Lucky Seven (Love in Vegas) Excerpt ONLY

The sound of the TV provided no more than background noise rather than the distraction from the reality of life Tasha had been hoping for. The ringing of her phone did, however, make her refocus.

“Tash, it’s Angie. I have news.”

“Should I be afraid?” she asked, unable to stifle a laugh at her agent’s overexcited shriek.

“Of course not. I’ve had a call from a studio in L.A. and they’ve invited you to meet with them in New York. Some kind of meet and greet shit.”

Tasha laughed again at her agent who really was so much more than that. Angie was brusque, crude, and direct to the point of rudeness, yet, she was also funny, caring and the closest thing Tasha had to a confidante.

“They said they’d heard good things about you from your brief visit to L.A. last year and thought it would be good to meet up. They’re in New York this weekend and have invited you to join them.”

“That’s short notice, Angie.”

“Last time I checked you didn’t have anything else planned.”

She laughed again but couldn’t disagree. “No, I don’t and thanks for the reminder that I have no work, social life or any direction.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tash, you know that self-pitying shit doesn’t work with me.” Angie cackled while Tasha grinned down the line.

“Book a flight then.” And with that agreement, suddenly, her mood genuinely lifted. Maybe, just maybe this could be the opportunity to turn things around.

“You’re on the five past six from Heathrow on Thursday night and you have your meeting on Friday at three, details of location to follow,” she said smugly, clearly knowing that making the trip was never really in doubt.

“Sounds great. I’ll just have to call home and make sure things are alright. Thanks Angie, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The sound of Angie coughing and spluttering down the line was the last thing Tasha heard.

****

Nerves kicked in as she waited for the car she’d been assured would collect her on the studio’s behalf. She checked her watch again as a black limo pulled up.

“Miss Winters?”

A nod was as much as she could manage but it seemed adequate for the driver as he opened the passenger door for her.

She looked down nervously at her hands, wringing in her lap, and took several deep breaths as she wondered whether she’d overdressed. The dress she’d chosen was a red floral, sleeveless cotton print dress with a sweetheart neckline that fitted tightly to the waist and then flared into a skirt that finished at her knees. It had several net petticoats beneath it and she had teamed it with bright red peep-toe stilettos. She’d even painted her toe nails to match. She was internally panicking, she could feel it and all of her anxiety was focused on her outfit that might have been better suited to a garden party rather than a potential business meeting.

The more she thought and questioned it, the more uncomfortable she became but as the car was pulling up to the kerb outside one of New York’s many skyscrapers she realised it was too late to reconsider. With a stern internal talking to, Tasha gathered her thoughts before the door opened and the driver prepared to help her out. She smiled at him and thanked him again as she headed towards the doors of the building and gave him a small wave that he returned.

“You look lovely ma’am. Good luck.”

Nerves were kicking in again as Tasha was shown into a large conference room by a rather aloof, blonde lady of probably thirty.

“Take a seat, Mr Maybury will be with you shortly. Help yourself to tea, coffee, soft drinks or the bar.”

Tasha glanced in the direction of the bar and dismissed the idea of a double vodka or a beer since either would be more likely to heighten her nerves and anxiety rather than calm them.

The woman smiled, maybe sensing her thoughts, not that it made it to her eyes before she turned to leave.

Being invited to New York to meet studio bosses was a huge opportunity. They would be looking at next season’s programming and beyond, which in turn meant casting. The money many shows and movies paid was phenomenal compared to the amount she was used to earning, not that she didn’t believe she was well paid. She did, and she loved her job. It wasn’t even work she was in need of, not really, but money. That’s what she needed, a constant supply for the next couple of years because she had responsibilities and commitments she was in no position to shirk or cast aside, not yet.

Tasha looked around and moved over to the picture window that took in a huge part of the Manhattan skyline. She tried to absorb it all. This day could literally change her life forever, but she knew that statistically it was unlikely and as she glanced down she noticed she’d dropped the business card for Mr Maybury she’d been holding. She bent over and reached for it without hearing the door opening.

“Good afternoon. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” The American accent behind her sounded warm and amused. “Although I appreciate the view.”

In the blink of an eye she was bolt upright and spinning around to face the owner of the voice that now wore a smile.

“The view?” Tasha stammered.

“Hmmm, very impressive.”

“It certainly is.” She gestured towards the window and landscape beyond.

“That’s not the one I was referring to.” A wolfish grin spread across the handsome face she still stared at.

How much of her had he seen? She blushed like mad and was struggling to speak, her mouth was so dry. She looked him up and down and thought he was probably just touching forty, but he was in fine fettle; about six feet tall, maybe a little over, broad, but muscular. His eyes were a rich, deep brown, almost black now, maybe due to the lighting and he still had a full head of dark brown hair. Yes, very fine fettle.

Standing in front of her smiling, he introduced himself with an outstretched hand. “Hi, James Maybury, Jim.”

“Hello, Natasha Winters, Tasha.” She felt flustered as she continued to hold the hand he’d offered her.

“Apologies if I embarrassed you.”

Tasha nodded, accepting his apology for her discomfort at him finding her bent over and his words to her about it.

He appeared to almost shake her off, making her realise she was still holding his hand. Once he’d freed himself he gestured for her to sit down in one of the lounge chairs at the far end of the room.

They talked for some time about the work she’d already done, what she had planned and her hopes for the future. Jim explained that these meetings were normally held with colleagues, but for no reason he disclosed, not this time.

Suddenly, he leapt to his feet. “Dinner, Tasha?”

She looked at her watch and was surprised to see that it was already six o’clock.

“Erm, yes. Sorry, James, I talk too much.”

“Not at all. I could listen to you all night, and please, Jim.”

The wicked glint in his eyes lit up the whole of his face and caused her to shiver and heat up at the same time.

She blushed again. “Okay, Jim. Although I think you’re more of a James than a Jim.”

He laughed at her. Just a short, single laugh as he cocked his head and appeared to study her. “You are very forthright, Miss Winters.”

She shrugged, quickly becoming confused why that action resulted in a deep frown creasing his brow. Tasha had a strong need to remove his frown and replace it with his earlier happy expression. “Sorry.”

He waved her apology away and she was relieved that he was happy again, the curl of his lips confirmed that. “Unnecessary. So, dinner?”

“You don’t have to do that.” As much as she wanted to spend more time with him, Tasha was also beginning to worry that if their dinner was discovered it could be horribly misconstrued. As handsome as the studio mogul or whatever his title might be was, she didn’t want there to be future accusations that she had in any way slept her way into roles. She knew better than anyone how valuable, convenient and overused sex was as a commodity, but not for her.

“Honey, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, so the fact that I’m inviting you to dinner suggests I’d like to have dinner with you.” His tone was flat and calm, his expression a little less so when she noticed it darkening.

“Oh.”

The man before her smiled which actually made him more attractive than ever. Gorgeous in fact. Gorgeous enough that she began to wonder just what it would be like to kiss him and be kissed by him, held in those arms and to be made love to by him.

“Is that a yes then?” He wore an unmistakeable grin as he took another step towards her while she could only gaze up.

She flitted her glance from his eyes to his lips that he was licking, slowly and seductively until she was sure she’d actually moaned out loud. She really was unsure whether she should do this or not, although she certainly wanted to spend another couple of hours with the man who had made the last three hours fly by and why wouldn’t she? He was sexy, attractive, articulate, and made her imagine things she hadn’t of late, including kissing. Her nod confirmed her intention to take him up on his offer of dinner.

“My hotel is just around the corner.”

Without another word, he took her by the elbow and steered her from the room, downstairs and into the first passing cab. The tension between them was palpable. The charge that crackled and arced lasted for the entire journey. Nobody spoke, including the driver.

Tasha knew that this had the potential to be the worst decision of her life, professionally. This had to be career suicide, she knew that, and still ignored the alarm bells going off in her head. Her own earlier warnings to herself about how this could be viewed if anyone ever found out about it were now a distant memory.

The cab pulled up outside the hotel she didn’t doubt was five star, possibly six star. Was six star a thing? She was sure it was. The door of the cab opened, startling her slightly as Jim’s hand appeared to help her out. Tasha stood on the pavement, the sidewalk, she thought with a small smile, while Jim paid their fare with a very generous tip before he returned his hand to her elbow and guided her to the lifts and eventually to his suite. Not the bar or restaurant, but his suite. The few doubts she’d had that she wasn’t in trouble with this man disappeared right there and then. He was trouble with a capital T.

Nervously, Tasha looked around the huge, plush, palatial suite and searched her mind for something to say and eventually came up with, “Very nice, Jim. You have very good taste.”

“That I do. Which is why you’re here, the good taste.”

His line should have come across as cheesy, as though he was trying just a little too hard, but it didn’t. Although, his awkward expression and apologetic shrug of his shoulders seemed to suggest it hadn’t sounded as good to him as it had to her. Yes, she was in well over her head and had no way of knowing what to do, especially as his words had her smiling so much her jaw ached while he stared down at her with a predatory glint which made her blush slightly. The danger was greater than she’d first assessed. She could still be considered very naïve, or as she preferred to view it, stupid. The fact she was here, in this very powerful and influential movie executive’s hotel suite, alone, and all before the possibility of work or the parameters of that had even been discussed confirmed her diagnosis of stupidity.

“So, dinner?” Tasha hoped Jim was about to suggest getting freshened up, him getting freshened up, alone, before heading down to the dining room, restaurant, whatever it was.

“Yes. Of course. Later. A drink first. What can I get you?”

“Just a soft drink, please.” She already knew that a clear head might be the one thing she could ensure.

He didn’t argue or try and change her mind, but passed her a drink.

“You look more like a white wine or champagne kind of girl to me.” He smiled as he sat next to her on the velvet sofa.

“I don’t mind wine with a meal, but I’m more of a beer girl when I go out.” The truth was that she didn’t drink all that often and only very occasionally to excess.

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “And champagne?”

“It’s not something I drink frequently or have any real knowledge of, but yes, for special occasions.” She smiled to herself as she thought that her only real memories of champagne usually involved a bed and Gerry. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t allowed her mind to go back there, to that painful place.

“Something amusing about the champagne you drink?”

“No. Sorry. A private joke I guess.” She blushed, cursing her pale complexion as she desperately tried to brush off her own comments and his smile, but did make the decision not to think of Gerry and the things they’d shared. It was all in the past and needed to stay there.

“I guess we all have those private jokes with champagne, honey.”

She felt a little embarrassed as she realised she was inadvertently discussing champagne sex with James Maybury. Sex, full stop. She was back on dodgy territory that was going to see her being swallowed whole into a real and metaphorical shit storm.

“Next time you’re in L.A. call me and I’ll show you around my vineyard.”

She looked surprised by the offer, but then so did he.

“Right, dinner.” Jim reached for the phone and called for several courses of a room service dinner meaning no dining room, no restaurant and no safe location with other people. This was turning more and more precarious with every word and detail that transpired. “I could have just sent you some scripts and stuff via your manager or agent, but I, the studio, like the personal touch.” The personal touch currently involved the brushing of his fingertips across her hand.

This was beyond perilous if the burn and tingle his touch incited were anything to go by. Tasha blushed again at her reaction to him as well as her thoughts about him, but nodded in acknowledgement of his need for the personal touch.

He smiled at her rosy hue and clear liking of his touch, of the reaction it caused on the most basic level.

The tension between them remained, however it was tempered slightly as they began to talk, which is when she succumbed to the white wine. So much for keeping a clear head.

Jim explained how he’d started life as an accountant and how as a very young man he’d found himself working in the studio he now ran. He’d worked his way up the corporate ladder, making investments that had allowed him to become the major shareholder. He told her stories of dramas and tantrums from producers, directors, actors, but mainly actresses. She was impressed by the fact that at no point did he name any of them. She didn’t doubt he was a ruthless, hard-nosed business man who didn’t take prisoners, but he was also scrupled and fair. He made several references to his wives.

Once dinner arrived they sat opposite each other. From nowhere she suddenly asked, “So how many Mrs Mayburys have there been?”

He looked at her slightly taken aback but laughed. “Straight to the point, Natasha. Six Mrs Mayburys, all of them no longer Mrs Maybury.”

Shit was her immediate thought and she just hoped it had remained in her head. Six of them. He must be a really crap husband to have got through six of them. Briefly, she wondered why six women had agreed to marry him with his track record but then decided that although he might be a crap husband, she was sure he was a great lover. Shocked at that thought Tasha shook her head at herself as she didn’t usually look at men as old as her dad and consider their prowess as lovers, but this wasn’t any man. This was James Maybury and she knew without a doubt, he was different.

“Why?” She had what she was sure was a false sense of bravery courtesy of the second, or maybe the third glass of wine she’d consumed.

He laughed at her directness again. “Why have there been six, or why are they former Mrs Mayburys?”

“Both.” She kicked her shoes off, propelling them under the table but not before she managed to bounce one off his shin.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you? You may need to put those sexy shoes back on later.” He rubbed the area the shoe had hit. “Six of them because I believed I was in love with each of them, kind of.”

“Kind of. I see.” Tasha reused his own throw away phrase but knew she saw very little and his arched brow seemed to suggest that he doubted her claim too.

“Wife number one; we met at college and she became a nurse. She was pretty and funny and I fell head over heels. After two kids and six years we both realised we’d changed. We were more like roomies than anything else and needed different things.” He sipped some of the wine in his glass. “Wife number two was knocked up, so that was a bigger motivator than love.”

She almost choked on her wine.

He patted her back. “She miscarried after we married, but I did care for her. She wanted children, but it never happened again. That was more of a concern for her than the fact our marriage was falling apart around us.”

“I’m sorry,” Tasha offered with genuine sympathy for his and her loss.

A dismissive wave of the hand suggested he didn’t want or need her apology or sympathy. “Wife number three was an actress, well, I say actress… Pretty, but lacking in talent, as a real actress anyway.” His tone and expression suggested genuine distaste and remorse at that marriage.

Tasha looked confused. “Real actress?”

“Yeah. She auditioned for parts before we married. She got a couple of commercials but no more. I refused to let her use my studio or contacts to further her career which I think came as a surprise to her. I would never have expected her to be cast in a part just because she was my wife. I encouraged her, supported her to go back to school, to take acting lessons if that’s what she wanted. She didn’t. She seemed a little lacklustre in terms of ambition and drive, which I’m sure I don’t need to tell you is totally necessary for an actress. So, she settled for spending my cash and enjoying lots of lunches with friends.”

The last word left her in no doubt that her idea of friends and his were very different. Tasha resisted the temptation to offer her sympathy or condolences and he continued.

“Things went downhill pretty quick. We divorced and she rediscovered her desire to act and ended up in the porn industry and whilst I have no moral objection to porn, it’s not something I’d want for my wife. I’m still not entirely sure how I didn’t see that coming, but we managed a year.”

Tasha laughed at his perplexed expression. “Number four?”

“Ooh number four. You’ll like this one I’m sure. She was a very beautiful and smart accountant for another studio. We hit it off straight away, but she wouldn’t let me touch her beyond kissing and making out. It was like being fourteen again, so I married her within a month in order to get her into bed.”

Tasha stared at him wide-eyed, amazed and slightly disbelievingly before her lips curled into a smile that he’d married her so soon simply to have sex with her. “Really? Was she a virgin?”

“No, she was not a virgin and it’s not funny. She was the worst lay I’ve ever had and the most expensive. Less than a year there,” he said with a straight face, unlike Tasha who was laughing long and hard now.

He laughed back, making her think he looked much younger than his years. Awareness and arousal was on the climb again with his eyes boring into her while her own gaze became fixed on his lips, she could have sworn they were moving closer, across the table, but then nothing. If anything, he settled back in his seat.

“Divorce number four was already in sight before the ink had dried on the marriage certificate,” said Jim. “Wife number five, my secretary.”

Tasha laughed, holding a succulent piece of steak on her fork. “Ah, the clichéd secretary. I expected better of you, James.”

“Jim,” he corrected, watching her draw the pink meat into her mouth. “I know. Things become a cliché for a reason. Within six months of marrying her I realised she was a mistake. She started as fun and a distraction and as my secretary, assistant, she was brilliant.”

“She was okay when she was just the secretary you were screwing, but not the wife?” Tasha spoke with a bluntness she didn’t recognise, but why? Was it his attitude to his failed marriages and ex-wives? The way he seemed to be able to reason the failings and dismiss the women and the relationships? She wanted to be able to confirm to herself that it was exactly that. That she was outraged by his sexist and disrespectful attitude, but she couldn’t because she knew the truth. She was jealous.

“Miss Winters, I don’t know that I approve of that language from such a sweet and beautiful mouth.”

She gulped down a large mouthful of wine, suddenly embarrassed again. Being chastened reminded her of their difference in their ages, especially when she was battling the green-eyed monster within.

“And number six?” She aimed to sound as casual as she possibly could.

“She was beautiful, had been very beautiful. A real lady, or she had been. She was a divorcee too, and a few years older than me. I was hoping maturity might work in our favour. It didn’t. Her first husband was a member at my golf club and Esther and I played a few rounds of golf together. We talked and laughed. Got along and that’s how number six happened.”

He looked awkward and uncomfortable discussing this wife. He didn’t dismiss her in quite the same way he had most of the others with the exception of the mother of his children.

“And divorce number six?”

“No divorce. She died.”

His eyes darkened. Tasha felt guilty, worse than that, but was grateful that she hadn’t made a jokey comment about them playing a round which had been in her head when he’d mentioned them playing golf together.

“Sorry, I didn’t know, sorry.”

“It’s okay. We were married for a year and a half, but had already separated before her death.” He smiled again now, allowing Tasha to relax a little. “It was an odd situation because I had chosen someone with lots of common interests, mutual friends and someone older and still it failed.”

“Are you on the lookout for number seven?” Her mouth was agape at her own question, clueless as to why she had thought it, never mind asked it.

Jim on the other hand grinned while amusement danced in his eyes. “Always looking, Tasha, always looking. But what about you?”

“No husbands and a few boyfriends. One really significant one, Gerry, and one that could have been more, I think. Oh, and a real crazy guy I was saddled with for a while.” Her reply shocked her because of how easy she found it to talk to him with honesty.

“So, significant, could have been more and the crazy guy? I bet there have been lots of dates and making out?” His gaze intensified as his voice turned almost husky.

She was shocked that he would ask, suggest, imply what she had or hadn’t experienced, but nodded her confirmation anyway.

“No broken engagements though?”

She shook her head. “Gerry asked me to marry him and was weird after I said no. Stuff happened and the others just wouldn’t have worked.”

“Guys don’t tend to ask unless they’re pretty sure of a yes so they do get weird if they get a no.” Jim smirked. “I’ve never had a no. Maybe I should have,” he mused then quickly switched back to focus on Tasha. “Why didn’t you marry him?”

His genuine interest and dark intensity had her shuddering with arousal, trepidation and a little fear.

“Because I don’t want to be married. I loved Gerry, still do in some ways, but I couldn’t give him marriage and things had happened. I’ve seen first-hand that marriage is complicated and messy and usually painful and whilst I appreciate your excuses for six failed marriages, it’s not always that simple, is it? Especially not when children are involved. I just don’t want to tread that path. Certainly not right now. Maybe one day, but I think I’ll only ever do it once, so it will need to be right.”

“I see. Very sensible, but maybe their loss could be my gain. Oh, everyone has at least one ex with issues to contend with. Wife number six, suicide.”

She was unsure what to say to that revelation so moved her empty plate from in front of her as Jim did the same. Reaching across he began brushing a strand of hair off her face. Instinctively, she moved into his hand and allowed him to brush his thumb across her lips, slowly, gently, seductively and although she knew she should stop, pull back and retreat, she didn’t. She did the opposite. She closed her eyes and felt that this man could be seriously dangerous for her judging by the electric current she could feel passing between them. The intensity increased with every passing second.

Suddenly, he stopped. “Are you familiar with the casting couch?”

She frowned and all of her earlier doubts and self-warnings flooded back. “I suppose, does that still happen?”

“How refreshingly naïve you are. But yes, sometimes I imagine. There are countless stories from back in the day of many beautiful actresses who got their studio deals that way and I always disapproved of it, in principal and reality. I view it as an unhealthy manipulation, bullying of sorts and certainly an abuse of power and position, but right now...” He breathed heavily and purposefully.

“But right now?” Tasha ignored the alarm bells almost deafening her as she encouraged him to continue.

“But right now I can see why those things happened. I can understand why those men made the offer of the chance to become the biggest, brightest, richest Hollywood star in exchange for whatever they wanted.”

“Sex.” Tasha shook her head.

“Excuse me?”

“Sex. That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it? I guess some might have gone on to marry their starlet but essentially they wanted sex, to somehow prostitute the object of their desire.”

Her voice was bitter and hard, she could hear it and Jim’s slightly startled expression seemed to suggest he’d heard it too.

He shrugged, an expression of confusion spread across his face, but he couldn’t quite disagree with her because whilst her summing up might have been blunt and harsh, it was accurate.

“And if the offer was made to you?” he asked and hastily added some clarification. “Not by me. I like to know that any woman who spends time with me is doing so because of me and not what I can do for her professionally.”

She shook her head thinking that was the last thing she wanted, would ever want. To be made into a star at the cost of herself, not that the idea of being under him didn’t appeal because it appealed far more than she wanted to admit, even to herself, but not like that. She wasn’t currency.

“I would turn down any such offer.”

“Potentially the biggest break of your career?”

“Yes. Strangely enough I like to earn jobs on my ability to perform, not screw.” She almost spat the words they were so terse. Anger followed that he potentially viewed her in that way. As nothing more than a piece of meat to be used at will. A commodity that could be bought and sold, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to get up and leave after telling him where to go with a slap across the face for good measure.

They stared at each other, the atmosphere darkening and intensifying. She could still feel the electricity crackling between them like some kind of warning of just how badly she could get burned. What was she doing? She was toying with this very powerful man and enjoying every second of it. He was old enough to be her father and at twenty-one-years-old, she was out of her depth, way out of it.

“I admire your integrity, honey, and I like you very much, but if you continue to use that word, screw, well I might have to stop you.”

There was a definite undercurrent of a threat, but she wasn’t scared. In fact, she was sorely tempted to say it again, just to see what would happen. Yes, she was in big trouble.

“Would you like dessert, more food?” There was a flirtatious glint in his eye as he spun the conversation on its head.

She shook her head, unsure if she could string actual words together with all the thoughts in her head involving sex with Jim. A frown in return suggested she would need to speak.

“No, thank you.”

Smiling, he returned to their previous topic of conversation. “What if I decide I want to give you your big break? A contract too good to say no to, an exclusive one?” he asked.

She shook her head once more. “A handcuffs deal?”

“Oh, honey, I’d happily cuff you.”

She ignored the final comment, aside from a smile, and returned her thoughts to his big break offer as he got to his feet and taking her hand led her back to the sofa with their glasses. He sat next to her, closer than earlier.

“I would only accept if I earned it, with my ability to act.”

He nodded. “I’ve already said that I admire your integrity, and I do. So, I won’t give you your big break. And I’m going to assume your rejection is confirmation that your reason for being here is me, just me.”

She grinned at him, realising that the carrot he had been dangling had been some kind of rouse, maybe to see just what she was willing to give up in return for a break in Hollywood.

“Your assumption would be correct,” she confirmed with a coyer smile. “I kind of have an offer of a movie anyway, with Jonathan Peters, but there are some funding issues.” She felt her triumphant expression reaffirmed that no matter how much she might need a Hollywood pay day, she wouldn’t take it at any cost.

“I know. It was Jon that first mentioned your name to me and when the funding issues are resolved it will be made for my studio,” he said, trumping her triumphant expression.

She laughed a little at her own naivety in thinking he wouldn’t know what work she had in the pipeline or who for.

“How well do you know him?”

“We roomed together in college and we were best buddies, still are. He’s one of the good guys. Your boyfriends, they were sexual partners, yes?”

She nodded and wasn’t that shocked by the swift change in his questioning again as that seemed to be his way of doing things.

“Shame. I would have liked to have been your first. To have broken you in.”

Tasha, despite the fact that only a few seconds ago might have thought him being her first would have been beyond memorable was more than offended and certainly buoyed by the wine. “I was never a horse that needed breaking in. You really are blunt to the point of rudeness and the fact that you want to sleep with me doesn’t give you the right to say those things, James.”

He stared at her intently. “Jim, please.” His tone was flat, polite and courteous as if the issue in this conversation was her calling him James rather than Jim, then he waited until she conceded in a single word response.

“Jim.”

With a small curl of his lips and a nod he spoke again. “Sleep with you? Is that what you think I want to do?”

He was egging her on, maybe even daring her. She couldn’t deny she was aroused by him and she didn’t know why, beyond the obvious physical attraction, of course. He was clever, articulate and funny, but he was also a tormentor and seemed to be slightly sexist, possibly even misogynistic, yet she knew she would not be leaving this room until she had slept with him. That much was obvious, even to her. She thought of her time with Jake and then Gerry, her beloved Gerry, who she still really missed. Then she remembered that he wasn’t hers to miss, not anymore. He was Kara’s. They had missed their chance and she had to move on. She was ready to move on. Even for just the weekend and possibly at the expense of some professional integrity because right now she had no thoughts beyond her desire and libido.

“No. I don’t believe you want to sleep with me. I believe you want to ‘screw’ me.” She emphasised the word screw through almost gritted teeth.

“Oh dear. I did warn you, Natasha. Put your shoes on.”

He escorted her to her shoes where on wobbly feet she obliged then he took her elbow and in the same way he’d escorted her in, he led her towards the door.

Shit! She’d read this all wrong. He was throwing her out for saying screw, or because she’d disobeyed him or was it because she’d declined his offer to make her a star. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted him. Wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone. How was that possible? She’d only known him for a few hours and wasn’t entirely sure she actually liked the man he was.