Not at Eight, Darling

by Sherryl Woods

  In fact, she thought with a soft chuckle, they should only know how little power she wielded over Michael. If they’d heard their arguments over Goodbye, Again or seen the changes in the script, they’d realize just how carefully Michael avoided any suggestion of impropriety. When it came to making decisions about the show, she could have been his archenemy for all the preferential treatment she received.

  The rest of the evening was a blur of dazzling entertainment, sharp-witted conversation and tantalizing hints of passion. Michael never missed an opportunity to squeeze her hand or run his fingers down her spine. Even when he seemed totally absorbed in a provocative discussion with a business associate, his possessive touch burned her flesh, reminding her that he was thoroughly aware of her. Barrie couldn’t have ignored such blatant signals had she wanted to. She knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that Michael Compton wanted her, desired her with a self-confident certainty that took her breath away.

  But did he need her? She doubted it, doubted that he needed any particular woman as a lifelong companion and love. Surely he was the type of man who thrilled only to the chase, and admittedly, at the moment she was leading him on a merry one. Once the intrigue of that chase had ended, would he vanish, leaving her to nurse her pain as her father had so often left her mother?

  Of course he would. Even now, though he drew her into the conversation, sought her opinions and listened respectfully, chuckled at her wit, she alone knew how easily he could turn on her, cut her down to size. When push came to shove, she felt her opinions didn’t matter one whit to him.

  They were both too strong-minded, too stubborn for this to work. Perhaps if their professional lives weren’t intertwined, they would have been ideally suited. She could envision the challenge of late-night conversations during which they would hone their intelligence, spar over everything from the Star Wars arms race to the social satire of Doonesbury. She could imagine the passionate lovemaking that would be sparked by such lively debates, such diversity of opinion.

  But that was the fantasy. The reality was something entirely different. The reality was Michael arguing with her over the actions of her characters, changing and distorting her dreams. The devastating possibility was that Michael would end up snatching her career just when it was within her grasp. She would hate him for that, even though she might understand it rationally. And it would destroy them.

  She sighed as his fingers massaged the sensitive spot at the base of her spine. Her troubled eyes met his questioning gaze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she denied.

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “Beats me,” she retorted bravely. “I’m having a terrific time.”

  “But?”

  She grimaced at his perceptiveness and his persistence. “But I think I’d better get home. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

  He grinned at her. “Do I sense a thank goodness at the end of that sentence?”

  She gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Well…”

  “It’s okay. Sooner or later, you’re going to stop running, Barrie MacDonald. And when you do, I’m going to be right there.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Nope,” he said softly. “A promise.”

  Chapter Eight

  As soon as the closing shot of the first episode of Goodbye, Again had been taped, and the audience’s enthusiastic applause was nothing more than a fading echo in the studio, Barrie heaved a sigh of relief and slipped out of the control booth. It had gone reasonably well, far better tonight than during the previous night’s dress rehearsal. The audience had been responsive, the laughs had come in all the right places, and Melinda had been absolutely superb as Karen Devereaux. Even if the show failed, she would emerge with a solid reputation as a talented comedic actress, a true television star. Barrie was sure of it.

  “You were all magnificent,” she praised as the weary troupe virtually collapsed in the vacated studio. “I think a party is in order. When we go on the air next week, I want you all to come to my place for a celebration bash. You deserve it. I think we’re going to have a hit.”

  “Do you really believe that we can make it even in this time slot?” Danielle asked quietly with a look of pure wide-eyed innocence.

  Barrie’s brows shot up in horrified disbelief. She wasn’t particularly shocked by her friend’s question, only by the fact that she had voiced it tactlessly in front of the others on what should have been their big night to celebrate. Now, instead of excitement, their faces suddenly registered uncertainty. It was one of the few times she had ever known Danielle to display such lousy timing. Barrie tried quickly to undo the apparently unwitting damage.

  “I believe this show is intelligent, witty and unique,” she said with heartfelt conviction, staring pointedly at Danielle as though daring her to disagree. “I’m convinced the critics and the audience will find it.”

  Her comment effectively silenced Danielle, but not Heath. “Assuming they aren’t all out at the movies,” he muttered bitterly, echoing Danielle’s concern and reinforcing the depressing atmosphere.

  “Don’t think that way,” Barrie chided him. “We are not going into this with a defeatist attitude. If we don’t believe in ourselves, we’ll never convince anyone else. Remember, All in the Family and Hill Street Blues weren’t hits when they first went on the air, either. They took time to build an audience, and they did it by word of mouth and critical acclaim. We can do the same thing.”

  “Sure. But like you said yourself, first they have to find us,” he retorted, oblivious to the increasingly dismayed stares of the exhausted and increasing appalled cast. But when Barrie glared at him, he finally caught on to the effect his words were having, especially on the younger members of the cast and crew who hadn’t been around long enough to become used to the mercurial nature of working in television.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll shut up,” he grumbled.

  “Thank you,” she replied with exaggerated sweetness. “Now stop worrying and get out of here, guys. We have a new show to work on beginning Monday.”

  Depressed by her admittedly ineffective attempt at a pep talk, Barrie started slowly back to her office.

  “You’re furious with me, aren’t you?” Danielle said, walking along with her.

  “No,” she said tiredly. “Not really. I was surprised, but I’m sure you only said what everyone else was thinking. I suppose it was better to get it out in the open.”

  “I thought so,” Danielle said. “They needed to hear that you still believe in them and in the show.”

  Barrie looked at her in astonishment. “You set me up, didn’t you?”

  Danielle grinned. “Something like that. I just wanted to be sure they got the message that no matter what happens in the ratings they’ve done their best, and the show really is great. I figured you’re the only one they’d believe.”

  “I guess I ought to thank you.”

  “That would be nice, but I’ll settle for your company at dinner.”

  Barrie shook her head. “Not tonight, Dani. I want to look over next week’s script one last time.”

  “You sure you’re not holding out for a better offer?” Danielle inquired hopefully.

  “No. I just need some time to myself,” she said vaguely. It was a flimsy excuse, but it seemed to satisfy Danielle, who left after giving her a quick hug and some sage advice about what she ought to be doing with the rest of her evening. As usual, it involved Michael and speeding up the snail’s pace at which their relationship was progressing.

  When she was alone, Barrie tried to push Danielle’s very explicit comments from her mind and to focus on the fact that her very first television series was about to go on the air. Her effort failed miserably. While thinking of her series’ debut should have thrilled her, it had become so intertwined with her personal relationship with Michael that she was more confused than excited. She’d been trying all week to blame her odd sense of disorientation on the pressure of finis
hing the show, but she knew it was more than that. Thanks to Michael, she was on an emotional merry-go-round and had no idea how to get off.

  But, instead of having time to think, no sooner had she settled down behind her desk than the phone rang. She knew intuitively that it was Michael.

  “How did it go?” he asked without preamble.

  “Are you asking personally, or do you want an analysis that will soothe a worried network programmer?”

  “Both.”

  “The audience seemed to like it. The pacing was fine. Danielle did a superb job. The cast was terrific.”

  “And you? What do you think?”

  She hesitated, then finally admitted with total honesty. “I’m worried sick.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why. You’ve put us in an impossible time slot.”

  “If the show’s as good as you say it is, the ratings will be there.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “Barrie, if I didn’t have faith in this show, I wouldn’t have put it where I did,” he said sincerely.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course, I mean it. Why would you doubt it?”

  “I thought perhaps you were making it your sacrificial lamb, because you figured it didn’t have a prayer, anyway.”

  “Hey, what’s this?” he said softly, the soothing tone like a balm to her opening night jitters. “What’s happening to that upbeat, confident producer who keeps telling me how terrific her series is?”

  “She’s getting cold feet.”

  “Want to meet me tonight and let me warm them up?” he suggested huskily.

  The invitation held an incredible appeal, an irresistible appeal, in fact, and not just because of Danielle’s earlier nudging. She needed someone tonight, someone who would bolster her flagging spirits, someone who would make her feel warm and secure. She denied that what she really needed was Michael and that only he could make her feel that way. She still wanted desperately to believe that anyone would do.

  “Why not?” she said boldly. She heard Michael gasp in surprise.

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll meet you at your place in an hour, then. I just have a few things to wrap up here.”

  “See you,” she said softly, a flutter of anticipation skittering along her nerves.

  She threw the script into her briefcase, ran to her car and made the drive to Santa Monica in forty-five minutes. She barely had time to straighten up the living room, change the towels in the bathroom and freshen her makeup before Michael was ringing the doorbell impatiently. Fortunately, she had no time to reconsider her decision to let him come over, or she might have panicked. Instead she took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said, struck by an unexpected shyness as she surveyed him from head to toe, taking in the perfectly tailored brown suit, beige shirt and pin-striped tie. Once more, she admired the way he always managed to look as though he’d just modeled for the cover of a magazine even after a fifteen-hour day. Only his thick brown hair was less than perfect. It was windblown, as though he’d driven over with the car windows rolled down to catch the cool breeze. It made him look healthier and more attractive than ever. She, on the other hand, felt limp and exhausted and suspected she looked it, as well. If he still wanted her after seeing her like this, she had a feeling she ought to grab him and hang on for dear life.

  “Hi, yourself,” he said, brushing a gentle, undemanding kiss across her lips and pushing a stunningly wrapped package into her hands. He barely looked at her.

  “What’s this?”

  “A present,” he said vaguely, prowling around the living room as though he’d been sent on a scouting expedition. He studied the titles of the books on her shelves, picked up the pictures she had scattered about, glanced out her windows. He even picked up her stack of unopened mail and thumbed through it. He did all of this without saying another word or even looking at her. Barrie couldn’t decide whether to be amused or irritated.

  “Are you searching for something in particular?” she finally inquired with exaggerated politeness. “Maybe I can help.”

  “What?” Michael asked distractedly, now seemingly absorbed by the cover story of a business magazine.

  “I asked if you were looking for something.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Just hunting up more clues for my personnel file, then?”

  He grinned at her sheepishly. “Nope. I think that’s pretty well up-to-date.”

  Barrie looked at him oddly. “Michael Compton, are you nervous?” she asked incredulously.

  “Me? Of course not,” he retorted indignantly.

  “You are, too. I would never have believed it.”

  “Open your present.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. Why are you so uptight?”

  Michael sighed and kept pacing. “It’s your fault, you know.”

  “What’s my fault?”

  “You keep sending out these conflicting signals, so that I’m never quite sure from one minute to the next where we stand. Tonight on the phone I thought I got a very clear message, but now that I’m here, I’m not so sure. You seem distant again.”

  Barrie put the package down on the sofa and moved closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Would it help if I told you that I haven’t known from one minute to the next where we stand, either?”

  “And tonight?”

  She took a deep breath and gazed unblinkingly into his eyes. Tentative fingers reached up to touch his lips, caress the firm line of his jaw. His eyes darkened with passion at her touch, and a muscle in his neck twitched with the effort of restraint as he waited for her to speak.

  “Tonight I want to be with you,” she said honestly. “I need you. I need your warmth and your sensitivity and…and your loving.”

  “Oh, Barrie,” he said, drawing her into his arms then and just holding her, letting her feel his strength, the power of his desire. Her head nestled into the curve of his neck, and when he whispered huskily of his need for her, the words ruffled her hair and sent tiny shocks tripping along her spine. His body trembled in her arms, and she realized for the first time how deeply she affected him. What’s more, she realized how very much she needed him.

  Her openness about her need, her commitment that whatever else happened tonight would be theirs seemed to remove some of the pressure. There was no urgency, only a deep sense of the rightness of this moment. They moved to the sofa and sat cuddled together and talked of their lives and dreams, of hopes and possibilities, of past adventures and future plans. They talked through the night and at dawn, with the sun streaking the sky with pale golden light, they made love, their passion gentled into something beautiful and tender, something that was totally giving.

  Theirs was no fumbling first-time exploration. It was as though their bodies had been made for each other, as though they knew instinctively exactly how to please, where to touch, what to say, when to hold back. Her small, high breasts fit perfectly into the warm palm of his hand. His fingers sparked an exquisite tension as they played over her inner thighs, then moved slowly upward seeking her moist warmth. Michael’s skin under her touch was supple and responsive, his rock-hard thighs everything she had dreamed of. Her lips explored the intriguing contradictions of his body, the hairy roughness of his chest and legs, the smoothness of his flat stomach. Her tongue tasted the tangy saltiness of his flesh.

  For the first time in her life, Barrie found that she was unafraid of sharing herself completely and without reservation. And in that sharing she discovered a height of ecstasy never reached before. Michael’s whispered words excited her, his touch against the satin of her flesh inflamed her, but more than that, his joyous release sent her own senses spiraling out of control. She gave herself up to an abandoned wantonness that provoked him, teased him and ultimately satisfied him beyond measure. Apart, they were strong and good and fiercely independent. Together, there
seemed to be no limits to what they could feel, where they could soar.

  “I just have one question, Miss MacDonald,” Michael murmured huskily as they lay in each other’s arms with sunlight dappling their flesh with a patchwork of brightness. “Why did we take so long to get here?”

  “Because you’re a gentleman,” she retorted.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Most other men would not have been nearly as patient as you’ve been,” she told him candidly.

  He lifted himself to one elbow and gazed at her incredulously. One hand lay possessively on the curve of her waist, a curve he had explored in erotic detail during their lovemaking and now cupped with a lover’s sure knowledge. “Are you telling me that if I’d thrown you over my shoulder and dragged you to bed, I could have avoided all those damn cold showers I took?”

  She grinned at him impishly and wriggled under his roving fingers. “Probably.”

  Michael moaned.

  “But,” she added soothingly, “I would have hated you in the morning.”

  “Ahh. I see. And this morning?”

  “This morning I am feeling so benevolent toward you that I might even consider fixing you some breakfast before you leave.”

  “Before I leave?” he repeated in amazement. “Woman, are you some kind of a sadist? I’ve been up all night. I need sleep. I don’t need a cup of coffee, some toast and a long drive on the freeway.”

  She patted his shoulder. “You’ll rest much better in your own bed.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll rest much better in my own bed—” she paused, then added firmly “—alone.”

  “Why does that confuse me?”

  Barrie shrugged. “It shouldn’t.”

  “Are we back to playing games?”