by Alison Kelly
For a moment she stared at him as if she couldn’t recognise him, then swallowed and nodded uncertainly. To Ryan the fact that she hadn’t been baited by his unintentional insult or grasped the opportunity to point out that under the circumstances his question was a dumb one only highlighted exactly how strung out she was. Sighing at his inability to do anything to catch the animal who was doing this to her, he released her and stepped back.
When he let go of her, Kirrily found it required a concentrated effort on her part simply to remain standing. In the insanity of the fire and the knee-jerk trip from Sydney, she’d forgotten all about Ryan. Well, not about him per se—only that last night she’d realised she was in love with him—but when he’d burst through the door, clad only in jeans and looking every bit the concerned, rescuing hero, her heart had gone into melt-down. Her heart and every other organ in her body.
She couldn’t exactly recall when she’d last seen him without a shirt, but she sure as hell knew that whenever it had been he hadn’t looked like this. An encounter with anything this spectacular was something a woman would remember like her own birthday! Hastily she averted her eyes from the muscled bareness of his chest. Oh, God, her life was getting more like a bad movie by the minute! Not only was someone threatening her, but as a subplot she was in love with a guy who wasn’t the least bit interested. She could even visualise the press release: Kirrily—The tale of a woman pursuing a hopeless love and pursued by a faceless terror!
‘What’s so funny?’ Ryan asked, first startled then worried by the sudden mirthless laugh she gave.
‘My life,’ she quipped, dropping artlessly onto the bed. ‘Or at least my existence in this parallel universe.’
A considering expression crossed her face. ‘You think that’s what could’ve happened, Ryan? That I’ve somehow crossed over into a parallel universe? I mean, it makes as much sense as everything else that’s happened.’
‘Nothing about this makes sense to me, K.C., least of all why you kept this business to yourself.’
His determined expression left her no hope of sidestepping an explanation. She sighed.
‘Apart from the fact it was my business, I didn’t tell Mum and Dad because I knew they’d either camp on my doorstep or try and haul me back to Sydney.’ Or send you to do it, she added silently.
‘You shouldn’t have needed hauling back; you should’ve had the brains to leave the minute this all started,’ he argued. ‘Staying down here alone was the most stupid, idiotic thing you’ve ever done.’
‘Well, thank you so much for pointing out that I’ve scored a personal best. But, if you recall, I’ve been in Sydney over a week! We flew back today. Remember?’
‘We flew back because a nut case, who has been harassing you for months, set fire to your house! He also blew up your car! Anyone with half a brain would have headed for Sydney then. Anyone with a functioning brain would have got out after the first couple of hate letters turned up in their mailbox!’
‘Well, then, the entire cast of Hot Heaven must be brainless because everyone got hate letters,’ she informed him. ‘Even the scriptwriters and producers, and none of them left town! Are you going to personally abuse every one of them too?’
‘I don’t care about them!’ He swore violently. ‘Damn it, K.C., they aren’t in danger—you are.’
‘Well, yes, even someone as stupid as I apparently am can recognise that now. But until today not even the police thought the threats were directed to me personally.’
He sent her a look of utter disbelief. ‘Get real, K.C.; your car was blown sky-high!’
Did he really think she was such an imbecile that she’d have stuck around if she’d been convinced that the attack had been deliberately aimed at her? Judging by the way he was glaring at her, he did. Yep, no doubt about it, Ryan Talbot had her at the top of his list entitled ‘People Who Need Lobotomies’! Then again, considering the way she felt about him, knowing of his low opinion of her, who was she to argue?
She dismissed the idea of wasting her breath on refusing to discuss the matter and ordering him from the room. He wouldn’t go and, in all honesty, she needed to talk, preferably to someone who’d listen rather than lecture, but Ryan was all she had.
‘The car was a loaner,’ she started. ‘An advertising promotion by Hot Heaven’s main sponsor. Six of us on the show drove the exact same make, model and colour. It could have belonged to any one of us.’ After muttering something under his breath, Ryan sat down only inches from her bare feet.
‘Start at the beginning,’ he said.
Drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them as a defence against the insane urge to touch his beautifully muscled arm, she expelled a resigned sigh. ‘Over the years Hot Heaven has periodically been targeted by extreme moralists plus the usual assorted nuts,’ she said. ‘Hate mail and threatening calls to the network weren’t exactly new and no big deal. It got worse when my previously lily-white character, Skye, began an affair with her best friend’s blind father, the general trend of complaints being that the show was a corrupting influence and getting really tacky.’
‘Getting tacky?’ Ryan raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘You mean there was a time when it wasn’t?’
‘Listen, Ryan,’ she said heatedly, bouncing onto her knees, ‘no one claimed it was award-winning drama, but it was steady, well-paid work! I liked it and, judging by the ratings, so did the audiences.’
‘Not everyone, apparently.’
‘But that’s what I don’t get!’ She eased back onto her heels. ‘Why would a person keep watching a programme they dislike? I mean, no one’s forcing them to do it. No one compels them to tune in twice a week. There are plenty of other channels they could watch.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I guess there are.’
The searching look he gave her made Kirrily feel as if her blood had caught fire, as if a current of electricity was arcing from his blue eyes and immobilising her.
‘Then again,’ he said, still holding her gaze, ‘there are reasons other than first-class dialogue and plot that attract and hook viewers.’
‘Such…as?’ she managed to ask, pulse hammering.
‘Such as the need to look for something to complain about.’
‘Oh…I thought you meant—’ She stopped dead, knowing she’d come close to making herself look an even bigger idiot. Yeah, right, like he’s going to say you!
‘Thought I meant what?’ he pushed, an irritated edge to his tone.
‘Nothing,’ she said, pulling a lint ball from the knee of her sweatpants. ‘It’s not hard to work out you considered the programme beneath your intellect.’
‘I’d have assumed it was below that of any thinking person.’ He practically grunted with distaste. ‘In my opinion it’s little more than gratuitous sex and sleaze.’
‘Aha! You do watch it!’
The muscles in his jaw tensed. ‘My opinion’s based on the promotions the channel does and what I’ve heard from Jayne. She watches it. Presumably out of some inane sense of loyalty to you.’
‘My mistake,’ she said. ‘Obviously, as your views of the show are based on such extensive long-term study of it, then they must be right. As usual!’
‘Listen,’ he said wearily, ‘let’s not get into an argument about the supposed merits of a show even you didn’t think enough of to re-sign for. I—’
‘The only reason I didn’t re-sign was because I wasn’t offered a contract!’ On seeing his genuine surprise, Kirrily wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
‘You mean they sacked you?’
‘I wasn’t sacked.’ The way she shifted her eyes before adding feebly, ‘They just didn’t want to renegotiate my contract,’ told Ryan that there was more to it.
‘Why?’ he asked, repeating the question when she remained silent and her attention stayed on the worn knees of her pants. ‘Why, K.C.?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged, head bent. ‘They probably just wanted—’
He lifted
her chin, returning her steely glare with one of his own and refusing to speculate on why her stubbornness left him feeling challenged rather than irritated. ‘Why, K.C.?’
She jerked her head free, the mattress bouncing as she jumped off the bed. ‘You always have to know everything, don’t you?’ It was a complaint, not a question. ‘All right, then!’ she continued. ‘It was because certain people at the network said I was difficult to work with and temperamental. Which is a load of—’
‘Sounds credible to me,’ he muttered.
‘Listen, Ryan,’ she fumed, her temper restoring much needed colour to her cheeks, ‘compared to some cast members, Mother Theresa’s got nothing on me.’
‘Not that your role ever called for you to have much on.’
‘Oh, shut up!’
She snatched up a hairbrush and began dragging it through her damp hair in a way that made him wince. After several strokes the anger went out of her and her hands fell dejectedly to her sides. He waited out the ensuing minutes of strained silence by watching her reflection in the mirror and trying to interpret the dozens of emotions that flickered in her face. Eventually, she became aware of his interest. The visual connection caused a hot flaring deep inside him.
‘The real reason I was canned was because I made a bad career decision.’ The mirror reflected her rueful face. ‘I refused to move in with the network manager’s son.’
Kirrily could have predicted Ryan’s raised eyebrow reaction, but the flash of relief in his face was unexpected. It was also short-lived.
‘That guy, Aidan, was the head honcho’s son?’
She nodded. ‘Worse. He was a jerk sober and a bigger one when he wasn’t.’
Her admission earned a knowing smirk. ‘So I recall from your folks’ party, although you were very defensive of him back then.’
‘Why, thank you again, Mr Talbot,’ she said sweetly. ‘How could I ever get along without you to constantly remind me of my mistakes?’
He ignored her sarcasm, determined to get the rest of the story from her as quickly as possible. There was something way too stressful about being in a bedroom with K.C..
‘So tell me,’ he said, moving rapidly from that disturbing train of thought. ‘How long before the police were told about the letters?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Setting the brush aside, she turned to face him. ‘Station security were informed straight away, but the first I knew of the police being involved was when my car got bombed.’
‘Which was when?’
‘Two days after we filmed the condom commercial.’ ‘But weren’t you the only cast member to do that commercial?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then surely the cops could have figured out that—’
‘Ryan,’ she said, her hand automatically touching his arm, her tone reasoning, ‘the ad hadn’t even been edited at that stage, let alone gone to air. No one outside of a few industry people would have known I was in it.’
‘And naturally everyone assumed the nut was an outsider.’ He sent her a chilling look. ‘Which today proves to have been a potentially fatal assumption.’
‘Don’t!’ she said, pulling back. ‘It’s bad enough thinking anyone could want to kill me, much less someone I’ve worked with.’
‘I’m sorry, honey, but it’s a possibility you have to face.’
She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. I won’t, I can’t believe that.’ Yet as she spoke the denial it left a taste of fear in her mouth. Again she shook her head, but the expression on Ryan’s face told her that he wouldn’t be swayed from his opinion. That more than anything terrified her; history showed that when she and Ryan held differing opinions hers was usually the wrong one.
‘Oh, God…’ She twisted her hair in agitation. ‘What am I going to do? This is all getting too, too crazy.’
Finding himself fighting the urge to fold her into his arms and kiss her until her eyes were drowsy with passion instead of alert with fear, Ryan knew it was time to get the hell out of there. Fast.
‘We’ll work something out, kiddo,’ he said, taking the safe option of shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘But since I think better on a full stomach, why don’t you order up some food from Room Service while I shower, huh?’
Thirty minutes later, against a background of soft rock courtesy of the hotel radio and with a bottle of Chardonnay, they were seated at the suite’s dining table and trying to unwind. By mutual agreement the subject of fires and stalkers was being temporarily kept on hold.
Kirrily hadn’t had much enthusiasm for food, until she’d seen it, which was why she’d only ordered one shrimp salad and why she was pinching succulent prawns from Ryan’s plate as quickly as he could peel them.
‘Let me know when you’re bloated, K.C., and I’ll save you the trouble of belching,’ he teased as yet another crustacean was plucked from his fingers and lifted towards her lips.
Her hand paused and she sent him an insulted look. ‘My mother said ladies never belch.’
‘Did she also say ladies never peel their own prawns?’ ‘No, but I’ve always found it’s faster and less messy to have someone else do it.’
‘OK, so you peel some so I find out for myself.’
‘Nope!’ she said, swiping another two from the plate before he had a chance. ‘You’ll just have to trust me on this.’ She grinned, oohing and ahing with delight after she’d eaten one.
‘Obviously you weren’t paying attention to Claire’s etiquette lesson about how it’s bad manners to take the last piece of food.’
‘Oh, quit grumbling,’ Kirrily said, though his complaint had been laced with humour. ‘You’re the one who said I should eat something.’
He laughed. ‘And when have you ever done anything I suggested?’
‘Lots of times. Besides—’ The look of alarm on Ryan’s face as he recoiled in his chair stopped her short. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m waiting for lightning to strike the room.’
‘Ooh! You…’ the punch she aimed for his arm missed ‘…rat!’
‘A hungry rat.’ He greedily eyed the prawn she still held. ‘If you aren’t going to eat that thing, pass it this way; I’d like at least two.’
Watching him with malicious delight, she took a bite and sighed theatrically. A male grunt of disapproval ensued.
‘Oh, here,’ she said, nudging his lower lip with the remaining portion of moist pink meat. ‘Never let it be said that Kirrily Cosgrove kept food from a starving man.’
Ryan lifted his eyes from the prawn being temptingly held to his mouth to the bright, laughing green eyes of the woman on his right. It ranked as one of the biggest mistakes he’d ever made; his heart slammed into his ribs with such violence that it seemed as if every internal organ he possessed vibrated from the force. In the wake of this, a need so strong that it was a physical pain swept through him, until he was conscious only of the hard, aching weight in his groin and the woman responsible for it. Mouth clamped shut, he swallowed hard, beseeching his brain to keep his body under control.
The suddenly rigid posture and expression of the man next to her alerted Kirrily that he’d ceased to be a willing participant in the light-hearted game. Indeed, beneath his fixed gaze, she felt she’d been cast as the aggressor in a battle that Ryan wanted no part of yet was determined to win. A tingle of excitement slid down her spine at the thought of defeating him by forcing his lips to take the fish against his will. Hot on the heels of that came the image of him nibbling her fingers right along with it. The notion left her almost breathless. It also energised her with recklessness.
‘Well, c’mon,’ she urged, continuing to brush the cool meat across his mouth. ‘I can vouch it’s good. Don’t you want to taste the very last bit?’
Though Ryan managed a faade of immunity to her breathy cajoling, he could only take so much; ultimately it was her utterly feminine smile that sent the embryotic passion she’d sparked blazing out of control. She was offering prawns. He hun
gered for her. He grabbed her wrist as pent-up desire gave birth to anger!
‘Stop it, K.C.!’ Her hand, imprisoned in his, was forced to the table. ‘Grow up!’
He stood so abruptly that his chair tipped back, and for an instant Kirrily was stunned speechless. Then her body started to do a slow burn, partly from anger but more from noting the pained expression on Ryan’s face and the obvious bulge in his jeans before he turned away.
Ryan wanted her. Ryan Talbot wanted her as a woman! The thought made her giddy; knowing he hated himself for it made her angry. Watching the rise and fall of his shoulders as he stood with his back to her made her angrier still. Damn him! What was wrong with her?
‘Is telling me to grow up a way of convincing yourself I’m still a child, Ryan, or an attempt to convince me I am?’ The iciness in her tone surprised even Kirrily herself. She didn’t feel cold.
‘Because if it’s the latter you’re wasting your breath. And if it’s the former then…’ She paused, getting to her feet and moving until she stood less than a foot behind him. ‘Well, Ryan, if it’s the former, then the way you feel about prawns requires therapy.’
‘If you know what’s good for you, K.C.,’ he said, his voice and words strained, ‘you’ll shut the hell up and get out of this room, now.’
‘Uh-uh, Ryan,’ she said, dragging a trembling finger across his tense shoulders and down his spine. ‘What’s good for me is you…’
CHAPTER EIGHT
RYANM whirled round and grasped her forearms. ‘What the hell do you want from me, K.C.?’
‘The same thing you want from me.’
She took the small step needed to bring her flush against him and Ryan found himself torn between what his conscience told him to do and the dictates of his body.
‘Of course,’ she whispered, tracing the shell of his ear, then letting her fingers trail along his jaw and down to the thumping pulse in his throat, ‘I might be wrong about what you want.’ One eyebrow arched. ‘Am I?’
