by Helen Conrad
“Terrific,” Nick acknowledged with a broad grin. “I know a fantastic restaurant with magnificent seafood and an even better atmosphere—it’s dim, bordering on dark.” His voice was almost seductive, she thought.
“Don’t you like seeing your food?” she asked.
“Sure, but I like eating in peace better,” he told her. “In a well-lit, well-trafficked place, I spend more time signing autographs than I do chewing. And no matter how good it is, cold is not my favorite temperature for clam chowder.”
That sounded fair enough, she thought, trying hard not to stare at him while he talked. But it was as if her eyes were hypnotically drawn to him throughout their ride. Etched in the fading light of dusk, Nick was almost unbearably handsome. She’d never thought she’d think that about any man, and certainly not in admiration. Handsome men used their faces to open doors for them, to deceive women.
Whoa, hold it, no personal interjections here, she warned herself. Be professional. The man is innocent until proved guilty. She struggled to keep an open mind—and calm body.
The restaurant was charming, and the maitre d’ seemed genuinely delighted to see Nick. They were ushered to a very private corner table with a plush booth forming two sides of the dim nook. Rather than sit on the chair opposite her, as Shane had expected him to, Nick slipped into the booth alongside her. Her body stiffened slightly, alerted to the danger of having him so close, and when he asked her if she’d like a cocktail, she startled herself by ordering sherry.
Good grief! What was the matter with her? She hated sherry. And of course it was served immediately, along with a glass of chilled chablis for Nick.
“You come here often?” she asked. Captivating question, she silently taunted herself.
Nick smiled, his smile penetrating her veins more swiftly than the sherry she’d just sipped. “Whenever I can. Don’t forget, I live in Hollywood when I’m not on location.”
She toyed with the stem of her goblet, avoiding the hypnotic effect of his eyes. It was bad enough that his cologne was assaulting her olfactory system—indeed, her nose was positively twitching. Never had a man’s cologne aroused her so. The sherry must be going straight to her head, totally bypassing the airline’s skimpy sandwich. “I understand you had complete control over casting and location. Why did you pick Colorado?”
The question seemed to please him. “There are certain locations here that look very romantic when the sun hits them just so. I think it adds a lot to the movie.’’
“Can’t the sun ‘hit just so’ in California?”
“Maybe,” he conceded, picking up a piece of bread and buttering it smoothly. Everything he did, he did smoothly, she thought, just the way he rolled his words off his tongue. “But I grew up in Colorado—“
“So you decided you’d throw the locals a little money?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he said. Then he put down his knife. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Shane, but I’m getting definite vibrations from you.”
Uh-oh, here comes the macho pitch, she thought.
“Why don’t you like me?” he asked softly.
Her eyes grew wide. Was he as perceptive as all that? Was she as obvious as all that? What struck her most was that Nick appeared to sound sincere, as if it mattered to him that one, lone woman wasn’t falling at his feet. Maybe it did matter, she thought. No conquest unturned ... “I don’t dislike you, Mr. Rutledge—“
“Nick,” he corrected.
“Nick,” she amended. “I’m just not quite sure how to take you.”
“In whole doses,” he said helpfully. His eyes danced over her features.
Shane lowered hers. “I think I’ll have the shrimp salad,” she said, lifting the menu between them. She could hear Nick’s soft chuckle. It touched every nerve ending she had. She pushed the sherry farther away from her.
The waitress came and went, as did their dinner. Time slipped away, and Shane got nowhere with her interview. Every question she framed sounded stilted, amateurish. It was a bad evening for her. She’d sound better in the morning, she reassured herself. So she turned down his next offer.
“Would you like to go dancing?” he asked as he put a large bill on the table and helped Shane out of the booth.
“I’d like to go to my room,” she told him.
“That can be arranged.” He stood behind her, a good foot taller than she was, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. She could feel the heat of his fingers penetrating her jacket. Somehow she knew they didn’t have the same thing in mind.
“I meant alone.”
“I’d never let a stranger go back to her lonely hotel room alone. Besides,” he said, dangling the keys before her, “I have the car keys. Your coach awaits, milady,” he said grandly.
Shane took his arm and went out into the night. It had stopped raining. There were a few stars sprinkled in the dark sky and winking down on the Friday-night activity, which was just beginning.
“You’re sure you want to go back to the hotel?”
Nick asked again as the Ferrari was brought around for them.
“I’m sure,” she said firmly.
She wasn’t feeling all that firm when he stepped out of the car with her at the hotel and followed her across the lobby and into the elevator. She had expected him merely to let her out at the front entrance, not to follow her upstairs. But here she was at her room and here he was, right behind her. The tingling sensation was back.
“Well, this is my door,” she said, fishing for her key. Why did keys always sink to the bottom of purses?
“Very nice door,” he commented impishly. “Is the other side as nice?”
“I imagine so. Probably the same color and everything,” she replied, amused despite herself.
“Really?” He sounded as intrigued as if she had just told him a deep, state secret. “I’d like to see it.”
She laughed as she opened it. “See?” She held it for his inspection.
“Yes, I do see,” Nick said, looking only at her as he closed the door behind him.
Shane fumbled for the light, missing the switch on her first swipe at the wall. The lamp on a nearby coffee table flicked on, and she almost sighed audibly.
Nick’s gray eyes watched her steadily as she moved quickly into the room. “I don’t leap at moving targets, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not afraid,” she informed him coolly.
“Then, come here,” he said, his voice as inviting as a touch of velvet.
Shane found herself moving toward him, as if she had no control over her own legs. “We’re supposed to be maintaining a professional relationship here,” she heard herself protest, but the words came out with a lot less force than she had intended.
“Lady, you talk too much,” Nick said as he took her face in both hands. His lips touched hers, at first, very, very gently. So gently that she thought she was dreaming. But as the pressure increased with the passing of seconds, Shane knew that this was no dream. This was quite real. Suddenly, doors that had been firmly shut five years ago sprang open, letting loose emotions she had been careful to bury. Horrified, she caught herself and pushed him back.
“That is not the way to end a kiss, Shane. You kind of taper off. You don’t use a body block,” he said, highly amused. “We’re going to have to practice that.”
“We’re not ‘practicing’ anything,” she informed him, her voice shaky.
“Rehearsals can be fun,” he assured her, drawing closer.
Shane stepped back. “This show just had its final performance.”
“We’ll sponsor a revival,” he told her, his eyes sparkling down into hers.
She tried another approach. “Look, I’m very tired.” She marched to the door and opened it. Her message was clear.
“You didn’t kiss like a tired lady,” he said, grinning. He ran a finger along her jaw, resting it on her chin. “I think I’m going to like having an in-depth intervie
w done.” His eyes caressed her once more. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured, then left.
Shane locked the door, leaning against it. A deep sigh escaped her lips. The fire of his kiss still burned.
Chapter Three
A brisk, staccato knock echoed its way into Shane’s consciousness.
She bolted upright in bed. Was she dreaming?
The knock came again, louder.
She groped for the clock, nearly falling between the bed and the nightstand. Six-oh-seven.
Six-oh-seven? There was someone up at six-oh-seven? In the morning? On a Saturday?
She tried to clear away the cobwebs from her mind and become lucid as the knock grew stronger. Maybe the hotel was on fire!
“Oh, Lord,” she muttered, grabbing her violet negligee as she jumped out of bed. Her feet searched for her slippers and came up with only one. One was better than none, she thought as she hurriedly secured her filmy robe at her small waist. Quickly she unlocked the door and threw it open, expecting to see some flush-faced hotel employee ready to rush her out of a burning inferno.
Instead Shane found herself swept up into an embrace one moment before her mind registered just who was standing in her doorway. Her mouth was covered with forceful lips that seemed to suck her very breath away in a flash of pins and needles that danced up and down her arms and legs. For one wild moment she felt herself being carried away, savoring the deliciousness of the kiss.
It tasted wonderful. Wait! What was happening here? In an effort at self-preservation, Shane wedged her hands up between herself and the assailant. With a mighty shove, she broke free.
Nick! Who else?
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. She realized that he wasn’t looking at her face, and she glanced down. Her robe was now opened, and the gauzelike nightgown did very little to hide her contours and nothing to hide the fact that her nipples were almost standing erect with excitement. She wrapped the robe about herself quickly, securing the sash so tightly that it almost hurt.
“I just wanted to know if you kiss as well in the morning as you do at night. You do—but we’re really going to have to work on your endings,” Nick told her, strolling into the room.
Shane shut the door behind him. “You are the most egotistical, insufferable—“ She broke off in annoyance with herself. An extensive vocabulary at her disposal, and all she could do was stutter like some blithering idiot!
Nick held up a finger. “Now, now, I didn’t say I kissed well. I said you did. In case you hadn’t noticed, that was a compliment.”
Shane ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face. “I don’t notice anything at six in the morning. Any decent person should be in bed at this hour!”
“I’m for that,” Nick said. To her horror, he walked over to her bed and started to take off his denim jacket.
“That wasn’t an invitation!” she said sharply, placing herself in front of him to stop his progress toward her bed.
Nick snapped his fingers. “Too bad.” He peered over her shoulder at the rumpled bed. “You always sleep that messy?” he asked, nodding toward the sprawled covers. The pillowcase was half off, exposing a faded flower design.
Shane moved jerkily, suddenly self-conscious. He was starting in again, making her strangely unsure of herself. Oh, why hadn’t she gotten a good night’s sleep? Then at least she would have been fortified against him. But something told her that it would take a lot more than just a night’s sleep to fortify her against this man. She plucked up the pillow and shoved it back in its case. “Can we keep my sleeping habits out of this, please?”
Nick went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Me, I sleep like a log for about five hours. That’s all your body needs, really. The rest of the time is wasted, unless, of course”—he paused, his seductive eyes intent on her chest as she took in each breath; Shane felt as if her very cleavage was drawn to him—“unless you’re not alone. Then it can be spent very fruitfully.” He took her hand in his.
She wasn’t up to fighting off the warmth his touch generated, so she unceremoniously pulled her hand free before the magic began to work.
“I’m not interested in bearing fruit,” she said. From the grin on his face, she realized that her choice of words was poor, to say the least. “What are you doing here?” she demanded again.
“I’ve come to introduce you to the dawn, Shane. I have a strong suspicion you’ve never seen it.”
“Dawn?” she echoed, her voice just a touch hysterical. “The sun coming up. Big deal.”
“Oh, but it is,” he assured her, ever so gently gliding his hands over her shoulders. He melted the fabric away.
Steady, Shane, steady. The man’s a nut.
She took a step back, away from his hands, away from her increasing vulnerability. “You’re crazy, do you know that? I’m standing here, in my nightgown—“
“So I noticed,” he cut in. She could almost hear the leer in his voice.
“—carrying on a wild conversation with a crazy man who never seems to sleep. Are all you Hollywood people like this?”
“I’m unique, remember?” He winked at her. “That’s why you’re doing this story. Remember?” He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his well-cut. form-fitting jeans. Shane’s eyes were inadvertently drawn to them and the way his muscular thighs were outlined against the well-worn material. In contrast, his hips were slim. Definitely the body of an athlete, she thought. The low-slung cut of the jeans led her mind in other directions.
She reined in abruptly, jerking her head up. From the grin on his face, she knew he had been enjoying her appraisal. He pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it before holding it out to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, snatching the piece of white bond.
“You wanted my schedule for the next month, remember? Gypsy typed her little fingers to the bone, just for you.”
“Probably her first experience with a keyboard,” Shane said dryly. Why was she taking out her frustration on some poor woman she had never met? It was Nick who was making her so uncomfortable, not some woman with the improbable name of Gypsy.
Shane scanned the list. The first thing she saw was: Saturday, September 10th, Gloria’s party. Bring Shane. That was today.
“What’s this?” she asked him, jabbing her forefinger at the words.
Nick moved around to look over her shoulder. “Oh, that. You’ll like it,” he assured her, resting his hand comfortably on her shoulder. “Gloria gives terrific parties. She’s one of my oldest backers.”
Quickly Shane reviewed all the clothes she had brought along. “I’m not prepared for a party,” she protested.
“Just bring yourself,” he said. “That’s being prepared enough.” His hands started running over her shoulders again. She stiffened, trying to prevent his touch from affecting her.
“Hey, you’re all tense. I can feel the knots standing out three inches high. Here, let me,” he proffered, and without further comment, he went on to do just what she didn’t want him to. He began to massage her, kneading her tight muscles and playing havoc with her insides.
She felt herself being lulled into almost a trance-like state as his hands reached higher and higher along her back, rubbing and stroking their way along the sensitive sides of her breasts. Shane sucked in her breath, fully intending to move. But she stood where she was, absorbing it all, craving it all.
Slowly, he turned her around, his hands barely brushing against the outline of her breasts, making every nerve in her body stand at attention. He tilted her head back with the point of one finger and his lips were on the smooth white plane of her throat, sending a throbbing ache all through her. She took shorter and shorter breaths as her robe fell off her shoulders, its absence not noticed as his mouth rained down soft kisses in its stead.
Nick’s caresses were raking the embers of desire, long buried in the smoldering ashes of her past, and making them flame into a new and even brighter blaze.
Bells. She was hearing bells. The telephone! She felt herself being released, albeit reluctantly. Was the reluctance his—or hers?
“Your phone,” he said softly, nodding toward the intruding sound.
Shane clutched at it as if it were her lifeline back to sanity. “Hello?” Was that her voice? It sounded so shaky. She damned herself for its breathless quality and averted her eyes from Nick’s knowing face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Shane. I forgot about the time difference. Did I wake you?” It was Meg.
Thank God for Meg, Shane thought. “No, that’s all right. I wasn’t in bed.”
“Almost,” Nick whispered into her other ear.
His breath swirled about her neck and caused another emotional earthquake. Distance. She needed distance from this man. She grabbed up the cell phone and went as far away from Nick as she could get—which was halfway into the tiny bathroom.
“I couldn’t wait to find out. What’s he really like?” Meg asked breathlessly.
“Like nothing you’d ever imagine,” Shane said before she could stop herself. A chuckle from the other room drifted into the bathroom. “Look, I can’t talk right now, Meg. Let me call you back, okay?”
“Fine, I’ll be—“ Meg never got a chance to finish her sentence as Shane rang off. She marched back into the other room, determined to get Nick out before something else happened.
His smile grew brilliantly inviting as he watched her put the cell phone back on the nightstand. “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” he asked, coming toward her.
“I was throwing you out of my room,” she replied.
He picked up one thick curl that tumbled provocatively to her shoulder and kissed it lightly. “That’s not quite how I remember it,” he murmured. His smile softened as a thought seemed to hit him. “I bet you’re as pure as the newly fallen snow.”
“The condition of my ‘snow’ is none of your business,” she retorted. What gave him the right to be so damned personal all the time? He was ruining her own image of herself as a professional. She wondered if Barbara Walters ever had to put up with something like this.
