Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (12 page)

“Let me guess,” Shane said as if bracing herself. “You ski.”

“And you don’t,” he concluded. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Shane sighed. “Being around you is like being in training for the Olympics.”

Nick laughed, then motioned for Bowman to come over and join them. The director looked ready to walk off the set—permanently. “Hey, John, I have an idea. Why don’t we get a bunch of people together and go up to Snowmass-at-Aspen after filming on Friday? Are you game for a skiing weekend?”

Bowman shrugged his pointy shoulders, dropping an ash on his white-ribbed turtleneck sweater. He flicked it away impatiently. “Sure, why not? If I’m lucky, half the cast will break legs and I can replace all of you with real actors.”

“That’s what I like about you, John,” Nick said. “You’re an old softie.”

“I must be soft in the head to take this kind of abuse year in and year out.” A shrill squawk filled the air, threatening to shatter glass. “Dammit, fix that thing, Johnson, before we all go deaf!” he thundered, marching back to the harassed sound man.

Friday’s rains were worse, and brought disaster with them.

“Who the hell left the equipment storeroom door open?” Bowman demanded of the crew. They were all gathered before him, each trying, Shane observed, to avoid the angry man’s eyes. The director’s neck was growing redder by the moment as only his voice was heard on the silent set. Bowman’s eyes bore into the group. “We lost three cameras and the Nagra! Now, how do you propose we get this movie finished?” he asked, his voice trembling with rage. “Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to get replacements? The studio can’t have them here until Tuesday! Tuesday! Do you know what that is in dollars and cents? Probably too high a figure for any of you to count!” He paced about, practically chewing through his cigar. “Imbeciles! Cretins!”

“What’s done is done, John,” Nick said easily, standing on the sideline. “It’s not going to change matters if you work yourself into cardiac arrest.” It appeared to Shane that everyone turned to Nick in unison, as if hoping that he could placate Bowman.

“I don’t have heart attacks, Rutledge, I give them!” Bowman bellowed.

Shane thought she heard someone in the back of the group say, “Amen.”

“Why don’t we just break early for the weekend?” Nick suggested. “An extended rest might do us all some good. The weather report says sunny skies by this afternoon. And perfect weather for next week.”

“It’s better be,” Bowman snapped, relighting his cigar.

“Why? Are you going to sue God if it’s not?”

Nick laughed, walking over and putting his arm around the older man’s shoulders. Next to Nick, Bowman looked like a gnarled and aged man instead of a frightening tyrant, Shane thought, scribbling the phrase on her pad. “C’mon, John, you’ve been working much too hard. You need a rest too. What do you say I have Scottie pick you up and drive us all to the airport? I’ve already talked to a few of the other people in the crew, and they’re game.”

“That’s their trouble. They all think this is a game. Not a brain in the lot!” Bowman complained.

“They’re the best, and you know it,” Nick said. Shane thought his voice sounded a bit more firm than it had a minute ago. She was surprised to see Bowman retreat slightly. “Besides,” Nick continued, beckoning Shane to come closer. “I’m going to teach Shane how to ski. You don’t want to miss that.”

Bowman cracked one of the first smiles she had seen on his thin lips. Somehow, even his smiles looked foreboding. Shane started having second thoughts about this weekend.

Her second thoughts plagued her the remainder of the afternoon as she went to the stores surrounding the hotel and hastily purchased some appropriate skiing clothes. This assignment was going to leave her with a broken leg, she told herself as she began to pack. A broken leg as well as a broken heart, if she wasn’t careful. She chewed on her lip as she transferred the newly purchased items from their boxes into her suitcase. The weekend was going to be a mistake. She and Nick would be together, and she knew she had no power to resist him. Each time he touched her, each time he kissed her, she lost a little bit more of her soul to him.

“Damn it all, McCallister,” she muttered, slamming the lid shut, “don’t you see there’s no future in this? What kind of a romance can thrive with three thousand miles between it? The only one that’s going to be happy is the airline.” She entered her bathroom, pulling out the necessary items to pack. “And how are you going to go on with that brilliant career you’ve outlined for yourself?” she demanded of the face in the mirror, “eating out your heart, knowing that some starlet is probably pouring her body all over Nick while you’re looking for the right adjective to describe some senator’s dim point of view?” She threw down her toothbrush. “If you had any brains at all, you wouldn’t be going this weekend. You’d stay in your room and write your damn article and work at locking Nick Rutledge out of your heart.”

But half an hour later saw her sitting in the back of a taxi, heading toward Nick’s house.

“Hi, what kept you?” Nick asked as he opened the door. His greeting was warm, as was the kiss he pressed on her lips. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Here, let me take that,” he said, reaching for her suitcase.

“I almost didn’t come,” she told him, and he paused in the act of closing the door, to stare at her. She turned away, not wanting him to see her expression. “I’m really not looking forward to skiing.”

She felt his arms go around her waist as he pulled her back against him. His breath was warm against her neck, making her shiver slightly. “That’s not all we’ll be doing,” he told her in a low voice. The tip of his tongue lightly brushed against her ear. Shane closed her eyes for a moment, sinking against him. Why did it have to be this man? Why did she have to fall in love with a box-office god who decorated the walls of hundreds of thousands of teenage girls’ bedrooms? She had heard that his weekly fan mail count was astronomical.
 

“Take off your jacket,” he instructed, letting her
go.

“Now?” she asked, thinking that he meant to make love to her. “I thought we had a plane to catch.”

“This won’t take long,” he promised her. Shane watched him disappear into the den, wondering what he was up to. He emerged in a moment with a large box, which he thrust at her. “Here, this is for you,” he said, taking the jacket out of her hands.

She tried to balance the box gracefully as she opened it. The lid fell off, soon followed by the bottom portion as Shane took out the ermine jacket that had been cradled within the sky-blue tissue paper. She stared, dumbfounded, her fingers pressing into the baby-soft fur.

“Do you like it?” Nick asked, watching her face.

“Like it?” she echoed. “It’s beautiful.” She stroked the white sleeve.

“Well, then, put it on,” Nick urged, his voice low as he began to slip the ermine gift on her arms.

“Nick, I can’t accept this,” she protested, letting him put it on her nonetheless.

“Why?” he asked, peering around to look at her face. “Are you a conservationist? I promise you, the ermines were already dead when I bought this jacket.” He came around to view his handiwork. “There,” he said, straightening the opening just a bit, “you look like a princess. My princess,” he added.

“Nick, I—“

“Shh,” he said, placing a finger to her lips. “It’s yours. I can’t take it back. I already threw out the tags.”

Shane shook her head, running her hand lovingly over the fur. “You’re making it awfully hard to resist you,” she murmured.

“Then, don’t try,” he told her, threading his hands beneath the jacket and about her waist. Her old jacket lay forgotten on top of her suitcase.

A loud cough kept them from kissing. They both turned to see Scottie standing on the landing of the stairway. “Um, Nick, if we don’t hurry—“

Nick nodded, taking Shane’s hand. “—we’ll miss the plane,” he said, ending the sentence for Scottie. “Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed Shane’s suitcase with his free hand.

On the plane, Shane and Nick were reunited with about twenty people from the set of The Lord High Protector, and the coming weekend promised to be a hectic one. Before the plane ended its short trip, Nick had promised to participate in the poker tournament planned for the weekend. Shane began to think that perhaps they wouldn’t have any time together, and the thought both relieved and saddened her. Never before had she felt so confused about her life. Never before had she wanted anything so fiercely that she’d known was wrong for her from the start. And even if Nick returned her feelings, what would the end results be? She saw nothing but frustration lying ahead of her.

But Shane did not have much time for soul searching or contemplation. Nick drew her into several conversations, and before she knew it, the plane was landing and she was being hustled into a waiting car. Nick had everything prearranged.

The lodge, nestled at the foot of a mountain, was beautiful. It looked like something straight out of a Swiss travelogue. Inside, a huge, two-sided white brick fireplace stood in the center of the lounge. A large, roaring fire licked at the dark mesh screen that enclosed it. Shane scanned the rustic, comfortable-looking room.

“Where’s the proverbial skiier with the broken leg?” she asked Nick suspiciously.

“Give them time.” He laughed. “They only opened for the season two days ago.” Behind them, the other members of the crew and cast were signing in. The air was filled with excited conversation.

“That’s highly comforting. With my luck, it’ll be me,” she said uneasily.

“What do you mean, with your luck?” he teased. “How many people do you know have mortally lanced the heart of Nick Rutledge, international heartthrob?” he asked with a wink.

“Pretty talk,” Shane said dryly, hoping there was a modicum of truth in his words, yet afraid to find out one way or the other.

“But I’m not all talk,” he said, his voice husky with promise.

She found out what he meant when she went up to her room. It was also his room.

Nick closed the door quietly behind them, setting the suitcases down in the far corner. “The slopes will be crowded about now,” he told her. “I thought we’d get an early start in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” she murmured. It would even be finer, she thought, if he forgot all about skiing. The prospect of flying pell-mell down a hill did not exactly thrill her. She envisioned herself at the bottom of the same hill, a tangle of broken arms, legs, ski poles, and skis littering the ground.

Nick drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be as safe as if you were in my arms.”

“As I see it, that’s not exactly safe either,” she breathed. She could feel her heart beginning to beat harder as she pressed against his tall frame.

“Living dangerously can be fun,” he told her, his mouth progressing from her temple to her cheek. She could feel the fire starting, consuming all her strength and resistance.

She tried to extricate herself before it was too late. “Nick, please don’t,” she breathed, the words getting harder and harder to manage.

To her surprise, it worked. He stopped kissing her. But he did not release her from his embrace. “You’ve had something on your mind for the last couple of days. What is it?”

“The article,” she said evasively, trying to look away.

But he wouldn’t let it go that easily. “I know you’re dedicated,” he told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling her down onto his lap. “But I don’t think that’s it. Now, tell me,” he urged, his voice soft and tender.

Shane felt awkward. What if she was presuming too much? What if he just thought that this was a casual fling? He’d laugh at all these serious inner doubts she had.

As if reading her mind, Nick said, “I think I have a right to know what’s bothering you.”

“Why?” she asked defensively.

Nick began to play with the shell buttons on her blouse, separating them from their buttonholes one at a time. “Because, lady, if you don’t realize by now that you’re pretty special to me, you’re not as perceptive a writer as you’ve led me to believe.” The blouse fell away, hanging on either side of her full breasts like a parted curtain. Slowly, Nick’s searching fingers began to skim over the lacy outline of her bra, purposefully gliding over the peaked tips that strained to be free.

“How special?” she asked.

“Special enough to make me want to make you a part of my life,” he told her, uncinching her belt and guiding the zipper of her pants down with the tip of his forefinger.

“That’s just it,” she tried to tell him, struggling valiantly to keep her wits about her as her body burned. “I don’t want to be just a part—“

Nick raised his eyes to her face for a moment. “Does that mean you’re turning down my proposal?” he asked seriously.

“Proposal?” she gasped in astonishment.

“Well, I wasn’t talking about forming a production company. Have I been misunderstanding what’s been happening between us?” he asked, his hand frozen in mid-motion. “Don’t you love me?” he asked huskily.

Oh, God, yes
, her mind echoed. But the tone she used in replying was hesitant. “Yes. ...”

“But?” he pressed.

She sighed. “I’m not one to tend the home fires,” she told him, wishing desperately that the words would form more clearly. Where was her wondrous ability to turn a phrase? Why was she so terribly tongue-tied now, of all times in her life?

“I wasn’t intending to leave you home,” he told her. “I thought I’d take you with me on location.” He began to tug at her slacks.

Without thinking, Shane stood up, allowing her slacks to fall to her ankles. Nick pulled her back on his lap and removed the remaining outer clothing with one motion.

“To stand around and watch you work?” Shane asked, trying to ignore the throbbing ache that was licking at every part of her.

“No,” Nick said, stroking her leg, making concentric circles higher and higher on her white flesh. “To make love with me until I’m ready to die of exhaustion—and then one more time after that for good luck.” He began to kiss the point of her shoulder, his tongue teasingly outlining the strap of her bra.