He put his fork and knife down, suddenly not hungry anymore. He had to tell her, but how? He didn’t know if she would put two and two together, but he had to be truthful. He wasn’t sure what she would do. The question was whether he would finish dessert by himself or not. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Maybe it would be better if she walked away from him. He’d give her a small rueful expression, and that would be that.
“Moira—”
She put down her glass and stared expectantly. The way he said her name probably drew her attention more than anything else.
“Before we go to Vince’s place I need to tell you something. I don’t want you to hear it from someone else.”
Her brows knit together with concern as she pulled the napkin from her lap, placing it on the table.
“I own a company—a large one.” He stared down at his plate then at her, his jaw drawing a little tighter.
“You’re not just a business director, you own it—okay.” She grasped the napkin, playing with the ends.
“And it has to do with the movie industry, so that’s why I get around a lot, Vancouver included.” His stomach tightened. Bloody hell, she was going to figure it out, and then what would he do?
“The movie industry, I see.”
She remained calm, but he didn’t miss the fact that she clenched the napkin tighter. Christ, what was he waiting for? “I own Palm Productions, Moira.” He held his breath.
Her lips twitched.
“Maybe you’ve never heard of it?” he asked, suddenly hopeful, but the look in her eyes told him he wasn’t going to be that lucky. Shit, what the hell had he been thinking?
“That’s—that is a big company.” She sat back in her chair folding her hands on the table. “That would keep you very busy.”
His insides dissolved a little. She wasn’t making a connection yet, but she would, and he didn’t know whether to head it off at the pass now or hope that if God had any mercy he would let this go. She gazed at him, but her eyes weren’t smiling anymore.
“The friggin’ owner of Palm Productions, are you kidding me, Steven? You’re that Steven Porter?”
He wished he couldn’t read the look in her eyes, but it wasn’t the one he was expecting. Was that just a cold slice of regret that just shot through him? God damn it.
“Everyone in the world has heard of Palm Productions.” She took a deep swallow from her wine glass and set it down. “It upset the entire movie industry. They said you took Hollywood in your teeth and shook it violently consuming all the other companies, except two.”
The waiter approached the table, and he quickly raised his hand to motion him away.
“The media made a huge deal when it broke every paradigm and created a new Hollywood. You revolutionized it, they said.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if she needed to calm herself. “They talked about the man who owned it, directed it instead of a consortium of businesses. They made you out to be some kind of Bill Gates of entertainment, a wunderkind of California.”
He watched her carefully, and the more she described, the more worried he became that she was on the verge of bolting from the table. Suddenly, he was afraid she would leave. He reached across the table, extending his hand, palm up. She didn’t reach for it. Instead, she bowed her head, concentrating on her lap.
“Moira—” He waited. “It’s just what I do. It’s not who I am. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t have told you for a while.”
“Well, at least you’re not a crime syndicate boss.” Her brows pinched together. “You’re not a little over my head. You’re to the moon and back over my head, Steven.”
He reached for her hand wanting to caress the tremble in it away. “You look like you want to run away from me.”
“You’re a genius. You don’t think that’s intimidating?”
She kept total control as she always did. Clearly, she was overwhelmed with the thought, and not in a good way. Again, she proved to him what an amazing woman she was. If he’d told any other woman on the planet, she probably would have been tweeting it. In fact, it had happened before. Moira had done just the opposite. She sat calmly, but looked very confused.
“You must have women swarming around you, the most beautiful women in the world.” She tried to pull her hand from his, but he folded it between both of his, not letting her withdraw.
Her skin felt cool against his. “I won’t lie and say there aren’t a lot of women around me. There are. There always will be,” he said. “But I haven’t seen a single one from the second I—” He paused, thinking about what he was about to say. Mandy told him she held the truth in high regard. The damn truth was he didn’t want her to walk away from him. “You rocked my world, Moira. From the first time I heard your voice something told me you were special.” He tightened his hold on her.
She cleared her throat. “I’m not special.”
“Yes, you are. You’re amazing actually. But I didn’t want to tell you what I did for a lot of reasons. Obviously, because I wanted you to get to know me, and not have my baggage confuse the issue.”
“You call being a genius and revolutionizing a hundred-year-old institution like Hollywood, baggage?”
“For some reason when I look at you—it is.”
She reached her other hand to cover his. “That’s sweet—stupid”—she paused—“but sweet.” She tried to pull away from him. “I have to go.” Her expression sobered as she moved to get up.
“Stop.” He clutched her hand. “Moira, you don’t see me running away from you.” He hated coming so close to what he didn’t want to talk about, but he had to. “You took the world by storm with your stories. The literary critics said you gave people back their hope, faith, and the belief that love can heal.” She stopped in her tracks, lifting her head to gaze into his eyes. His heart began to tick like the second hand on an old grandfather clock, rhythmic but resolute. Each tick felt like a gong in his chest.
“You didn’t Google me the other night. You already knew who I was, didn’t you?”
“No…” His jaw snapped tight. “Not exactly.”
“What exactly?” she whispered.
He had to get off this topic. “Moira, someone gave me your books a long time ago, that’s true. I didn’t just read them the other night, but I didn’t want you thinking I was some crazed fan.”
She sat back in her chair. He could see her thinking, formulating. This was bad.
“Sweetheart, your books are going to turn into classics. People who read them find hope in them. They made people think, and they made people turn back to their faith and look at it again. That’s powerful,” he offered. “I’m in an industry that listens to all of that, and your name has been mentioned a lot. I don’t think you see that because you strive to lead a regular life, with a regular profession. You practically shunned your writing when I complimented you on it.”
“I don’t have a million people swarming around me,” she said quietly.
“You would if you came into the public eye more. The critics call you a recluse.”
She squared her shoulders. “I don’t feel famous.”
“That’s because you don’t put yourself in the limelight. I don’t have a choice.”
“Do you have a couch in your office?” she asked, eyeing him.
He burst out laughing. “Yes, but it’s never been used.” White lie, never tell the woman you’re falling for you’ve screwed half your industry. His face froze, and his heart began to thud hard in his chest.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. He blinked. He was falling for her, and he was falling hard. It was the only thing he could call it because he had never felt it before in his life.
“You’re lying,” she stated calmly, bringing his attention back to her.
He swallowed and thrust his chin forward. Shit, why the hell could she read him so easily? “Fine, it’s been used, but do you really want to hear that?”
“No, but I want you to.”
“I know that’s never going to happen again,” he said. He was damn sure it would never happen again.
“Mr. Porter, you have no good reason to be with me, even if I’ve written a couple of books. Is there another reason I should know about?”
“Definitely not, and that’s the truth,” he said before she could ask.
“Well I guess this explains why so many people know who you are. But what does Vince have to do with Hollywood? Didn’t he say he wanted to talk about negotiations with you?”
Jesus, she would have to go and hammer the nail right on the head. Vince wanted to be his next partner, but he couldn’t tell her that or for what. He couldn’t tell her the rest or he knew she would walk straight out of the restaurant. He slapped a smile on his face, “He has his fingers in a lot of endeavors. See, not so bad, I’m not a gigolo,” he teased. “Although, I may have been called that a time or two.”
She laughed quietly. “I guess so. It can’t be easy. I assume it didn’t fall into your lap, and you worked hard to get to where you are. It’s always intrigued me as to how in such a short amount of life, considering there’s only three hundred and sixty-five days in everyone’s year, that some people can acquire so much. Especially people who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouths, or were you?”
She was okay—for now. “Part luck, but mostly hard work and a helluva lot of determination.”
“You must have an amazing mind for business. There’s a guy where I come from who did the same thing. Created an empire and started out from the ground floor, I mean.”
“You’re talking about Franklin Rawlings,” he said.
“Yuh, before he became the richest man in Vancouver, and one of the richest in the world, I suppose. He started out as a car salesman, but he was shrewd and inventive, and look what he has now. He must be eighty and he’s still going strong.”
“He is.”
“Well, you would know, but what you don’t know is that I saved his ass once when his yacht caught on fire.”
“Seriously?” he said. Then it hit him. Jesus, he knew why she had seemed familiar at first, and it had nothing to do with Moira Viterra the author. It had been her voice all along.
“Mm-hmm, he sent the nicest cake and a whole raft of balloons to say thanks.”
“No, I mean, holy shit—I was on the yacht when it caught fire. I was there, Moira.”
“What?” Her voice rose with disbelief.
“That’s why your voice sounded so familiar to me when I heard it the first time. I heard you on the radio—God, it’s you,” he stuttered.
Blinking with uncertainty, she leaned back in her chair.
Her voice had touched him, imprinted something on him that day, as if to say—remember. He’d thought about her voice for days even weeks after. He almost went to find her, but business had pulled him away. It was over seven years ago. Seven years he’d lost with her just because he hadn’t acted on his instincts.
He stared at her in such disbelief and more than a little regret. How different their lives could have been if he could have those seven years back with her, how different both their lives could have been. “You were so reassuring. I remember I forgot all about the danger we were in when I heard you. You asked all these questions and told us that search and rescue would be en route soon. You kept communicating to the ship until help arrived. Your voice was so calming it took my mind off everything. That was you.” He couldn’t believe it.
“Now that’s strange,” she said, her lips curling into a grin.
They talked until the waiter threw them out, and that was an hour past closing time.
* * * *
Leaving the restaurant, he said, “Against my better judgment, but for the sake of your little body mending itself, maybe we should go play a few hands.” He knew instinctively that she must be sore, but he felt like rushing her up to the room and making love to her all night long.
“Sounds good. Let’s see who the better card player is.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek and gave him a daring look.
“Oh, my sweet siren, there’s no competition.”
“Yeah right, big shot, just because you own Hollywood doesn’t make you a good card player. Besides, I saw you the other night, you sucked,” she said, laughing at him.
“I was distracted,” he argued. He guided her toward the gaming tables. Halfway there he reached for his cell phone and eyed the text.
Moira waited patiently.
“It’s from my brother,” he explained. “He’s coming into town tomorrow and wants to introduce his new girlfriend.”
Moira’s brows rose under her bangs. “Well, is that good or bad?”
“No”—he shook his head—“that’s good.” Before his brain engaged, the question popped from his mouth. “Feel like meeting the family?” The question came out all on its own. Yet, he hoped her answer would be yes.
“Sure, I’d like to meet him.” She clutched her purse tightly to her chest.
“He’s been divorced for a while. He was married for ten years to a—” He stopped then pursed his lips. He was thinking of describing her as a scheming bitch, but he thought better of it. “Things didn’t work out between them, but they have two beautiful girls—twins, Charlotte and April.”
“Ah, you’re an uncle,” she said, her eyes lighting up.
Moira didn’t have any family, and he imagined at times she must be lonely. She was alone in the world, and that bothered him—a lot.
“All right, I’ll tell him we’ll meet them for dinner tomorrow night.”
* * * *
They joined a fun table and took turns playing until two seats opened up. He kept trying to coach her, and she kept telling him to shush which made him laugh harder every time she said it. She, unfortunately for him, came out on top, and she practically strutted from the casino, proud that she’d taken him.
“Shouldn’t mess with us Canadians, ya know.”
“Is that so?” he said, guiding her toward the elevators to her suite. Now she was going to rub it in, and for some reason he liked that.
“Well, yeah I mean you said you were at the 2010 Olympics. I believe we kicked your sorry Yankee asses to take the gold in hockey. Remember that?” she jeered. “Guess it’s a good thing we let our Canadian players on the American teams or you guys wouldn’t win any games.”
The intelligent, complex woman who walked beside him had just become a playful, adorable creature, and his heart turned over, seeing another side to her. “Is that right,” he said.
“Oh yeah, Utah Winter Games we smoked you there, too.”
“Hey, I was at both those games and we did all right.”
“Hope you took it like a trooper, not like those sad sacks at the 2010 games. They won silver and looked like someone dissed their mammas.”
“So, who’s going to win the cup this year, little lady?”
“Phhewww, Vancouver’s in number one spot right now, who else?”
The elevator opened and they got in with a few other people.
“And they’re going against Boston. You wanna put something down on this?” he taunted.
Suddenly, the guys in the elevator jumped into the conversation. All three of them were big, hefty young men. Together, they wore enough bling to fill a jewelry store. “Oh hell, woman,” the biggest one said. “Boston is gonna wax you Canucks.”
“I don’t think so,” she barked, sticking up for her hometown. “Imagine that, stuck in an elevator with four delusional Americans, huh go figure.”
They all jeered. As the three men got off at their floor one looked back. “Make her pay up when she loses,” he said.
She swiped her hand through the air as if he was crazy. As soon as the door closed, Steven had her up against the wall.
“So what’s the bet?” he said, trapping her against the wall with his body.
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“How about a week in the South Pacific—loser buys,” he whispered in her ear.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fiji,” she said in a low, sensual voice, taking on the bet before realizing what she was saying or what it meant. “Those little huts that stand out over the ocean.”
A huge smile spread across his face. She’d just committed to seeing him again. “You’re on, sweetheart.” He liked messing with people during business negotiations, but he loved the fact that she liked a challenge. Mandy told him she’d rather fall on her face than say uncle. He imagined she never backed down. The more she showed him of herself, the more he wanted to see. What was happening between them was crazy and unexpected. He needed to drop her at her door and leave.
The elevator door opened and they walked to her room. She cleared her throat as the nervousness returned to her eyes.
His heart began to dance in his chest. Leave her, yeah sure he was going to leave her. He’d rather walk across an erupting volcano on a two-by-four. “It’s your place or mine, and since I’m not sleeping without you beside me…” He didn’t get to finish the sentence.
They hadn’t even reached the living room before half their clothes lay on the floor. But this time Moira had found her way. She obviously had decided she wasn’t going to be intimidated by him anymore.
“If you’re silly enough to want to be with me, then you’re going to get the real me for the next three days.” She grabbed his belt and pulled his half-naked body toward the couch like a wanton saloon strumpet, pushing him down onto it.
“Well, this is different,” he said, feeling the slow burn of desire begin to eat at him. He suppressed the urge to take control. “Bring it on, sweetheart.”
“You’re going to be sorry you said that,” she purred.
Her eyes consumed him, and suddenly he saw who was really in control, and it wasn’t him. Sweet Jesus, it wasn’t him. She slowly teased her finger along his belt line as she kissed him sensually. It didn’t take long before his shaft called at his zipper to be let free. He buried his hands in her soft hair, kissing her desperately because that’s what he felt in his soul for her—desperate. He controlled everything in his life, himself included, except in her hands.
Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 12
