to arrange. That was how she worked, too. He asked for her feedback and retook every shot she had doubts about.
The physical closeness was wearisome, too. Man-woman electricity hummed and snapped constantly. But these moments of mind-reading teamwork were the worst, shooting ever more powerful jolts of attraction straight through her.
Shaky from the emotional whiplash of the day—loving her work and hating it, fighting her attraction to Brody and being drawn deeper into it—Jillian was relieved they were done for the night. A tension headache raged behind her eyes.
Brody led the way into the crowded lobby of the Xanadu, decorated everywhere with patriotic-hued bunting in honor of the political convention being held there, and Jillian couldn’t wait to get upstairs and fall into bed.
“I see more condom opinions dead ahead,” Brody said, motioning toward the lobby bar, packed with people wearing convention name tags. He turned to her, took in her face and hesitated. “Unless you’re too tired?”
“Of course not.” JJ managed a smile, determined to be a trouper. “Lead the way.” She hefted her camera onto her shoulder and followed Brody to a table of four women who turned out to be just tipsy enough to say yes to interviews.
Brian and Bob set up lights and sound while Eve nabbed releases, and in minutes they were rolling.
“Condoms prevent disease and pregnancy. Period,” a blonde in glasses said. “They’re like brushing your teeth to prevent cavities. A necessary pain in the ass.”
“What’s with the ribs and colors?” added a brunette in a chignon. “You can’t feel those teensy bumps and who cares what color it is?”
“And the flavored ones? Forget it,” added a black woman with cornrows, shaking her head so the beads rattled. “They taste like the rubber dams my dentist uses.”
“Plus, they’re like thirty calories each,” added a rail-thin redhead.
“No!” said the blonde. “Not thirty? Aren’t they sugarless?”
“Don’t get fancy, I say,” declared the redhead. “Just make them with no holes. Functional. And, for God’s sake, men, practice. The fumbling has got to go.”
They wrapped the shoot, which she’d enjoyed despite her headache, and the crew disappeared. She noticed one of the women slipping Brody a business card with what looked like a room number on it. Ah, her cue to escape. She was relieved, since she’d planned to ask Brody for an interview after the shoot, but was entirely too tired to try for it. Now it was impossible.
“I’ll head upstairs,” she said, backing away.
“Me, too,” Brody said, half-rising, as if he were leaving, but the women made disappointed noises and she knew they’d keep him longer.
At the gift shop, Jillian had to wait for the sleepy clerk to find her an aspirin packet she could buy, but finally she was in the elevator, relieved to be away from Brody and her growing attraction to the man.
It was ridiculous, she told herself. The man was probably a sociopath. Certainly his TV character was, treating women like enemies to be conquered, sex objects to be preyed upon. The show’s message was “Screw anything in skirts, then run like hell.” She hated that attitude. Meanwhile, she kept reliving the pleasure of his eyes on hers, his hand at her back, his thigh rubbing against hers in the van. What a girl she was.
On her floor, she took the wrong corridor first, but finally found the arrow to her hall. Just around the bend was blessed peace. She would take the aspirin, stretch out with some dull talk show and drift to dreamless sleep.
Except when she turned the corner, there was Brody again, leaning on her door, watching for her, a big grin on his face. He was such a male animal, strong and relaxed against the door, jeans low on his hips, easy in his skin, confident his body would do whatever he asked of it.
Whatever she asked of it. Her weary body went on full alert and she felt tight and wet in a secret place.
Stop that right now, she commanded, as if she could control her body’s fluids and flows and reflexes.
When she got closer, she saw Brody had four liquor miniatures between his fingers and a DVD case under his arm. “What’s up?” she asked, trying to smile in welcome.
“I thought we’d toast the shoot and check out the footage.”
“How’d you get here so fast?”
“I left when you left.” He nodded at the aspirin bottle. “You have a headache?”
“A bit of one, yes.”
“That my fault? I work you too hard?”
“Of course not. It’s my sinuses. Hotel air is so dry.” She had to lie. No way could she let him know she was exhausted on her first shoot. “I thought you’d be busy. I saw that woman give you her room number.”
“Not brainless enough for me.” He grinned at her, his expression almost fond. She realized this was a perfect chance to get to know the man behind the persona, maybe get that interview. That was her reason for being here, after all.
“I’d love to,” she said, steadying herself against the tingles and heat of her body’s response to the man. “You want to watch that?” She nodded at the DVD under his arm.
“Nah. I’ve got to drop this off with a guy on your floor. It’s a favor for Kirk. When he calls I’ll take it over.”
She waved him into her room, which had been neatened by the maid, scanning for anything she didn’t want him to see. The bathroom mirror reflected her black bra on a hook from when she’d hand-washed it. Whoops. She hurried to snatch it down.
“Black lace…nice,” he said.
“Not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m interested. Curious. Aren’t you a curious person? Being a documentary filmmaker and all? Don’t you have to be nosy?”
“Yes, actually, I am a curious person.” All her life she’d asked questions of everyone about everything. Her parents, especially her father, used to complain about her nonstop demands for answers. Which made sense, since he had all those affairs to hide. The last thing he wanted to do was say where he’d been and what he’d been doing.
“What is it?” Brody asked, leaning toward her.
“Just thinking,” she said, wishing he weren’t so observant.
“You’re always analyzing. Figuring the angles, working things through in your mind.”
“No more than most people, I don’t think.”
He just looked at her, telling her that she wasn’t like most people and that he liked that about her. She felt warm all over, almost girlish. Ridiculous.
He studied her—hair, face, body—lingering over each feature as if she were a shiny toy he wanted to take apart and put together. Then he smiled, pleased with what he’d discovered.
“So, what will you have, miss?”
