Bordering on Obsession

by Susan Kearney

  “Coffee?” Quinn asked.

  “Please.”

  He made hers black and handed her the cup. While she sipped, he placed three sugars and lots of cream in his. He picked up a plate and gestured to the food. “So what would you like?”

  “An answer to why you are here.”

  “Food first. You didn’t eat enough last night to fill a flea.”

  “First you compare me to Iceland. Now a flea. Really, Quinn, for a man who makes a living with words, you should choose them more carefully.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His eyes twinkled and she realized too late he was teasing her to get a reaction. Damn him for being three steps ahead of her and looking so cool, collected and ready to cater to her every whim.

  “The waffles look good,” he urged her. “And there’s honey and maple syrup.”

  She gave in. There was no point in sending him away. They were going to have to work together unless she ran away, which she really didn’t want to do. “Okay. And some bacon, please.”

  Quinn filled her plate, then topped up her coffee before filling his own. While she balanced the plate on her lap, he pulled over his chair and dug into his food.

  Maggie washed down a bite of bacon with orange juice. “All right. Tell me why you’re here.”

  “You told me to prove that I loved you.”

  Maggie stifled a groan. “If you think that ordering an outrageous breakfast is proof of your feelings, then you have a lot to learn about love.”

  “To prove my feelings, we have to be together.”

  “What?” She jerked up her head so fast, she almost spilled the coffee on the way to her lips.

  Quinn’s eyes lit with amusement. “Well, after sifting through my memory of the best romance movies of all time, it occurred to me that love can’t be proven from a distance. We have to spend more time together.”

  Maggie set down her coffee cup on the nightstand. She’d known she’d made a mistake the moment she’d challenged Quinn. The man thrived on contests of will, but she’d never dreamed he would focus such interest on her.

  He’d spent last night coming up with a way to spend more time with her while she’d been trying to figure out the opposite. The irony wasn’t lost on her, but she couldn’t summon even the beginnings of a smile. Quinn was one of those men who enjoyed writing a story differently, using camera angles that were original, marketing ideas that were innovative. And then he moved on to his next project—just as he would eventually become bored with her and move on to the next woman. That was his nature—to concentrate fully, get what he wanted. Then, predictably, something new would capture his attention. So she couldn’t let him get that close. Her self-preservation instincts were too good to set herself up for that kind of fall.

  “You’re very quiet,” he prodded.

  “And you’re backing me into a corner.”

  “I’m feeding you breakfast, and you aren’t eating enough.” He offered her the basket of muffins.

  She took one and broke it into pieces. She wasn’t going to argue with Quinn until she found out exactly what he was thinking. Of course, with Quinn, he never laid all his cards on the table. He always had a plan B, C, D and E. And he usually had an ulterior motive. However, by stating his plan to spend time with her, he was declaring his intention to pursue her and that was enough to deal with at the moment.

  Before Maggie had pretended to be Laine Lamonde, she might have welcomed his attention. But now? Quinn wasn’t accustomed to women saying no to him. She fully believed Quinn was enjoying the challenge of pursuit. He was in lust.

  “How much time were you thinking we should spend together?” she asked.

  He speared a piece of pineapple and popped it into his mouth. “I don’t think we can put a time limit on love, do you?”

  “You’re being evasive.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re ready to move into my house—”

  Move in with him? She almost choked on the muffin. Move in with him? She didn’t even know if she wanted to have dinner with him and he was thinking about living together.

  Take a breath. Think. Even Quinn had qualified his suggestion by acknowledging she wasn’t ready to live together.

  “So, I was thinking about six nights a week.”

  “Six nights?”

  “Plus all day on the weekends, of course.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I’m in love.”

  “You’re certifiable. Even married couples don’t spend that much time together.”

  “Five nights, all day Saturday and Sunday morning,” he countered.

  “Two nights and Saturday afternoon would be more reasonable.”

  Oh, God. What had she done? How had he gotten her bargaining with him when she hadn’t intended to go along with his scheme in the first place? Too late, her hand slapped against her mouth.

  He nodded his head, keeping his face stoic, but his eyes glimmered with satisfaction. “I want more. But I can live with two nights and Saturday afternoons,” he agreed. “But I expect the nights to be all-night.”

  “What!” Another man would have proved his love wasn’t lust by curtailing or ceasing their lovemaking. But not Quinn. Oh, no. He wanted to continue to wear down her barriers by making love to her, coming at her with everything he had, everything he was. Not good, not for her.

  Quinn must have read the worry on her face.

  His tone was gentle, almost sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Maggie darling. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  Oh, God.

  Quinn finally grinned, arrowing heat straight to the sudden throbbing between her thighs. “If you don’t want to wear that blindfold, I’ll understand.”

  Feeling entangled in a trap that she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape, Maggie didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. And Quinn being Quinn, he gave her no time to think. He removed her plate, took out a book full of men’s faces and dumped it on her lap. “If we’re going to find some leading man for Laine to choose from before our noon meeting with her, we’d best get started.”

  Maggie tossed the book back at him. “First, I’m going to brush my teeth and shower.”

  “Can I watch?”

  “And you are going to wait in the lobby,” she demanded, irritably.

  He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “You don’t have to fight me all the time, Maggie darling.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “I’ll leave you to your shower. Alone.”

  She didn’t relax until he’d shut the door and she’d slid the chain into place. Then she marched to the bathroom, determined not to come out until she figured out how to deal with Quinn.

  BY LUNCHTIME, MAGGIE had come to no good conclusion about her situation, but as she and Quinn waited for Laine Lamonde to show up at their luncheon meeting, Maggie was glad the star would be joining them. She didn’t want to be alone with Quinn until she’d put her thoughts in order.

  And she’d spent the morning making lists of roles and thinking about who could play each part to get the most out of the character. Who would look good matched with whom. Who might be free to work during the shooting. And how to get the most out of the budget Quinn had allotted. Although she had yet to officially accept Quinn’s offer, she much preferred to think about how to cast his movie than her personal quandary.

  After ten tense minutes, Maggie’s nerves were fraying raw from sitting across from a relaxed Quinn. Finally the star and her agent, Tyrol, showed. Every eye in the room focused on Laine. In an industry of gorgeous woman, she could be number one, her charisma sparkling around her like a golden halo. Even dressed down in gold designer jeans and a cream T-shirt threaded with gold and crystal beads, Laine wore stiletto heels. Her famous blond locks had that just-out-of-bed natural look that took hours to achieve. And she walked with the grace of a runway model, every move precise and feminine, drawin
g attention to her swaying hips.

  Eyes on the star, Quinn rose to his feet, his face polite but far from awestruck. But then Maggie didn’t expect anything less. To Quinn, beautiful women were a common commodity, what he really admired was acting ability.

  Laine took her time crossing the room, giving Quinn a chance to assess her perfect body and thousand-watt smile. When she finally arrived at their table, she hugged Quinn with what appeared to be genuine warmth, but her cold blue eyes glared at Maggie, making her feel as if she didn’t exist.

  Tough. Quinn wanted her to be here. And if she accepted the casting director’s job, Maggie would need to feel out Laine’s preferences in leading men.

  “So glad we can finally meet.”

  Laine spoke with no French accent at all. Maggie snorted quietly to herself, recalling all the trouble she’d gone to to mimic an accent that didn’t exist.

  Quinn swiftly made introductions all-round, introducing Maggie as his casting director as if she’d already accepted the work. He had a way of plunging ahead that kept her off balance. But Maggie kept her thoughts to herself. Personal squabbles had no place at this table which was strictly a business meeting. Besides, she might very well accept the opportunity Quinn had placed at her feet.

  Laine’s agent was short, overweight and bald. Unfortunately Tyrol didn’t have the puppy dog eyes of a Danny DeVito. His ears were too big and his bulbous nose was reddened, maybe from too much alcohol. And his eyes watched everyone at the table like a wise owl.

  “First I must thank you for rescuing my Molly. She was so happy to see me.”

  “Maggie found her.”

  “When you gave the customs people the studio’s address, the dog was accidentally mixed into some animals we needed for a movie,” Maggie explained.

  “My poor baby.”

  Maggie noted that Laine didn’t thank her and let it go. “I was glad to help and she was well treated.”

  A waitress interrupted the conversation, pouring water into their glasses. After she left, Quinn changed the topic of conversation.

  “What do you think of the part of Kiki?” Quinn asked Laine, referring to the lead character in the script.

  In the film, Kiki went from a child seductress to successful businesswoman. She married, divorced and along the way, she suffered from a mental breakdown. She ended up institutionalized, but fought her way back to sanity. The part required an actress who could play a woman from her teens to her sixties with not only convincing accuracy but deep emotional depth.

  Laine bit off a piece of her sesame breadstick. “I’m not sure.”

  “About what?” Quinn prodded.

  “Whether I want to be seen as quite that old, ugly and wacko. Perhaps, you could tone down that part just a bit?”

  Quinn didn’t blink one eyelash that the woman had just suggested he tear out the heart of the script. “What are you suggesting?”

  Laine waved her manicured nails in the air, then placed her hand intimately on Quinn’s shoulder. “You are the writer. Surely you can figure out a way for me to—?”

  “Stay forever young, sane and beautiful?” Quinn asked, his tone mild, but Maggie heard the sarcasm beneath.

  Laine didn’t. “Exactly!”

  “For you, I would rewrite the screenplay, but it would hurt your chances of winning an Academy Award.” Leave it to Quinn to appeal to the woman’s self-interests. He was so good at that.

  “Really?” Laine turned to her agent.

  Apparently Tyrol didn’t speak unless invited to do so by his famous client. He sipped his wine then set his glass down carefully. “Oscar-winning actresses and nominees take emotional, gut-wrenching parts. Remember Halle Berry in Monster’s Ball? Or Susan Sarandon in Dead Man Walking?”

  “But why can’t I be pretty while I show emotional depth?”

  Maggie refrained from rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Laine might be gorgeous and she might be a great actress, but clearly she didn’t understand what made audiences go to the movies. Sure, the public liked pretty actresses—but they expected them to act in a compelling story.

  “I’ll think about it,” Quinn told her but Maggie and her agent both knew he wouldn’t change the script. “Now, Laine, tell me who you want for your leading men. You’ll have three. A teenage lover when you’re younger, then a husband and a distinguished man at the end of the movie.”

  “How about Ben Affleck, you and your father?” Laine ticked off the men on her fingers.

  “I don’t act.”

  “You’re acting right now. You’re patronizing me. Do you think I’m stupid?” Laine’s eyes flared as she raised her voice in ire, drawing the other customers’ gazes to her. “Don’t you think I know you aren’t going to change the script? I don’t want to be ugly and old.”

  “Magnificent.” Quinn complimented her. “Can you summon up that self-righteous anger at will?”

  Laine giggled. “Of course.” Her hand clasped Quinn’s forearm and she let a finger trace down to his wrist. “Are you sure you don’t want to act opposite me?”

  “I couldn’t do you justice.”

  Maggie fought to keep a grin from showing.

  “And Dad is under contract to another film—”

  “Buy out his contract.”

  Maggie spoke up. “That might be possible, but then we’d have to use up the funds we’ve already allocated for the historical sets and costumes so necessary to create a great period film.” Maggie eyed Laine carefully. “What do you think about Todd Landon?”

  “Who?” Laine addressed the question to Quinn.

  Maggie handed Laine an eight-by-ten color head shot of the handsome male star whose popularity couldn’t be questioned. He’d been out of circulation the last two years nursing a wife who’d succumbed to breast cancer, but was now looking for the right project.

  Laine tossed the photo back. “He’s fair skinned.”

  “And?”

  Her agent sighed. “Laine doesn’t work with men whose skin is fairer than hers. And no blondes.”

  “She doesn’t want any of her leading men to be blond?” Maggie asked to clarify.

  “No other blondes, men or women, in the picture,” Tyrol spoke as if Maggie was supposed to know this. “Not secondary characters. Not even walk-ons.”

  Maggie looked at Quinn, unsure how to respond. He smoothly took over. “I’m sure we can work around that requirement.”

  But it sure wasn’t going to be easy. Mentally Maggie scratched a few actresses off her list.

  “If you want me, you’ll need to work around all my requirements,” Laine told him, sliding her hand onto Quinn’s thigh. Her maneuver wasn’t meant to be cute or coy or secret.

  Quinn took her hand from his leg and placed it back on the table. And he was just as blunt. “As desirable as I find you, I never mix business and pleasure.”

  Maggie cringed at the first part, but she knew he had to let Laine down easy. The woman was so accustomed to getting her man that, for a moment, her lower jaw dropped.

  Maggie restrained an outright laugh. She also appreciated how uncomfortable Quinn must be feeling. He was sitting next to Maggie, his recent lover, while he had to reject Laine’s invitation, without hurting anyone’s feelings.

  However, Quinn looked as in control and comfortable as usual. His eyes twinkled as if he was pleased to be talking to the star, yet his manner conveyed a firmness that told Laine exactly where she stood with him.

  Laine pouted. “You won’t act with me in your film, and you won’t party with me. That’s not what I would call a warm welcome.”

  Quinn leaned toward her and lowered his voice as if conveying a secret. “Do you know a certain redhead’s agent called me just last week and asked if Kiki’s part had been cast yet?” Quinn leaned back. “I told the agent the part had been offered to another actress.”

  “Of course, I’m perfect for the role,” Laine added.

  “You will be a sensation,” Quinn told her.

  “Darli
ng, I’m always a sensation.”

  Laine’s gaze went to Tyrol, signaling him that she wanted him to speak. “Quite frankly, we have another interesting offer.”

  “From Dan O’Donnel?” Quinn spoke as casually as if that was last week’s news. “His movie is not as big as mine. The part of playing a role like Kiki’s will come along only once in a lifetime. And I’ve lined up a terrific director for you—one of the best—”

  “Wait, just a damn minute.” Laine raised her voice again. “I was under the impression that you were going to direct.”

  “John Davis loves your work,” Quinn began and Maggie realized how truly terrific he was as a negotiator—because Quinn had planned all along to co-direct this film with John Davis. No doubt he would eventually agree to Laine’s demand to help direct her film—but it would appear as if he’d made a major concession.

  And as the negotiations went on, Maggie wondered how she could ever hold out against a determined Quinn. Or even if she wanted to.

  11

  MAGGIE RETURNED TO THE HOTEL room and did something she rarely had the luxury to do; she took an afternoon nap. She awakened several hours later to knocking at her door. Completely rejuvenated, though no closer to solving her dilemma over what to do about Quinn, she bounced out of bed, checked through the peephole and spied the bellhop holding a huge basket of flowers, chocolates and champagne.

  Maggie opened the door to the scent of lilies. The basket was ostentatious, and her heart couldn’t help softening at Quinn’s romantic gesture. He’d ordered the flowers himself. She tipped the bellhop and reached for the note.

  Maggie read aloud. “It’s Saturday night. Wear the blindfold for me, Maggie. I’ll pick you up at seven. Love, Quinn.”

  She liked Quinn’s persistence because it meant he believed his feelings for her were serious. But she also disliked his persistence because he was hitting her with another surprise before she’d dealt with the last. His tactic to overwhelm her was keeping her off balance, which made resisting him more difficult.