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Her moan was loud in the quiet of the room
Trish couldn’t help herself. She was feeling totally free, wanton for the first time. And with Ty of all people—gorgeous, smart, sensitive, built. Totally built.
She let out a shuddering breath. His hands paused at her bare waist and their eyes locked. The moment was intoxicating. Like a drug, she didn’t want it to end and thought she’d never get enough.
“I don’t think this is smart,” Trish managed.
His eyes were very green up close. His rough hands started to move again, stroking, touching one breast, then the other. “We’re long past smart.”
“I shouldn’t be doing this.” Her words were barely audible.
“You want it anyway,” he whispered back.
And his mouth claimed hers in a deep, deep kiss.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to book two of SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB. To tell Trish’s story, I interviewed screenwriters and producers to find out what life in the movie industry is really like. I never dreamed that the filmmaking process would strike so close to home. I would never have guessed that while I was in the middle of spinning the tale of Trish’s screenwriting success, I’d find out that one of my own books had been made into a film by the Oxygen Network. My Sexiest Mistake, my debut book for the Harlequin Blaze line, was only the first. Word is, more of your favorite Blaze novels will follow, so keep your eyes peeled.
Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy Trish’s story. Trish leads a quiet life—at least until her book starts—but what happens to her proves that there’s a little bit of Blaze out there in all of us. Write me at [email protected] and tell me what you think. Or visit my Web site at www.kristinhardy.com for contests, recipes and updates on my recent and upcoming releases, including the next SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB story, Nothing but the Best, coming in December 2004.
Have fun,
Kristin Hardy
Cutting Loose
Kristin Hardy
MILLS & BOON
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To the members of the Wednesday Night Dinner Club who gave me the idea, and to Stephen, who kept me inspired.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Prologue
Los Angeles, 1995
“COME ON, everyone, sit down, please.” Trish Dawson glanced around the room at the managers for the university’s spring play. Why the producer had asked Trish to run the meeting in her absence, Trish had no idea. Maybe she had a head for details, but she was much happier acting as script doctor than ringmaster. Thanks very much.
Trish took a deep breath. “Anita’s sick so she’s asked me to get things going. Now, we’ve got two weeks until opening night. We just need to do a status check before we start rehearsal. Martin, you first,” she ordered, trying to avoid looking at the director with his razor-sharp cheekbones and spill of dark hair. He was too good-looking to trust, in Trish’s book. She might have learned that lesson about men the hard way, but she’d learned it well.
“We’re in pretty good shape,” Martin allowed, flashing his careless smile. “Right now we’re still running about ten minutes long. Where are you at on the cuts, Trish?”
“You’ll have the revisions by noon tomorrow,” she answered, mentally cursing the flush she could feel moving over her face.
“In that case, I’d like to plan for a dress rehearsal in a week,” Martin said. “How are we doing with the battle scene?” he asked the dark-haired choreographer, Thea Masterson.
“Same as we were when you asked me an hour ago.” Humor glinted in Thea’s hazel eyes. “I’ve been running the cast through the sequences and they’re coming along nicely.”
“How about costumes?” Trish turned to her best friend, Cilla Danforth, wardrobe mistress. “Are we on target for dress rehearsal?”
“The outfits for the leads should be done,” Cilla said, rolling up the cuff of her Marc Jacobs couture grunge shirt. “A couple of the bit players might have to play it in street clothes, but their costumes aren’t that important.”
“Historically accurate?” Martin asked.
Cilla stared at him blandly. “You worry about the actors, Martin, sugar. I’ll worry about the clothes.”
Cilla never took anything from anybody, Trish thought admiringly, wishing she could be the same way. “How about sets?” she asked, turning to the design manager, Paige Wheeler.
Paige consulted her tidy stack of notes. “Everything’s ready,” she supplied. “Touch-ups on the interior set
