He whipped off his sunglasses and his dark eyes bored into her. “You?” Olivia stiffened at the horror she heard in his voice. He asked, almost desperately, “What about your father or your mother?”
Olivia couldn't blame him. She hadn't exactly been kind to him over the last five months. In fact, she had been downright rude to him, including a series of “accidents” that usually involved Clark leaving the dinner table with liquid or food on his expensive, tailored clothes.
Olivia forced a friendly smile then said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone, “My parents would have wanted nothing more than to be by your side today, but they are on a safari in Africa. We won't be able to contact them until next week. You may not know this, but I worked at the agency with Jack and my parents for five years before I went to teach at Cal State Los Angeles. I've represented numerous clients, and I have an extensive background in publicity—”
Clark abruptly interrupted her. “Whatever. Let's just get out of here.”
He sat inside the limousine, with a huff of indignation. Olivia glared after him, then forced another smile across her face. She would get through this afternoon if it killed her. Regardless of his unnatural effect on her libido, she could handle this. She pulled a folder from her briefcase then followed Clark into the limousine.
Olivia took a deep breath then began, “First, on the agenda for this afternoon, is taping of the Ellen DeGeneres Show then . . .”
Clark pointedly ignored her, while he prayed that the driver would hurry and load his luggage in the trunk. The sooner they were on their way, the sooner he could get rid of Olivia. He cursed jack for putting him in this position, even as he curled his hands into fists to prevent from grabbing her, laying her on the bench, and tasting that mouth that had kept him awake almost every night for the last five months.
He knew it was insane. He shouldn't have been affected so much by one woman, but Olivia had become an insatiable itch, distracting him at the most inopportune moments, like in the middle of interviews when a reporter inevitably asked, “Anyone special in your life?” Just the thought of her caused him to become undeniably harder, faster than he could ever remember. For five months, Clark had been tortured by this obsession. Other women didn't hold the same appeal, nothing held the same appeal anymore, except watching Olivia move with an understated grace and sexiness, while she ignored him.
Olivia was not the type of woman Clark should have been attracted to. She was cute—from her cinnamon brown shapely, long legs, to her long, graceful neck, the wide dark brown, almost black eyes and the thick black hair that she usually pulled into a ponytail—but not extraordinary. Clark Stone fans expected extraordinary from him—from his movies, to his physique, and to the women he dated. The press may have labeled him as difficult and unpredictable, despite the fact that the same members of the press followed him with their cameras everywhere he went precisely because he was difficult and unpredictable, but the fans loved him. And Clark couldn't disappoint his fans by doing anything ordinary.
He glanced at Olivia from beneath his eyelashes. She must have spent an hour trying to find the most ordinary outfit she could. She wore a dark, severe black suit that covered every inch of her body, except the few inches of leg below her knee, and even the green blouse underneath the suit jacket was buttoned to the top. But, Clark knew that the body underneath that suit was anything but ordinary. His fascination had started with her from the first moment Jack introduced them. She had smiled politely at him and then had returned to the kitchen to help her mother prepare dinner. No fawning, no throwing herself at him. Normally, that would not have made Clark look twice at her—he didn't need to work for women when he had most at his beck-and-call— but before she had turned away, she had smiled at Jack, and Clark had been hooked ever since. He had studied everything about her, from her soft-as-cotton hair, to her long, graceful fingers, and to the magnificent, curvaceous body she tried to hide under conservative, boring clothes.
Clark swallowed a groan as his gaze dropped to the buttons of her suit jacket. It wouldn't take much for him to get her out of the jacket, so that he could finally see and taste her breasts. He would have her open, her petals dripping wet for him, within six seconds, if she didn't protest too much—ten seconds, if she did. He shook his head at the image. Clark Stone did not beg, or cajole, or overpower any woman. He didn't need to, but those images of Olivia still ran through his head. It was the lavender. He had never been this close to her, and he had caught the hint of lavender when she sat in the limousine. It had his senses roaring.
This was all wrong. The last time Clark had seen Olivia, he had nearly exploded in his pants when she leaned over to set a tray of sugar on the table, and had involuntarily given him a shot of cleavage. He had vowed to stay away from her then. He couldn't get involved with a woman like Olivia. She was uptight, conservative, and almost went into spasms if someone ate their entree with the dessert fork. Clark knew because he had done it. Clark was a worldwide star, welcome at any party from Monte Carlo to Milan. She was minivans and oatmeal cookies. Exactly what Clark did not want at this point in his life, no matter how much his body told him that it needed this woman.
Suddenly, Clark realized that he couldn't stay in Los Angeles, even though it was his last day in the states before he flew to Scotland for six weeks of filming. He had debated on going to his best friend's engagement party in his hometown before the plane landed, but he dismissed that idea due to his prior commitments. But, now the engagement party seemed like the perfect way to save himself. He had to get away from Olivia, even if it included leaving the city.
The limousine suddenly purred to life, and Clark sighed in relief. Olivia was still staring at the schedule, so she didn't notice when he pressed the button on the console to lower the privacy shield between the driver and the backseat.
"Hey, man,” he said to the driver.
The driver turned around, surprise evident on his young face. It took only one look at the hunger in the young man's green eyes for Clark to know that he was in “the business,” too. Clark suddenly noticed the silence in the car and realized that Olivia had stopped staring at the schedule and was now looking at him. He told himself that he should not get hard just because she was looking at him.
"Yes, Mr. Stone?” the driver asked.
"What's your name?” Clark demanded.
"My name? Matt Lawrence. I'm actually a writer, Mr. Stone, and I think you'd be interested in a script—”
"We have a change of plans, Matt Lawrence. I need to get to Red Creek, California, by three o'clock.” Clark moved across the large backseat to hand the driver a slip of paper with an address and directions on it.
"What are you doing?” Olivia asked, bewildered.
Clark's entire body stood at attention at the sound of her smooth voice in the close confines of the car. It was the first time he had heard the real Olivia, not the polite publicist, since he walked off the plane. He balled his hands into fists and ignored her for the moment. He had to figure out a way not to attack her before he could speak to her.
Matt scanned the paper, then looked at Clark surprised. “This will take a while—”
"Four hours exactly.”
"Four hours?” Olivia repeated, sounding panicked. “You'll miss your interviews and personal appearances.”
Clark and Matt both ignored her, while Matt nodded and said, “We can just make it there by three.”
Clark forced himself to look at Olivia, then he winced. At least, he wouldn't have to worry about her coming on to him— which had been his secret desire since he had slid into the limousine. Judging from the fire crackling in her eyes, his more pressing worry was her strangling him.
"Ms. Hawkins, where can Matt drop you off?” Clark asked, forcing himself to sound calm.
"Drop me off?” Olivia repeated in disbelief. “Wherever this limousine goes, I go, and this limousine is going to Burbank for a talk show appearance, then to Hollywood for another talk show appearance
, and then to a series of other appointments that you don't know about because you weren't listening to me when I was reading your very full schedule.”
"I paid for this limousine, and I can pay for another one to take me where I need to go, if you won't leave,” he said, with a casual shrug, even as his heart pounded against his chest. He was not normally cruel, especially to women. He loved women, but he had to get Olivia out of this limousine. As soon as possible. Her chances of surviving the ride without her legs in the air were not good.
Clark could have sworn the temperature of the limousine
dropped a few degrees as Olivia's eyes narrowed and she glared at Clark. Matt shifted nervously in the front seat.
For several seconds, Olivia and Clark stared at each other then Olivia said calmly and coolly, “Matt, will you excuse us?”
Matt jumped from the car so fast that Clark would have laughed if Olivia hadn't been glaring at him. As soon as the door closed, Olivia said through clenched teeth, “Since you obviously want to be real, Mr. Stone, let's be real—”
"Wait a second,” Clark said nervously, recognizing the look in her eyes. He'd seen that look in his mother's eyes a time or two and it always came right before an explosion. Clark had thrown down with the best of them, but nothing was more frightening than a black woman with that look in her eyes.
She continued, unfazed by his interruption. “Your face has been on the cover of every tabloid every day for the last year. You have become a liability to studios and producers due to your bar brawls, bad manners—”
"Bad manners?” Clark interrupted, with a snort of disbelief. “I'm not some little girl. I'm a grown man—”
Her expression was cold fire as she said, “The arrest for drunken misconduct six months ago at that bar in Miami was the final straw—”
"That charge was dismissed,” Clark sputtered, half- embarrassed and half-annoyed.
"My brother has been walking a fine line since then. Vista Films wanted to renege on this movie you're about to film in Scotland rather than put out a film with you in it and have it tank because no one wants to spend their hard-earned money to make a spoiled, rich jerk even richer. For the last five months, Jack has been assuring Vista Films that you've reformed, while he's been doing everything in his power to keep you out of trouble, including dragging you to our family dinners.
"The agency that Jack and my parents have worked years to build is riding on you and, since I'm in this car as their representative, it's riding on me. I promised my brother that he would be able to enjoy the birth of his first child, without any problems from Clark Stone for the next twenty-four hours, and I keep my promises. So, you're not going anywhere without me.”
Clark stared at her when she finished ranting, and horror seized her. She had just alienated her brother's most lucrative client. Clark would fire her brother, and her brother would lose other clients who would follow Clark out of the door. And, worst of all, Olivia would never see Clark again because he would never come to her parents' house for dinner again.
But Clark did not yell or scream; instead, he sent her a grin that should have set her clothes on fire, as he lazily perused her body, as if taking stock of all the parts he wanted to see and touch. Olivia refused to react to his blatant seduction—too bad her body didn't listen to her. The warmth swirled in her stomach like an approaching tornado, and her center burned, causing her to shift on the seat.
"Fine. If you want to sit in this limo for the next four hours, I'm not going to stop you,” he finally said. She tried not to be surprised that he had readily agreed to her presence.
"I'm glad we agreed that you can't stop me,” she said dryly, then asked, “What's in Red Creek? Some kind of private orgy retreat for celebrities?”
He laughed then shook his head. “Close. It's my hometown.”
"Hometown?” she repeated, confused.
"It's a small ranching community about four hours outside of Los Angeles. Population, thirty thousand—”
"You're missing appearances that have been scheduled for months to go home?” she interrupted, disbelief dripping from her voice.
"Last week, Steve finally got Dominique to agree to marry him. I've known them both since I was five years old, and when we were twelve years old, I predicted they would marry each other. It's only taken Steve about twenty-three years to convince Dominique that I was right. I'm not missing this chance to say I-told-you-so.”
"We're going to an engagement party,” she said, surprised by the genuine smile on his face. Not the sexy smile she saw on billboards, but a smile that reached his eyes and spoke of connections and love. A different shiver ran through her body. For the first time, Olivia admitted that some of her preconceived notions about Clark may have been wrong. Yes, he was an arrogant, stuck- on-himself actor, but he also apparently could feel love for someone other than himself.
Then Olivia realized that Clark's gaze was directed below her neck, to the middle button on her suit jacket. She hoped that the heavy suit material hid the sudden heaviness she felt in her breasts, the straining nipples. She tried to ignore the heat that radiated from his body and wrapped around her like a warm cocoon, seductive and hot.
Clark smiled at her again, and Olivia began to sweat. He said softly, “This may actually be fun.”
2
.
It was not fun, it was torture. Clark sat in the limousine, a few inches from Olivia, but he couldn't touch her. As soon as the limousine turned onto the freeway from the airport, Olivia had opened a paperback novel and hadn't said a word since. That had been three hours ago. Clark had been content to stare at her for a while, and then he had closed his eyes and let his imagination run wild. He and Olivia stranded on a deserted island, with no clothes. He and Olivia on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean, He and Olivia in his bedroom with a bottle of edible massage oil.
Everything about her sang to him, from the conservative pony- tail to the downplayed gloss on her mouth. He shifted subtly in his seat, attempting to distract himself from his persistent hardness that was becoming almost painful. This was crazy. He didn't normally find ponytails attractive. What was wrong with him? He cleared his throat and asked casually, “What are you reading?”
"A book,” she said stiffly, without looking at him.
"I can see that,” he said, hiding his smile.
No woman spoke to him like she did. They usually fawned over him and, sometimes, begged him, but none could put him in his place as neatly and efficiently as Olivia could. And he found that amusing for some reason. He had never thought of himself as a glutton for punishment, but with Olivia, he practically begged for more. He wondered if she would want to be in control in bed, too, and if he would let her. It would be a fight they'd both enjoy, that was for damn certain.
"What is the title?” he said, trying again.
With a long-suffering sigh, she showed him the cover. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. She explained, reluctantly, “I teach English literature in the fall, and this will be one of the first novels we study.”
"I never could understand why women get so excited about that Darcy character. If that's the key to a woman's heart—indifference and disdain—then it's no wonder that men and women don't understand each other outside the bedroom.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You've read Pride and Prejudice?”
"In college,” he said, then asked, curiously, “Can you explain to me the appeal of Darcy? Black women, white women, Asian women . . . I've found all women who read this book fall in love with him.”
"Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean that character appeals to me. Just like the fact that a large number of women find your movie characters appealing doesn't mean I do.”
He laughed at the less than subtle insult then said dryly, “Hypothetically speaking, if you were one of those women who liked Darcy, what would be his appeal?”
"I have no idea. Why would any woman find a character like that appealing? He initially doesn't like
the heroine of the novel and insults her because she's below his class level, which was important in eighteenth-century England, but it shouldn't have mattered if he truly loved her.”
"You do like him though, don't you?” he asked, then grinned when he saw the truth dancing in her eyes. She had the most expressive eyes. Every thought, every dream was apparent. Clark couldn't help but wonder how her eyes would look when she climaxed.
"I do not like Mr. Darcy,” she said, stiffly.
"I could practically hear you sighing while you were reading the book,” he teased.
"Well, he does redeem himself at the end of the novel in an attempt to win the heroine's love. He helps the heroine's family, and he shows more honor than any of the other men in the novel . . .” Her voice trailed off and she abruptly laughed. “Okay, I admit it. I love Mr. Darcy! I love this book! Thanks to this character, I'm like every other foolish woman out there who believes that when a man ignores you or insults you, he's secretly in love with you.”
Clark watched her smile, and he felt something strange settle in the pit of his stomach. He had not seen such an honest smile in a long time. A sledgehammer of lust hit him and Clark nearly winced from the pain. He had been blindsided, fooled, and tricked. He had been trying so hard to stay away from this woman, when he should have been trying every trick in the book to get closer to her. Maybe if he tasted her once, felt those delicious breasts under his hands—he'd be over her.
Olivia smiled and said, “If you tell anyone about my Mr. Darcy weakness, I'll be forced to hurt you.”
Clark grinned at the prospect. He told himself to ignore her for the rest of the limousine ride before he kissed that tempting mouth, except he had an insatiable need to know more about her. “Jack never told me that you once worked at the publicity agency with the rest of the family. Why'd you leave the family business?”
Her smile faded and she said, “Since I was fourteen years old, I've worked in the agency in one form or another. Even though my major was English literature in college, it was a given that I would work at the agency and be a publicist like Jack and my parents.”
An All Night Man Page 22
