Fiona And The Sexy Stranger

by Marie Ferrarella

  He had to think she was really gullible. “And just how am I doing that?”

  “By letting me get a foot in the door at the right time. I wasn’t just whistling in the wind the other day. You are going to be big, lady. Real big. You just need the right kind of management.”

  Fiona felt herself weakening, but she wasn’t completely convinced yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in herself. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have gotten this far. It was just that she didn’t quite see herself growing to such huge proportions.

  “So you said.”

  “My dear, what are these delightful little things called?”

  Fiona turned to see an older, mature-figured woman standing behind her. The woman was holding one of the miniature tarts she had slavishly made early this morning, improving on a recipe Mavis had once given her.

  “Basically, it’s pecan pie,” Fiona replied.

  The woman turned the tiny pie plate around on her plate with the edge of her fork. It resembled something that might be served to an elf and clearly delighted her. “Do you sell these?”

  Fiona shook her head. “No.”

  “Not yet,” Hank corrected as he intervened. He placed himself between Fiona and the woman he recognized as the owner of The High Life, a newly established restaurant that was becoming the latest trendy place to eat.

  “‘Yet’?” Fiona echoed. She looked at him quizzically. What was he talking about?

  “But it’s one of the things on the drawing board, Ms. Gentry.” With an engaging smile tossed in the older woman’s direction, Hank ushered Fiona off. He wanted to talk to her alone.

  Alice Gentry had just enough time to take a crab cake from Fiona’s tray before she was out of reach. The last Hank saw of the woman, her eyes were fluttering shut in gastronomic ecstasy.

  He was sitting on a gold mine, he thought.

  He was going too fast for her. “What things, what drawing board?” Fiona wanted to know. And there was one question standing head and shoulders above all the other questions she had. “And why didn’t you tell me that you were doing all this on your own and not through the company?”

  “Because of the expression on your face when you thought that this was some convoluted act of charity. Stick with me, lady,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders, “and things are going to start happening for you.”

  Fiona tried not to let herself sink into the crook of his arm, though she was sorely tempted to. She had a feeling that things were already happening. The problem was, they had different spins on what they meant by “things.”

  * * *

  “I don’t think I can do this.”

  Fiona bit her lower lip uncertainly as she looked at the cameraman setting up on the small set Hank had brought her here just ten minutes ago and introduced her to Tony Kiriakis. “The best TV commercial cameraman in the business,” according to him. She wouldn’t have known the man from Adam, but she trusted Hank.

  Maybe a little too much. Her hand went to her stomach, which threatened to roll right up to her mouth.

  The set she was on was equally divided to portray a living room and a large ballroom. It didn’t matter what it was divided into, she was no actress. What did she know about delivering lines?

  “Sure you can.” As he spoke, Hank began to massage her shoulders. His heart went out to her. Her shoulders couldn’t have been stiffer than if she’d been smuggling wooden coat hangers. But he knew she could do this. She would be a perfect pitchwoman if he could just get her to believe it. “The homey touch is in. Just look into the camera, say the words I wrote for you and you’ll be just fine.”

  What was she doing here? her mind cried. She must have been crazy to let him talk her into this. But somehow the word “no” just didn’t seem to materialize when she was around him.

  “Easy for you to say,” she murmured ruefully, “your palms don’t feel like mini waterfalls.”

  Abandoning her shoulders, he moved in front of her and took her hands into his. Very slowly, his eyes on hers, he raised her hands to his lips. He kissed first one, then the other. “Better?”

  “Oh, yes, much.” There was a touch of desperate sarcasm in her voice, but she didn’t pull her hands away. “Now my stomach’s in an even bigger knot.”

  He laughed, moving behind her again. He seemed determined to make her fall apart, she thought as he resumed kneading her shoulders. This was not helping any. The slightest pressure from his hands sent shock waves all through her body.

  She tried to turn around, but he held her firmly in place. “Now what are you doing?”

  “Trying to get the tension out of your shoulders,” Hank answered mildly. “This is just a thirty-second spot on a local channel.” It was all he could arrange, between the check he’d finally accepted from her and some money of his own that he’d put in. He’d gotten both the studio space and Tony at cost as it was.

  She saw the cameraman looking her way. Her stomach changed direction and dropped fifteen feet. “I suppose hoping no one sees it is self-defeating.”

  He laughed. “Very.”

  She pressed her lips together. Try as she might, she couldn’t find anything positive to focus on. She was going through hell and there was probably going to be nothing gained by this. Why couldn’t she convince Hank that the verbal referrals after the Collins Walker dinner were enough?

  Fiona glanced over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t cameras supposed to accent all your bad features?”

  With a deliberate motion, he turned her head forward again. Some of the tension was actually beginning to leave her shoulders, though he doubted he could actually make her relax. “You don’t have any bad features.”

  The short laugh was disparaging. “You’re getting me mixed up with you.”

  “There you go again,” Hank lamented, “flirting with me when I can’t do anything about it.” The only way to make her act natural, he thought, was to distract her. He bent close to her face, bringing his mouth to her ear. “Why don’t we go somewhere private after this is over and get something to eat?”

  She struggled not to shiver as his breath skimmed along her cheek. “A restaurant?”

  “Actually,” he whispered, lightly kissing her ear, “I was thinking more along the lines of your place.”

  The man had no idea what he was doing to her, she thought.

  “All right.” She barely managed to get the words out. “If you want”

  He turned her around to face him. The teasing look had left his eyes. “I want.”

  The words seemed to vibrate in her chest Fiona had to remind herself to breathe. Collapsing at his feet like a limp rag doll would ruin everything.

  “Can we get on with this?” Tony called over to them. “I know that I’m not Steven Spielberg, but I do have a life, mundane though it is at times, and I’d really like to go home to it before I have to be back here again tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, Tony, we’re almost ready.” Hank looked at Fiona, wanting to give her as much time as she needed. He lowered his voice. “Aren’t we?”

  She didn’t want to disappoint him. After all, Hank was going out on a limb for her. Fiona was sure the check she’d given him didn’t begin to cover all this. Thanks to conversations with her brother-in-law, she knew a little something about production costs. But not wanting to disappoint Hank wasn’t enough. She still felt as if she was going to come off like a talking wooden stick.

  Fiona hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “Pretend you’re only talking to me,” he coaxed, leading her over to the set. “Just to me.”

  Oh, yeah, like that was going to help calm her down, she thought.

  But she had to admit that there was something endearing about the way he was coaching her.

  “Hey, we’re not doing Gone With the Wind here.” Tony beckoned Fiona toward her first mark on the floor. “It’s a thirty-second spot. You’re in, you’re out. Nothing to it.” He went behind his camera, then looked out at her one last tim
e. “Ready?”

  Fiona took a deep breath. Her eyes darted to Hank. He gave her the high sign.

  “Ready.” As she would ever be, Fiona thought.

  It turned out to be amazingly painless.

  “Fastest shoot I ever did.” Pleased, Tony looked at Fiona over the tops of his half-glasses. “The camera loves you, honey.” He carefully shut the camera down. “You ever think of doing commercials professionally? ’Cause if you do, I’ve got this cousin who’s got this agency—”

  She exchanged looks with Hank. He wasn’t laughing. Had they all lost their minds?

  “Commercial work? Me? You’re kidding, right?” She looked at Hank again. This time he was smiling. Suspicions immediately took hold. “Did you put him up to this?”

  “All pretty boy here did was ask me to shoot this for him for an obscenely small amount of money. You’ve got that homespun, trustworthy look.” Tony laughed as he came forward to join them. “Hell, I’d buy a used car from you.”

  Now that it was all over, she felt a great deal better. She might even look back at it as a fun experience, once her stomach stopped flipping over.

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that when my van gives out.”

  “Funny.” Tony signaled to someone in the rear and the lights went down. The stage, so bright and friendly a moment ago, took on a dark, lonely look. “Well, I’ve gotta go home and do my husbandly duty.” He chuckled under his breath as he looked from Fiona to Hank. “Woman can’t keep her hands off me the minute I walk in the door.”

  “Newlyweds?” she guessed, though Tony Kiriakis didn’t strike her as being the newlywed type. He was at least in his late forties and rather shopworn-looking.

  Tony shook his head. “Going on ten years,” he admitted proudly, then added, “If I last.” He looked at her, an idea appearing to occur to him. “Maybe we’ll have a celebration when we get there. Got one of your cards handy?”

  The question caught her off guard. “Sure.” She quickly took one out of her purse.

  Tony examined the stick figure in the lefthand corner. “Cute. Doesn’t look a thing like you.” He glanced down. “Except for the shoes.” He pocketed the card, then nodded at the tape in his hand. “I’ll get this back to you tomorrow afternoon,” he told Hank. “Good enough?”

  “Absolutely.”

  With that agreed on, the cameraman took his leave, hurrying out the back way. Hank and Fiona made their way out through the front door.

  They heard it a second before Hank opened the door. Thunder, echoing like a belated drumroll.

  That couldn’t be what he thought it was. Holding his breath, Hank pushed the door open. Sheets of rain were pouring out of the sky. The parking lot looked almost submerged.

  It was his first experience with what natives liked to call liquid California sunshine. Hank stepped back. “Hey, I thought that rain was outlawed here, except for the winter months.”

  She laughed. Fiona had always loved the rain and the sound of thunder had never frightened her, even as a small child. She’d thought of it as angels letting everyone know they were still there.

  She looked up to see if there was any lightning, but the sky remained dark.

  “Sometimes the weatherman messes up.” Fiona extended her hand, letting the rain fall on her bare arm.

  Hank saw that it showed no signs of letting up. At this rate, they could be standing here all night. It was only several yards to the car, but they’d be drenched by the time they reached it.

  “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll bring the car around?” Hank offered.

  There was no way she intended to remain behind. “No, let’s just make a run for it together.” She saw the dubious expression on his face. “Don’t worry, I won’t melt. I’m not made of sugar.”

  He had a different opinion. To him, she was pure sugar—with just enough spice to make it interesting. But before he could say anything, Fiona had taken his hand and was pulling him to the lot.

  In the short time they had been in the studio, puddles had formed everywhere. Rainwater slipped into her shoes, assaulting her legs from above and below.

  By the time she reached the car, she was entirely soaked, as was he. Fiona didn’t seem to care a damn about the fact that her clothes and her hair were plastered to her body.

  If he didn’t know any better, Hank thought, getting his keys out, she looked as if she was enjoying this. He quickly opened her side of the car, then hurried to the driver’s side. Rain followed him in before he had a chance to shut the door.

  “Wow,” Fiona gasped, laughing. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she sent drops flying. “Sorry,” she laughed when she realized she’d gotten some on him. As for herself, there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t sopping wet.

  “What’s a little extra rain?” He felt just the way he had felt as a kid, after hopping through puddles. “Hey, I offered to spare you,” Hank reminded her as he started the car.

  His silent prayer was answered and the engine turned over. Though a gorgeous thing to look at, his vintage car became somewhat unreliable when faced with conditions that weren’t perfect.

  Not unlike, Hank thought, a lot of women he knew. But not the one in his car.

  She was dragging her fingers through her hair, chasing away some of the moisture. Her normally riotous hair clung to her scalp.

  “Rain’s good for the vegetation. Heaven knows we get little enough of it as it is.” The last two winters had been particularly dry. At times, she wondered how anything grew at all.

  When he didn’t answer, Fiona glanced in his direction. The street lamps they drove past illuminated his profile. Water was dripping from his chin and the ends of his hair. Just looking at him made her heart ache. She longed to brush the raindrops from his hair. Fiona curled her fingers into her palms.

  Very carefully, Hank picked his way out of the lot The windshield wipers slapped against his window like a man trying to keep himself warm. Visibility was miserable. “Most women I know don’t like getting washed away in a flash flood.”

  She laughed at the description. “You think this is bad—‘you ain’t seen nothing yet.’ Wait until the real rainy season,” she warned. “In a bad year—” and they were predicting a bad year “—it feels as if Southern California is just going to wash away.”

  Terrific. “I’m looking forward to it,” Hank muttered, his eyes peeled for the exit.

  The sudden deluge had driven most of the latenight traffic off the road. Despite poor visibility, they made it to her house in relatively good time, especially considering that it was a Friday night.

  When he pulled up in her driveway, she debated asking him in. The shoot and the rain had made her slightly euphoric, but she supposed there was no sense in being foolhardy.

  Fiona opened the door just a crack, enough to send tiny raindrops scurrying into the interior of the car. “Maybe you’d better go on home. You don’t want to catch cold.”

  She wasn’t getting rid of him that easily, Hank thought They had gotten together after-hours for two solid weeks now, hashed ideas out and set a couple into motion, including this commercial. In all that time, he’d found himself liking Fiona and her slightly quirky behavior more and more. He wanted to find out just how much more.

  “It takes more than getting caught in a little drizzle to get me sick,” he told her. “I’ve milked cows in a blizzard.”

  “Now there’s something I could probably live out my life without experiencing.” Bracing herself, she swung her door open all the way.

  “Don’t knock it till you try it,” he countered. At the time he’d hated it, but the childhood he’d had had gone a long way in making him the man he was now. Prepared for almost anything.

  His shoulders hunched against the rain, he followed her to the front door. She fumbled with the key.

  Fiona turned the key in the lock, then struggled to retrieve it. The key wouldn’t budge. Fiona gritted her teeth. “It’s stuck.”

  “Here, let me tr
y.” It took several twists of the wrist before the key finally came out. “You need to oil that thing.”

  Fiona closed the door behind him. She saw her reflection in the hall mirror. A drowned cat probably had a better hairstyle, she thought, but right now she felt too good to care.

  “So I keep telling myself. But by the time I walk into the kitchen where I keep the WD-40, I forget.” She sighed, unrepentant. “There’s just so much to do.”

  He’d been raised in that kind of atmosphere, the kind that dictated that you did a thing when you thought of it or else it would get buried in the shuffle.

  “No time like the present.” He dragged his hand through his hair. Drops scattered all around his head. “Where do you keep the container?”

  “Under the sink.” She began to follow him. “But you don’t have to—”

  He had already retrieved it and was on his way back. “Hey, I like being handy. Soothe my ego and let me play macho.”

  She took the small can from him when he was finished. “You don’t have to play at it. You are.” She set the can aside, feeling oddly serene. Maybe it was the rain. It always made her feel so cozy. “So, what would you like?”

  His mouth curved as he turned to look at her. “Something cold and wet.”

  Her eyes never left his face. “Right now, that description could fit me.”

  Hank took her hand, moving closer. “I know.”

  Though tiny nerve endings finally came to life, Fiona couldn’t have moved unless the whole foundation of the house had begun to slide. “You don’t want to eat, do you?”

  Very slowly, he moved his head from side to side, his eyes caressing her face. “Not particularly.”

  Could he hear her heart hammering? Or were those her knees making that noise? “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  He whispered it so softly, she was afraid she was going to cry. And that he would misunderstand her tears. “You’re going to be disappointed.”

  “Shh.” He placed his finger to her lips. He wanted no protests, no disclaimers. He only wanted her. “Let me be the judge of that.”