there was no mistaking that this was the question on everyone’s mind. Including J.R.’s.
Her gaze cast down, Thalia wiped her mouth with her napkin. For a second, J.R. almost felt sorry for her. So far, she hadn’t done a single thing he’d expected of her, and he got the sense that she knew exactly how far she’d overreached.
Then she squared her shoulders. “I’m working on a movie tentatively titled Blood for Roses. It’s slated to be released next December.”
Just in time to be considered for Levinson’s required slew of Oscars, no doubt. “What’s it about?” Hoss was now leaning forward, eyes on Thalia as if every word that fell from her mouth was a ruby.
“It’s a Western set in Kansas after the Civil War. A family of freed slaves tries to start a new life, but some of the locals aren’t too keen on the idea.” She cleared her throat. This was the pitch, no doubt, but she came off as hesitant to make it. Like she knew that J.R. was going to throw her out, and she didn’t want to go yet. “Eastwood is attached to direct, Freeman has signed on and we’re in talks with Denzel.”
It was an impressive roster. No doubt Levinson was hoping to break nomination records.
“Oh, I love Denzel, especially when he’s playing the bad guy.” Thalia had Minnie already, that much was clear. “Have you met him? Is he as sexy in real life as he is in the movies?”
“It’s not quite the same,” Thalia admitted, “although he is quite good-looking.” She shrugged. “When you’re around famous people long enough, you stop worrying so much about who’s the most famous or who’s the hottest. Sooner or later, it has to come down to whether or not they’re someone you can work with.” This blanket statement that could only be described as reasonable hung out there before she added, “Having said that, Denzel is someone that almost everyone enjoys working with, and his wife is lovely.”
Then she looked at him. Not the kind of look that asked if he’d bought what she was selling, but the kind of look that seemed to be asking for understanding.
What the hell was this?
“So what part did you have in mind for him?” Hoss jerked his chin toward J.R. with all the subtlety of a dead skunk in the middle of the road.
She favored J.R. with another look that was lost in the no-man’s-land of apologetic and sympathetic. It made her look vulnerable, honest even—which was completely disarming. He didn’t like that look or how it plucked at those strings inside him, not one bit. “I thought James Robert Bradley would be perfect for the role of Sean Bridger, the grizzled Confederate Civil War vet who unexpectedly finds himself helping defend the freedmen’s land.” Her face was almost unreadable, but he could see the pulse at the base of her neck pounding. “I wanted to see if you’d be interested in the part, J.R.”
Getting him signed on was her idea, not Levinson’s? Wait. There was something more to what she’d said. He scrambled to replay it while keeping his own face blank. She’d thought James Robert was perfect—but she’d asked him, J.R., if he was interested. Her gaze held tight to his, and he felt that flow of energy between them again. She’d been right to avoid looking at him before—he could get all kinds of lost in her ice-blue eyes. Because now she was not just looking at him, but into him, through all the walls he’d thrown up between James Robert Bradley and J.R. That’s why she wasn’t doing the full-court press. She understood the difference between his two lives. Understood it, and possibly even respected it.
She was more dangerous than he’d thought possible.
Eastwood to direct. Freeman and Washington to star. The who’s who of people who could pull off a Western—and she’d thought of him. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered, but that didn’t change things. “I’m not interested.”
Not in the part, anyway. He managed to break eye contact, which snapped the tension between them.
“Any Indians in this movie?” For once, J.R. didn’t want Hoss to shut up. It’d be better for everyone if Hoss did all the talking.
She was silent for two beats too long. He shouldn’t care that he’d disappointed her, so he ignored the inconvenient emotion.
“Sadly, no. I believe they were all pushed off the land before our story begins. If something opens up, I’ll be sure to keep you in mind.”
Conversation seemed to die after that, as if no one knew what was supposed to be said next. J.R. wanted her to leave and take this discomfort with her. He didn’t want her to look at him—through him—anymore. He didn’t want to think about her pretty eyes or long legs, and he sure as hell didn’t want her to give him another just-woke-up, so-glad-to-see-you look of longing. And if she wouldn’t leave, he had a good mind to bail.
But he’d promised Minnie to be polite. So he focused on eating the food that was tasteless. After a few moments, Minnie asked another question about some actor, and Thalia responded with what felt like a little too much forced enthusiasm.
“Now, I’ve got a chocolate cake or there’s blondies,” Minnie said, which meant J.R. was almost free.
“Oh, thank you so much, but I need to get on the road.” Thalia glanced at him and added, “This has been wonderful, and you’ve been more than kind, but I couldn’t possibly take up any more of your time.”
“At least take some of the blondies. I insist.” Minnie was up and moving. She never let anyone leave without an extra meal.
“I’ll get the dishes.” Hoss started clearing the table, which wasn’t like him at all.
Before J.R. could process Hoss’s sudden reversal of his no-housework policy, he found himself sitting alone with Thalia. It’s not that he was afraid to look at her, afraid to feel the way her presence pulled on parts of him he pretended he’d forgotten existed. Wasn’t that at all. He didn’t want to give her another chance to make her case. He didn’t want to tell her no again. He’d already done it twice. Once should have been enough.
Nice. Polite. He could feel Minnie’s eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. What the hell? He’d never see her again anyway. “What are you going to tell Levinson?”
“I’m not sure.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her eyebrows knot together. She looked worried. For some reason, that bothered him.
“You seem like …” Aw, hell. Was he about to pay her a compliment? “You seem like a nice person. What are you doing working for him?”
Her gaze locked on to his, and that connection he didn’t want to feel was right there, pulling on him more and more. “I’ve found that life often takes you places you’d never thought you’d go.”
She was doing it again, looking right into him. So what if what she said made all kinds of sense? So what if she came off as decent? So what if she was completely at ease with Minnie and Hoss?
She didn’t belong here. She might well go back and tell Levinson all sorts of fabricated crap. He might find himself on the cover of next week’s Star, and he might find more people freezing to death on his property, trying to snap a picture of the elusive James Robert Bradley.
“Here we are.” Saved by dessert, J.R. thought as Minnie bustled up to the table. “Now don’t try to get to Billings tonight. Here’s directions
