in the book had a lot in common with that guy you were living with, back in Virginia,” he said.
She glided past, in a drift of orange blossom perfume. “How would you know? You never met my ex.”
Nor would he have wanted to. “Paige framed those pictures of you and Baywatch Bart. She’s got them in the living room at her house. I couldn’t help but notice them.”
She turned slowly. “You sound…jealous.”
Was he? “More like surprised,” he corrected, in the lazy tone he used to push people away when they got too close. He met her probing gaze. “I never thought you’d go for the suntanned, superbuff, got-to-live-free dudes who have nothing more to do than spend their trust funds.”
Taylor’s eyes took on a turbulent sheen. “Bart didn’t have any family money. He was disinherited when he dropped out of law school. A lot of his friends, including his fiancée, wanted nothing further to do with him, too.”
“Not unlike the hero in your novel,” Jeremy noted.
“And me.” She paused to examine the bronze statue one of his patients had brought him as a thank you. “My parents and two brothers pretty much stopped talking to me.”
His heart went out to her. Being at odds with family sucked. “How is it now?” he asked her gently, dropping into doctor mode without meaning to.
She relaxed slightly. “Better, since my dad’s heart attack last year. His illness really brought the family together. And it helped that I had a movie deal they could brag about to all their friends.”
“So why don’t you seem happier?” He went back to sitting on the edge of his desk. “Is it because you and Bart split up, and you’re still pining after him?”
She moved behind his desk and dropped into the leather chair. She swiveled back and forth, testing the chair’s ease. “Like the heroine in my novel, I don’t need a man to make me happy.”
“Does that mean you don’t want one ever again?”
“No.” She ran her finger along the edge of his desk. “It just means finding Mr. Right isn’t all that high on my priority list.”
When did her lips get so soft and so feminine? With effort, he returned his gaze to hers. “Then how come you stayed with Bart for so long?”
She challenged him with a knowing smirk. “Since you think my novel is really a roman à clef of my life with Bart, why don’t you just read the rest of it and find out?”
“Because,” he mocked her, “obviously, from the way you just said that, the book isn’t about Bart.”
She leaned forward, propping her elbow on his desk and resting her chin on her hand. “Bravo! You finally got it.”
“Although…” He leaned closer, too. “Aren’t all writers supposed to write what they know?”
She muttered a slew of words that indicated she hadn’t just dated a sailor, she had learned to talk like one, too. “For the last time,” she stood, slapping her palms on the surface of his desk, “The Guy Who Sailed Away and the Girl Who Found Herself is a work of fiction.” She leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “F-I-C-T-I-O-N!”
Damn, but she looked pretty with all that agitated color brightening up her face, he noted. With effort, he remained where he was and resisted the temptation to touch her. Casually, he asked, “Why are you getting so defensive?”
Still glowering, she refused to answer.
Okay, maybe he should have read more of the book than the first chapter.
It wasn’t that it hadn’t been good. Her writing style was riveting—maybe because it sounded so much like the way Taylor spoke and acted herself. He had stopped because he didn’t like the idea of Taylor with another guy, even in her imagination, which was just plain weird since he and Taylor had never dated. Yet here he was, reacting to her like he was romantically interested in her.
“Can we please just get on with this auction stuff?” Taylor said impatiently. “Paige said there is some paperwork I have to fill out if I want to participate.”
Jeremy reached past her and opened his desk drawer. He retrieved the file that was on top and took out a handout for participants.
Their fingers brushed as she took it from him.
Ignoring the jolt of attraction, he said, “Just fill these out. It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
She nodded. “What kind of things are you looking for people to donate?”
“Whatever you think you can spare that will bring the most money. For instance, Dani Chamberlain is auctioning two tickets to a special screening of the biggest blockbuster movie of the summer, that generally only film critics and reviewers like herself get to attend. Beau Chamberlain is auctioning ten one-day visits to the soundstage of the movie he has in production. That will happen when he finishes all his location work up in Montana and returns to Laramie, in late July. His donation should bring in a boatload of money. My aunt Jenna is auctioning off one of her couture bridal gowns.” Jeremy paused. “Do you have any memorabilia from your upcoming movie that you’d be willing to part with? Those items usually go for pretty big bucks.”
“I didn’t take anything from the set, when we finished filming.”
“Not even a chair with your name on it or a copy of the script?”
Her eyes clouded over. “I didn’t get a director’s chair.”
“What about an extra copy of the script?” he pressed.
“No.” Her shoulders took on a defeated slump. “It would have been such a mess anyway…”
“Why?”
Taylor exhaled. “There were a lot of rewrites.”
“That’s pretty normal, isn’t it?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Not to the extent it happened on Sail Away.”
Judging from her expression, her time in Hollywood had not been pleasant. “Why so many?”
She stood and retrieved her purse. “Zak and Zoe were in competition for screen time, number of lines, likeability of their character, you name it. Neither was happy unless he or she felt they held the advantage.”
Was that what she was running from? Or was there something more? “That must have been hard to be around.”
Her expression became inscrutable once again. She looped her shoulder bag over her arm and waved off his concern. “It’s over now.”
Was it? Something about the way she was acting said it wasn’t. “So I guess there’s no chance you could get Zoe and Zak to participate in the auction?”
Her expression went from sober to droll in no time flat. “Honestly, Jeremy, I wouldn’t even ask.”
TAYLOR LEFT Jeremy’s
