know it’s short notice and I’d hate to cut into your weekend,” he rushed to add. “So, if you’re busy, I understand. Just a thought…that maybe we could get a jump on Monday, but…”
Jewel’s mind flipped to the weekend. For the first time in months, she had no public appearances, charity events, social engagements or a date with one of the devoted bachelors she partied with when she felt like hitting the club scene or going out for a quiet dinner. In fact, she’d been looking forward to a few days at home alone to catch up on fan mail or simply lounge by the pool before launching back into work on Monday. But did she really want Taye Elliott to know that?
“Saturday’s not so good,” she decided. “Really busy all morning and most of the afternoon.” She swept her tongue over her teeth, appearing to be perplexed. “And I never work on Sundays if I can avoid it. That’s my day…totally mine to relax, do nothing I don’t feel like doing.”
“I heard that,” Taye agreed with a knowing smile. “We all need downtime. But what about later on Saturday? Maybe the three of us could talk over dinner?”
Startled by his persistence, Jewel inched one shoulder higher than the other in a subtle stall, thinking that one through.
Fred shot Jewel an impatient glance, which she interpreted as It might be a good idea, Jewel, while she was telling herself, Don’t push too hard, Mr. New-to-P & P-Director. I don’t like to be crowded.
Their shrimp salads arrived, temporarily letting her off the hook as they settled in to eat. During lunch, they discussed the shooting schedule leading into May sweeps and the kind of focus Fred wanted on the upcoming episodes.
An hour later, over dessert of pecan praline cheesecake, Jewel finally answered Taye. “Tell you what,” she started. “Maybe I can squeeze in an hour or two tomorrow. Early evening. Can I call you later to set a time?”
“That’d be great,” Taye replied with enthusiasm, handing Jewel his card, seeming pleased that his request might be accommodated.
“And I’ll call Sonny. See if he can fit it in,” Jewel offered, praying her costar would be available because meeting alone with Taye Elliott didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Now, tell me how you see Caprice Desmond and Darin Saintclare’s love story unfolding during sweeps,” she asked, making a mental shift in the jumble of unanswered questions cascading through her mind.
Sitting back, Jewel listened with interest to the man whose presence was sending all the wrong signals. Whose eyes were undressing her. Whose cologne was stoking a pleasure point deep inside her core and whose voice was challenging her long-standing, never-to-be-broken rule: no romantic involvement with anyone connected with her career.
Chapter 5
Taye drove away from Bon Ami with both hands tensed on the steering wheel of his truck, as if holding on to it kept Jewel Blaine’s image from slipping away too soon. Damn, she was hot! He could still feel her luminous brown eyes engaged with his, smell the delicate perfume that drifted from her beige-tan cleavage, hear the titillating chime of her voice in his ears. The heat of his reaction filled his gut, simmering there like hot coals banked to hold their warmth. Flushed with a strange sense of anticipation, he was not surprised that just thinking about her initiated the beginnings of an arousal that had no business existing and definitely no place to go.
She was more beautiful in person than she was on TV. Soft sable-brown hair, pulled back into a cascading upsweep of curls that created a sophisticated yet playful appearance. Smoky brown eyes that could flash with intelligence or simmer in sexy seduction. Skin like satiny sweet toffee—candy that he’d love to feel melting in his mouth. A diminutive powerhouse of a woman with gorgeous curves and the electric chemistry that put her slightly out of reach, even though her low-cut blouse had exposed sufficient cleavage to tease him, to dare him to try to shatter that proper-public image she presented to the world.
Taye smiled to himself. Jewel Blaine might not know much about him, but he sure knew a hell of a lot about her. Before their meeting today, he’d scoured the Internet for information about the mega soap star, checked out her Web site and viewed hours of past episodes of P & P. He knew that she came from a small east Texas town where she’d worked as a teenage model in a local department store before coming to Los Angeles to attend UCLA. Her first job after graduation had been as a pool secretary at Metro Artists United, a talent agency where she caught the eye of an agent who put her in a TV commercial and launched her career. She had never been married, had won two Daytime Emmys, a BET Award and an NAACP Image Award. She was devoted to her fans, whom she referred to as her family and in more than one interview she’d stated that a husband and children were most likely not in her future, as they would complicate the career goals she’d set for herself.
But is she happy? Taye wondered as he tried to throw off images of his lips easing down over hers, his hands spanning her tiny waist. Had she felt the sexual magnetism radiating between them every time they’d locked eyes? His heart turned over. Was hers doing the same? A quiver of arousal slid through him, making him shudder with startling need. God, how wonderful it would be to make love to her! But that was an impossible dream.
Jewel Blaine was smart. Professional. Driven. Secure. And certainly not easily swayed. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she would question if he was the right man to direct her show.
But she’ll come around, Taye told himself, sensing that he was just the man to handle a woman like her. It was going to be an incredibly exhilarating and possibly slippery experience, but he could hardly wait to get started.
It wasn’t the single glass of white wine that Jewel had had with lunch that made her miscalculate the distance between her car and the utility van that suddenly stopped in front of her. She stomped on the brakes and held her breath as the mind-fog fueled by thoughts of Taye Elliott broke apart and dissolved.
“Damn!” she cursed as her front bumper connected with the spare tire riding on the back of the van—thankfully, the hunk of rubber cushioned what could have been a major impact. Jewel slumped back in her seat, angry with herself for losing control and allowing this to happen. She was a good driver with a spotless record, and the last thing she needed was a moving violation or an angry driver screaming in her face.
Through her windshield, she saw the driver of the van—a wiry Asian man in a white jumpsuit—hop out and go to the rear of his vehicle. While he inspected the damage, three more men, who looked as if they could have been the driver’s brothers, emerged from the passenger side of the van and joined him. They began chattering away in a language that Jewel did not understand. However, she could certainly tell by the tone of their voices and their hand gestures that they were upset about the accident.
“Oh, hell, I gotta deal with this,” Jewel muttered, flipping open the storage compartment in the dash to retrieve a card with insurance information on it. Grabbing her purse and flinging her car door open, she jumped out and looked around.
Luckily, she had turned off busy Wilshire Boulevard to take Windsor to West Eighth, and was on a side street dotted with small shops, a gas station and a huge abandoned warehouse.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she began, hurrying toward the front of her car, thankful that no one was around who might recognize her and initiate a paparazzi frenzy.
“You hit me, lady!” the driver shouted, pointing to the back of his van. “You hit me hard.”
“I know, I know. It was all my fault. I’ll take care of any damage.” Jewel offered him her insurance information,
