," I said.

"Ah, that explains the look of surprise when I told you where I lived. You should come down. You could even stay with me, for your work, if you wanted."

If Sterling were feeling the same kind of heat I was right now, staying with him at his house would quickly turn from being about my work to more about our desires. We both understood the truth of that.

"I could show you around. Venice has changed since we were kids. Do you remember when we'd spend the day down there?"

"I do." The warm days on the sand with Sterling beside me with our hands clasped and his lips on mine. The press of his body. He was bigger now-the difference between a boy and a man. Fuller. Larger. His eyes flicked from the road to me.

"What are you remembering?" His voice was lower.

"Our days and our nights."

The muscle in his jaw flinched. The memories played out for him too. He took a tight curve then slowed and turned into the dirt drive that led to my mother's ranch.

"Would you like to see my work?" I asked as the headlights crested the final hill. "Go past the house. Mama is letting me use the guest house as my studio."

Alone. Sterling and I would be alone for the first time since I'd returned from Europe. My breath shortened and heat pooled between my legs. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached in antic.i.p.ation of his touch. There was heat in his eyes when he looked at me; surely he saw the heat in mine. He parked and we entered the little adobe house. I fluttered ahead of him toward the kitchen, no longer so certain of what I wanted or needed from Sterling. He walked with an effortless grace.

"Wine?" I asked from behind the kitchen counter.

"Please," he said.

His gaze landed on the far wall that reached up to the skylight. I'd added more pictures of Venice. My canvas rested near the pictures, but it was still empty of color. I hadn't committed, not yet. Sterling examined the canvas and then walked closer to the wall.

"Your photography is good too," he said.

I walked to his side, gla.s.ses of wine in my hands. His eyes turned from the wall to me, and heat simmered in his eyes. My tongue chased out over my lip and words clutched in my throat. Sterling. This was Sterling Legend, now a man, no longer a boy and I was now a woman, no longer a girl.

I held a gla.s.s of wine out to him and he plucked both gla.s.ses from my fingertips and set them on the table beside my canvas.

"I'm not here for the wine, Rhiannon. I'm here for you."

He slid his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me forward. Our gazes locked and his blue eyes, the shade of the California sky, heated with desire. Then his lips were on mine. With his kiss came a rush of desire and pa.s.sion. The air burst from my lungs with the press of his lips. A slow moan rolled from me. He was familiar and yet different. His tongue brushed against the seam of my lips and my mouth opened to his. Our kiss grew greedier. His hand shifted from the back of my neck and his fingers trailed across my throat and stopped at my breast. He cupped me and a moan escaped my throat. My hands clasped his shirt and I tugged upward. My fingertips brushed across his skin. Where once Sterling's skin had been bare, there was now a trail of hair from his belly up toward his chest.

He pulled his mouth from mine. His hand clasped both sides of my face. "Oh my G.o.d Rhiannon, I still, you still, I can't-"

"I know."

The heat in my chest and between my legs gave way to a low ache. My desire for Sterling was hotter than ever now, due to our long absence from each other. His eyes searched mine as if for confirmation that it was truly me that he kissed. That I was here, with him. Surprise and uncertainty flashed over his face. He did not surrender to his fear. He took a step forward and pressed his lips to mine. There was no hesitancy. Any doubts were replaced with a determined desire that we shared.

Sterling's hand pressed the thin straps of my dress over my shoulders and his fingertips roamed over my bare chest. I pulled his shirt off his body. I wanted to see him. Needed to see him. His chest was solid and his skin a light gold color. The planes of his chest gave way to the hard quilted muscles of his stomach. A tiny trail of black hair dusted past his belly b.u.t.ton.

I locked my gaze with him and reached forward to his jeans and quickly unb.u.t.toned and unzipped them. A memory of unzipping Sterling's jeans rushed through my head. I pushed his pants past his hips and he took them all the way off. He stood before me, his maleness hard and alert. A bolt of heat rolled through me.

His was a perfect body. The beauty of the male form aroused and waiting for entry. I pressed the tip of my finger to the head of his c.o.c.k.

He sucked air over his teeth. "Rhiannon."

My name on his lips was part warning and part need. The sound aroused me and the wet I felt between my legs grew. His arms hung at his side but his gaze was locked with mine. I grasped his c.o.c.k at the base and stroked upward with a long pull. A stroke that sent trembles through him. His arm reached out and he clasped the back of my neck. With his other hand he clutched my breast and he leaned forward and his lips took my nipple into his mouth. He rolled the tight bud over his tongue. My head fell back and I surrendered to the waves of pleasure. His other hand slid down my belly and into my panties. The hot nub he'd yet to touch pulsed and throbbed with desire for him. His fingers entered my fold and pressed against my c.l.i.t and I struggled to breathe.

"Sterling." Desire overcame me and I lost the rhythm of my stroke on his c.o.c.k. I held him in my hands while his lips and fingers pleasured me. He lifted me. His stride was long as he walked toward the bed on the far side of the room. He settled me onto the white duvet and his hands clasped my hips and he rolled the panties off my body. He gazed at me.

"Each night before I fall asleep I see this. I see you like this. Lying naked before me, waiting for me. For seven years, Rhiannon, I've waited for this."

My heart burst open with his words. There was an ache and a need and all kinds of questions in his words that, in this moment, he didn't ask. For this, I was thankful. There would be time for me to explain and to tell him all the details of why I had to leave, but right now, I wanted him to slake our desire. I wanted Sterling to pin me to the bed and make my body come over and over again. I wanted to be his in a way I'd never experienced with any man.

His hands started at my breast and he trailed them down over my belly and to my wet folds. He pressed his fingertips to my center and all the while his eyes remained fixed to mine. His fingers circled and pressed my c.l.i.t, and my hips bucked upward toward his hand.

His mouth grasped my lips and his tongue caressed mine and then he pulled his lips from me. A moan came from my mouth and mourned the loss of his mouth on mine. His lips, hot yet slow like liquid heat, trailed down my neck and across my breast while his fingers caressed my c.l.i.toris. His fingers pushing and pulling with the rhythm of my hips following his touch.

His lips kissed over my belly to the edge of my s.e.x. His tongue trailed up my thigh and then down. He knelt before me, parted my legs, and placed my each of my knees over his shoulders. He looked up over my mound and met my eyes. A deep want, a need, claimed his face.

I couldn't breathe. I held myself so still and waited for his touch. The touch of his finger, the touch of his tongue, and then a stroke of heat from his mouth that nearly sent me over the edge. He roamed up the inner left side of my cleft and around the most sensitive of spots without fulfillment, without a suck or a kiss. Sterling was between my legs and about to send me over the edge. His finger slid into me and my muscles bore down. I was so wet, so molten, so ready for his hard thick maleness.

"Please, Sterling," I begged, my hips moving and rolling. I could not remain still, I could not contain my want.