Once In A Blue Moon. Kristin James

      One

      She had not expected to ever see him again.

      But here he was, walking through the door with Danny Archer and Carol Nieman, all three of them smiling like Cheshire cats and talking in that light, self-satisfied way that betokened the end of a deal.

      Isabelle’s stomach clenched. She wanted to turn and run away, yet there was nothing she could do except stand and watch them walk across the soundstage toward her and the rest of the cast.

      She recognized Michael immediately despite the fact that it had been over ten years since she’d seen him. He still walked in that intensely masculine, loose-limbed way, like an animal on the prowl; his body was still lean and powerful. And the smile flashing across his face was just as charming as ever. Charm, after all, was his stock in trade, Isabelle thought sardonically.

      “Curtis Townsend,” Phil Ridley murmured beside her.

      “What?” Isabelle glanced at Phil, confused.

      Phil nodded toward the producer and assistant producer and the man in between them, buttressed like a prize. “I’ll lay you odds that he’s going to play Curtis Townsend. You know, the brother they keep talking about.”

      “Oh.” Recent scripts had been rife with references to Mark Townsend’s brother, Curtis, a character who had left the show years before. There had been a great deal of speculation that the character was to be brought back.

      Isabelle’s stomach knotted even tighter. Surely that could not be. Surely she was not doomed to having Michael Traynor permanently around her—in the same studio twelve hours a day, seeing him in the actor’s lounge, running into him walking along the hallway, even rehearsing and acting opposite him on the set! Panic seized her. She knew she could not bear it.

      “People!” Danny Archer was speaking now into the waiting silence, smiling at the cast and crew. He loved having them all hanging on his words. “I have someone here I want you to meet. His name is Michael Traynor.” His grin broadened, and he gave a jovial little laugh. “A name I’m sure you’ve all heard of. I’m proud to say that we have managed to woo him away from New York and that other show, which shall remain nameless.” He paused for the polite murmur of laughter. “Starting next week, he is going to be our new Curtis Townsend.”

      Phil cast Isabelle an arch look, raising his brows. Isabelle felt sick. How could this be happening? She had thought Michael safe in New York, tied by his popularity in “Eden Crossing.” She had blithely believed that she would never have to see him again, never have to face the past that lay between them.

      “Let me introduce you to your castmates, Michael,” Danny continued, propelling Michael forward with a hand on his elbow. “Of course, Lena you already know.”

      Michael smiled, reaching out to take her hand. “Yes. Thank you again for reading with me in the audition.”

      Lena almost simpered. “It was a pleasure.” Obviously Michael hadn’t lost a bit of his charm, Isabelle thought sourly.

      “This is Paul Kusorka—he plays Chase Manning. And Vivian Blair...”

      They were proceeding down the line, coming ever closer to her. Isabelle knew that she would have to meet Michael face-to-face. She steeled herself. She must not let him realize how much seeing him again shook her. She would not let him have that power over her, that satisfaction.

      Another thought struck her: Would he even remember her? Recognize her? It had been ten years, after all, and she was well aware of how much less important that summer had been to him than it had been to her. It would be a relief, of course, if he looked at her without recognition, with the vague, indeterminate charm of a new acquaintance—but how humiliating, as well. A painful reminder of the fact that she had been nothing but a summer fling for him, easily forgotten when he returned to New York.

      She raised her chin, assuming a cool expression. She was determined not to let her face reflect any response to him, whether he remembered her or not. She would be aloof, remote, unaffected by him.

      Danny and Michael were two people away now, chatting with Lyle Gordon, the director. Isabelle waited, surreptitiously wiping her sweating palm against her skirt.

      Michael glanced away from Lyle and his eyes moved to Phil, then to Isabelle. She felt the full force of his magnetic blue gaze. It was hard to hide the involuntary quiver that ran through her. God, he was handsome.

      Distant memory could not prepare her for the power of his looks. He was older now, the thick black hair shorter and tamed into a more conservative style, as befitted the upright doctor that Curtis Townsend was supposed to be. But the lines in his face only added interest to his smooth good looks, the added flesh removing some of the gauntness of his prominent facial bones. His eyes held a more haunting look of experience and wisdom.

      There was none of the surprise in his face that Isabelle had felt when she saw him enter the room. But there was no blankness, either; he knew her, and he had known that she would be here. Then he must have recognized her name when Danny or Carol had told him about the other cast members. Or perhaps he’d even noticed that she was on “All Our Tomorrows” before he had auditioned for the part. Obviously it made no difference to him that she was on the show. But, then, she told herself, she didn’t know why she should expect that it would. Michael Traynor no doubt felt no pain at the mention of her name; he would not flinch at the idea of working with her. A brief summer affair would not loom large in his past.

      Now they were standing in front of her, and Danny was saying her name. Isabelle forced herself to smile and extend her hand to Michael. She felt so stiff, she thought her cheeks might crack.

      “Hello.”

      “Isabelle.”

      “You two know each other?” Archer asked in surprise.

      “Yes. We know each other.” Michael smiled faintly, looking into Isabelle’s face. His hand was warm around hers. She realized that she remembered exactly how his skin felt.

      “We