he leaned closer, A.J. saw two clear-cut choices. She could struggle away and run for cover, or she could meet him with absolute indifference. Because the second choice seemed the stronger, she went with it. It was her next mistake.
He knew how to tempt a woman. How to coax. When his lips lowered to hers they barely touched, while his hand continued to stroke her neck and hair. A.J.’s grip on the wineglass tightened, but she didn’t move, not forward, not away. His lips skimmed hers again, with just the hint of his tongue. The breath she’d been holding shuddered out.
As her eyes began to close, as her bones began to soften, he moved away from her mouth to trace his lips over her jaw. Neither of them noticed when the wineglass slipped out of her hand to land on the carpet.
He’d been right about how close you had to get to be tempted by her scent. It was strong and dark and private, as though it came through her pores to hover on her skin. As he brought his lips back to hers, he realized it wasn’t something he’d forget. Nor was she.
This time her lips were parted, ready, willing. Still he moved slowly, more for his own sake now. This wasn’t the cool man-crusher he’d expected, but a warm, soft woman who could draw you in with vulnerability alone. He needed time to adjust, time to think. When he backed away he still hadn’t touched her, and had given her only the merest hint of a kiss. They were both shaken.
“Maybe the reaction wasn’t so strange after all, Aurora,” he murmured. “Not for either of us.”
Her body was on fire; it was icy; it was weak. She couldn’t allow her mind to follow suit. Drawing all her reserves of strength, A.J. straightened. “If we’re going to be doing business—”
“And we are.”
She let out a long, patient breath at the interruption. “Then you’d better understand the ground rules. I don’t sleep around, not with clients, not with associates.”
It pleased him. He wasn’t willing to ask himself why. “Narrows the field, doesn’t it?”
“That’s my business,” she shot back. “My personal life is entirely separate from my profession.”
“Hard to do in this town, but admirable. However…” He couldn’t resist reaching up to play with a stray strand of hair at her ear. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me.”
She caught his hand by the wrist to push it away. It both surprised and pleased her to discover his pulse wasn’t any steadier than hers. “Forewarned, you won’t embarrass yourself by doing so and being rejected.”
“Do you think I would?” He brought his hand back up to stroke a finger down her cheek. “Embarrass myself.”
“Stop it.”
He shook his head and studied her face again. Attractive, yes. Not beautiful, hardly glamorous. Too cool, too stubborn. So why was he already imagining her naked and wrapped around him? “What is it between us?”
“Animosity.”
He grinned, abruptly and completely charming her. She could have murdered him for it. “Maybe part, but even that’s too strong for such a short association. A minute ago I was wondering what it would be like to make love with you. Believe it or not, I don’t do that with every woman I meet.”
Her palms were damp again. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
“No. I just figure we’ll deal better together if we understand each other.”
The need to turn and run was desperate. Too desperate. A.J. held her ground. “Understand this. I represent Clarissa DeBasse. I’ll look out for her interests, her welfare. If you try to do anything detrimental to her professionally or personally, I’ll cut you off at the knees. Other than that, we really don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Time will tell.”
For the first time she took a step away from him. A.J. didn’t consider it a retreat as she walked over and put her hand on the light switch. “I have a breakfast meeting in the morning. Let’s get the contracts signed, Brady, so we can both do our jobs.”
3
Preproduction meetings generally left his staff frazzled and out of sorts. David thrived on them. Lists of figures that insisted on being balanced appealed to the practical side of him. Translating those figures into lights, sets and props challenged his creativity. If he hadn’t enjoyed finding ways to merge the two, he never would have chosen to be a producer.
He was a man who had a reputation for knowing his own mind and altering circumstances to suit it. The reputation permeated his professional life and filtered through to the personal. As a producer he was tough and, according to many directors, not always fair. As a man he was generous and, according to many women, not always warm.
David would give a director creative freedom, but only to a point. When the creative freedom tempted the director to veer from David’s overall view of a project, he stopped him dead. He would discuss, listen and at times compromise. An astute director would realize that the compromise hadn’t affected the producer’s wishes in the least.
In a relationship he would give a woman an easy, attentive companion. If a woman preferred roses, there would be roses. If she enjoyed rides in the country, there would be rides in the country. But if she attempted to get beneath the skin, he stopped her dead. He would discuss, listen and at times compromise. An astute woman would realize the compromise hadn’t affected the man in the least.
Directors would call him tough, but would grudgingly admit they would work with him again. Women would call him cool, but would smile when they heard his voice over the phone.
Neither of these things came to him through carefully thought-out strategy, but simply because he was a man who was careful with his private thoughts—and private needs.
By the time the preproduction meetings were over, the location set and the format gelled, David was anxious for results. He’d picked his team individually, down to the last technician. Because he’d developed a personal interest in Clarissa DeBasse, he decided to begin with her. His choice, he was certain, had nothing to do with her agent.
His initial desire to have her interviewed in her own home was cut off quickly by a brief memo from A. J. Fields. Miss DeBasse was entitled to her privacy. Period. Unwilling to be hampered by a technicality, David arranged for the studio to be decorated in precisely the same homey, suburban atmosphere. He’d have her interviewed there by veteran journalist Alex Marshall. David wanted to thread credibility through speculation. A man of Marshall’s reputation could do it for him.
David kept in the background and let his crew take over. He’d had problems with this director before, but both projects they’d collaborated on had won awards. The end product, to David, was the bottom line.
“Put a filter on that light,” the director ordered. “We may have to look like we’re sitting in the furniture department in the mall, but I want atmosphere. Alex, if you’d run through your intro, I’d like to get a fix on the angle.”
“Fine.” Reluctantly Alex tapped out his two-dollar cigar and went to work. David checked his watch. Clarissa was late, but not late enough to cause alarm yet. In another ten minutes he’d have an assistant give her a call. He watched Alex run through the intro
