Phoenix Falling Read Online Free PDF Page B

this much attention. A photographer called, "Hey, Kenzie, who's the classy babe?"
    "We should have gone out the back," Kenzie said under his breath. He put a protective arm around her shoulders and said more loudly, "My cousin, Lady Cynthia Smythe-Matheson. We were childhood playmates."
    The reporters laughed. "No way!" one said good-naturedly. "I know I've seen her around town."
    "I doubt it. Lady Cynthia has been doing relief work with African orphans."
    "Yeah, and Queen Elizabeth is your grandmother!"
    The valet drove up in Kenzie's Ferrari. He helped Rainey into the car, and they drove away while the reporters were still debating her identity. Bemused, she said, "I know you're famous for never giving a straight answer about your personal life, but really—Lady Cynthia Smythe-Matheson?"
    "Would you rather have had your name linked with mine in all the gossip columns tomorrow?" he asked dryly. "It would be good publicity for you."
    "I thought tonight was personal, not professional. I'd like to keep it that way."
    "So would I, for as long as possible," he said wryly.
    She settled back, enjoying the sensation of being swept along in one of the world's most extravagant cars. Kenzie drove with effortless control, rather like his acting. They hardly spoke on the drive to Broad Beach. As they glided past the endless lights of Los Angeles, Bach's Brandenburg Concertos played softly on the sound system.
    She felt as if she'd fallen into a dream and would wake to find herself in her first drab Los Angeles apartment, with her recent successes and Kenzie Scott mere wishful thinking. But he was too masculine, too intensely real to be a figment of her imagination. She really was inches away from one of the world's most recognizable and desirable men—and he liked her. Or perhaps just lusted for her, but it was heady stuff nonetheless.
    Surf drummed in the background when he stopped at his gatehouse to punch in a security code. Within the walls, subtle lighting highlighted the palms and flowers of California landscaping in a fair approximation of fairyland. When they parked in front of the house and he came around the Ferrari to help her out, she slid out with impeccable grace, no mean feat in a sports car.
    The biggest shock came when they went inside. He really did want to rehearse.
    In a softly lighted family room overlooking the Pacific, he handed her a copy of the Pimpernel script and they set to work. He already knew all the lines, damn him. She felt awkward using the script, but relaxed as they began running through their joint scenes.
    He'd had longer to think about the story, so she welcomed his suggestions about what might work for Marguerite. Wonder of wonders, he listened thoughtfully when she made her first hesitant comment about Sir Percy, then tried her idea and agreed that it worked.
    After that, it was like being in drama school, happily batting ideas back and forth as they became comfortable with the characters. The creative thrill of that was more intoxicating than the wine she'd drunk at dinner. Perhaps his desire to rehearse was a subtle and very effective form of seduction. There was intense intimacy in playing lovers and in the fitting together of their minds and acting styles.
    Things were getting very tense between Sir Percy and Marguerite when Rainey flipped a page halfway through the screenplay. "The ballroom scene. It will be fun to learn the minuet. I wish I knew it now."
    "Fake it." Kenzie opened a cabinet to reveal hundreds of compact disks. Selecting one, he put it in the CD player and the room filled with the delicate precision of late eighteenth-century dance music. He held out his hand. "Will you dance, my lady?"
    He spoke coldly, a man who loved a woman he couldn't trust. Knowing the request was really an order, Rainey gave him her hand but lifted her head haughtily, a woman who didn't understand her husband's withdrawal, and was too proud to show her pain.
    In stony silence they circled each other,