and tanned skin. She glanced up. For a second his eyes held hers and something passed between them that Portia didn’t want to acknowledge. Drawing a deep breath, she turned away from him. “It’s this way.”
“I’m following you,” he said.
They started back down the hall and Portia scrambled to dispel the awareness that lingered between them, to get things back on the friendly, light footing she maintained with all her co-workers. He was just another cast member and the good-looking guys never tired of hearing how… well, how good they looked. “You’re looking great. Obviously the adoration of thousands agrees with you.” She offered a smile.
O’Malley shook his head and looked embarrassed. Not the faux embarrassment so many handsome men adopted, but genuinely loosen-his-collar embarrassed. “The whole thing is crazy.” They turned a corner. “A woman chased me onto an elevator this week to give me her underwear… with her name and number pinned in the crotch.”
It was both funny and slightly erotic. Portia couldn’t choke back her laughter. O’Malley shot her a censoring look. “I hope she wasn’t wearing them at the time and I hope they were nice.”
He shook his head again, a glimmer of a smile in his startlingly blue eyes. “She had them in her hand. Purple thong. She offered to have my baby.”
He wasn’t boasting. It was more as if he were still reeling from the weirdness of it. It just confirmed Portia’s earlier assertion that some women had lost it over this guy.
“Well, the burning question is, did you call her?” Portia couldn’t resist teasing him.
“No. I didn’t call her,” he said, indignantly. Then he looked rather sheepish. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I did, but I’m glad you confirmed it for me,” she said, stopping at the room door marked on the site map as hers. Go figure, the mansion was so huge, they’d armed the production crew with maps. And all of a sudden, she realized she’d been as relaxed, but still aware of O’Malley as a man instead of just a cast member, as she’d ever been. Which effectively dispelled any lingering camaraderie.
“Well, this is it.” She opened the door and turned for her suitcase, “I’ve got it. Thanks so much.”
O’Malley acted as if he hadn’t heard her and brought her luggage into the room. He glanced around at the single dresser and unframed mirror, the ladderback chair, uncarpeted concrete floor, his gaze finally settling on the narrow bed that was little more than a cot. “This is… minimalist.”
It was positively Spartan.
“You and the pri—” she caught herself in the nick of time, she had to stop thinking of the contestants as princesses “—contestants are housed in guest rooms. The crew, except for Lauchmann and Daniels—” the producer and director “—well, the rest of us get the slave quarters.”
Like a change in the wind, the atmosphere between them shifted. O’Malley flicked his eyes over her and heat seared her. “It’s hard to imagine you as anyone’s slave,” the husky note in his voice fired her imagination.
“I don’t take orders well. Do you?”
“It depends on what’s being asked of me,” he said. His glance slid over her. “And who’s doing the asking. Speaking of… How does our relationship work?”
“Our relationship?”
“During the filming.”
Of course. “Well, I need you to cooperate. If I ask you to be somewhere or do something, if you could accommodate that? On the other hand, it’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied—” that didn’t sound right “—that your needs are met—” oy, that sounded even worse, next he’d think she’d be offering her underwear with a phone number “—if you need anything, please let me know.”
“Anything?” He quirked a dark eyebrow and her heart knocked hard against her ribs.
“Within reason.” She squashed his suggestive note.
“I’ll try to keep my requests… reasonable.”
“I appreciate that. And I don’t think you’ll find me too demanding.” What was wrong with her? Why did demanding seem fraught with sexual innuendo?
“I’m more than willing to accommodate any of your demands. Just let me know.” Rourke hefted her suitcase to the bed which didn’t give an inch. “This bed is like a brick. Do you like it hard?”
It’d been so long she couldn’t remember…and that was so not what he meant. He’d awakened some sexual energy she’d thought was long gone. But obviously she wasn’t immune to drop-dead gorgeous O’Malley standing by her bed asking her if she liked it hard. The thought alone made her shiver inside. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“This hardly seems fair compared to our rooms.”
“Oh, come on. Could you imagine Tara Mitchells in here?” Tara’s father was an oil mogul. Or was he the real estate mogul? All the fathers were moguls, it merely varied by industry. “Or maybe one of the gaffers bunking down next to her?”
“Okay. You’ve got a point.”
“Plus, we’ve got security in place that rivals Fort Knox. If some looney or terrorist group decided they wanted some ready cash, they could pick up twelve hostages, whose families’ combined wealth is more than that of some small nations, in one fell swoop.”
Rourke nodded. “I’d thought about that too. The studio’s taking some pretty big chances on Pick a Date with the Rich and Beautiful.”
Portia’s surprise must’ve shown through.
“What?” Rourke asked.
“You’re one of them.”
Rourke laughed. “Not by a long shot. I’m not rich. I do okay, but I’ll never be in the same league as any of their wealth—”
“Unless you marry one of them.”
“Nobody said a word about marriage and I read the fine print on my contract. But even if I went there, it’s still not my wealth is it? And as for being beautiful, the panties and all of that, it’s just media hype. I know what I look like.”
“And so do the women of the world. You’re an incredibly handsome man, O’Malley, but then I have a hard time believing you don’t already know that.” She said it dispassionately, impersonally, as if she were observing the weather. In Hollywood, good looks were a commodity.
He shook his head. “My brother got the looks in the family.”
There was another O’Malley that looked better than him? “God help the women of the world.” And she mentally made a note to pass the info along to PR.
Her cell phone rang and her mother’s number flashed on caller ID. “Excuse me. I need to take this call.” She turned her back to him, dismissing him and the sexual energy he exuded. She flipped the phone open. “Hello.”
“Hi, Mom,” Danny said.
“Hey,
