thing or not. In his experience, wanting something only made failure more painful.
He smiled grimly as he stepped over the threshold. Ready or not, he was already free-falling.
GRACE WIPED her sweaty palms on the sides of her dress, angry with herself for being nervous. Mac Harrison was just a person.
No, he was less than that—he was an actor. A man who traded on his good looks and sex appeal to live in the lap of luxury. All his life, doors had opened for him, women had thrown themselves at his feet and he’d sat back and lapped it all up because he’d been lucky enough to be born with a body and face that the world worshipped.
He was like her sisters. Just as he was the epitome of male good looks, her sisters were stunning, each in her own way a different version of perfection. Felicity, Serena and Hope had also parlayed their looks into careers—Felicity as a weather girl, Serena as an actress and Hope as a model. Growing up as the ugly sister among three beauties had given Grace a front-row appreciation of how the other half lived. She loved her sisters, but she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t resented the number of boyfriends she’d had over the years who’d looked distinctly ripped off when they walked into her family home and saw Felicity, Serena and Hope lounging around. Their expressions said it all: How come I got the dud sister? It was no fun being the booby prize, so she’d opted to fight on her own terms. She dressed differently, lived her life differently, had separate dreams from her sisters. And it had worked for her, it really had. She had a great career. And until Owen had betrayed her, she’d thought she’d found the one man who valued her heart and soul more than he valued long legs, perfect features and shampoo-commercial hair.
Ha.
He’d sure shown her. But in doing so he’d shattered her last illusion. She lived in L.A., possibly the most appearance- obsessed city in the world, and she worked in the television industry. Perhaps that distorted her perception, but she knew that for many, many people, what was outside a person was more important than what was inside them.
Her lust-crush on Mac Harrison was a perfect example. All those times she’d pleasured herself and imagined it was him touching her, licking her, tasting her, had she once thought about what kind of man he was? Had she fantasized that he cared for animals, was nice to old people, that he stopped to give money to the homeless? No. She’d fixated on his amazing eyes and his hot body and how hard and ready he’d be.
She was as bad as everyone else. Absolutely guilty as charged.
And when she had more time to chastise herself for her superficial values and blatant hypocrisy, she’d do it.
But right now, she was concentrating on surviving the next hour or so. Very foolishly, she had eroticized Mac to the point where the mere sound of his voice turned her on. She’d practically made him her fetish—and she was about to step into an intimate meeting with him that would lead to an intimate working relationship for the next few months.
She’d set herself up to be vulnerable. And she didn’t do vulnerable, not any more.
Put simply, she would rather shave her head than let him know in any way, shape or form that she was attracted to him. He had women falling all over him all the time, she knew that. Probably he expected her to do the same. But he was so wrong. She would never, ever let him laugh at her or give him the opportunity to reject her. She’d had enough of that, thank you very much.
She checked her watch. He was late for their first meeting— a brilliant start and typical actor behavior. Brick by brick she built a wall of disdain around herself.
He’d probably had a Pilates session or a pedicure that he simply couldn’t miss, and had neglected to pass on this vital information to Claudia or herself. She pictured him swaggering in a couple of hours late, all shiny teeth and bronzed skin. Claudia would lose it, and that would be the end of Mr. Harrison’s short-lived dalliance with directing.
She basked in the surge of relief this vision inspired, but her hope died a quick death when she heard a hush fall over the outer office, closely followed by the excited murmur of feminine speculation.
Mac Harrison had entered the building. There was no other explanation for it.
She gathered her notes together, shaking her head over the secretarial staff’s behavior. It wasn’t as though they were all greenhorns—they should be beyond gushing over one of their own actors by now. The man played dress-up for a living— it wasn’t as if he was a Nobel Prize winner or anything.
You screaming hypocrite, she chastised herself.
If Mac Harrison was so contemptuous, why was sweat prickling her underarms, and why was she flicking her hair over her shoulder and rubbing a finger over her teeth to ensure none of her crimson-warrior lipstick had transferred itself?
She gave herself a stern talking to as she marched toward the conference room. She had been thinking about this moment ever since Claudia had handed down her sentence last week. A whole seven days of dwelling on this scenario, shooting it from every angle with her mental camera, playing both leads, considering all possibilities.
She was not going to gush or simper or blush or ogle or flirt. She was simply going to walk into that meeting room and greet him coolly and professionally. Not by the flicker of an eyelid was she going to reveal that just a week ago she had imagined him pressed against her, his body buried deep inside hers. Hell no. They were going to discuss the upcoming project intelligently, then they would go their separate ways. All very business-like and orderly. All very dignified.
Then she entered the room and lost the power to think.
Claudia was sitting to one side, a smile on her face as she talked to Mac. But all Grace could register was him: his scent, his presence, his height, his breadth, his charisma. She felt as though someone had just driven over her with a silk and velvet steamroller, then punched her in the stomach for good measure.
Then he actually looked at her and it was like standing under a million-watt klieg light. Her knees literally gave out on her—fortunately she was close enough to grab the back of one of the chairs and she held on with a white-knuckled grip as her body went up in flames.
He was, quite simply, too good-looking to be fully human.
Everything was perfect—the small screen didn’t do him justice. He was taller. His eyes were clearer, bluer. His jaw was stronger, his nose prouder. He was more graceful, as well as more powerful-looking. He was simply…more.
“Mac, you and Grace have met before, right?” Claudia said.
He extended his hand, his smile broadening. “Actually, believe it not, we haven’t,” he said.
Grace stared stupidly at his outstretched hand for a full, agonizing ten seconds. He wanted her to actually touch him? To lay her skin against his and not expire on the spot?
Swallowing, she slowly extended her own hand. There was no choice, right? Claudia was already staring at her as though she was an escapee from planet loopy and the smile on his face had lost most of its spontaneity. Gritting her teeth, she clasped his hand in hers.
Sensation skittered up her nerve endings and danced around her body. His hand was large and warm, strong. His skin was smooth but firm. She stared at his well-tended nails and perfectly shaped fingers, remembering how many times she’d imagined him cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples, sliding her underwear down….
She
