Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (5 page)

Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

He noticed. One glance at his face told her it was the first thing that registered with him. He looked more than a trifle pleased. Shane feigned nonchalance as she sailed past him to her closet. The only things she had managed to put away last night were her shoes.

“Now what?” she asked in her best professional voice.

“Well, since we missed sunrise, what if we go to some nice, cozy nook for breakfast and you start to work. Wasn’t that the agreement? You spend time with me and find out what typical days in my life are like?”

“Yes, that’s the agreement,” she said, wondering if all his days began with attempted seductions.

“Well, then, let’s go,” he said, handing her purse to her. “I’ve got a nice day in mind, and I’ll have you back in plenty of time to get ready for the party.”

He was leading again, she thought, but she had no choice expect to follow, which she did.

There were very few people in the lobby.

“Where are all your worshiping fans who were supposed to tear off your clothes?” she asked wryly as he ushered her toward the revolving door. Several heads turned in their direction, an obvious question shining in their eyes: Was that—?

“I guess they’re still in bed,” Nick said with a shrug. “Why? Were you looking forward to the sight?”

“Possibly,” she conceded, then added with a touch of smugness, “It might have been nice seeing you defenseless against a group of women for a change.”

“Women, Shane,” he told her as a valet brought his car around, “are never defenseless, believe me. Each one of them has the ability to hold a man in the palm of her hand.”

That wasn’t the way she had heard it, she thought, thoroughly convinced that he was just trying to get her guard down. It made her twice as cautious.

The restaurant was charming, rather like a large, rambling country kitchen full of tables and chairs. There were only two or three patrons, and the waitress looked a little sleepy-eyed as she took their orders.

Shane pulled her tape recorder from her oversized shoulder bag, pressed the “play-record” button and turned her attention to her assignment.

“It’s been said that you’ve brought romance and light fantasy back to the silver screen. How do you feel about that?” she asked.

“It’s not me, Shane,” he said forthrightly. “It’s the type of stories I choose to do. People need to believe in heroes and derring-do again. There’s so much grim realism to deal with everyday, and, just like in the thirties, people need to escape from it occasionally. They need to go to another time and place for two hours, to become enveloped in something nobler, finer, more meaningful than weeds, mortgage payments, and price escalations. Sometimes they break off a piece of the feeling they get and carry it with them after the movie’s over. That’s all I want my movies to accomplish.”

“To fill them with empty dreams?”

“Dreams don’t have to be empty,” he insisted. “But first they have to be. You have to have a dream in order to fulfill it,” he explained when she looked at him quizzically. “I show them that hope and optimism still exist, that things can be overcome if they only try.”

“Isn’t that rather cruel?” Shane prodded, furrowing her brow. “What if they lose?”

“How will they know unless they try?” he countered. “You’ve got to risk a little to gain a little— sometimes to gain a lot.”

“And sometimes you lose a lot,” she pointed out.

He conceded that. “Yes, you do, but sometimes that extra ounce of optimism helps get you over the brink. There’re two ways to look at anything.” He raised his glass of water. “Describe this to me.”

“It’s a glass of water,” she answered dismissively.

“And?”

“It’s clear,” she added, knowing exactly what he was driving at.

“And?” he persisted.

“All right! It’s half empty.”

“Aha. I see it as half full,” he told her, putting the glass down.

Shane shrugged. “Either way, there’s only half the amount that there should be.”

“Yes,” he pointed out, “but you lament the half that’s gone. I rejoice at the half that’s left.”

“You must be very easy to shop for around Christmas,” she said drolly. “Just how did someone with your noble thoughts get into this line of work?” She was acquainted with the usual Hollywood stories but wanted to hear it retold in his own words. She realized that despite her attempts to cling to her professionalism, she truly liked the sound of his deep, resonant voice. For a moment, she could see him on the stage, hear his eloquent
voice delivering a soliloquy from a Shakespeare play.

“I got into it by accident,” he confessed. The waiter brought their orders, and Nick cut into his sausage with gusto. She waited several seconds before he continued. “I was going to USC, and a friend of mine was eager to read for a new director. Johnny was always on the alert for cattle calls— that’s when they call down a large group of people and weed out the ones they don’t want,” he clarified for her benefit.
 

“It was a two-man part, and Johnny thought he’d do better if he had someone to read with him, so I went along. I really think he was a lot better than I was,” he said, and dug into his food again. She waited for him to finish the second sausage. “Anyway,” he went on, wiping his mouth—she fought the urge to do the job for him—“Johnny got the part he was after, a twelve-liner. The director took me to John Bowman, who was casting the lead in Robin Hood. Something clicked and I was on my way.”
 

He made it sound so simple.

“What were you doing at USC?” she asked, toying with her own food. Somehow, when she was around Nick, she kept forgetting to eat.

“Studying to be a lawyer,” he confessed. She looked surprised, and he laughed. “Lawyers need good memories too, so memorizing lines comes easy to me. Besides, being an actor is a lot more fun. I like swinging from mastheads and playing Errol Flynn,” he confided with a wicked wink, one that would have done Errol proud, she thought.

“Then it’s a game to you?”

“Rather a serious game,” he said, “when the paychecks of X number of people depend on your doing a good job and doing it on time. No, I take my work very seriously. I just enjoy it. That’s what life is all about”—he paused and there was only a hint of a twinkle in his eyes now—“finding what you like to do and doing it.”

“You’re lucky you can follow your philosophy.”

He took her hand, pressing it gently. “Yes, I am.”

Shane’s uneasiness returned.

Chapter Four

He brought her to his home.

When he first suggested it. Shane had anticipated a small, secluded apartment. She was not prepared for the large, contemporary, wood-and-glass two-story house standing on the crest of a mountain above Denver.

“I thought you said you lived in California,” she said as she looked around the massive living room, with its plush, light blue carpeting. She felt her heels sinking in. The pile was almost engulfing her three-inch heels, the same way Nick’s personality was engulfing her, she thought.

“I do, but this is home. I’m a native Coloradoan, remember?” The pressure of his hand on her shoulder blades urged her forward.

“Yes,” she muttered. That was on the first tape somewhere. She looked up at the huge vaulted ceiling, wondering what a person could do with all this living space. Her tiny apartment could fit in this one living room, with enough room to spare for a volleyball court.

Nick came around in front of her, striking a grand pose as he leaned against the oak banister of his long, winding stairway. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he teased.

“Just what is your definition of humble?” she asked, still drinking in the decor. Rather than being overpowered by it, she found it surprisingly tasteful and subdued, the colors a pleasing blend of blues and browns. She had never thought the two colors could complement each other so well.

“Humble is what I feel when I’m next to you,” he said, swinging down from the bottom step and neatly taking hold of her waist. She half expected a long vine to pop out of the ceiling so he could sail with her in his arms.

“I think you’ve been studying your lines in those movies too closely,” she commented, trying to let him know that she was not affected by his charm.

“Hi.”

Shane turned around and saw Scottie coming toward them. He was wearing a robe and brown-dotted pajama legs poked out below its hem.

“I didn’t know you were an early riser like Nick,” he said, joining them.

“Not voluntarily,” Shane said. “Do you live here?” There was no other conclusion to be drawn at the moment, but she would have thought it more fitting if a bevy of scantily clad girls was to come spilling out of secluded bedrooms. One sleepy-eyed young man didn’t do much to enhance an expose.

“I promised his mother I’d look out for him,” Nick told her, answering for Scottie.

She looked up at Nick’s face, which never seemed to be far away from her own. “You’re sounding nobler all the time,” she said dryly.

“But of course. Was there ever any doubt?” Nick sounded as if he might be serious.

Shane did not answer his half-posed question. Instead she began to meander the length of the brightly lit foyer, looking at the paintings that hung there. An enormous skylight loomed above on the second floor.

“Can I show you around?” Nick offered. Once again he slipped an almost possessive hand around her small waist, pulling her closer to him, so her breasts rubbed against his rib cage. “Perhaps you’d like to see my casting couch? All of us nasty Hollywood types have one, you know. It’s where we seduce innocent young things.” He raised and lowered his brows twice, twirling the edge of his moustache villainously.

Scottie laughed, then excused himself to get breakfast.

“I think we’ll skip the couch,” Shane said, backing out of his embrace. “I’m sure you don’t use anything so archaic.” She cocked her head, thinking for a moment. “You’d be the type to improvise.”

Nick’s eyes sparkled as he led her away. “The stars above, the new-mown hay—anything at my disposal,” he told her, whispering the words into her hair.

A little shiver went through her. She could scarcely pay attention during the tour of the house, but she did learn that there were twenty rooms in all. From the decking outside the second-story game room, Shane looked down on a valley dotted with houses and cars. She let out an impressed soft whistle.

Nick grinned. “It is kind of like looking down from a castle, isn’t it?” he asked, reacting to her expression.

She turned toward him, finding him even more magnificent than the view below her. She leaned against the intricately fashioned railing, with its fleur-de-lis motif. “Maybe you’re taking your roles to heart,” she suggested. He was moving in to kiss her. She could read the thought in his eyes. She turned her head and looked back down at the valley. “Aren’t you afraid of getting type-cast?” she asked, a bit too quickly.

He laughed. Was it at her action or her words? “I already am,” he told her. “And it doesn’t bother me one bit. I have no great ambition as an actor. I know what I’m capable of, and when the time comes when I can no longer scale mountains to free young damsels in distress, I’ll move on to other parts. Right now, I’m having a ball. It’s nice being paid for being a hero.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” Shane conceded, smiling. “Okay, now what?”

“Now I take you to my chamber of horrors,” he told her glibly.

“Would you care to be a little more specific?” she prodded as he took her hand and led her from the terrace.

“I have a gym on the first floor,” he clarified. “I try to work out at least a little each day. Pectoral muscles tend to disappear if you give in to a life of ease,” he said, flexing his chest to emphasize his point. It looked rock-hard to her. “The studio heads would be very disappointed with a flabby hero,” he added with a grin. “C’mon, you can watch.”

If someone had asked Shane a week ago to name five activities that would have bored her to tears, she would have put watching someone work out at the top of the list. Yet here she was, actually looking forward to seeing Nick go through his paces. She wasn’t sure just what to expect. In a vague way she pictured some grunting and groaning, lots of sweating and clanging metal, yet there was still something about seeing that well-constructed body being honed to even further perfection that excited her.

Nick went to change, and she was alone in the large room, alone with mysterious tangles of machinery that were guaranteed to insure a good, professional workout. They all looked like instruments of torture to her. She ran her hand across one of the machines—how cold it was to the touch. The room was well lit, and three walls were mirrored floor to ceiling.

“Must like to see himself get sweaty,” Shane said under her breath as she walked over the padded floor. An amused smile flitted over her face at the thought of the mirrors serving to highlight another activity. The floor was certainly comfortable enough for it.

What was wrong with her? Ever since she had set eyes on Nick, her mind kept drifting to intimate subjects. The next thing she knew, she’d be indulging in wild fantasies involving the man. She had always prided herself on being different. Mooning over Nick Rutledge, she told herself sternly, was definitely not different.

Shane was leaning forward against the ballet barre along the wall and trying to recall stretching exercises that had been part of her life when she was a teenager, when Nick entered the room. She caught his reflection first. Involuntarily, she sucked in her breath. He was wearing a net T-shirt with blue piping running along the armholes, and matching blue shorts. Some sort of sports shoes were on his feet, but who was looking at his feet? The rest of him was too magnificent for her to think of paying much attention to anything below his ankles. Shane couldn’t understand why he thought he needed to exercise. Why tamper with perfection?

Slowly she turned around, trying not to be obvious as she appreciatively drank in his form. She was staring, looking for a flaw, a scar, something that would render this superb man more human. She failed.

“Have you ever thought of doing a remake of Tarzan?” she asked in an awed voice before her conscious mind could stop her.