Twice the Temptation. Cara Summers
can call Reese about using Haworth House as a background setting for the series, of course. But as long as you’re right there, why don’t you broach the subject? Then you could sell it in person and not through an intermediary.”
He frowned. “You think there’ll be a problem?”
“I didn’t say that. But you did shoot three versions of the pilot before you were happy. She may fear you’re waffling again. In person, you could reassure her that you’re not.”
And he could blow his plan to keep his distance.
When Mac said nothing, Madelyn hurried on. “I’m a bit curious as to why she’s there. Even though it’s the family home she and her sisters have always wanted to build, she doesn’t go there often. Perhaps her sisters are flying in for some special event.”
Event.
Mac reached into his pocket and drew out a brochure that Tess, one of the waitresses, had handed him. It advertised a Singles Weekend. Tess had chattered on about it each time she’d waited on his table, and she’d encouraged him to attend the activities, promising him that he wouldn’t be disappointed. There were going to be a variety of singles mixing events and even a night when anyone brave enough could draw fantasies out of a box that silent film star Hattie Haworth had reputedly used with her lover.
Suddenly, Reese’s exchange with the hotel manager flashed into his mind.
“You’re early,” he’d said.
“One day,” she’d replied.
And he’d mentioned the Singles Weekend.
Then Mac recalled the parchment paper he’d picked up off the floor…. You will explore all of the sensual delights of having your own boy toy.
He’d been puzzled about it at the time, but any curiosity he might have felt had been overridden by his need to get away from her.
So that he could think. His frown deepened. He sure as hell didn’t like what he was thinking right now. Boy toy? Had she changed her plans to come home so that she could explore a sexual fantasy?
No. She just wasn’t the type of woman he’d ever suspect of being into sexual … games. That certainly wasn’t the girl-next-door persona she projected on the small screen.
“I’ll talk to her, Madelyn. You’re right—it will be best if I sell the idea in person. Now that I’ve seen the place, I think it’s essential to set the show at Haworth House. I’ll reassure her that this is a final decision. That I won’t bring in camera crews and then change my mind … and fly her off to Tibet.”
“Great. I’ll check with her tomorrow before I start the paperwork.”
“Right.”
After pocketing his cell, Mac made his way back to the hotel. As much as he might be wary of her on a personal level, making sure that he delivered the best possible show for her had to be his first commitment. So he’d stay long enough to convince her that Haworth House would nail the kind of ratings that would help both their careers.
Then he’d fly back to L.A.
That settled, he climbed the steps and entered the lobby. A buzz of conversation drew his attention to the arch that opened into a courtyard. A small group of staff members and guests had gathered around one of the tables. He spotted Avery Cooper first. As he moved forward, he saw that the manager had his arm around Reese.
It took him a couple of seconds to recognize the man on Reese’s other side. Charles Dutoit. He was one of the up-and-coming restaurant chefs in the Los Angeles area—very popular with the young movie star crowd. The man’s agent had been shopping him around for a TV show. Mac had even looked briefly at some video clips, but though the man was handsome enough, there was something about Charles Dutoit that hadn’t clicked for him.
What was the L.A. chef doing here at Haworth House?
Mac spotted Tess, the waitress who’d been so friendly to him, and joined her at the edge of the group surrounding Reese’s table.
“I’m just over-reacting because of jet lag,” Reese was saying.
“I don’t think so,” Charles Dutoit commented. “A black rose is a nasty thing to send anyone.”
Mac was tall enough that he caught a glimpse of the rose. A chill worked its way up his spine. He spoke in a low voice to Tess. “What happened?”
“Oh, Mr. Davies.” She, too, spoke in a hushed voice. “It’s the most horrible thing.” She paused, glancing back at Reese. “Ms. Brightman just arrived and she was having lunch with Mr. Cooper. There was a flower delivery for her and I brought it right out.”
The young woman’s eyes were wide when she met his. “It was this black rose. And there was a note.”
“Do you know what it said?”
She shook her head. “No. But it upset her. I heard her tell Mr. Cooper that she’d received two other notes recently in L.A. and they both came with black roses.”
Mac shifted his gaze to Reese. She was perhaps five feet away, and he could all but feel the fear radiating off of her. For an instant, the urge to comfort, to protect was so strong that he’d taken a step closer before he stopped himself.
Introducing himself right now and asking if he could help wouldn’t be wise. He’d bide his time until after she’d settled. Until after he’d settled, also. Then he’d introduce himself and sell her on using Haworth House as the setting for her show. That was, after all, his goal.
For a second time, he shifted his gaze to the black rose. His stomach clenched. One threatening incident might be some sort of a sick joke, but three black roses and three notes? Could Reese have acquired a stalker?
Celebrity was a multi-edged sword. And he bore some responsibility for setting Reese Brightman on the path to stardom. Two weeks ago, Variety had published the news of her upcoming TV pilot. Could that have brought her to the attention of a crazed stalker?
Whoa! Mac shoved his hands into his pockets. He could be jumping to conclusions. There could be another explanation for the black roses. Perhaps someone was jealous of her success, or maybe there was an ex-boyfriend involved.
Or a current boyfriend? His gaze shifted to Charles Dutoit. He didn’t know anything about Reese Brightman’s personal life. He hadn’t wanted to before now. But it was clear that she and Dutoit were acquainted. What was the man doing at Haworth House?
A waiter from the bar area moved past him and carried a snifter of brandy to Charles Dutoit.
After taking it, the man turned to Reese. “Here, my dear. I ordered this for you. Take a sip.”
When Reese took the glass, her hand trembled so much that Dutoit had to take it back and set it down on the table.
Once more, Mac found himself stifling the urge to go to her. Whoever had sent the roses had scared her. His temper surged. He’d like to have a heart-to-heart talk with the guy. Soon.
Then he shifted his gaze to Dutoit, who’d taken Reese’s hands in his and leaned closer. Mac couldn’t catch what he was saying, but there was an intimacy in the way he was talking to her that left a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth.
Anger and jealousy were just the kind of emotional responses that he didn’t want to have. Didn’t allow himself to have. If you didn’t become too attached, you didn’t get hurt.
A moment later, Dutoit walked to a nearby table and took a seat across from a woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat. Others in the small group around the table also dispersed.
Mac would have turned away then if Reese hadn’t glanced over and met his gaze. In the long moment when their eyes held, desire rushed through him, hotter and more urgent than anything he’d ever experienced before. It melted him, skin, bone and muscle. And made him ache.