by Nora Roberts
venture into commercials. “We’re just as eager to have him.”
Claire sent her a brief warning look as she tucked her arm through Lee’s. “And where is he? Brooke and I are both anxious to meet him.”
“He has a hard time getting away from the ladies.” Lee gave the proud, apologetic smile of a doting uncle. But the eyes on Brooke were shrewd.
“How awkward for him,” she murmured into her glass. “But I suppose he manages to live with it.”
“Brooke, you really must try the pâté.” Claire sent her a teeth-clenched smile.
“I did,” Brooke returned easily. “Tell me more about Parks, Mr. Dutton. I can’t tell you what a fan I am.”
“Oh, you follow baseball?”
Brooke tilted her glass again. “Why, we were in the park only a few weeks ago, weren’t we, Claire?”
“As a matter of fact.” Claire didn’t bother to try to outstare Brooke this time but turned to Lee. “Do you get to many games?”
“Not enough,” he admitted, knowing a game was afoot and willing to play. “But I happen to have a few tickets for Sunday’s game,” he said, making a mental note to arrange for some. “I’d love to escort both you ladies.”
Before Brooke could open her mouth, Claire doled out subtle punishment. “There’s nothing we’d like better.”
He caught Brooke’s quick scowl before she smoothed her features. “Well, there’s Parks now.” Lee bellowed for him, causing heads to turn before conversation buzzed again.
Parks’s first reaction was surprise when he saw Brooke standing beside his agent and the woman he knew was head of Thorton Productions. Then he experienced the same flare of reluctant desire he had felt on the other two occasions he’d seen her. He’d purposely let the days pass before he contacted her again, hoping the power of need would lessen. One glance at her told him it hadn’t worked.
Apparently without hurry, he weaved through the crowd, stopping to exchange a few words when someone touched his arm, then gently disentangling himself. He’d learned, at an early age, how to keep from being cornered at a social occasion. In less than two minutes, Parks stood in front of Brooke.
Well done, Brooke thought. She answered Parks’s smile cautiously, wondering what his reaction would be when they were introduced. She felt a jab of uneasiness then pushed it aside. After all, he’d been the one to wake her up at dawn and ask for a date.
“Parks, I want you to meet Claire Thorton, the lady who’ll be producing your commercials.” Lee laid his hand over Claire’s in an unconsciously possessive gesture noticed only by Parks and Brooke. Parks was amused, Brooke annoyed.
“A pleasure, Ms. Thorton.” He wanted to say he had expected a dragon from what he’d read of her professionally, not this soft-faced attractive woman with faded blue eyes. Instead, Parks smiled and accepted her hand.
“We’re looking forward to working with you. I was just telling Mr. Dutton how much Brooke and I enjoyed your game against the Valiants a few weeks ago.” Remembering his muttered demand for Brooke’s name at the rail, Claire waited for the reaction.
“Oh?” So this was her friend, he thought, turning to Brooke. With her face, he concluded she must be a regular for Thorton’s commercials. “Hello again.”
“Hello.” Brooke found her hand claimed and held. Taking a hasty sip of champagne, she waited for the bomb to drop.
“Claire tells me Ms. Gordon is her best,” Lee told Parks. “Since you’ll be working together closely, you’ll want to get to know each other.”
“Will we?” Parks ran his thumb along Brooke’s palm.
“Only my best director for a project this important,” Claire put in, watching them closely.
Brooke felt his thumb stop its casual caress, then his fingers tightened. There was no change in his face. To prevent a quick gasp of pain, she swallowed the rest of her champagne. “So you direct commercials,” he said smoothly.
“Yes.” She tugged once to free her hand, but he only increased his grip.
“Fascinating.” Casually, he plucked the empty glass from her other hand. “Excuse us.” Brooke found herself being dragged through the crowd of jewels and silks. Immediately, she quickened her pace so that it appeared she was walking with him rather than being led.
“Let go of me,” she hissed, giving a nodding smile to another director. “You’re breaking my hand.”
“Consider it a preview of things to come.” Parks pulled her through the open French doors, hoping to find a quiet spot. There was a three-piece band in the garden playing soft, dancing music. At least a dozen couples were taking advantage of it. Parks swore, but before he could maneuver her through the garden to a more private spot, he heard someone call her name. Immediately, he dragged her into his arms.
The hard contact with his chest stole her breath, the arm tight around her waist prevented her from finding any more. Ignoring the choking sound she made, Parks began to sway to the music. “Just wave to him,” he ordered against her ear. “I’m not about to be interrupted with small talk.”
Wanting to breathe again, Brooke obeyed. She was already planning revenge. When his grip lessened slightly, she drew in a sharp breath of air, letting it out on a string of abuse. “You overgrown bully, don’t think you can drag me around just because you’re this year’s American hero. I’ll only take it once, and I’ll only warn you once. Don’t you ever grab me again.” Brooke stomped hard on his foot and was rewarded by having her air cut off again.
“You dance beautifully, Ms. Gordon,” Parks whispered in her ear. He bit none too gently on the lobe. Between the fury and pain, Brooke felt a stir deep in her stomach. Oh, no, she thought, stiffening. Not again. The band switched to an uptempo number but he continued to hold her close and sway.
“You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do when I faint from lack of oxygen,” she managed. Who would have thought that lanky body would be so hard, or the limber arms so strong?
“You won’t faint,” he muttered, slowly maneuvering her toward the edge of the garden. “And you’re the one with the explaining to do.”
She was released abruptly, but before Brooke could take a breath, he was pulling her through a clump of azalea. “Look, you jerk . . .” Then she was back inside, dazed by bright lights and laughter. Without pausing, Parks dragged her through the center patio and into the adjoining courtyard.
There was no music here, except the liquid sound of the water falling into the grotto, and only a few couples more intent on themselves than on a man pulling a furious woman in his wake. Parks drew her close to the pool and into the shadows behind the high wall. Brooke was effectively sandwiched between him and the smooth rocks.
“So you like to play games,” he murmured.
For the first time she was able to lift her face and stare into his. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
She had expected him to be annoyed, but she hadn’t expected this smoldering fury. It was in his eyes, in the hard lines of his face, in the poised readiness of his body. When she felt her heart begin to thud uncomfortably, she became only more defensive. “You made all the moves,” she tossed out. “You demanded that I give you my name. You called me at six o’clock in the morning for a date. All I did was let Claire drag me to a ball game.”
She made an attempt to push by him and found herself pressed back against the wall by a firm hand on her chest. “You were sizing me up,” he said slowly. “At the game, at dinner. Tell me, how did I come out?”
Brooke put her hand to his wrist, but was surprised when he let her push his hand away. She began a careless recital she knew would infuriate him. “You move more like a dancer than an athlete—it’ll be a plus on film. Your build is good, it’ll sell clothes. You can be charming at times, and your face is attractive without being handsome. That could sell anything. You have a certain sexuality that should appeal to women who’d like their men to have it, too. They’re th
e primary target, as women still do the bulk of buying in ready-to-wear.”
Her tone had been schooled to annoy. Even so, Parks couldn’t prevent his temper from rising. “Do I get a rating?”
“Naturally.” The bitten-off words pleased her enormously. It was a small payment for the scene on her porch, but it was payment. “Your popularity quotient is fair at the moment. It should get higher after the first commercial is aired. Claire seems to think if you could get into the World Series and do something outstanding, it would help.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said dryly. “Now, why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
“I did.”
He leaned closer. She caught a trace of sharp cologne over the smell of wet summer leaves. “No, you didn’t.”
“I told you I make commercials.”
“Knowing I’d conclude you were an actress.”
“Your conclusions are your own problem,” Brooke told him with a shrug. “I never said I was an actress.” She heard a woman’s laugh muffled in the distance and the rush of water into the pool beside her. The odds, she mused, were not in her favor at the moment. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“I don’t like games,” Parks said precisely, “unless I know the players.”
“Then we won’t play,” Brooke countered. “Your job is to do what I tell you—no more, no less.”
Parks controlled a wave of fury and nodded. “On the set.” He caught the hair at her waist, then let it slide through his hands. “And off?”
“And off, nothing.” She’d put more emphasis on the last word than she had intended to. It showed a weakness she could only hope he didn’t notice.
“No.” Parks stepped closer so that she had to tilt back her head to keep her eyes level with his. “I don’t think I like those rules. Let’s try mine.”
Brooke was ready this time for the sneak attack on her senses. He wouldn’t be permitted to seduce her, make her tremble with those featherlight teasing kisses on her skin. With a cool, hard stare, she dared him to try.
He returned the look as seconds dragged on. She caught the glint of challenge in his eyes but didn’t see the slow curve of his lips. No man had ever been able to meet her stare so directly or for so long. For the first time in years, Brooke felt a weakness in her primary defense.
Then he did what he had wanted to do from the first moment he had seen her. Parks dove his hands into the lushness of her hair, letting them sink into the softness before he dragged her against him. Their eyes clashed a moment longer, even as he lowered his lips and savaged hers.
Brooke’s vision blurred. She struggled to bring it back into sharp focus, to concentrate on that one sense to prevent her others from being overpowered. She fought not to taste the hot, demanding flavor of his lips, to feel the quick, almost brutal nip of his teeth that would tempt her lips to part. She didn’t want to hear her own helpless moan. Then his tongue was plundering, enticing hers to answer in a seduction totally different from the teasing gentleness of his first embrace. She struggled against him, but her movements only caused more heat to flare from the friction of her body on his.
Gradually, the kiss altered. The hard pressure became sweet. He nibbled at her mouth, as if savoring the flavor, sucking gently, though his arms kept her pinned tight. She lost even her blurred vision, and her will to resist went with it.
Parks felt the change, her sudden pliancy. Her surrender excited him. She wasn’t a woman to relinquish control easily, yet both times he had held her, he’d prized it from her. With gentleness, he realized, suddenly aware that the anger had fled from his body and his mouth. It was gentleness that won her, whereas force would only be met with force. Now he didn’t want to think—not for a moment. He wanted only to lose himself in the soft give of her body, the white-silk scent that poured from her and the dusky flavor of her mouth. They were all the seduction of woman, only intensified by her surrender.
Brooke felt the liquid weight in her limbs, the slow insistent tug in her thighs before the muscles went lax. Her mouth clung to his, yearning for more of the magic it could bring with the gentle play of tongue and teeth. His hands began a slow exploration of her body, kneading over the soft material. When she felt him loosen the narrow zipper that ran from her throat to her waist, she roused herself to protest.
“No.” The words came on a gasp of breath as his fingers slid along her skin.
Parks gathered her hair in one hand, drawing her head back so that his eyes met hers again. “I have to touch you.” Watching her, he glided his fingers over her breast, pausing briefly on the taut point before he roamed down to her flat, quivering stomach. “One day I’ll touch all of you,” he murmured. “Inch by inch. I’m going to feel your skin heat under my hands.” His fingers trailed back to her breast, leaving a path of awakened flesh in their wake. “I’m going to watch your face when I make love to you.”
Bending, he touched his lips to hers again, tasting her breath as it shuddered into his mouth. Very slowly, he drew up the zipper, letting his knuckles graze along her skin. Then he ran his hands up her back until their bodies fit together again.
“Kiss me, Brooke.” He rubbed his nose lightly against hers. “Really kiss me.”
Tingling from his touch, aroused by the whispered words, she pressed her open mouth to his. Her tongue sought his, hungry for the moist dark tastes that had already seeped inside of her. He waited for her demands, her aggressions, feeling them build as her body strained against his. With a groan of pleasure, Brooke tangled her fingers in his hair, wanting to drag him closer. When he knew his chain of control was on its last link, Parks drew her away. He’d learned more of her, but not enough. Not yet. And he wasn’t going to forget that he had a small score to settle with her.
“When the camera’s rolling, it’s your game and your rules.” He cupped her chin in his hand, wondering how many times he’d be able to walk away from her when his body was aching to have her. “When it’s not,” he continued quietly, “the rules are mine.”
Brooke took a shaky breath. “I don’t play games.”
Parks smiled, running a fingertip over her swollen mouth. “Everyone does,” he corrected. “Some make a career out of it, and they aren’t all on ball fields.” Dropping his hand, he stepped back from her. “We both have a job to do. Maybe we’re not too thrilled about it at the moment, but I have a feeling that won’t make any difference in how well you work.”
“No,” Brooke agreed shortly. “It won’t. I can detest you and still make you look fantastic on the screen.”
He grinned. “Or make me look like an idiot if it suited you.”
She couldn’t prevent a small smile from forming. “You’re very perceptive.”
“But you won’t, because you’re a pro. Whatever happens between us personally won’t make you direct any differently.”
“I’ll do my job,” Brooke stated as she stepped around him. “And nothing’s going to happen between us personally.” She looked up sharply when a friendly arm was dropped over her shoulder.
“I guess we’ll just wait and see about that.” Parks sent her another amiable grin. “Have you eaten?”
Brooke frowned at him dubiously. “No.”
He gave her shoulder a fraternal pat. “I’ll get you a plate.”
Chapter 4
Brooke couldn’t believe she was spending a perfectly beautiful Sunday afternoon at a ball game. What was more peculiar was that she was enjoying it. She was well aware that she was being punished for the few veiled sarcastic remarks she had tossed off at the de Marco party, but after the first few innings, she found that Billings was right. There was a bit more to it than swinging a bat and running around in circles.
During her first game, Brooke had been too caught up in the atmosphere, the people, then in her initial impressions of Parks. Now she opened her mind to the game itself and enjoyed. Being a survivor, whenever she was faced with doing something she didn’t want to do, Brooke simply condit
ioned herself to want to do it. She had no patience with people who allowed themselves to be miserable when it was so simple to turn a situation around to your advantage. If it wasn’t always possible to enjoy, she could learn. It pleased her to be doing both.
The game had more subtlety than she had first realized, and more strategy. Brooke never ceased to be intrigued by strategy. It became obvious that there were variables to the contest, dozens of ifs, slices of chance counterbalancing skill. In a game of inches, luck couldn’t be overlooked. This had an appeal for her because she had always considered luck every bit as vital as talent in winning, no matter what the game.
And there were certain aspects of the afternoon, beyond the balls and strikes, that fanned her interest.
The crowd was no less enthusiastic or vocal than it had been on her first visit to Kings Stadium. If anything, Brooke reflected, the people were more enthusiastic—even slightly wild. She wondered if their chants and screams and whistles took on a tone of delirium because the score was tied 1-1, and had been since the first inning. Lee called it an example of a superior defensive game.
Lee Dutton was another aspect of the afternoon that intrigued her. He seemed—on the surface—a genial, rather unkempt sort of man with a faint Brooklyn accent that lingered from his youth. He wore a golf shirt and checked pants, which only accented his tubbiness. Brooke might have passed him off as a cute middle-aged man had it not been for the sharp black eyes. She liked him . . . with a minor reservation—he seemed inordinately attentive to Claire.
It occurred to Brooke that he found a great many occasions to touch—Claire’s soft manicured hands, her round shoulder, even her gabardine-clad knee. What was more intriguing to Brooke was that Claire didn’t, as was her habit, freeze Lee’s tentative advances with an icy smile or a stingingly polite word. As far as Brooke could tell, Claire seemed to be enjoying them—or perhaps she was
