Mel didn’t even realize that she’d been sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at the phone, until the discrete knock on the door roused her from her reverie. Kenneth was planning on parading poor Maria to the media for a few dollars as the blood price for…what exactly? They got her passport in order in record time, but what else? Airfare? Most of the décor in this room alone would have paid for that.

No, the altruism and the kindness she saw in them was nothing more than a ploy to elicit funding, and for that, Maria would be the freak of the week. It was intolerable.

The knock sounded again. “Hang on a moment,” she called. She stood and crossed to the door to tell Maria for the umpteenth time that the bathtub wouldn’t pull her down the drain with the water. As soon as the door opened strong hands grabbed her around the waist, and she was lifted from her feet and wrapped in a bone-crushing, breath-taking embrace.

She almost got the word ‘Brant’ out before his lips crushed hers and she was half carried, half dragged back into the room. Hands groped. Lips lingered. It was as if the passage of time hadn’t happened at all. Or maybe the months since they’d seen each other had suddenly become years. What did she know?

The heart could not tell time.

But it did know where home was.

She’d been mistaken after all. Home wasn’t Belize, the wild jungle, her own room and a bed of hammock and mosquito netting. No, this…feeling him again. The way he pressed into her. His strong, gifted hands exploring her from thigh to neck and back again. This. This was home.

She whimpered. Welcoming him back with every kiss, trying to quench a thirst that could not be sated.

He backed her against the wall, but by then she’d gotten her balance. She threw herself against him and wrapped a leg around his waist, leading his hand to her thigh. She pulled his head down to hers and lost herself in the moment. Somewhere in there came the realization that he hadn’t yet said so much as a single word. But who needed words in a moment like this? Their bodies said it all for them.

For six months she’d been dreaming of this moment. She’d assumed a long kiss at the airport, maybe holding hands while he drove. And then, when Maria was comfortable for the night in her own room, there would be time for lovemaking.

Except, nothing had prepared her for the sheer passion that had erupted in the hallway and ended here, pressed awkwardly against the wall when a giant bed was only steps away.

Yet could she argue that her body hadn’t responded with a hunger honed by his absence?

His hands were under her shirt, in back and over her belly, and reaching for her breasts. She had a moment’s pause when his hand reached the left one, the one with the scar, but the hesitation didn’t last. He already knew every inch of her body, and he certainly hadn’t lingered there as though anything was wrong. Maybe she could finally relax and enjoy his touch.

The shirt she wore interrupted their kiss as he pulled it off her. He fumbled with the bra, and with a frustrated sound similar to a guttural growl he managed to pull the hooks free, and it followed the shirt to the floor.

She just about followed them. There was a look in his eyes that left her feeling more than weak in the knees. She moaned against his mouth, her own hands fumbling with his shirt. Maybe she couldn’t fault him for his silence when she, too, had no words, only the language of fingers and tongue. She slid a hand beneath the waistband of his pants, touching lightly what her body screamed for.

It was his turn to groan. In an instant he had her stripped, even before Mel gave up on random caresses and had gone for his belt buckle. She fumbled at it, tore at it, impatience making her clumsy. He laughed at her attempts, and waited until she’d yanked down his pants and boxer-briefs unceremoniously and pushed him away from her, just so she could look.

Was he part animal? The growl that rose from somewhere deep within made her wonder as he laid her back on the bed and climbed over her. He poised at her sex, waiting for her nod, needing permission with a tender uncertainty that even passion could not entirely dim. Heart trembling, she reached for him, pulling his head down to her neck. He kissed her along the jaw, nibbling on her nape, in a soft, delaying tenderness that preceded the single thrust as he entered her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her head thrown back against the pillow. It was reunion, it was homecoming. It was connection and passion. Brant groaned and arched into her; she met him, thrust for thrust. Her arms wrapped his strong back as she held on tight, thankful that he held her equally hard lest she let go and fly away completely.

For the moment, all the fears, all the insecurities were lost. For a moment all of the stupid fight she’d been spoiling to have since he hadn’t shown up at the airport, the emotions, the uncertainties were gone. For the moment, Brant was the whole world. The way he took her, the way he filled her, those were the only sensations, the only feelings, the only things real.

He was Brant. He was here. It was like he’d never left.

They made love with alternating spasms of fire and tenderness, harsh, almost violent thrusts of lust and tender caresses of the purest love.

When they both finally fell back on the rumpled blankets, too spent, too exhausted to do more than lay together, she lay her head on his chest and draped an arm around his chest, one leg over his. The rapid SLAM SLAM of his heart against his chest, against her ear, slowly gave way to contented sighs and a steady pulse.

He felt good against her. He was the warmth she didn’t know she’d been missing. A part of her she didn’t realize had been severed. It was normal, it was right somehow that she should be here with him and that they should curl up after making love. As though this was the moment she’d been created for.

It was the time after sex, the moments of acceptance and replenishment, that was the most intimate, the most precious.

“Welcome to L.A.,” he mumbled, his lips against her breast which he’d been idly exploring with his tongue.

She giggled. She hated her giggle. How was it he made her giggle? Flustered, she batted his head away, then had to bat away the fingers that replaced his mouth and seemed intent upon teasing her nipple into a hard peak. “Quite the jungle you have here, Dr. Layton.”

“Each to his own wilderness, Dr. Bell,” he countered, and leaned up on one arm to rise above her and take a solitary kiss. She lifted one hand, could feel his chest rise and fall as he chuckled. “Here the snakes have two legs, and the charging beasts mostly stick to the roads. Mostly.”

“But it’s still a jungle.” She pinched his nipple. Turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it?

“Ouch!” It was his turn to swat her away. “It’s still a jungle.”

“Where were you anyway?” Mel sat up and crossed her arms, leveling him with a glare that had no real feeling behind it until a silence grew between them. “Poor Maria was scared out of her mind after that drive,” she added finally, feeling a little of the anger returning.

Maybe he’d fallen asleep? But no, his eyes were dark and glittering as he watched her.

When he answered her, it was as though he was talking to her from a long way off. “It was the strangest thing. I’d cleared my calendar to come get you. The only thing I had planned was to stop by the office for a couple of follow-up visits I couldn’t get out of, and then head out in plenty of time. But as I was leaving, I got asked to consult with one of the partners.” He reached for her and she dropped her arms, returning to his side, letting him pull her against him until her head rested on his shoulder again.

“Partners?”

“Yeah. I work in an old firm. The seniors in the partnership have some of the greatest reputations in the world. They work on celebrities and people you’re not supposed to know had work done, but it’s not that much of a secret.”

She nodded in understanding. She’d guessed as much from things he’d said in the past.

“Anyway, I was on my way out and I got called to consult. That never happens. The two seniors can run rings around me in the OR; there’s nothing I can say they don’t already know. I was so startled I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. I figured, who knows, maybe it was some kind of an indication that I was being treated as an equal. So I asked the girl at the reception to arrange a car and driver to get you. I had no idea she called an Uber.”

Mel could feel herself softening. After all, just because they were visiting didn’t mean he didn’t have a career to manage. She’d probably have done the same. “It wasn’t that bad. We did survive it after all. And I now don’t have to take Maria on a rollercoaster ride.”

His hand folded into her hair. “I’m sorry you had to, but I’m glad you got here. Whatever ride you had to take.” He turned his head to kiss her temple. “So…do you like the place?” He hesitated a little with each word.

Mel blinked. What was she was going to say? It was a lousy, run-down shack? “What’s not to like? It’s a palace. Who doesn’t like a palace?” She was babbling, but how could she not? She was still intimidated and she’d only really seen the bedroom.

He lifted his head off the pillow to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” Mel sighed. “It… It’s just going to take some adjustment is all.”

“What is?”

Mel rose on one elbow. “This.” Her free arm swept the room. “All of this. It’s all so…so…wealthy. I’m not used to it. I grew up in a tract home on a street where all the houses look exactly alike. They all had the same beige carpet that no one could keep clean. One and half car garage that was full of lawn equipment you drove yourself every Saturday.”

“’Half a car’?”

“It doesn’t matter, you can’t fit your car in anyway. The whole thing was too full of junk!” Mel caught herself and took a deep breath. “It’s just very different. I’ve been in Belize a long time. All this is…it’s a little… intimidating.”

“Well, it’s not really my money,” Brant said, caressing her chin and smiling. “It’s my parents’ money, at least the base of it. I’ve added to it. But it’s not all me.”

“What did your parents do? Was it legal? Answer that first.”

Brant laughed. “Yes, it was legal. My father was a Hollywood producer. I didn’t get to see him much. My mother was—still is Linda Phelps.”

“Linda Phelps? Like the actress Linda Phelps? The Golden Rose Linda Phelps?”

Brant winced. “Yeah, that’s her. She doesn’t do much acting since Dad died. She’s producing now, though.”

“You’re LINDA PHELPS’ SON?”

“Shhhh!” He clapped a hand over her mouth. “There’s three people in San Diego who don’t know that. Don’t spoil it for them.”

Mel shoved his hand aside and sat up on the bed. Was she hyperventilating? She was hyperventilating. Breathe girl, breathe…

“You okay?” He sat up with her, his eyes full of concern.

She reached over and lay her hand on his thigh. “Yeah…” she said slowly. “yeah, a little surprised, that’s all. Just some… yeah…”

He cupped his hand on her jaw, turning her face to his. Drawing her closer. “I’m still just me.” The words hung there, lingering the length of a deep kiss. “Take all the time you need,” he whispered and lay her back again, covering her throat and chest with kisses as his hands reached for her again.

Mel lay rigid with indecision. Somewhere a small voice in her brain was screaming at her a glorious list of all the reasons why she was in way over her head.

But then slowly, ever so slowly, his magic touch worked on her reserve. Just him. Brant.

She surrendered to his need. To her desire.

Time. She needed time.

This was as good oa way to pass time as any other.

Maybe even better.

 

* * *

 

They held hands as they left the room. For Brant, it was probably a romantic gesture, a sign of his affection. But, as sweet as it was, for Mel it was also so she wouldn’t get lost in the maze that was the mansion of the son of the most famous actress of her generation.

The fact that Linda had married a studio executive—head of the studio no less—had in no way diminished her bank account. And, according to Brant, she was now living the life of a recluse in…Switzerland? Sweden? Mel hadn’t heard exactly. She’d gotten lost in the conversation somewhere after hearing what was a household name even in Belize, dropped so casually in conversation. She could only imagine what it would be like to meet the woman. And then what exactly? Tell the woman that she was with her son? Fucking him? Making love? Playing pretend in the jungle? She wasn’t even sure what they were doing. It had been three months. Imagine if the woman was here and Mel had to explain why she was here, too. Thank goodness for reclusiveness.

Some of the artwork and items displayed around the house suddenly made more sense. The hand-painted portraits, for example. They were of the greatest luminaries of the age, people who only needed one name. Bogart, Marylin, Frankie, images of actors from the Golden Age, Redford, Clint, Connery, Brando, Pacino. It was like a Master’s class in celebrity images, an upscale movie theater where films were discussed and analyzed as though they were handed down from the gods.

Over the mantel, in a distressingly life-size painting, the grand dame herself. It was a portrait probably done shortly after The Golden Rose, the movie that won her her first award. She was still young, probably painted about the time Brant was born. She was breathtaking.

“This is stunning,” Mel breathed. “I feel like I’m on one of those Hollywood tours, though.”

“Have you ever been on a Hollywood tour?” Brant teased, raising their joined hands to his lips that he might kiss her knuckles.

“Well…No,” Mel had to admit. “But, hey, I’m here…might as well start.”

He gave her a look and shook his head, steering her through a doorway into another room, a library with walls of books. Was that an Oscar on the mantel? She drifted toward the object, noting the photograph that accompanied it: Linda Phelps in her Hollywood best, accepting the award for Best Actress.

“I can only image what your mother would think of me,” Mel said, suddenly very aware of the faded shorts and the simple t-shirts that had comprised her wardrobe for the past six years.

“She’s quite impressed by you,” Brant replied with a shrug, taking her hand again, drawing her toward the door.

“She’s quite…Wait…You’ve talked to her? About me?” Mel dug in her heels, refusing to take another step.

Brant half-turned; their hands were still clasped but he seemed very far away. “Of course. It was her birthday last week, so I called and wished her a happy one. You came up.”

“How did I ‘come up’?”

Brant dropped her hand and shoved a hand through his hair, sending it standing on end. His eyes were full of confusion, along with a hint of wariness. “I had to tell her about you.”

Mel took a breath. Then another. He told his mother about me. That was kind of a big deal. No matter what age.

Wasn’t it?

“Yeah?” she said, and smiled simply because it felt good to smile. In fact, she might never stop smiling. He’d told his mother about her!

Brant chuckled. “Yes, all right? You’re an accomplished, beautiful woman who runs a jungle clinic! What’s not to be impressed about?”

Words like that were going to go straight to her head. And here she was, acting like a teenager. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” She turned around in a slow circle, taking in the room with the Oscar—a freakin’ OSCAR—on the mantel! “I don’t know…I don’t know how to act in here. It’s slightly overwhelming.” She stepped closer and lay her hands on his chest. “Please let me freak out a little bit, okay?”

Brant kissed her head, wrapping her in his arms for a long hug.

“Now, what did you want to show me?” she asked, indicating the hallway beyond his shoulder.

Brant shuffled his feet a little, and in that instant Mel caught a glimpse of the kind of boy he’d been. Into mischief a lot, she guessed, and probably trouble just as often.

Laughter escaped her in a rush, and it was her turn to grab his hand and lead him into the hall and beyond. “Which way?”

He pointed, again and again, until they’d wandered back up the stairs and stopped in front of a set of double doors that would have been at home in a castle. She touched an ornately-carved lion in the center, fingers exploring the mane. “And where is this…?”

“Well…” Brant glanced uneasily over his shoulder, as if half expecting to see someone behind them. “Uh…Alice is a wonderful person, and I love her like a grandmother, but she’s a little…conservative. I told her to put you in my room.”

Mel pointed to the closed door and smiled. “I take it this is your room?”

Brant nodded. Apparently, it was his turn to act like a teenager.

“Well? Are you going to invite me in?”

Brant reached behind him and threw open the doors.

“Holy…” It wasn’t a room.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Mel whispered. “This is bigger than the clinic!”

“It is not!”

It was. Or at least it had to be pretty close. The room carried the castle motif beyond the doors. The look had ‘Great Hall’ written all over it. Who needed a fireplace that big in L.A.? The giant chairs that huddled in front of it could have been thrones, had thrones had such plush seats or if they’d reclined, which she suspected these did. Dark paneling could have made the room look heavy, but gauzy white fabric hung over the windows, giving a lightness to the room that somehow worked with the modern blinds that hid the merciless L.A. sun in summer. An alcove held desk and bookshelves, giving a private work space, she supposed, had Brant not wanted to have to go all the way downstairs to the library to get things done. Openings gave hints of closet space with enough room to hold the clothing of all the inhabitants of Maria’s village, and a bathroom with a tub that could have doubled as a community swimming pool.

I will not be intimidated. I will not be intimidated. Mel tore her eyes from the master bedroom and fixed on him. “Yeah. I think it is. That’s a standard King?” She pointed to the bed, that stood on a pedestal no less.

“I think it’s a California King.” Brant said with some hesitation. “It’s a bit larger than a standard…it’s a King, whatever, why?”

“If that’s seven-foot, then…” she calculated roughly how many beds would fit along the two closest walls, multiplied for rough square footage. “Wow. Freakin’ wow!” She laughed, shocked by the size and that she had no idea how much money he really had. Belize must have been a nightmare for him.

“You don’t have to move in here; you can keep the other…”

His backpedaling was cut off by her kiss. “Promise me something?”

“What?”

“Pajamas with a compass?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Compass, okay. Pajamas? Never.” He smiled wickedly then, and she laughed again.

They were them again. Mansions, huts, or palaces. It didn’t matter. Celebrities could go take a flying leap into the Pacific Ocean.

“No PJs. I don’t know what I was thinking.”