All Over You (10 page)

“Wow. Thanks for that, and for your riveting, perspicacious insights into my psyche,” she drawled, “but I can take care of my own sex life.”

She started closing the door between them.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Mac said, then he stepped forward and hauled her into his arms.

Sensation raced through her body and all her blood rushed south as his tongue danced into her mouth. She told herself the only reason she wasn’t pushing him away was because she was giving him enough rope to hang himself. It was a theory that began to wear a little thin as her breasts tightened into two perky, demanding peaks and her thighs went up in flames.

By the time he broke their kiss and grinned down at her she had been reduced to speechless, quivering Jell-O.

It took her a couple of seconds to regain the power of thought. She realized Mac was looking very pleased with himself.

“We’re good together, Grace. Why not make the most of it while it lasts?”

She ignored the fact that he was proposing the exact same arrangement she’d imagined having with some faceless convenient male just that morning. All she could remember was how stupid she’d felt when he’d been so cold and distant on the phone. She never, ever wanted to give him the opportunity to make her feel like that again.

She glanced up at him from under her lashes and lifted a finger to the corner of his mouth. She traced his full bottom lip, then trailed her finger down his chin and onto his chest, delving into the V of warm tanned skin exposed at the neck of his T-shirt. Licking her lips, she sighed lightly.

“I won’t say I’m not tempted, Mac. Last night
was
fun. But to be honest, my tolerance for beefcake just isn’t that high. Sorry,” she said.

“Fun?”
he said.
“Beefcake?”

But she was already closing the door.

Hah,
she thought,
take that, Mac Harrison. See how you like being on the receiving end of the brush-off for a change.

S
OME WOMEN WERE JUST
too much trouble. Mac had met his fair share in his lifetime. Grace Wellington, however, took the cake. Every time he thought of the amused, superior light in her eye as she shut the door in his face on Tuesday night, he ground his teeth and started thinking up elaborate revenge schemes, most of which somehow involved him getting her naked again, having his way with her,
then
teaching her a salutary lesson.

Even now, almost two whole days later on Thursday afternoon, he was still steaming over her rejection. He didn’t understand why she’d pissed him off so much.

It wasn’t as though he’d invested anything in their relationship, after all. He’d just been looking for more of a good time — and she’d mocked him.

That was what it was — the mocking thing. That look she’d had on her face, as though she was the puppet master and he her malleable toy. Just because certain parts of his body craved certain parts of hers did not make him her patsy. And first chance he got he was going to show her, too.

Leaning against the sun-warmed trunk of the Corvette in the parking lot of the Malibu West Beach Club, he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. Now she was keeping him waiting, too. No doubt more of her power games.

His frown deepened as he spotted a faded onyx-black ’57 Corvette on the freeway. There weren’t many around, so naturally it drew his attention. Seconds later, it turned into the parking lot and he recognized Grace behind the wheel.

Didn’t that just beat all.

Somehow he didn’t think she’d rushed out and bought the exact same car as his in the time since their last outing together.

For some reason, the discovery that she’d chosen not to tell him that they drove the same car pissed him off even more. What was with this woman?

She had the roof down and her eyes were hidden behind the retro sunglasses she’d worn at the vineyard. An aquamarine scarf protected her hair. She looked like she’d driven straight out of a 1950s soda ad and he grudgingly admitted to himself that she suited the car perfectly.

She swung her Corvette into the space beside his. While he was formulating a suitably chill remark about their twin rides, he allowed himself one brief head-to-toe perusal as she locked up. Big mistake. She was wearing a halter-neck sundress in shades of hazelnut and chocolate. The bodice crossed over her breasts, accentuating their round fullness before diving into her waistline. The skirt flared out over her hips, ending at knee height to reveal two shapely, sensuous calves, showcased to perfection in a pair of chocolate-leather pumps.

He tore his gaze away and shoved his suddenly fisted hands into his jean pockets. What was it about her that made him want to touch her? Her skin was so creamy and smooth, and he knew now precisely how sensitive it was, could vividly recall the delicate flush of desire that had colored her breasts as he lavished attention on them. His hands literally itched with the urge to cinch themselves around that tiny waist. There was something about those breasts, and that waist and those hips…

Just like that, he was hard for her. He gave a grunt of self-disgust as he pushed himself away from the trunk of his car. The whole show-her-he-was-no-puppet thing was going really well, what with his boner and the fact that his eyes were practically hanging out of his head. Without looking back, he started toward the entrance to the beach club. Let her keep up with him if she wanted to.

The coolness of the air-conditioned members’ lounge went some way toward taking the edge off his frustration. He stopped in the doorway to allow for her to catch up. Her perfume wrapped itself around him as she joined him. Neither of them said a word for a long, drawn-out beat. Mac pretended it was because he was surveying the room, thinking of camera angles and lighting rigs. He wondered what lie she was telling herself, because he knew she was aware of him, too. No matter what bull she told herself, she wanted him. He could feel it.

“We should check the exteriors first,” he said brusquely.

“Sure.”

Her voice was subdued. He spared a glance for her as they followed the signs to the beach doors. She was pale and she was biting her full bottom lip.

The sight of her white teeth on that soft, crimson arc was highly erotic. Mac resigned himself to a day of illicit hard-ons and frustration. It seemed that it didn’t matter that his head had written this woman off as too much trouble — his gonads were hot to trot.

Pushing through double glass doors, they found themselves in a paved courtyard that opened out to the beach on one side. Pristine sand swept down to the ocean and colorful recliners and umbrellas dotted the area. A tropical-themed bar filled one corner and an array of outdoor tables served as an alfresco eating zone for the restaurant inside. Toned, taut women lounged and chatted to one another, their miniscule bikinis set off by deep tans. By contrast, Grace’s complexion was alabaster white and the severe boniness of the Beverly Hills set only accentuated her bombshell figure.

Gritting his teeth, Mac left her behind, stalking onto the sand and down to the water. Turning back, he raised his hand to shelter his gaze as he tried to imagine the shot. It was better than the vineyard, he decided. The space was a blank canvas; the art department would have no trouble making it exotic and lavish. The sea and sand more than made up for the lack of chandeliers and sweeping staircases. He imagined a barefoot bride, with lilies in her free-flowing hair.

Pulling his camera from his pocket, he snapped off a number of shots and made some notes. He’d been reading up on some of the great directors recently and watching their work each night, studying techniques, assessing ideas. He’d always been interested in telling stories. As an actor, he told them through emotional interpretation and representation. But a director had a much broader pallette. He got to choose locales, costumes, cast, shooting style. Hell, in Hollywood he even got to choose the weather. It was the thing that had really captured Mac’s imagination when he’d first stepped into the directing role a few months ago — there were so many elements to thread together to create a coherent experience that would shock and move and involve the viewer.

He was aware of Grace waiting for him on the patio, but he deliberately took his time down by the shore, turning his back on her to gaze out to sea. Haze hovered on the horizon; whether a product of L.A.’s famous smog or some natural phenomenon he didn’t know. A cool breeze ran its fingers through his hair, and he wished he could open his fly and cool off his unruly equipment just as easily. Why did she fascinate him so?

He heard the soft scuff of sand as she approached. She came to a halt beside him, her shoes dangling from one hand. Out of the corners of his eyes he watched her gaze out at the ocean.

“Nice car, by the way,” he couldn’t resist saying.

She smiled faintly.

“What did you think I was going to do, let you know I had the crap version of your car?”

It annoyed him that it was always about who had the upper hand with Grace.

“I didn’t realize we were having a battle of the cars. Stupid me.”

She sighed. “You’re pissed because I said no to your little offer, aren’t you?”

He blustered. “Yeah, right. Trust me, sister, I haven’t even thought about it all week. I have more important things to do with my time.”
Like stare at my never-say-die boner, damn your gorgeous tilted eyes.

She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her.

“We have to work with each other, Mac. Don’t you think this is all a little petty?”

He nearly choked on his own tongue. “You’re calling me petty? After you shut your door in my face. After you called me
beefcake?
”

She couldn’t hide the smirk that twisted her lips. He got in her face, and was pleased to see her lips part with surprise.

“And we didn’t just have
fun
the other night, babe. You think I didn’t notice how loud you were screaming? You want to see the scratch marks on my back? Huh?”

She blushed, then licked her lips. His gaze dropped to her glistening red mouth. He was almost positive she knew what she was doing to him, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction by giving into his urge to kiss her.

“All right. If I admit that the other night was good, can we move on?” she said.

“Good?”

“Okay, it was great.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, her arms gesticulating broadly.

He simply waited.

She sighed.

“Okay. I’m only saying this once, so pay attention. It was incredible. Happy? I’ve never felt like that before in my life. Satisfied?”

He should have been. He’d turned the tables on her, after all. But suddenly he’d been struck by a worrying realization. He’d never felt that way before, either. No wonder he hadn’t been able to forget about her.

What the hell was that about?

“It doesn’t make any difference, Mac. I’m not going to fall into bed with you again. I’m not interested in having a man in my life. And once your ego has recovered, you’ll admit that you feel exactly the same about being single. You said so the other night,” she said.

A few seconds ago, he would have agreed with her. But now he had the never-felt-like-this-before sensation bearing down on him.

“I’m going to go check the interiors,” he said, brushing past her. If he stood looking at her a moment longer he wouldn’t be answerable for his actions.

She swore and he could hear her following him across the sand. But he stopped in his tracks when he stepped up onto the patio. A copy of today’s
Variety
had been left abandoned on the nearest table, and a headline caught his eye. He grabbed the paper and scanned the story quickly.

“What is it?” Grace asked from over his shoulder. He held the paper out so she could see the bold black heading: Rival Soaps in Wedding Shoot-out.

He watched as Grace’s brow wrinkled as she read the lead-in paragraph.

“Jesus. Claudia is going to flip out. We’d better get back to the office,” Grace said.

T
HE SOUND OF
C
LAUDIA’S RANTING
reached them as soon as they walked into the reception area. Grace winced — Claudia in full steam was a pretty formidable phenomena.

She glanced at Mac. “Brace yourself.”

They walked through into the open-plan office, Claudia’s voice becoming clearer with every step.

“…that slimy, conniving weasel. He thinks he can show me up. He thinks he can just steal our great idea and turn it into his own and then beat us in the ratings. I am going to punch him in the face. Then I’m going to kick him in his tiny, microscopic balls.”

Claudia was pacing in her office as she verbally pummeled her archrival, Leandro Mandalor, producer of
Heartlands,
the soap that screened opposite
Ocean Boulevard.
For years the two shows had been neck and neck in the ratings and there had always been a not-so-thinly-veiled rivalry between them. Claudia was about to take it to a new level, Grace suspected.

Sadie and Dylan were seated on the other side of Claudia’s desk. Dylan looked pissed off, while Sadie’s brow was creased with concern.

“Hi. We came back as soon as we saw the paper,” Grace said.

Mac brought two extra chairs into Claudia’s office so they could have a proper powwow.

“He claims they’ve been planning it for months, the lying piece of shit,” Claudia seethed. “We have a leak, people. And now we have a ratings fight on our hands.”

“It shouldn’t be hard to work out who squealed. Not many people know about the special,” Dylan said. “As long as I get first shot at the little sneak in a dark alleyway, I’m happy.”

Grace remembered that the feature-length wedding special had been Dylan’s idea from the get-go. No wonder he was pissed. And Sadie had worked with him on the plot, while Claudia had put her ass on the line as a newly installed producer and talked the higher-ups in both the production company and the network into supporting the idea. Grace herself was writing the script, Mac directing it. They all had a lot invested in this project.

And now
Heartlands
was piggybacking their creativity and trying to eclipse them.

“I cannot wait until I see that smug bastard at the next awards committee meeting,” Claudia said, referring to the industry committee she sat on to help organize the annual People’s Vote Awards. “I’m going to pull his scrotum over his head.”

Claudia clenched her hand and jerked her fist skyward in demonstration. Mac winced and Dylan crossed his legs protectively.

“Okay, let’s take the bodily harm toward Leandro Mandalor as a given. May his worm-riddled carcass rot in hell,” Grace said briskly, pulling a notepad from her bag and placing her pen at the ready. “How are we going to blow them out of the water?”

Claudia flashed her an approving look. “Good question. Thank you, Grace. And nice visuals,” she said. She was still striding back and forth behind her desk, but she was a little less frenzied and furious.

“What else do we know?” Dylan asked.

“I’ve tapped every source I have,” Claudia said. “It’s a pretty closed shop. You’d think it was the Manhattan Project, the amount of knock backs I got. But I do know they’re shooting in Aspen. Apparently Leandro is calling it ‘a white wedding in every sense of the word.’” Claudia pulled a mocking face and put on a squeaky, effeminate voice to quote her rival. Grace almost pitied the man — Claudia was going to tear strips off him at their next encounter.

“There’s his first mistake,” Mac said quietly. “Golden rule of soap — when it’s winter, people want to see summer. When it’s summer, bring on the snowmen.”

Sadie nodded. “You’re right. We’ve been looking at the beach club already — how did it check out today?”

“We can dress it, lift it up,” Mac said. “It doesn’t offer many opportunities for sweeping panoramic shots, but we can make it sexy.”

“Forget Malibu. I’m tapping the contingency fund,” Claudia said, finally taking a seat behind her desk. “I like this summer-in-winter idea. We’re going to Hawaii.”

This caused an excited buzz of conversation as Sadie, Grace, Dylan and Claudia discussed possible scenarios that could be altered from the original script to incorporate the newer, more exotic location. In the original story, Hannah was reluctant to marry Gabe because she felt he was still in love with his first wife, who had died tragically. She asked for a time-out to consider her decision, but Gabe followed her and proved himself to her. Hannah was unable to resist him, but she was thrown when a mysterious, sexy woman appeared in their world who was very much like Gabe’s long-dead wife. Both she and Gabe were unaware that the mystery woman, Tania, had been hand-selected to try to destroy Gabe’s happiness by his bitter ex-mother-in-law.

Everyone agreed that this basic scenario could be tweaked to accommodate a Hawaiian setting.

“Who are they marrying off? Do we know?” Mac asked, having been silent during the Hawaii excitement.

“Max and Emerald,” Claudia said tersely.

Grace was surprised. Max and Emerald were two of
Heartlands’
most long-standing, popular characters, so the competition would be fierce.

“It doesn’t matter. Gabe and Hannah are just as popular,” Sadie said loyally. “Our viewers would never miss their wedding.”

“I don’t want only our viewers to watch — I want theirs as well,” Claudia said, her chin jutting mulishly.

Mac leaned forward, intent. “Can we get the network to chip in with some promo time?”

Claudia nodded. “What are you thinking?”

“We run a PR campaign on Gabe and Hannah, starting now. Get the audience invested so they come with us on every step of the journey. By the time the special airs, they’ll be glued to the screens.”

“Great idea,” Dylan nodded.

“We did something like it in the early years of the show,” Mac said modestly.

Grace hated to admit it, but Mac had a good brain hidden beneath all that sexy blond hair. Perhaps it was his natural charisma, but when he spoke everybody stopped to listen, and he always had something useful to add. He was a valuable resource, having been with the show as long as he had — even taking his six-year absence into account. And he cared.

He’d also obviously thought about the wedding special a lot, despite the fact that she hadn’t even handed in the script yet. He started sketching out ideas for shots on Claudia’s whiteboard, Sadie and Dylan getting more and more excited by the minute. Grace felt a clutch of nervousness about her own role as she listened to his ideas for the episode. He wanted to create something special, something outstanding and innovative. And she had to supply him with the raw material to help him realize that dream. As one of the show’s most experienced writers, it had been a long time since she’d felt challenged in this capacity. It felt good, she noted.

By the time an hour had passed, they’d roughed out changes to the existing story line to incorporate the change of venue and canvassed a range of potential locations.

“Right, excellent,” Claudia said as their discussions wound down. “New plan of attack. As of now, Grace and Mac are relieved of all duties for the next week. We’ll shoot around your scenes, Mac, and pick them up when you get back. Grace, you can hand your current edits off to one of the other eds. I’m going to grab someone from the art department, and whichever cameraman you most trust, Mac, and I’m sending you all to Hawaii to find me the best damned shooting locations in the country.”

Grace’s eyes widened and she could see Mac stiffen with sudden tension. Neither of them said a word, but Grace knew exactly what he was thinking: a week stuck in Hawaii when they could barely exchange two civil words with each other.

Not exactly paradise.

She waited until the meeting was over and everyone was drifting back to their offices before she cornered Mac in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” she said in a hushed tone, shooting a glance over her shoulder. “This changes everything. No more bullshit, okay? From now on, we’re strictly about business.”

Mac raised an eyebrow at her. “I wasn’t under the impression we were about anything else,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean. No more squabbling. We have to pull together. Claudia is one of my best friends and I want to come through for her.”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been doing her best before, she assured herself. She’d just been a little…distracted. But that had to end.

Mac studied her for a beat. “You and her and Sadie are pretty close, huh?”

“Yes. And I know how hard Claudia has had to fight to get into that producer’s role. She works damned hard. She deserves it, and I want her to succeed.”

“I’ve always hated
Heartlands,
” Mac said after a brief pause. “That hokey small town bull they try to trade off. No one lives like that anymore. And I really hate their sets. The walls move when someone slams the door.”

A smile slowly curved her lips as she realized he was agreeing with her. “So it’s a deal? No more monkey business?” She stuck her hand out.

He shook it, then pulled a wry face. “I don’t suppose you’d consider wearing a hessian sack while we’re in Hawaii?” he asked.

She shouldn’t be thrilled that he’d just admitted he found her attractive, given what they’d just shaken hands on, but she was. Thrilled, and flattered. For a moment she didn’t know what to say, how to react. Fortunately, she had four years of smart-mouthing men to call on and sarcastic words were already on her tongue.

“Suck it up, tiger,” she said, patting his hand consolingly. “I know you’re up to it.”

She hoped she could say the same thing for herself. Mac Harrison and Hawaii — if that wasn’t a deadly combination she didn’t know what was.

T
HE HEAT HIT
M
AC
the moment they exited the air-conditioned comfort of the airport in Honolulu. Marla Campbell, the Art department stalwart who had been allocated to their little task force, and Frank Menski, one of the show’s most experienced cameramen, both lifted their arms toward the sun and grinned unashamedly as they saw the clear-blue skies.

“No smog! Check it out. This is going to be so good,” Frank predicted, hefting his equipment bag higher on his shoulder.

Marla nodded happily and Grace murmured her own agreement. Mac just grunted. He’d been up all night looking over maps and other materials for the trip, and he’d just spent five-and-a-half hours sitting on a plane being ignored by Grace. It shouldn’t have bothered him — she meant nothing to him — but it did.

Tearing his gaze away from her, he saw that the smiling local who’d greeted them at the arrival gate was waving them forward.

“This way,” he said, gesturing toward a white stretch-limo. “We’ll take you straight to your hotel.”

After half an hour of cruising through the high-rises of Honolulu, they hit the coast road. Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into the circular drive in front of the JW Marriott Ihilani Resort & Spa hotel. Exiting the car, Mac stood and stretched, taking in his surroundings. Clean, white buildings contrasted with verdant tropical vegetation. All around them, palm trees brushed the blue, blue sky and the sweet scent of frangipanis wafted in the breeze.

Turning toward the hotel entrance, he caught Grace watching him. She snapped her head around instantly, but he’d already busted her. He wondered what her cat’s-eye sunglasses were hiding, whether she was as aware of him as he was of her.

He grunted in frustration. Could he please think about something else? Like the location scout, for example? He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had got under his skin like this. It had to be because she’d turned him down. As pathetic a comment as that was on his ego, it made more sense than the alternative — that he was developing a thing for her.

His hotel room was classy and luxurious, with a huge spa bath for two. Straight away his director’s brain took over and he began to think of honeymoon scenes — saucy moments in the spa, shots in the big bed. There was so much natural light in the place they’d barely have to light it. He made a mental note to talk to Frank and make sure he filmed one of the rooms before they left.

They’d agreed to meet by the pool for lunch before heading off to check out the first of the beach locations on their list. Mac changed into a pair of lightweight indigo linen pants and a white T-shirt, sliding his feet into a pair of leather thongs. After smoothing sunscreen onto his face, he made his way down to the café by the hotel’s main pool. A perfect circle, the pool sat between the arms created by the hotel’s graduated floors. The water looked cool and inviting — which was just as well, because he knew he was going to need some serious help as soon as he clapped eyes on Grace.

She’d changed into another one of her vintage outfits — a pair of figure-hugging black-and-white polka-dot Capri pants with a matching bandeau top that bared an expanse of trim, creamy torso. Her waist looked small, her breasts infinitely enticing. She wore a large-brimmed black straw hat on her head and her ever-present sunglasses. His gaze zeroed in on her hot-pink mouth and he actually licked his lips.

If he could convince her to go to bed with him one more time, he was sure he could bang this growing obsession out of his system. The thought popped into his head as though it had been hand-delivered by his gonads and he slapped it down again instantly.

For starters, even if every self-preserving instinct he had wasn’t screaming against his urge to put such a suggestion to Grace, he’d agreed to the no-monkey-business rule. Try as he might, he couldn’t redefine monkey business to exclude sex. Which left him back at square one — horny, frustrated, hot and feeling increasingly challenged by the responsibility he’d taken on when he agreed to direct the wedding special.

It had felt natural to wade into the trenches and work alongside the others back in Claudia’s office when the news of
Heartlands’
sneakery had come to light, but it wasn’t until afterward that he’d recognized
that
had been his opportunity to stand aside and let someone more experienced take the helm.