License to Thrill (20 page)

And she felt an inexplicable sadness as she imagined things that she could never have with him. A wedding night. A home. A baby.

A knock sounded at the door at the same time a fresh-faced young woman with exotic almond eyes and honey-colored skin poked her head around the door.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hammersmitz…oh, my…oh, no…I’m so sorry.” Flustered and flushing to the roots of her glossy dark hair, the girl spun on her heels and turned her back to them.

Charlee jumped from Mason’s lap, buttoning her blouse as she went.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” the assistant muttered to herself. “You’ve got to learn to stop walking in on newlyweds.”

“It’s all right,” Mason assured the woman. His voice seemed loud in the confines of the small room. “We’re the ones who should apologize for not locking the door.”

She peeked over at him and saw that his hair was sexily disheveled and his mouth was plastered with the vixen red lipstick the makeup artist had caked on her lips. And she saw that his eyes reflected an unexpected happiness. A happiness bordering on pure joy. She had caused that look.

Charlee caught her breath at the glorious realization of her power over him.

The young woman still did not look at them. “They’re ready for you on the set now,” she squeaked, then scurried away.

“I think we traumatized her for life,” Mason joked.

“I think you traumatized me for life,” Charlee confessed before she realized what she was going to say. The last thing on earth she wanted was for Mason Gentry to know exactly how vulnerable his happiness made her feel.

Lust was one thing. Love was something else entirely.

CHAPTER 12

M
aybelline woke to find her bare legs entwined with Nolan’s. When she turned her head, she was treated to a spectacular view of his broad, muscled back. Sometime before dawn he’d put his boxers back on, making him both modest and adorable.

Her cranky old heart careened into her chest as unbalanced as a drunk staggering out of a bar at two
A.M.
Last night had been incredible and she couldn’t thank Nolan enough for making her feel like a desirable woman again. He’d given her a whole new lease on life and the fortitude to face what lay ahead of them.

What you’re feeling is way more than gratitude, Maybelline, and you know it.

She was in love.

The dreamy teen who had hidden her love from him forty-seven years ago because his father had told her a white trash Sikes would never be good enough for a Gentry had sent her fleeing to Hollywood. And she’d ended up sleeping with a married man simply because he’d looked like Nolan.

That same young girl who’d had the stars smacked from her eyes by an unplanned pregnancy and a man unwilling to assume responsibility for his own son.

That spunky kid had carried a large burden on her small shoulders and she’d done the best she could. But Elwood’s father had turned Maybelline hard and cynical inside when it came to love and romance.

She grieved now for her lost innocence. She felt guilty too, for coloring Charlee’s view about men and life in general. She felt guilty about a lot of things. About the way Elwood had turned out. About the way he’d blackmailed Nolan.

Her lover had been wonderful, however, never blaming her for what Elwood had done.

Her lover.

Maybelline smiled up at the ceiling. She was sixty-three years old and Nolan Gentry was her lover at long last. The lover who made her feel like a giggly, girlish sixteen-year-old all over again.

Something good had come of Elwood’s criminal behavior. Unfortunately, there was still a whole lot of bad they had to clean up before they could take their budding relationship one step farther. Too many things hung in the balance. Like the Gentry family fortune.

Maybe Nolan’s father had been right. Maybe she did spell nothing but trouble for his son.

“Morning, sunshine. What’s got you concentrating so hard?” Nolan reached over and rubbed the frown line between her eyebrows with the flat of his thumb.

She looked into his dark brown eyes and smiled. “You.”

He tugged her into his arms and held her against his chest for the longest time. They lay not speaking, listening to the sound of their synchronized breathing and reveling in the rekindled love they’d found.

Finally, Nolan kissed her and said, “We have a long day ahead. We should get up, get started.”

Maybelline nodded but neither of them moved. She feared that if they got out of bed she would realize it was all a dream.

He nuzzled her neck and planted small kisses along the underside of her jaw.

“Best not start something you don’t plan on finishing,” Maybelline whispered. “Because I can’t be held responsible for what I do next.”

“You issuing a threat, honey? Or a promise?”

“Why don’t you take a chance and find out.”

An hour and a half later, sexually sated and voraciously hungry, Maybelline and Nolan sat on the tailgate of the camper eating a bag of popcorn for breakfast. Maybelline kicked her legs back and forth, munching contentedly.

“You deserve brunch at the Four Seasons,” Nolan said.

She waved a hand. “That sort of thing means nothing to me.”

“Oh, just wait until you come to Texas. I’m going to spoil you something rotten.”

“Well, old man, don’t count your chickens before they hatch. We’ve got a lot of damage control to do before we can start making plans for the future.”

Nolan frowned. “I was trying not to think about all that for a few minutes.”

“That’s because you’re the idealist and I’m the realist.”

“How did I manage for so long without you?” he asked.

She grinned. “You did pretty well by yourself. A high-society wife, a son, a huge investment firm. I wouldn’t have been an asset in your world, Nolan, and you know it. Your daddy certainly knew it.”

“Well, my daddy’s gone and my world has changed. I’m not the easily influenced young kid I once was.”

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” Maybelline said. “You keep an eye out for passing cars while I take another look at that thermostat.”

She had been tinkering under the hood of the camper for about twenty minutes, alternating cussing out the thermostat and sweetly cajoling it to work, when Nolan called out, “Car’s coming.”

Maybelline straightened and tucked the one tool she had—a toothbrush-sized wrench she kept in her purse for emergencies—into her back pocket. Nolan was standing at the edge of the road, windmilling his hands in an attempt to get the car to stop.

She wiped her hands on a napkin and narrowed her eyes at the vehicle. Damn if it wasn’t a big black stretch limousine, right out here smack-dab in the middle of the Arizona desert. It looked as incongruous as a gold prospector at a high school prom.

As the limo drew closer she could see the windows were tinted. It pulled to a stop at Nolan’s feet. Maybelline sauntered over to stand beside Nolan, a queer anxiety shooting through her veins.

Slowly the electric windows rolled down and she found herself staring not only into the face of the man who’d impregnated her forty-seven years ago, but down the barrel of a bull-nosed thirty-eight as well.

Mason’s blood raced through his veins. He felt like a caged beast. Restless, pacing, hungry to be free.

Calm down. It’s just stress.

Stress. Yes.

That was the only excuse. Ever since losing Matilda he’d been acting crazy, out of character and out of control. Once the trip was over, once he’d found Gramps and ironed out this obvious misunderstanding, he would go back to being his old self.

Except oddly enough, some not-so-small part of him did not want to go back to his life the way it had been before he’d met Charlee Champagne.

Before Charlee everything had been nice and safe and predictable.
He’d
been nice and safe and predictable. The good son, doing what he was told, scheduled to marry a woman his parents approved of, doing the job they’d picked for him.

He’d been living someone else’s life.

And now?

Well now, things were in utter chaos. But in a weird, wonderful way, the chaos felt great.

Charlee made him itch for all the childish, carefree things he’d missed in life. Things he’d never even known he’d missed until he met her. Undisciplined, unruly, impetuous things like making out in the balcony of the movie theater or skinny-dipping in the lake at midnight under a full moon or feeding each other a banana split at Baskin-Robbins.

He glanced over at her. God, but she was extraordinary. Impulsive, yes, but cautious too. She made decisions quickly—like getting them on the bus—but she was vigilant with her emotions, never letting him know exactly what she was feeling. She was smart and witty and determined. She was confident and generous and brave.

And in that sexy little outfit that had once belonged to Violet Hammersmitz she absolutely took his breath away. He was halfway in love with her already.

They were on a sound stage seated in a cheap plywood box, decorated with wedding bells and doves, that probably looked very nice on television, but in reality Mason feared getting splinters from the unfinished boards.

Francie and Jerry sat in the box next to them. All four of them had just won the first game and had advanced to the play-off round. This, in spite of the fact that he and Charlee had done everything within their power to answer the questions incorrectly.

It seemed some weird cosmic synchronicity compelled them both to choose the same wrong answers. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it kismet. New Agey as it sounded, Mason feared the universe was hell-bent on shoving them into each other’s arms, no matter how they struggled against it.

He was surprised to discover the notion didn’t scare him. Not in the least. In fact, he craved the heady excitement of falling in love and he knew this was what had been missing from his relationship with Daphne.

Francie wriggled her fingers and mouthed, “Good luck,” at the same time the music swelled and a spotlight came on to showcase the Bob Eubanks look-alike who came popping out from behind the curtain.

The live audience broke into immediate applause.

“Good morning, folks! And we’re back for the grand prize round. I’m Manny Mann, your host for Twilight Studios’
New Millennium Newlywed Game.
Let’s give a big hand to couple number one Skeet and Violet Hammersmitz from the heart of America, Des Moines, Iowa!”

The spotlight shone on him and Charlee. Obediently the crowd clapped and Manny Mann went on to introduce the remaining couples.

Mason peered over at Charlee again. She looked more nervous now than she had in the first round, poor kid. Winning had kicked the stakes up a notch. They simply had to lose this time.

She was so tough and self-reliant he kept forgetting she was covering a soft, vulnerable core and that she hadn’t had the advantages in life that he’d enjoyed. Advantages like private tutors, Harvard Business School, a life coach, a media coach, and a mentor. Smiling his encouragement, he reached over and squeezed her hand as the production crew cut to a commercial and the emcee joked with the audience.

“You’re doing just fine,” he whispered. “I know we’ll lose this time.”

She nodded but instead of his touch reassuring her, he was surprised to find she trembled even harder.

“Charlee? Are you okay?”

Before she could answer, the same young assistant who had interrupted them in the dressing room came over to escort the ladies offstage to a soundproof room.

Thirty seconds later, they were back from commercial and the Bob Eubanks clone, Manny Mann, jumped right into the program.

“Husbands, here’s your first question.” He paused while dramatic music played. “Would you say your wife’s chest is more like a watermelon, a grapefruit, a peach, or a strawberry?”

The audience twittered.

“Skeet?” Manny prompted him with a smug smirk. “What fruit are Violet’s breasts most like?”

The spotlight shone on Mason. What a stupid question. He forced a smile. He was stuck here, he might as well play along.

“Are we talking size here, Manny, or flavor?”

The crowd hooted and guffawed enthusiastically at his response.

“Either or, Skeet. Just answer the question.”

“A peach.” He’d just discovered firsthand that Charlee’s breasts were round, soft, and perfect. Just the right size for cupping into a man’s palm.

And on went the stupid questions. Mason was never so relieved in his entire life when at the next commercial break they brought the wives back in.

Charlee seemed to have recovered from her stage fright. She was laughing and joking with the other women. That is until she sat next to him again. The smile left her face and she nervously started to chew on her thumbnail but stopped herself before she could nibble off the flashy Be Still My Heart crimson polish.

Then a curious thought occurred to Mason. Maybe Charlee wasn’t afraid of being on television or of winning the game. Maybe she was afraid of
him.

Charlee afraid? Impossible. He thought of how she’d used her body to block his from the bullet shot into her grandmother’s trailer. How she’d tackled the old gold prospector at the abandoned studio lot. How she’d boldly bluffed her way onto the tour bus. Charlee was the most courageous woman he’d ever known.

“Okay, ladies, now we’ll see how well your answers matched your husbands’. Remember in this round each correct answer earns you five points. Violet, how do you suppose your husband answered?” Manny Mann asked and then repeated the ridiculous fruit question.

Charlee glanced at her chest, and put an exaggerated comic expression on her face. “Well, Manny, most people would probably say a strawberry, but my Skeet is really generous so I’m gonna say a peach.”

A bell sounded. “That’s absolutely correct. Skeet, hold up your card.”

Mason raised the placard the assistant had placed in his lap at the break.

Charlee grinned.

“Aren’t you going to kiss him for being so generous about your dimensions?” Manny asked a little too lewdly for Mason’s taste. He noticed the emcee kept glancing at Charlee’s chest and he frowned pointedly at the man.