TURN ME ON

by Kristin Hardy

  "This is Sabrina."

  "Don't ever hang up on me again while we're working together." He bit off the words.

  "Oh, I'm sorry about that," she said insincerely. "I said goodbye while I was putting the receiver down. You must not have heard."

  "You keep telling me you're a professional, Sabrina. Act like it."

  He heard the quick intake of her breath and a second or two went by. Her self-control had improved, that much was clear. There'd been a time when a provocation like that would have produced an angry torrent of invective. Now, it seemed, she thought first.

  "All right, let's start again."

  "If we're going to work together, I'd say it's critical." He meant it to stop her and it did.

  "Let bygones be bygones?" she asked finally. "You, of all people, should know it's not that easy."

  "No," he agreed. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't set it aside while we're working, though. Nothing we say is going to change our history, but we've got a project to finish here." The seconds ticked by while he focused on the electronic silence in his ear.

  "You're right," she said grudgingly. He could only imagine what it cost her.

  "Good. Now you can explain to me why you don't want to shoot street interviews in New York."

  "Like I said, it's a union town. That means the cost jumps for everything from moving a light two feet down the street to shinging electrical cable." The certainty was still there, but the defiance was muted. "If we show up with a non-union shoot, they'll be on us like flies, heckling, interrupting the shoot, sabotaging. They'll be trying to unionize the crew. Meanwhile, we'll have to pay for police and fire coverage, street closure, and everything else you can think of."

  "For a two-hour evening shoot?"

  "A street shoot, Stef. I've been a production manager for five years. Give me credit for knowing something, okay?"

  Now it was his turn to pause. If he were to stick to their agreement, he needed to respect her decisions as producer. That didn't mean he had to like them, but there had been plenty of other producers he'd disagreed with in the past. It went with the territory. "All right. You say L.A., we do L.A."

  "What?" Her flummoxed tone made him smile for the first time. "Could you repeat that?"

  "We shoot where you want to shoot."

  "Well." She regrouped quickly. "As long as you're feeling accommodating, maybe we can cover a few more points."

  He shook his head. "Not so fast. Let's close on this decision and take it step by step from now on."

  "Okay," she said slowly. "I guess you've got a deal."

  * * *

  Sabrina hung up the phone in bemusement. She wasn't sure whom she'd been talking to, but it wasn't the Stef she knew. Unless she was very much mistaken, he'd just extended an olive branch. She didn't know what surprised her more—that he'd done it or that she'd accepted.

  The phone rang. Stef, calling to change his mind, she thought immediately, and scooped the receiver up. "You said it, I heard it. No fair changing your mind."

  "But I didn't think it through," a female voice protested.

  Sabrina laughed and relaxed. "Hi, Kelly."

  "So who did you think it was going to be?"

  "Oh, Stef and I were just having another preproduction chat."

  "Always a fun time."

  "Actually, he was pretty reasonable."

  "Now I'm scared."

  Sabrina dug in her desk drawer for some lip balm. "Don't be."

  "Maybe we should go out for lunch and talk about this."

  Sabrina thought longingly of a salad in an outdoor café on Melrose and sighed. "I've got too much to do here. Give me a rain check?"

  "You were a lot more fun in the old days."

  "I'm fun now. I'm more fun than a barrel full of monkeys, more fun than an E-ticket ride." Sabrina ran the balm over her lips.

  "You're behind the times," Kelly told her. "They don't even have E-ticket rides any more."

  "That's what's wrong with the modern world. Everything's all-inclusive, all you can eat. There's nothing you have to work for any more."

  "Sure there is. I have to work for a paycheck. You have to work to get your doc done, and with the Greek god, it'll definitely qualify as work."

  "Believe me," Sabrina sighed, "I'd like nothing better than to have another director, but I've got to get this baby made."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  Sabrina hesitated. "I need to show myself that I can do this, Kelly," she said slowly. "And that I can do it with Stef around, because if I can get through it with him, I can pretty much get through it with anyone."

  "And there's not one little part of you that's wondering what it would be like to get back in his pants for a day?"

  "No." Sabrina had a sudden, vivid flash of the feel of Stef kissing her, the promise and the taunt. "No," she said more positively.

  Kelly snorted. "I'll remind you of that later on. Anyway, I'm going to give you some good news for a change. How'd you like to get some nice, free publicity?"

  "Nothing's free. What's the catch?" Sabrina listened to the suppressed excitement in Kelly's voice.

  "No catch." She cleared her throat. "At least not much of one. My editor at Hot Ticket has been saying for the last two years that we don't do enough on docs. He says Hollywood pays 'em lip service, but it's never serious about them."

  Sabrina's grin was wry. "Tell me about it."

  "Well, I need a project to wow him with. I mean, I just got the promotion. I want to show him he was right about me. So I pitched him a story on your documentary and he bit. I've got a travel budget, time off to spend on set, the works," she finished triumphantly. "Depending on how well he likes it, it could even be a series."

  "You wouldn't have any ulterior motive in all of this, would you?" Sabrina asked dryly.

  "Besides world domination in entertainment reporting?"

  "Oh, I was thinking more like trying to be my chaperone, your being so sure that I'm going to do something I regret."

  "Trying to keep an eye on you and that director formerly known as boyfriend from hell that you've decided to work with? Hey, you want to make yourself crazy, what business is it of mine?"

  "I'm sure you'll tell me soon enough." Sabrina heard the clacking of computer keys. Kelly, an inveterate multitasker, was no doubt responding to e-mail while they talked.

  There was a flurry of typing and an especially loud clack. "Look, all I want is the inside scoop for a great article. A few interviews with your crew, a few shots of your precious director at work."

  Sabrina could just imagine how Stef would react to the news. Now that she thought about it, the idea didn't seem so bad. "We can certainly use the publicity." It was a no-brainer, she reasoned. Every project needed exposure, especially documentaries. Opening the set to a reporter could increase the buzz for her project. Just because Kelly was a friend was no guarantee it would be a totally positive article, but at least they wouldn't get savaged completely. Who knew, maybe she'd even have an easier time getting funding the next time around, rather than paying for most things out of her own pocket.

  And if she enjoyed the prospect of Stef's discomfiture, that didn't mean she was breaking their truce, did it?

  * * *

  7

  « ^ »

  Sabrina turned off the central California highway into a single-lane road, her wheels chattering over the cattle guard that spanned the opening in the white-painted fence. There was no sign, only a mailbox topped with a carved wooden knight on horseback. The dirt road wound over a bleached gold hillside dotted with live oaks and then curved behind a stand of eucalyptus. The pungent scent of mesquite streamed in through her open window.

  "We made pretty good time," Kelly said. With her tousled blond hair and her faded shorts, she looked more like a surfer chick than a reporter.

  "We were supposed to be here ten minutes ago," Sabrina reminded her. "The crew's going to be waiting."

  "It's a two-hour drive up from L.A. Being ten minutes late
is not a crisis. I mean, it's not like they fire off a starting gun when they open their little fair doohickey, do they?"

  "You'd be surprised what they do. Anyway, we've got a lot to cover and only one day to do it in."

  "How much is there to see? People in costume, getting sexy."

  "I see you didn't do your research."

  "My research is you and your film crew, not what you're filming," Kelly said carelessly, then stopped. "So what exactly are you filming?"

  Sabrina grinned at her as they topped a rise. "Take a look."

  For an instant, it felt as though the truck had become a time machine, whisking them back to Elizabethan England. White-daubed, thatched-roof cottages clustered around a grassy square dotted with market stalls. Small figures that looked like peasants lined up at the tables of an outdoor tavern. Behind lay a Tudor-style manor house, with crimson-and-white banners streaming from its towers. A wooden palisade surrounded the whole area.

  Kelly stared. "What are they, Renaissance fair fanatics? Who on earth would build something like this all the way out here?"

  Sabrina shrugged, following the path downward to the parking area. "An eccentric billionaire with a lot of friends."

  The production van, she saw, was already in the parking area, which meant that Laeticia and the crew had made it. The plain white cargo van would be full of lighting equipment for the gaffer to use, not to mention sound gear and cameras.

  She pulled between the van and an olive-drab Jeep. Stef's, she was betting. It was like him: practical, not flashy, but tough and capable. She stepped out onto the packed dirt of the parking area. The first order of business was to get the shoot rolling.

  "Morning." Stef materialized from behind the Jeep.

  How was it that he took her breath away even after all this time, she wondered. The light breeze caught the hair that curved down onto his forehead and pulled at the shirttails of the faded madras shirt he wore. The morning sun only brought out the gold in his skin. Nothing could mask the intensity in his dark eyes.

  "Good morning. Have a good drive up?" She slung her satchel over her shoulder and shoved her keys into the pocket of her cargo pants.

  "Yeah, actually. I took Pacific Coast Highway through Malibu."

  It surprised her that he'd chosen the narrow road that wound between the Pacific and the rugged coastal bluffs instead of the more direct inland freeways. More of the new Stef? "Well you had perfect weather for it. You remember Kelly, don't you?"

  "Of course." He nodded and shook Kelly's hand.

  "Kelly's an editor at Hot Ticket now. She's doing a feature on the making of the documentary."

  "I'm just going to hang around and watch the filming today, but I'll want to interview you later," Kelly put in.

  Sabrina braced herself for the explosion. Surely he'd go into a rant about his sterling reputation and how he didn't want anyone to know he was working on her sex documentary. But outside of the subtle setting of his jaw—darkened with the previous day's beard—he didn't react. She relaxed fractionally.

  "We move the equipment first," he said, nodding at Kev, who had wandered up to join them. "We can fit in interviews later, when there's time."

  "She can interview me," Kev volunteered, stepping forward. Sabrina watched Kelly take in his 24-Hour Church of Elvis T-shirt and his Fu Manchu and suppressed a grin.

  "And you are?"

  "Kev Cooper, director of photography."

  "The cameraman?"

  "Bingo. I'm the one that makes him look good," he said, nodding toward Stef. "It's a rough job, but I'm poorly paid for it."

  Stef snorted and Sabrina just kept a straight face. Kelly was looking for drama. Kev, on the other hand… Sabrina studied the glint in his eye and figured Kelly could look after herself.

  "I can talk to you about the collaboration between cameraman and director. It's different on docs, you know," Kev said conversationally. "Not like regular movies, where you can rehearse and repeat a scene. Everything's spontaneous and most of it is one time only, so you've got to operate more on instinct. Now take me, I'm all about instinct."

  "There you go," Stef said, "he's all yours." He picked up a light and began to walk toward the palisade, Sabrina hot on his heels.

  She hustled to keep up with his careless, long-legged shides. "So you're okay about this article? If there's anything to talk about, we should do it now."

  "Free press is free press." He shook his head. "You'd be a fool not to take it. With luck, my backers won't care."

  "They know you've got to make a living, don't they? What, are they going to have a fit about you working on a sex documentary?"

  He shrugged. "You got me. My money doesn't come from the entertainment Hollywood you hang out with." He flicked a glance at her. "It comes from grants, private donors, people who want to promote a certain view of the world. I have no idea what they're going to think about your series—or about me directing it." He set the light down next to the other equipment piled on a tarp by the wooden fence. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm here and we've got a doc to film. So what are we covering?"

  Sabrina dumped her satchel next to the lights. "Roleplaying. Didn't you get the briefing packet?"

  "Yeah, I got the briefing packet. Adults who play old-time dressup?" He gave her a pained look. "My little sister did that in third grade. What's sexy about that?"

  "This is a little different."

  "How?"

  Her smile widened. "You'll see."

  * * *

  "A drink for ye, my lord?" A tavern wench greeted them with a tray of tankards. She wore a moss-green skirt and a black bodice that laced up the front with crimson cord—and stopped just underneath her breasts, which stood out round and bare.

  "I'll pass, thanks."

  "I think she was offering you ale, not something, um, more organic," Sabrina said as they walked away, mischief in her eyes.

  "She must clean up on tips," he said, but his eyes held on Sabrina, not the tavern wench.

  Sabrina wore a blue flowered sweater that reminded him of the sort Doris Day would have worn in some fifties' movie. Only Doris had never looked like this, he thought. Sabrina had troubled to fasten only three of the glass buttons, right in the center. It looked as though she'd been caught in the middle of putting it on.

  Or taking it off.

  Across the way in the knife thrower's booth, a woman wearing just a red satin eye mask lay spread-eagled against the target board while the knife thrower posed in a leather G-string. Stef leaned closer to Sabrina. "Let me get one thing straight here right now. No participatory segments with this one, period."

  "Leather G-strings don't do it for you? I think you'd look kind of cute."

  "I'm opposed to cute on basic principle, at least when it's applied to me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "So we've got a lot to cover here. How do you want to start?"

  She'd begun walking off before she even answered, already caught up in the fair. "These market stalls are great. Let's see what's here before we start shooting."

  Great, he supposed, was one way to describe a booth of wooden and leather medieval sex toys. He tried not to blink as a couple of customers gleefully tested out their new purchase in one corner of the shop.

  And the clothing stall … all Renaissance fairs sold clothing, he figured. Just not cupless leather bras and codpieces with strategic cutouts.

  In a lingerie and jewelry booth hung with velvet drapes, Sabrina held up a complicated arrangement of silver chains. "This is great," she said. "We've definitely got to get this."

  He tried not to stare at her tanned belly revealed by the gap at the bottom of her sweater. "Too hard to film."

  "We'll get someone to try it on, give it some contrast."

  "At the risk of sounding naive, what is it?" Restless, Stef picked up a thick gold ring from a display on the counter, rolling it idly in his fingers.

  "Breast jewelry." Sabrina draped it against herself.

  Before he could stop it, his mi
nd reassembled the image of her—minus the blue sweater. He remembered how soft her skin was.

  "What do you think?" she asked. "We get someone to model it?"

  "That would be a lovely bauble on you, milady. They're very comfortable," said the costumed clerk, sweeping her velvet cloak aside to show the intricate arrangement of gold and silver on her own—very bare—breasts, which were further enhanced by rouged nipples. "Perhaps the master will buy it for you? You can try it on for him if you like."

  Sabrina locked eyes with him for a moment and a jolt ran through him. "Just looking," she told the clerk.

  To keep his hands busy, Stef set the ring down and picked up another. Too big for a finger, he thought, and too heavy for an earring. Maybe it was—

  "I see you've picked up one of our fine shiny pintle rings," said the clerk, materializing at his elbow. "Perhaps your lady could help you try it on."

  Great, he thought. Like his imagination needed one more boost in thinking about Sabrina. He thrust the ring at the sales clerk. "Nope, I'm fine, thanks." The last thing he needed was jewelry for his cock.

  Which was twitching just a bit, he realized, walking out of the stall.

  "I wasn't through looking," Sabrina complained, following him. "What's the big hurry?" She took a closer look at him. "Are you blushing? Oh, my God, you are. That's priceless."

  "Time to start filming," he said, checking his watch.

  Sabrina just laughed. "Whatever you say." Nearby, a Lady Godiva, as naked as her reputation called for, rode a horse past the market stalls.

  "Now there's a look," he said dryly.

  "I think it's great. I love the fact that they get into it so much. It's more than costumes, you know. They build entire characters for these people. The whole day's scripted, if you watch."

  "Like that?" He pointed to an auction block where a burly looking fellow was up for bids in a low-cut leather jerkin and pair of suede leggings split at the middle to show his hard-on. "Stud for sale?"

  Sabrina shrugged. "Alternative realities," she said as a woman in a red velvet gown that laced up the front put a proprietary hand on the slave's cock.