A Holiday Fling (6 page)

She found her quarry up among the catwalks, where he was examining the lights. "What do you think of our show, Greg?"

"You’ve done some interesting things with the material—the songs and dancing are really integral to the story. The filmed version will look great."

"You think so? I’m a little worried."

"No need. You have good performers, the barn and set have loads of atmosphere, and the costumes I spotted backstage will add plenty of color and excitement. Tomorrow I’ll call a London camera house to borrow a camera package and some lights. We should be able to start shooting the next day."

One of the advantages of having an Oscar-winning cinematographer was that Greg could borrow any equipment he needed in exchange for a film credit. Persuading him to come was the cleverest thing she’d done on this project.

After they descended the narrow staircase to the stage, she checked to see that they were the only ones left, then locked the barn behind them. As they got into her car, she said, "My father was supposed to drop a Christmas tree and some greens by the cottage this afternoon. Would you like to help me do some decorating? Since I’ve been in London for the last fortnight, I have a lot of catching up to do."

"I’d love to help. It’s been... Lord, at least a dozen years since I’ve so much as hung an ornament." Greg’s voice was wistful. "Usually I rush home to Ohio at the last minute and the preparations have already been made."

They drove the short distance back to the cottage in silence. Jenny was looking forward to a companionable evening decorating the tree when Greg said abruptly, "Maybe I should move to a hotel."

Startled, she asked, "Why would you want to do that? There aren’t any hotels that are convenient."

"Because if I stay in your guest room, I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you."

She found herself blushing. Good God, at her age! "There’s no particular need to keep your hands to yourself," she stammered. "As I said when we first spoke, the fair white body part was negotiable."

He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable in the dusk. "I heard you were involved with some software tycoon."

"You mean Neil Carling? We’re not really dating." She liked that Greg respected whether or not she was involved with someone else. She had always been punctilious about such things herself.

"No?"

"I’m his official facade." She parked by her house and climbed out. "He’s courting a very sweet, reserved widow and he’s afraid he’ll lose her if she winds up in the tabloids. Neil and I are old friends, so he takes me to events where he needs a bit of arm candy. I coo and bat my eyelashes, and afterward he goes off to visit his Elizabeth."

Greg chuckled as he followed her to the house. "I’ve been in Hollywood long enough to understand why a man might want to hide his private life. But how will he ever get her to the altar if he’s afraid to go public?"

"When and if she says yes, he plans to take her off to the Caribbean for a very quiet, private wedding. Once they’re married, they’ll be old news. There is nothing more boring than a faithfully married businessman. In the meantime, I have the chance to dress up and go out with someone who knew me when I was in pigtails."

Those chaste evenings with Neil were the most fun she’d had with a man in months. As she unlocked the cottage, her thoughtful gaze went to Greg again.

Perhaps that was about to change.

Chapter 5

"It’s a beautiful tree, if I do say so who shouldn’t." Jenny stepped back and regarded their work with satisfaction. The gaily decorated spruce filled one corner of the living room, its gold filigree star touching a weathered ceiling beam.

"It’s a fantastic tree." Greg hung a miniature Celtic harp on an upper branch. Jenny’s ornaments varied from battered, beloved family heirlooms to delicate works of art. Just the way ornaments ought to be; he’d always hated flawless, over-decorated trees that made him think of department stores rather than homes.

Plato trotted up with his buggy whip and dropped it under the tree, then eyed a swinging angel ornament. "Behave yourself," Jenny ordered.

The cat gave her a flat stare to prove that he cared naught for her opinion, then curled up under the tree, an errant strand of silver tinsel accenting his gray fur. Greg smiled as he scratched Plato’s neck. "A crackling fire on a cold night, a cat, good company, and decorating a Christmas tree. It doesn’t get much better than this."

"I love Christmas." Jenny draped more tinsel in an under-sparkled spot. "A time to slow down and enjoy life and be with my family and friends. In busy years, it keeps me sane. In bad years, it makes me feel whole again."

"I’ve been doing the holidays on the express plan for too long. I’m lucky my family hasn’t changed the locks to keep me out since I fly in a day or two before Christmas, and leave a day or two after."

There was a long pause while he studied another ornament, a delicately made ceramic nest containing a pair of tiny bluebirds. He’d sent her the ornament the Christmas after their affair. Had he thought that the bluebirds of happiness nesting in the tree might bring them back together? Hard to remember after all these years. "I’ve spent so much time building my career that I forgot to build a life," he said quietly. "You seem to have done a better job of balancing it all."

"A rolling stone gathers no tinsel? Americans work too hard, I think. I’m lucky to spend half my time outside of London. In Upper Bassett, I’m Alice and the doctor’s daughter, Patricia and Keith’s sister, and a multiple aunt. The eccentric but amiable Lyme girl who’s done rather well for herself. It keeps life in perspective."

Jenny flicked off the light switch so the room was illuminated only by dancing flames and tiny colored tree lights. She had taken off her heavy sweater earlier, and the silk shirt she wore underneath skimmed her curves alluringly. The soft light gave her a haunting Renaissance beauty.

Greg’s fingers tightened around the birds’ nest. Though she had said he didn’t have to keep his hands to himself, he still had trouble believing that she might be interested in him. Their romantic history had been a fluke of circumstances.

But maybe he wasn’t the only one who had found those days magical. It was worth risking rejection, because he would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try. Carefully he hung the ornament out of Plato’s reach. "Earlier today we were interrupted at an interesting moment."

Even though beauty was power, she looked vulnerable, almost fragile. "I didn’t think you’d come to England," she said softly. "I’m glad you did. Even gladder than I thought I would be."

With one provocative motion, she pulled off the scarf that tied back her hair. Luxurious as ermine, the dark waves cascaded over her shoulders, catching auburn highlights from the fire. "I wouldn’t mind a holiday fling. Shall we pick up where we left off all those years ago?"

Powerful awareness pulsed between them. For the first time he accepted that even though she was a glamorous actress, she was also the friend and lover he had never forgotten. "I hope we can, Jenny. The fact that we were together then is the greatest miracle I’ve ever known."

She came into his arms lightly. His first kiss was tentative, wondering, awed. How he’d longed for this mouth, these lips, the essence of Jenny.

Her head tilted back and she melted against him. Warm, curving, irresistible—and neither of them even tried to resist. He tangled his fingers in her glossy hair to bring her closer, jet lag forgotten as he came alive in every cell. "My God, Jenny..."

"How could I have forgotten this?" she whispered as she burrowed against him.

Doubts and time dissolved along with words as they tugged at each other’s clothing. Jenny pulled a folded blanket from the sofa and tossed it in front of the fire. Giving thanks that he’d come prepared in case something wild and wonderful happened, he pulled her down beside him, craving the weight and feel of her intoxicating body.

Even that first time so many years before, they had come together with sweet harmony. Now there was harmony and more, as if they’d been waiting for years to set each other afire. He felt they had known each other forever as they remembered how to kiss, how to touch, how to laugh.

How to be in a perfect moment.

Afterward, shaking from reaction, he pulled her close and kissed her damp forehead. He had indeed fallen into Wonderland. In real life, it wasn’t possible to be this happy. Perhaps this moment could only be perfect because it was so ephemeral. In less than a month he would be in Argentina.

But as he gazed into the embers of the fire, he mourned the knowledge of how soon such happiness must end.

* * *

Not wanting to move ever again, Jenny rested her head on Greg’s shoulder, pulling the blanket over them as she struggled for breath and composure. Never, even in her most heated dreams, had she imagined such a reunion. "It was good before, but not like this. Not so... so intense. Maybe because I was such a mess at the time."

"You were miserable then, but never a mess." He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Did I tell you that I was entranced by your collarbones? When I shot that scene where you were half-naked, I couldn’t believe how lovely and subtle your shoulders were. At night I dreamed about them, sculpted by light and shadow."

She laughed a little wryly. "Don’t look too closely. These shoulders are now thirty-five, not twenty-three."

"Still beautiful, though." He exhaled warmly into the hollow above her collarbone.

Her gaze went to the dancing flames. "You’re an artist of light, Greg. You see beauty where others don’t, and then you make them see it, too. It’s a great gift."

"So is making people laugh and cry, the way you do. We’re both lucky to be able to do what we love, and share it with others."

Yes, she’d been lucky, but not in all areas of life. "Have you achieved your dreams? Or have you reached them and now have others?"

She admired his face in the firelight while he considered her question. When he’d been twenty-five and bearded, she hadn’t realized what a fine strong jaw he had. She liked his mouth, too. Not only the feel of his lips, but the humorous little quirk that made him always look on the verge of laughter.

"My greatest dream, which seemed impossible when I was a kid in Ohio, was to make movies," he said slowly. "Not the writing or acting or directing—that was for other people. The essence of movie making is images, and that’s what I wanted to do: capture images that would delight and astonish and sometimes even terrify."

"Then you’re successful."

"Professionally, yes. But maybe I didn’t have enough different dreams." For a moment his eyes were shadowed. Shaking off the mood, he propped himself on one elbow and smiled down on her. "Have you achieved your greatest goals?"

"I was like you—wanting to act, not thinking it was possible to reach such heights, working hard to make it happen. The dream was to make movies—be an international star, you know." She shrugged philosophically. "I didn’t achieve that and it’s too late now, but television suits me and I’ve done better than most. Enough to feel good about my abilities, not so much that success has made my life difficult. Even though I’m past my prime, I’m lucky to be English. There’s more room for aging actresses here. I should be able to grow old gracefully, moving between television and the theater, making enough money to live well and to spoil my nieces and nephews with Christmas presents."

He stared at her. "Where do you get this ‘aging actress’ nonsense? You’re a beautiful, desirable woman, and you always will be. Like Katharine Hepburn and the other great beauties, you’re lovely in your bones, and in your spirit."

Her throat tightened at his palpable sincerity. "For a man of images, not words, you say wonderful things."

"Seeing is my business, and I see truth, Jenny."

Uncomfortable with the intensity of his eyes, she asked, "You said you need different dreams. What is the biggest thing that you don’t have but would like?"

His brows furrowed. "Probably a house. I’m still living in that same two-bedroom apartment I had when we made
Almost Crazy
. Remember it?"

"I have fond memories of that apartment. In fact, your key is around here somewhere, since I forgot to give it back before I left." Actually, she’d kept it deliberately as a souvenir of their time together. "It was a nice apartment, but not the same as owning your own home."