A Holiday Fling (12 page)

A New Year’s Day flight swept Greg from icy Ohio to temperate Los Angeles. Home, sweet home.

Wearily Greg bumped his suitcase up the steps to his apartment. Being enveloped by Clan Marino had soothed his frayed emotions, but now he was ready for peace and quiet. Preparing for Argentina should keep his mind off Jenny, at least some of the time. He hoped.

He wondered what she was doing now. Working on the script? Being introduced to Hollywood movers and shakers as the next hot new actress?

He unlocked his door, walked inside—and stopped dead at the sight of Jenny sprawled across his sofa, reading a book. Elegant long legs in casual black slacks, stunning figure draped in a shimmery blue tunic that matched her eyes, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. He wanted to cross the room and enfold her in his arms and never let her go. Instead, he said stupidly, "How did you get in here?"

Expression uncertain, she set the book aside and swung her feet to the floor. "I still have your key, remember? I thought you might not mind since I’m here to take you out for that Christmas dinner I owe you. Better late than never."

He dropped his bags by the door, almost angry at her presence. He had accepted that their affair was over. By the time he returned from Argentina, he would be able to run into her casually without making a fool of himself. But not now, when the pain of separation was still as raw as an amputated limb. "I suppose one of Marcus’s gofers was able to run down my flight time."

She nodded. "Everyone is so helpful it’s scary."

"They’re grateful to have you. You’re a better actress than the lady in rehab, and infinitely easier to get along with."

"All that, plus clean, straight, and sober. I sound like an alarming paragon." She moved toward him. "Can I have a hello kiss?"

He stepped back, banging into the door. Why did she have to be so damned adorable? "I may be coming down with a cold—I was exposed to several by my nieces and nephews—and you really can’t afford to get sick if you’re about to start shooting."

Her face fell. "I suppose you’re right, but you’re not getting out of dinner that easily. Come on, I’m driving."

He hesitated, torn between common sense and longing. "I’ve got work to do."

"It’s New Year’s Day, and even workaholics need to eat." She threw a flowing paisley shawl over her shoulders and gave him a smile that melted his resolve. "Please come. I need you to remind me which side of the road to drive on."

Surrendering, he followed her out the door. "How is the production going?"

"Very well, in an insane sort of way. I was in wardrobe for fittings about ten minutes after I landed. Everything is so exciting. I feel like a new woman."

He’d liked the old one just fine.

The car turned out to be a Jaguar much like her English car, though a rich shade of burgundy rather than blue. "Nice. You’ve settled in fast."

She shrugged as she started the car. "The studio leased this for me. I think they decided I’d be less likely to get into trouble driving a car like the one I’m used to.

"By the way, your calls to the American television people paid off—we have an offer for broadcasting the Revels here, and yesterday Canada came through, too. We’ve secured the financing we need for the tithe barn. The digital version of the Revels got great reviews even though it ran very late at night. Advance orders for the DVD are pouring in. In short—the Upper Bassett Community Center will soon be in the hands of those who use and love it."

"That’s great!" He felt a surprising sense of satisfaction. Even though he wouldn’t pass that way again, he liked knowing that the dancers and actors and potters—and dragons—would have a place to perform. "So the hard work paid off."

She smiled wickedly. "Yesterday my mother went to the Carthage people with financing in hand, and they had to accept her contract. I wish I’d been there to see it."

"Me, too."

A mile rolled by in companionable silence, until Jenny said unexpectedly, "Time for caroling. Shall we start with ‘Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful’? Everyone knows that."

"I don’t sing."

"Nonsense. If you can talk, you can sing."

"Not according to my junior high music teacher," he said dryly. "She ordered me to shut up and lip-synch at the annual Christmas concert so I wouldn’t ruin everything. I pretty much gave up singing after that."

Jenny spared a quick glance from the road. "That teacher should have been whipped. Changing voices can be awkward, but singing carols isn’t done for others, it’s for oneself. Give it a try now. ‘Oh, come, all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant

Her voice was so lovely that Greg automatically clamped his mouth shut. Then he remembered his thoughts at the tithe barn, how children often sang and adults didn’t. He had liked singing when he was little. Voice tentative, he joined in toward the end of the first verse. Jenny knew all the verses—in English and Latin both.

When they finished, she gave a swift, approving smile. "Your voice is fine. A most pleasing baritone. Your turn to choose a carol."

He’d always had a fondness for the haunting melody of "What Child Is This?" Jenny knew the words to that, too, her knowledge carrying him through lines he couldn’t remember. By the time they finished, his self-consciousness was gone. This was fun.

They were well into the hills and "Angels We Have Heard on High" before he noticed their route. "You found a restaurant up here? You’ve been busy."

"Not a restaurant." She turned in to a winding residential street, powering the car upward through well-kept contemporary houses that perched nonchalantly on the steep slope. The Jaguar crested the hill, then swung between a pair of massive eucalyptus trees that screened a sprawling stucco house from the road.

The driveway ended in a wide garage that buffered the house from the rest of the world. Jenny hit a button on the dash and the right-hand door opened. As she pulled the car into the space, she said, "I’ve always wanted to have a garage with an automatic opener. It’s so unbelievably decadent. At home, I don’t even have a carport."

"You’ve bought a house already?" Greg asked, startled, as they climbed from the car. That was fast even by the standards of Tinseltown.

"No, it’s a short-term rental. Another perk from the studio. They set me up with an estate agent who asked what I wanted, and brought me here the next day after I finished work. As soon as I walked inside, I asked the agent for the lease."

She opened the door into the house and ushered him through a gourmet kitchen and into a spacious living room floored with lustrous oak and magnificent carpets. A tall, handsomely decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner by the fireplace, but what made his breath catch was the opposite wall. Mostly glass, it showcased a spectacular view over Los Angeles. He opened a slider and walked onto the deck. The sun had just set, etching the western horizon with orange and indigo, while the vast city below was beginning to sparkle with scattered lights.

Bracing his hands on the railing, he inhaled the cool January air, enjoying the tang of eucalyptus. The hill fell away steeply here, and he guessed that the bedrooms were on the lower level with an equally spectacular view. In not much more than a week, Jenny had moved into the kind of house he’d always wanted. While he vaguely dreamed, she got things done.

The thought produced an upwelling of sadness. Jenny was a star, twinkling high above, while he was irretrievably earthbound. She had magic, while he was a nuts-and-bolts creature of f-stops and lighting arrays.

"Do you like the house?" Voice shy, she came to stand beside him. "The owner was a bridge designer, of all things, so the house is constructed in a way that he thinks should survive even a major earthquake."

"It’s spectacular, Jenny." Schooling his face, he turned to her. "And it suits you. If you’re going to be spending time here, maybe you should see if the owner will sell."

"Actually, he will. He and his wife have moved back east to be closer to their children." After a long pause, she continued hesitantly, "I was thinking—would you—might you be interested in buying the house with me?"

His jaw dropped. "What the hell...?"

She turned on her heel and retreated into the living room. "Sorry, that was really clumsy of me. It was... just a thought. Never mind. Dinner is all prepared and will only require a few blasts in the microwave."

Talk about clumsy! Feeling like an idiot, he dashed after her. "Jenny, why did you suggest that?" Surely she didn’t need the money.

She paused to contemplate the Christmas tree, a tall Fraser fir whose green and purple decorations were maybe a little too perfect. "I’m just suggesting that it would be nice to... to live with you. We seem to be getting along rather well."

The vulnerability in her posture produced a wave of tenderness. "I know Hollywood must seem a little scary now, especially since you had a bad experience here before, but it would be foolish to tie yourself down by buying a house with me just because we’re... friendly. In a few months, you’ll have plenty of friends and you won’t need me." He tried to make his tone joking. "Or did you want to get a place with me because I’m never here? That is an advantage in a housemate."

She whirled around, eyes snapping. "Why the devil do you assume that I’m not going to want you for a friend six months from now? Do I seem that shallow? Or do you want to keep your distance in the future because actresses are so needy and demanding and you don’t want to get sucked into my personal psychodramas?"

"Of course I don’t think you’re shallow! And you’re certainly no drama queen." He made a helpless gesture with his hand. "But new worlds are opening up for you, Jenny. You’re going to be meeting exciting, charismatic men who operate on the same level you do. Sure, you and I can be friends, but I’m just the guy next door. Not someone you should be buying a house with."

She made a feline sound of exasperation. "I’m thirty- five years old, Gregory Marino. Do you think I’m too dim to know what I want? I’ve dated more than my share of ‘exciting, charismatic’ men, and there isn’t one of them I would want to buy a house with." Her face tightened. "The time we spent together was more than a holiday fling to me, Greg. In fact, it was very special. I... I thought it was worth finding out if you felt the same."

Her words rocked him back on his heels. How much courage had it taken for her to make herself so vulnerable? More courage than he had. If there was to be any hope for them, he must try to match her honesty. "It was more than a fling for me, too. I... I’ve been in love with you since we first met, but I’m so much in the habit of thinking there was no future for us that I have trouble believing that you might want more."

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Then she stepped forward, clasped his head with both hands, and drew it down for a kiss sweeter than chocolate. "Believe it, Greg."

Heart pounding, he wrapped his arms around her as if she were a life preserver in a storm. "Please don’t say this is a joke. I couldn’t bear it."

"Do you think I’d joke about the rest of my life?" She walked him back into the low sofa and pushed him down, landing on top in a pile of tangled limbs and scented sensuality. "You must stop underestimating yourself. Your talent and skill, not to mention your delicious self, make for a madly attractive whole," she said huskily. "Shall I demonstrate exactly how attractive I find you?"

Her words brought every cell in his body to urgent life, but even more desperately than he wanted to make love, he wanted to understand. "I’m still not quite believing this. What happened between last week when we said good-bye at Heathrow and now?"

"I called Kenzie Scott and ended up having a nice chat with Raine." Jenny wriggled into a more comfortable position on top of him. "Something she said made me recognize how our assumptions about having a brief fling had turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy, and that it was time to reboot and try for a new conclusion."

He slid his hands under her tunic and rested them on the warm, bare skin of her back, still incredulous that she was in his arms again. "I’ve always figured that my main qualification in your eyes was being available and more or less presentable when you wanted some company."

She rolled her eyes. "So I’m not only shallow and dim, but a slut. Trust me, I’ve never been so bored that I would sleep with a man merely because he was available."

He gave a crooked smile. "If I say anything more, I’m going to dig myself into a really deep hole, aren’t I?"

She chuckled. "You’re already halfway to Australia, but I’ll forgive you because you’re wonderful. You always were, even a dozen years ago. Now you’re one of the best cinematographers in the world, while I’m just another actress who has good years and bad years. My confidence is up at the moment, which is why I have the nerve to chase you, but my career could vanish like a crocodile in a swamp if this movie bombs."

"It won’t bomb."

"No way to tell yet." She gave him a level look. "You’re not only successful and a great guy, but you’ve worked with some of the most beautiful women in the world. What about me is special enough to hold the attention of a man of substance?"

He began to laugh. "So while I’ve been busy worshiping you, you’ve been cherishing exaggerated ideas of my importance. I should have asked you to marry me on our first go-around. I wanted to, but you were so hung up on that idiot actor that I knew you’d say no."