Girl of My Dreams (11 page)

He turned to her, eyebrows lifted. “Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of a game.”

A huge stack of chips sat in front of him. She automatically glanced at his cards: four kings, one joker. Wow, it was a good hand.

“Lady, you can’t do that. Get back,” the pit boss said.

Bulbs flashed, deflecting the man’s wrath.

“Get that camera out of here. No pictures,” he said, reaching to grab it.

As the picture-taker fled, uniformed guards appeared and took after him.

Blake threw his cards down and got up. “Keep the money,” he said to the dealer.

Jillian gaped. There had to be at least five hundred dollars sitting there. He couldn’t just leave it.

Scraping back his chair, he said, “Let’s go.”

He must think the escape was worth it. Little did he know the looniness at the card table was nothing compared to what lay in store for him. He would not be happy.

Just then, a woman shouted, “That’s Veronica Baker. I saw her on TV.”

Oh no, not another mauling.

Blake put his arm around her, steering her away from the escalating mob. “Let’s make a run for it.”

Her feet wobbled in the high heels. She almost tripped over her long skirt as she tried to match Blake’s pace down the aisles and into the adjoining banquet hall. If only she’d had time to change to gym shoes.

Their pursuers matched Jillian and Blake’s pace, keeping only a few steps behind. This time Blake wouldn’t have time to break stride and call for reinforcements.

Feeling as if she’d entered a cartoon, Jillian followed Blake’s lead through the banquet hall with its white linen-topped tables and gleaming crystal, into the steaming kitchen, where high-capped men and women flipped food in huge silver skillets.

She was out of breath, but that didn’t stop her from appreciating the aroma of garlic, chicken and other delicacies. With each gulp of air, her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten. She’d give anything to stop and grab something, but, with the growing parade following close behind, that was not an option.

Blake made an about face, pulling her along. They ran down the adjoining aisle and into another room. With the pursuers sidetracked, he opened a door to the right, pulled Jillian inside and shut it fast. The lock clicked.

It was dark. A disinfectant smell hit Jillian seconds before she fell forward onto Blake, who in turn fell backward. A mop head hit her on the temple. She stifled a groan.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“I think so,” she barely got out.

How could she speak in such a position? Her breasts lay directly against his solid chest, as if they belonged there. Her heart beat in a staccato rhythm, matching his.

She had to regain equilibrium. Squirming, she tried to rise, but instead her thigh brushed against a part of him she’d been trying to ignore.

The evidence of his arousal flashed a primal message straight to her core. Her limbs grew weak. She sank back down.

Footsteps and voices drew near.

“They’ve got to be around here somewhere,” someone said.

The knob turned. Julie held her breath. If the man with the camera was outside the door, she and Blake would certainly make the tabloids. She pictured the captions now. “Show canceled. Producer and contestant caught
in flagrante delicto
in a broom closet.”

The knob jiggled again.

“They can’t be in there. I saw them go to the left,” another person said.

The footsteps faded. Would they return? As Jillian waited, all was silent, except for the sound of heavy breathing. Was it hers or his?

Neither she nor Blake moved for a good two minutes. She didn’t know about him, but she was afraid to.

“I see you decided to take me up on my offer after all, but my room would have been a lot more comfortable,” Blake said, first to break the silence.

“You are so conceited,” Jillian said, rolling away from him and knocking against a broom. Ignoring the bristles, she struggled to rise.

Blake grabbed her by the elbows. “Let me help.”

“I can manage.” Not really. The room was so small she stumbled into even more objects on the way up.

By the time she was turning the door handle, her palms were so wet they slipped. She tried again and the knob rattled. “Don’t tell me we’re stuck in here.”

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with in a broom closet,” Blake said from behind her.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No. I swear you’re the only one.”

His voice was warm and caressing, sending shivers up and down her spine. All she had to do was turn around and put her arms around him. It would be so easy, but then what? The new Jillian told her not to think of tomorrow, only today. Thank goodness there was still enough of the old Jillian left to consider the consequences.

She jiggled the knob as if her life depended on breaking out. With a jerk, it gave. She tripped into the hallway, almost landing on the floor. How many times had she fallen or almost fallen lately?

Ever since she’d signed on for this caper, the balance of her life had shifted. Nothing would ever be the same. Her secure, on the sidelines, dream world had vanished, leaving chaos in its wake. Like a loose knob, all she could do was rattle back and forth, doing her best to maintain sanity, sometimes successfully, often not.

What crazy thing would happen next?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BLAKE STEPPED OUT of the broom closet to join Jillian in the deserted hallway and couldn’t help staring. Her gown was torn up to the waist on one side, affording a magnificent view. He felt like grabbing her, pulling her back into the closet and stripping off the gown completely. Instead, he turned his head and looked down the hall. Was it safe to venture further?

The fans appeared to be gone. For the time being he and Jillian could move and speak without being discovered.

“Well, that was entertaining. Now, what was the important thing you wanted to tell me?” he asked with a slight smile.

Jillian finished straightening her gown. Her eyes filled with contrition. “We’ve got problems and I’m afraid they’re my fault.”

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad. The show was doing well. All had gone according to plan, with the possible exception of Jillian’s falling on Troy and Blake’s rushing to the stage earlier. He was high on success. It was a foreign feeling, but mighty good.   

“Nadia recognized me as your assistant. She said she’s filing a law suit because I entered the contest. Also, she’s going to the papers.” Jillian repeated everything the ousted contestant had said.

He should have known something like this would happen. As soon as he’d seen Jillian standing in line, he’d sensed a potential blowout. Damn, why had she decided to be heroic? If she’d dragged anyone else in, this wouldn’t be happening. It was his fault as well. He should have forced her to leave after the first round instead of encouraging her. Now he had a problem on his hands.

The air drained from his lungs. He could barely breathe. His show and his honor were at stake. If Nadia went public, people would assume the worst. Once the actual truth got out, it would be too late. Everything he’d dreamt of and worked for would go up in smoke. The resulting damage would spread as swiftly and devastatingly as a wildfire. He’d turn into a show business pariah, and no one would trust him.

He wouldn’t let it happen. He had to deflect Nadia and the public’s wrath, but how?

“Damn, I don’t need this,” he said.

“I’m so sorry. I was only trying to help. If I’d known this would happen, I’d never have done what I did.”

He shook his head. “God save me from well-meaning females.”

The problem was he couldn’t think straight. Jillian, the girl who was always in control, looked ready to bawl.

Through the mounting irritation, a ray of compassion filtered through. He placed his hand on her bare shoulder. Ignoring a bolt of electricity, he looked into her clouded jade eyes. “It’s too late for regrets. Let’s deal with the here and now.”  

“I’ll do anything you want to make it right.”

Anything. Her words and tousled hair conjured up a suitable act of penance unrelated to the problem at hand. Amazing how even in the throes of crisis, his body asserted itself over his mind. All it took was the right stimulus.

That brought Blake down to earth with a jolt. Right now he was swimming in dangerous waters and acting way too much like his mother. Hormones were his worst enemy. He’d best not forget it.

He jerked his hand away. “An offensive attack might work. No one’s completely clean.  Time to rake up some goods on Nadia.”

“Can I help?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve done enough. Under the circumstances, it would be best if we stayed as far apart as possible.” His words came out colder than he’d intended.

She flinched as if struck. Opening his mouth to soften the blow, he clamped it shut instead. Better not promote closeness. The situation was perilous enough.

Her soft full lips trembled. He wanted like hell to cover them with his own lips, press down and force the trembling to stop. After that, he’d pull off that blasted virginal gown.

“You’re right,” she said, interrupting his wayward thoughts. “I’ll go first, so no one notices us together.”

“Good. That’s a start.”

She turned her back to him and started out, hips swaying. He instinctively tried to catch up, ready to spin her around, press himself against her so he could make those hips move in frenzied motion beneath him.

What was he thinking? When would he get it into his head she was off limits? It didn’t matter what prompted him to lose himself inside her, he’d never do it. He had too much at stake.

He stood there, regret welling up inside of him. What perverse fate made him get a thing for her, of all people, at this most dangerous of times? Sure, she was attractive, but not the only woman around. No, but the only one he wanted, damn it.

Blake waited a few more minutes to ensure Jillian had caught the elevator before making his solitary way down the corridor. The haunting piano melody from the previous performance drifted through his mind, filling him with a vast loneliness, taunting him with what might have been but could never be.

WHEN BLAKE ARRIVED at his hotel room, the phone was already ringing. Had the press caught on so soon? Tempted not to answer, he decided to brazen it out instead. He’d put to rest once and for all any suspicions that Jillian hadn’t earned her place on her own merits.

“We’ve got trouble,” Darryl said.

Blake almost wished the voice were that of a reporter’s. He knew what would come next and didn’t have time to listen to a litany of his mother’s transgressions. The man never learned.

Blake sighed and situated himself on the grey wing chair next to the couch. He may as well be comfortable while his father spilled his guts. “If you mean Barbara’s latest fling with the leading man, yeah, I’ve read about it. It’s nothing unusual, you know,” Blake said.            

Since childhood, at his mother’s bequest, he’d always called her by her first name. She was right in that respect. She wasn’t much of a mother. Why pretend?

Depending on the instance, his feelings for his father vacillated among pity, irritation and sometimes love.

He could remind Darryl about the other guys and tell him what a fool he was for hanging on, but it wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t listen. The man was pathetic.

“It’s worse than you think,” Darryl said.

“Really? This might be interesting.”

“I’m serious. Your mother was guaranteed the lead in
Thomasita
. They snatched it away at the last minute and gave it to that up-and-comer, Maria Martino.”

“Barbara’s not Italian. Stacy is. Case closed.”

“No, it wasn’t that. Your mother had the part, but she didn’t follow the script. She substituted lines.”

Blake sighed again. The solution was simple. Why bother him? He had more important matters to address than his mother losing a role through negligence. The woman possessed an ego greater than an ocean. He didn’t doubt she often substituted words in movies, but most directors and producers were too cowed by her persona to protest.

“Tell Barbara to spend more time memorizing lines instead of boinking her leading men. Problem solved.”

“Don’t be so flippant. You don’t know your mother as well as you think. She’s obsessive about her lines. She practices
ad nauseum
. I should know. It’s a grueling business going over the scripts with her. She knows them at first, and then forgets them. It’s happening too often. There’s something wrong.”

“Are you saying Alzheimer’s or something like that? She’s only what, fifty-six?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

Blake sighed. “Darryl, you worry too much. It’s normal not to remember things sometimes, especially when you get a little older. It doesn’t mean she’s sick. She’s probably nervous and can’t concentrate. She’ll snap out of it.”