looks good on camera.”
“Um-hmm.” Fascinated, he reached out to toy with her earlobe, then skimmed his finger down the side of her throat. “Either several months of celibacy is playing hell with my libido, or you’re the sexiest woman alive.”
Delighted, flustered, she hugged her knees. “You look pretty good yourself. You know they’re calling you the Desert Hunk.”
He winced. After the ribbing he’d taken from his associates, he was hard-pressed to find the humor in it. “It’ll pass.”
“I don’t know. There’s already a fan club here in Chicago.” Seeing that he could be embarrassed only amused her. “You did look pretty hunky with Scuds flying in the sky behind you, or with tanks rolling across the sand at your back. Especially since you didn’t shave for a couple of days.”
“Once the ground war started, water was at a premium.”
Her amusement faded. “Was it bad?”
“Bad enough.” He took her hand, gently now, remembering to appreciate the elegance. That was what he needed, the warm reality of her. Maybe, in a day or two, the things he’d seen, the things he’d heard would fade a little.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“You look tired.” She could see now how drawn he was beneath the desert tan. “When did you get back?”
“About an hour ago. I came straight here.”
Even as her heart picked up rhythm, she responded to the weariness in his eyes. “Why don’t I fix you something to eat? You can get your bearings.”
He kept her hand in his, wishing he could explain to her, to himself, how much steadier he felt being here. Being close. “I wouldn’t turn down a sandwich, especially if it came with a beer.”
“I can probably handle that.” She got to her feet, gave his hand a tug. “Come on, stretch out on the couch, relax with Carson. While you’re eating, I’ll fill you in on all the news and gossip from CBC.”
He rose, waiting until she’d punched the remote. “Are you going to let me stay tonight, Deanna?”
She looked back at him, her eyes huge, but steady. “Yes.”
Turning quickly, she walked into the kitchen. Her hands were trembling, she realized. And it was wonderful. Her whole body was quivering in response to that long, last look he’d given her before she’d rushed away. She didn’t know what it would be like, but she knew that she’d never wanted anyone more. The months of separation hadn’t stunted the emotions that had begun growing inside her.
And that first greedy kiss as they’d tumbled heedless to the floor had been more stunning, more erotic than any fantasy she’d woven while she’d waited for him to come back.
He’d come to her. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Nerves were jittering, she thought. But they were good nerves, hot and strong, not cold, cowardly ones.
Tonight, she would take the step. She would reclaim herself. Because she wanted, Deanna thought. Because she chose.
Putting a sandwich of cold ham and cheese on a platter, she added a pilsner of beer. She lifted the tray and smiled to herself. Desire was as basic and human as hunger. Once they had satisfied the latter, she would take him to her bed, into her body.
“I could put together something hot,” she said as she carried the tray back into the living room. “There’s a can of soup in the—” Deanna broke off and stared.
Carnac the Magnificent was on a roll. Ed was hooting in response. And Finn Riley, the Desert Hunk, was sleeping like a baby.
He’d pried off his battered hightops, but hadn’t bothered to remove his jacket. Unrelenting work, travel and jet lag had finally taken their toll. He lay flat on his stomach, his face smashed into one of Deanna’s satin pillows, his arm dangling limply over the edge of the couch.
“Finn?” Deanna set the tray aside and put a hand on his shoulder. When she shook him, he didn’t stir, a hundred and sixty pounds of exhausted male.
Resigned, she went for a spare blanket and tucked it around him. She locked the front door, secured the chain. Switching the lamp to low, she sat down on the floor in front of him. “Our timing,” she said quietly and kissed his cheek, “continues to suck.” With a sigh, she picked up the sandwich and tried to fill the void of sexual frustration with food and television.
Finn pulled out of the dream, chilled with sweat. The fading vision behind his eyes was horrid—the body riddled with bullets at his feet, blood and gore staining the pink silk and sequins of the tattered evening gown. In the quiet light of morning, he struggled to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face.
Disoriented, he tried to get his bearings. Hotel room? What city? What country? A plane? A taxi?
Deanna. Remembering, Finn let his head fall back against the cushions and moaned. First he’d tossed her to the floor, then he’d passed out. A rousing segment in the frustrating journal of their romance.
He was surprised she hadn’t dragged him out of the apartment by the feet and left him snoring in the hall. Fighting free of the blanket, he staggered up. He swayed a moment, his body still floating with fatigue. He’d have killed for coffee. He supposed that was why he thought he smelled some brewing. After months in the desert, he knew that mirages weren’t only the result of heat, but of desperate human desires.
He rolled his stiff shoulders and swore. Christ, he didn’t want to think about desires.
But maybe it wasn’t too late. A quick injection of instant coffee, and he could slip into bed with Deanna and make up for his neglect the night before.
Bleary-eyed, he stumbled toward the kitchen.
She was no mirage, standing there in a beam of sunlight, looking fresh and lovely in slacks and a sweater, pouring gloriously scented coffee into a red ceramic mug.
“Deanna.”
“Oh!” She jolted, nearly upending the mug. “You startled me. I was concentrating on some mental notes for the show.” She set the pot down, brushed suddenly damp hands down her hips. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock. I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or apologetic, but if you share that coffee, I’ll be anything you want.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed or apologetic about.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes as she reached for the mug. “You were exhausted.”
He lightly stroked a hand over her hair. “How angry are you?”
“I’m not.” But her gaze cut away from his when she pushed the mug into his hand. “Do you want cream or sugar?”
“No. If not angry, what?”
“It’s hard to explain.” There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen, she realized. And he was blocking the way out. “I’ve really got to go, Finn. My driver will be here in a few minutes.”
He stood his ground. “Try to explain.”
“This isn’t easy for me.” Unnerved, she snapped out the words and turned away. “I’m not experienced in morning-after conversation.”
“Nothing happened.”
“That’s not the point, not really. I wasn’t thinking last night. I couldn’t. When I saw you, I was overwhelmed by what was happening, what I was feeling. No one’s ever wanted me the way you did last night.”
“And I blew it.” No longer interested in coffee, he set the mug carefully on the counter. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped that first mad rush, but I was afraid I’d hurt you.”
She turned slowly, her eyes reflecting her confusion. “You weren’t hurting me.”
“I would have. Christ, Deanna, I could have eaten you alive. And tearing into you on the floor, it was . . .” He thought bitterly of Angela. “It was too careless.”
“That’s my point. Not on your side, Finn, on mine. I was careless, and that’s not like me.” There seemed to be nothing she could do with her hands. She lifted them, let them fall as he continued to stand and study her. “The feelings you’ve stirred up aren’t like me. And the way things turned out . . .” She tugged at her earlobe. “It gave me time to think.”
“Great.” He snatched up the
mug again and took a long drink. “Terrific.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said as she watched his eyes darken. “But we need to talk, before this goes any further. Once I explain, once you understand, I hope we can keep going.”
There was a plea in her eyes, something she needed from him. He didn’t have to know what it was to respond. Crossing to her, he cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her lightly. “Okay. We’ll talk. Tonight?”
Nerves vanished in relief. “Yes, tonight. Fate must be looking out for me. It’s the first free weekend I’ve had in two months.”
“Come to my place.” As her body softened beautifully against his, he kissed her again, lingering, persuasive. “There’s something I very much want to do.” He nipped at her lip until her eyes fluttered closed.
“Yes.”
“I very, mmm, very much . . .” He traced her lips with his tongue, dipped slowly inside to savor. “Want to cook for you.”
“So, what’s he going to cook?”
“I didn’t ask.” Briskly, Deanna checked over her wardrobe list, noting the dates that certain skirts, blazers, blouses and accessories had been worn. She had a production assistant who dated and tagged each piece, listing not only when it had been worn, but in combination with what other items.
“It’s pretty serious when a man cooks for you—especially on a Friday night.” Fran kept one eye on Aubrey, who was taking a peaceful nap in the Portacrib. “Very high-powered wooing.”
“Maybe.” Deanna smiled at the idea. Meticulously, she began to arrange her choices for the following week’s line-up of shows. “I plan on enjoying it.”
“My instincts tell me he’s good for you. I’d like a little more time to check him out personally, but the look on your face when you came in this morning was almost enough.”
“What kind of look?”
“Happiness. Strictly feminine happiness. Different from the gleam in your eye when Delacort renewed us, or when we got picked up by six new stations.”
“How about when we moved into first place in Columbus?”
“Even different from that. This is all-important. The show, what you’re able to do with it. The way you’ve shifted things around so I can bring Aubrey to work.”
“I want her here, too,” Deanna reminded her. “Nobody on staff is going to have to make the choice between parenthood and career. Which brings up a topic idea I had.”
Fran picked up her clipboard. “Shoot.”
“Finding ways to incorporate day care into the workplace. Right in office buildings and factories. I read an article about this restaurant, family-run. They have what amounts to a preschool right off the kitchen. I’ve already given Margaret the clipping.”
“I’ll check it out.”
“Good. Now let me tell you my idea about Jeff.”
“Jeff? What about him?”
“He’s doing a good job, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say he’s doing a great one.” Fran glanced over as Aubrey sighed in her sleep. “He’s totally devoted to you and the show, and he’s a wizard at cutting through the fat.”
“He wants to direct.” Pleased that she’d been able to surprise Fran, Deanna sat back. “He hasn’t said anything to me, to anyone. He wouldn’t. But I’ve watched him. You can see it by the way he hangs around the studio, talking to the cameramen, the techs. Every time we get a new director, Jeff all but interrogates him.”
“He’s an editor.”
“I was a reporter,” Deanna pointed out. “I want to give him a shot. God knows we need a permanent director, somebody who can slide into the groove, who understands my rhythm. I think he’ll fit the bill. What, as executive producer, do you think?”
“I’ll talk to him,” Fran said after a moment. “If he’s interested, we’ve got a show scheduled for next week on video dating. It’s light. We could test him out on it.”
“Good.”
“Deanna.” Cassie stood in the doorway, a newspaper rolled tight in her hand.
“Don’t tell me. I’ve only got twenty minutes before shooting the new promo, and after that I’ve got to get across town and charm the Chicago chapter of NOW. I swear, warden, I wasn’t trying to make a break for it.”
“Deanna,” Cassie repeated. There was no humor in her eyes. Only distress. “I think you should see this.”
“What is it? Oh, not the tabloids again.” Prepared to be mildly irked, she took the paper from Cassie, unfolded it and glanced at the screaming headline. “Oh my God.” Her knees went to jelly as she groped behind her for a chair. “Oh, Fran.”
“Take it easy, honey. Let me see.” Fran eased Deanna down into a chair and took the paper.
SECRET LIFE OF AMERICA’S GIRL NEXT DOOR
Midwest’s Darling a Party-Hardy College Girl
Deanna’s Former Lover Tells All!
There was a big red EXCLUSIVE! bannering the corner, and a sidebar hinting at WILD NIGHTS! DRUNKEN ORGIES! SEX ON THE FIFTY-YARD LINE! beneath a recent photo of Deanna. Beside her was a grainy photograph of a man she’d tried to forget.
“That son of a bitch!” Fran exploded. “That lying bastard. Why the hell did he go to the tabs with this? He’s dripping with money.”
“Who knows why anyone does anything.” Sickened, Deanna stared at the bold headlines. The frightened, broken girl she had been resurfaced. “He got his picture in the paper, didn’t he?”
“Honey.” Fran quickly turned the paper over. “Nobody’s going to believe that trash.”
“Of course they are, Fran.” Her eyes were bright and hard. “They’ll believe it because it makes titillating copy. And most people won’t get past the headlines anyway. They’ll scan them when they’re checking out in the supermarket. Maybe they’ll read the copy on the front page, even flip through to the inside. Then they’ll go home and chat about the story with their neighbors.”
“It’s crap. Exploitive crap, and anybody with a working brain knows it.”
“I just thought you should know.” Cassie handed Deanna a cup of water. “I didn’t want you finding out from someone else.”
“You were right.”
Cassie pressed her lips together. “You’ve gotten some calls on it.” Including one, which she would not pass on, from Marshall Pike.
“I’ll handle them later. Let me see, Fran.”
“I’m going to fucking burn this rag.”
“Let me see,” Deanna repeated. “I can’t deal with it if I don’t know what it says.”
Fran reluctantly handed the paper to her. As with the worst of tabloid press, there was just enough truth mixed in with the lies to have impact. She had indeed gone to Yale. And she had dated Jamie Thomas, a star tackle. Yes, she had attended a postgame party with him in the autumn of her junior year. She’d danced, she’d flirted. She’d consumed more alcohol than might have been wise.
She certainly had taken a walk to the playing field with him on that cool, clear night. And she had laughed as he’d rushed over the grass, tackling invisible opponents. She’d even laughed when he’d tackled her. But the story didn’t say that she’d stopped laughing very quickly. There was no mention of fear, of outrage, of sobbing.
In Jamie’s recollection she hadn’t fought. She hadn’t screamed. In his version he hadn’t left her alone, her clothes torn, her body bruised. He didn’t say how she’d wept on that chilly grass, her spirit shattered and her innocence violently stolen.
“Well.” Deanna brushed a tear from her cheek. “He hasn’t changed his story over the years. Maybe he’s embellished it a little more, but that’s to be expected.”
“I think we should contact Legal.” It took all of Fran’s control to speak calmly. “You should sue Jamie Thomas and the paper for libel, Dee. You’re not going to let him get away with it.”
“I let him get away with a lot worse, didn’t I?” Very neatly, very deliberately, she folded the paper, then tucked it into her purse. “Cassie, please clear my schedule after the NOW meeting.
I know it may cause some problems.”
“No problem,” Cassie said instantly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Cancel everything,” Fran told her.
“No, I can do what I have to do.” Deanna picked up her sweater. However steady her voice, her movements, her eyes were devastated.
“Then I’ll go with you. You’re not going home alone.”
“I’m not going home at all. There’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll be fine.” She squeezed Fran’s arm. “Really. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Damn it, Dee, let me help.”
“You always have. I really have to do this one thing alone.