A Holiday Fling (10 page)

"Once was enough." He suppressed the desire to give her a real kiss, since what he wanted was not something that could be done in public. Originally he had intended to fly back to the States the morning after this last performance. Changing his plans had given him three more days of Jenny’s company.

Only three more days.

* * *

Jenny laughed and joked with people who came up to congratulate her, but the show’s triumph was bittersweet. She hated to think this might be the last time she would ever perform in the tithe
barn. They had yet to hear from any of the television networks, and time was rapidly running out. Next Christmas the barn might be hosting a fashionable cocktail party for a wealthy new owner who would hang angular modem paintings on the ancient walls.

The dragon was a popular character; Greg stood beside her, signing autographs for the under-twelve set. She hoped that the post-show party didn’t run too late. She wanted to take Greg home and find out what it was like to bed a dragon.

A familiar figure emerged from the thinning crowd. "This is even better in person than on video, Jenny." It was her BBC friend, Simon Oxnard, and his wife.

"Simon, how lovely to see you," Jenny said, hoping his presence was a good sign. "Cassie, I’m glad you could come, too."

Cassie smiled. "So am I. It was a marvelous performance, Jenny."

"If I’d known you were interested, I would have found tickets for you."

Simon waved off Jenny’s regrets. "No matter. Standing in the back took me back to our student days. We had a splendid time, and now I can tell you in person that we have an offer that might help you out."

She caught her breath, afraid to hope. "You want to broadcast the show?"

"Yes, and if you’ll sign a contract for two more Christmas shows over the next two years, each with a different theme, we can offer you three times the money."

"What kind of themes would interest you?"

"Since this was a medieval-style mummers’ play, perhaps next year you could do Victorian. Something different the year after that."

Her imagination caught fire. Glittering costumes, formal dancing, passionate creativity. "Elizabethan. They did spectacle so well."

"Excellent." Simon grinned. "We also want to broadcast the video sample you showed me next week, as well as the film version next year."

Greg, who had been listening with interest, exclaimed, "You’re kidding! It’s just a seat-of-the-pants video."

"The seat of some very professional pants," Simon replied. "We have a late-night BBC2 slot that isn’t well filled, so I convinced the programming head that your Revels would be a refreshing change."

In other words, even more money. Jenny felt like turning cartwheels. "Wonderful! Let me introduce you to my mother. She’s president of the community center board and in charge of all negotiations. I warn you, though, she drives a hard bargain." She signaled her mother, made the introductions, and then withdrew to circulate through the cast party.

Maybe the barn wouldn’t be condemned to stockbroker hell after all.

Chapter 9

Knowing they might achieve their goal made the cast party riotous, but even so, Greg and Jenny left early. He had plans for the rest of the night.

At the cottage, he climbed from the car, then halted in amazement when he saw that the sky was starting to pulse with sheets and bands of colored light. "Good God, it’s the northern lights, isn’t it? I’ve never seen them before."

"Even though England is so far north, I’ve only seen them a time or two myself." Jenny came to his side. "How splendid. A perfect end for a magical night."

Greg opened his jacket and drew her inside, wrapping his arms around her waist so that she was snuggled cozily against his chest as they watched shimmering greenish rays that rippled like scarlet-edged draperies. "When I was a kid, I used to have dreams like this, where I saw moving pictures on the night sky. I think I was crossing drive-in movies with what I’d read about the aurora."

"So you saw movies in your dreams even when you were a child."

"I’m afraid so. I never dreamed of being a star. Just of filming them." In silence they watched one of nature’s greatest shows. He supposed the aurora borealis was a good metaphor for their affair—lovely and evanescent, gone almost before it was identified.

The night was getting colder, but Greg wasn’t. As the veils of light faded, he kissed the edge of her right ear. She turned toward him and lifted her face. The warmth where their bodies touched was a deeply sensual counterpoint to the winter night.

"You’re just a little bit of a thing," he murmured affectionately. Catching her around the waist, he lifted her onto the rear end of the Jaguar, her long skirt falling over the dark finish in soft folds. He leaned forward to kiss her throat. "Perched here, you look like an advertisement for the good life. Buy a Jaguar and beautiful women will flock to you." Warm breath exhaled softly against her cleavage. "Except that this is the twenty-first century, and the beautiful woman bought her own luxury car."

She laughed, wondering why intimacy brought out the Tarzan/Jane instinct even in strong-minded females like herself. She adored knowing that he was bigger and stronger than she, capable of fighting off saber-toothed tigers while being tender with her. She drew him tightly against her. "You make a wonderfully sexy dragon, Greg. Shall we play Beauty and the Beast?"

Her words were sparks on tinder. Intoxicated by the performance and the exhilaration of success, he took advantage of the night’s privacy to make swift, urgent love to her. Soft fabric, warm, intimate flesh, rapturous response. No wonder women used to wear long skirts in the past, because the sensual possibilities were entrancing.

She responded with feverish intensity, as hungry as he. With Greg, she felt young again, willing to open up and take risks and lose her heart.

"Jenny," he whispered, "Jenny, love..." Words failed, only touch and scent and passion were real. How could he let this intimacy end? They fit together too well, understood and enjoyed each other too much....

Even when they were both panting with sated exhaustion, he didn’t want to let her go. When had he ever known a woman who made him feel so alive, yet so at peace?

She stirred in his arms, murmuring, "I’m never going to think of this car quite the same way again."

"A vehicle fit for dragons." He lifted her from the car, dropping one last weightless kiss on her hair. As they headed indoors, arms around each other, he realized that he couldn’t leave without at least trying to see if they had a future.

As they entered the cottage, Plato looked up from his seat on the sofa, gave a bored yawn, then tucked his nose under his tail again. As she peeled off her long coat, Jenny said, "Tomorrow will be time for cooking and shopping and wrapping presents, but first, ten hours’ sleep. Agreed?"

Before he could reply, the phone began to ring. "I wonder who that could be at this hour? Perhaps Simon is calling to offer still more money." Jenny sank onto the sofa, avoiding Plato with the skill of long practice. "Upper Bassett 7533. Yes, this is Jenny Lyme. Yes? Oh! No, it’s not too late, I just came in, actually."

Greg hung their coats and poured two glasses of merlot. Jenny was still on the phone, her posture vibrant but her end of the conversation unenlightening. "Yes, that’s possible. No need to apologize. You obviously have no time to waste." She accepted her glass of wine with a nod of thanks, but took only a sip. "Yes, of course."

What the devil was going on? Greg sat in a chair at a right angle to Jenny, feeling a prickle of unease. The intimacy that had bound them dissipated now that normal life had intruded. He was no longer sure he had the courage to ask if she would visit him in Argentina. She had mentioned that she was between projects, and he’d been hoping she could come for a long stay. Maybe forever.

"Very well, I’ll call back tomorrow and we’ll finalize the arrangements after you’ve talked to my manager. I look forward to this." Her voice was buoyant but professional, until she put down the phone.

Then she whooped with excitement and catapulted into Greg’s arms. "I can’t believe it! That was Marcus Gordon, the Hollywood producer. You worked with him on
The Centurion
, didn’t you?"

"Yes, he’s a great guy—an old-fashioned moviemaker who cares about quality and good stories." A sinking feeling in his midriff, Greg set her on the sofa beside him. "What did he have to say?"

"He’s about to start shooting a movie that’s a loose remake of
Auntie Mame
, and he lost his leading lady to the Betty Ford Clinic." Jenny was positively bouncing. "Then someone suggested I was available. He says I would have been his first choice—he and his wife are huge fans of
Still Talking
—but the financial people wanted someone better known in America.

"When their first choice crashed, Mr. Gordon showed some clips of my work to the numbers crunchers, and got their agreement to make an offer. Oh, Greg, this is
wonderful
. It’s what I’ve dreamed of—a great movie with a great moviemaker. I’ve always loved Mame, and now I’m going to be an updated version of her!"

So the call Greg had made to Raine Marlowe had borne fruit. But he hadn’t expected anything on this scale. "I’ve read the script. Marcus asked me to be director of photography, but the schedule turned out to conflict with this job in Argentina, which I’d already agreed to. You’ll be fantastic as Mame—funny, madcap, and with a heart of gold. Anything from Marcus is first class, and the lead role is a real star maker."

Jenny’s face fell. "To think we might have been working together! What’s worse, because they’re about ready to start shooting, Marcus wants me to fly to California day after tomorrow, on Christmas Eve."

Greg felt a weird sense of déjà vu—an offer that was too good to pass up had separated them the first time. "So we won’t spend Christmas together after all. Well, that’s show business. When this kind of opportunity shows up, we have to jump."

It was an effort to keep his voice light when he could feel cracks forming in his heart. Down-to- earth Jenny, who put on a show in her hometown to save a local landmark, had seemed almost possible. Now she was heading for the horizon like a shooting star.

"If you want that English Christmas, I know my family would love to have you." Her blue eyes were stricken. "You could stay here. I’ll even let you drive the Jaguar. Or... or you could come to Los Angeles with me, and I’ll roast you a Christmas goose."

He thought wistfully of the holiday they’d planned in that rambling brick house. It would have been fun, with Jenny. "Thanks, but I’d rather go home to Ohio. If I can get a flight on the twenty-fourth, I’ll be able to spend Christmas Eve with my family."

"Of course." She hesitated. "When you return to Los Angeles, might we be able to get together before you leave for Argentina?"

"You’re going to be pretty busy." In his heart, he knew their affair was over. If they ran into each other in Los Angeles, Jenny would be friendly because that was her nature, but they would have nothing in common. Better to bow out now—and never reveal that he had ever had hopes of something more.

* * *

Heathrow the day before Christmas was a madhouse. Jenny and Greg had flights to the U.S. that left within an hour of each other, but on different airlines. She clutched his hand during the limousine ride from the Cotswolds to the airport. He hadn’t seemed to mind, but he didn’t have much to say, either.

Mentally, he’d already moved on. She suspected that he was already beyond Ohio and into Argentina.

Jenny, though, was firmly anchored in the present. She could feel the moments trickling away, one at a time, impossible to catch and hold. A phenomenal opportunity had fallen into her lap, but she was having trouble remembering that when her heart was numbed by their upcoming separation. How had daughters of Britannia maintained a stiff upper lip when their husbands and sweethearts went off to India for years on end?

Inside the terminal, Greg stopped in the middle of the swirling crowd. "Time for us to go our separate ways. I have quite a hike to my gate."

"I know." She stared at him, trying to memorize that familiar, craggy face; not quite believing this was really the end. "I... I’m so glad you came and helped us out. You made all the difference. We should rename the barn the Marino Center."