River Road

by JoAnn Ross

  His mouth slammed shut. But it was too late. Julia felt the color drain from her face. The sharp pain in her heart.

  "Well." She drew in a shaky breath and fought against the tears. She hadn't wept over a male since Woodstock. Then again, she couldn't remember being both so hurt and furious as she was now. "You've certainly made yourself very clear."

  "I didn't mean it." He caught her arm as she tried to escape into the bedroom with some pride intact. "Dammit, Julia, you've just got me frustrated and angry at myself and—"

  "You're frustrated?" Her voice rose a full octave, like Jeanette MacDonald's had when singing those duets with Nelson Eddy. "You're frustrated?" she repeated. "What about me? Do you think it's easy for me to have a man keep acting like he wants me—"

  "That wasn't acting. I did. I do."

  "Shut up and stop interrupting me. You keep coming on to me, Callahan, then you back away, hiding behind your shiny gold badge. Some people might consider you a hero, but I think you're a coward. You're afraid of your own feelings. You're afraid to take a chance."

  She glared at him when he didn't respond. "Well? Don't you have anything to say to that?"

  "You told me to shut up."

  The sound that came from deep in her throat was somewhere between a growl and a scream. "I've had it with you, Callahan. First thing tomorrow, I'm going to insist that you be fired. Then I'm going to refuse to show up on the set if you're anywhere in the vicinity."

  "That's stupid."

  "Not as stupid as some of the things I've been doing lately." Like letting a stiff, stuffed shirt Neanderthal creep past her defenses into her mind. And, dammit, heart.

  "I'm going to go to bed now. Alone. And don't worry, you're off the hook where my parents are concerned, too." She dragged a hand through her hair, appalled that it was trembling. "You know the ridiculous thing about all this?"

  "What?"

  "Ever since they called, I've been worried about how you'd view them. Concerned that they wouldn't measure up enough to overcome your obvious prejudice against them. But the truth is, I had it all backward.

  "No matter what you may think, my mother and father are good people. Caring people who might not show up at the Episcopal Church on Sunday mornings, or vote a straight Republican ticket, or have dinner at the country club, but they're real and honest and neither one of them has a prejudiced bone in their body. Which is why they're too good to even waste their time with a rigid, controlling, inconsiderate jerk like you."

  Didn't anything get to him? He was standing there, as rigid as the statue of the soldier she'd seen in front of the courthouse down the street. Could he really be so unfeeling? "I'm going to bed."

  "That's a good idea."

  "And tomorrow you're going to be gone."

  When he didn't respond, Julia swept from the room, threw herself onto the bed, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to close off the hot tears brimming at the back of her lids.

  There was a loud thud from the other side of the wall. Then nothing but the sound of cicadas singing their lonely songs out in the bayou.

  * * *

  She wasn't going to talk to him. During the night, while Julia had been tossing and turning, she'd vowed that if Finn was still there in the morning, she'd simply walk off the show. Let Kendall the ass-pinching executive producer deal with that, she'd decided.

  Until she came out of the bedroom and saw Finn sitting at the table, wearing his stark FBI suit, looking even worse than she felt. His eyes were heavily lidded, his uncharacteristically unshaven jaw shadowed, and his shirt, wonder of wonders, was actually rumpled, as if he'd spent the night in it.

  Sympathy stirred. Just a little.

  He didn't look up from the laptop computer he was tapping on. An incredible aroma wafted from a waxed bag on the table beside the computer. "What do you know about Atlantic Pharmaceuticals?"

  As she sat down across from him, Julia reminded herself that she'd always considered the silent treatment more than a little juvenile. "Not much. Only that it bought out Dwyers' Diapers last year, which made it owner of River Road. And that Charles Kendall could be the poster boy for nepotism. Why?"

  He poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe, added the perfect amount of cream and two sugars, and handed it to her. His knuckles were bruised, explaining that hole in the wall that hadn't been there yesterday. "Did you know they're about to launch a new drug?"

  "Now that you mention it, that's what this on-location .shoot is all about. The episodes are airing during sweeps, at the same time Atlantic's launching the drug."

  "Providing a huge built-in audience for its advertising blitz," Finn guessed.

  "That'd be my guess." She took a sip of the chicory coffee she was becoming accustomed to. "For someone who didn't earn his own wealth, Charles is terribly tightfisted. The only reason I can imagine him springing for this end-of-the-season increase in budget is because Atlantic's got a real winner on their hands this time."

  "Or a real loser."

  She thought about that for a minute, then shook her head. "If it were possible to sell a loser product with an advertising blitz, we'd all be drinking New Coke and driving Edsels."

  "Maybe he doesn't have a choice."

  Now he'd piqued her curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

  "There's a rumor on the street that Kendall's ass is on the line, because it looks as if Atlantic Pharmaceuticals' new wonder drug is going to tank, big time."

  "Street as in Wall Street?"

  "Yeah. Atlantic's hoping a huge promotional campaign during your two-night season special will prevent a stock free fall."

  "That's quite a lot to expect from a soap opera."

  "True. But it turns out Kendall also promised his stepfather, who happens to be CEO, that he can get you back for another season to help keep the hype up for the product's first year. It appears you're a commodity, sweetheart."

  "Like potatoes and pork futures," she muttered. "I've already informed him that there's no way I'm returning to the show."

  "If the rumors are true, you could probably name your own price."

  "I'm not leaving for money," she told him the same thing she'd already told Charles Kendall innumerable times. "I'm leaving for a role I've dreamed of since I was eight years old. I'm also moving on because I'd enjoy the chance for a role where I actually got to keep my clothes on for an entire scene. ... So what's this drug that's going to tank?"

  "An antidepressant."

  "Atlantic already produces an antidepressant. You can't turn on the television without seeing the commercials."

  "Yeah, but this is different, because it's for animals."

  "Animals?"

  "Yeah. Specifically cats."

  Abandoning the last of her irritation, Julia laughed. "How on earth do you diagnose a depressed cat when they mostly lie in sunbeams, feel superior to their owners, eat and sleep?"

  Finn's grin was slow and, perhaps because he shared it so seldom, unreasonably appealing. "That's pretty much what the focus groups said."

  "I'm impressed you were able to find that out," she allowed. Something occurred to her. She looked at the computer. "You didn't do anything illegal, did you?"

  The smile turned to a scowl. "Hell, no."

  "Good."

  A strained silence settled over them, broken only by the tapping of the keys and the cheerful chirps of a bird outside the window. Having been brought up in an environment that believed in clearing the air, Julia was uncomfortable with this lingering, silent conflict.

  "I've been thinking about what you said," Julia carefully waded into the dangerous conversational waters. "About us sleeping together."

  "And?"

  "And I've decided that you're right. . . Are those donuts?"

  "Yeah. Nate brought them by while you were in the shower."

  "I think I've just fallen in love with your brother."

  "You and at least half the women in the Western world."

  "He's sweet and sexy and considerate
. Women find those traits appealing."

  "As opposed to rigid, controlling and inconsiderate?"

  "I may have exaggerated just a bit, because you made me so angry. But the fact remains that we're too different, that our worlds are too far apart, and we'd never be able to make a relationship work outside of bed. Maybe not even there."

  "Want to bet?"

  "All right. Maybe we'd be compatible in bed. Maybe you'd be the best lover I've ever had and maybe I'd make you forget any other woman you'd ever slept with. Maybe we'd set the sheets on fire and burn this place down. But what if things got complicated?"

  "There's no what if about it. Sex complicates things."

  "That's exactly my point. We only have a few more days here, then we'll be going our separate ways, so why risk any messy entanglements?"

  "Why indeed?" he murmured, reaching into the bag for a glazed bear claw.

  "Then we're agreed?" As he took a huge bite, Julia reminded herself that Carma Sutra's wardrobe did not allow for an extra ounce. "That if I allow you to stay, there'll be no more kissing?"

  "If you allow it?"

  Interesting how he could intimidate with a mere lift of a brow; he was probably a cracker jack interrogator. She took another sip of coffee. "Well, you are working for me. Technically."

  "Technically, I'm not working for anyone."

  "You're being paid to be my bodyguard."

  "As it happens, I had the check from the production company made out to the Blue Bayou after-school recreation program. If I don't stick it out, the kids are going to be the ones who pay the price."

  "Stick it out. Well, that's certainly a flattering way to state it. So, you're putting up with me to help some kids?"

  "No. I'm putting up with you-because my brother asked for my help, and I don't believe in letting family down. I'm putting up with you because despite the fact that you can be a pain in the ass, I don't take threats lightly and I want to keep you alive long enough to watch you wear that catsuit in the new Bond flick.

  "But the number one reason I'm putting up with you is because I'm discovering that you're not anything like the prima donna television star I was expecting."

  "Gracious, Special Agent:, that comes awfully close to flattery."

  "Take it any way you like it. It's a fact."

  "I believe I'll take it as a compliment, then, since you're so stingy with them. I'll also admit that for a rigid, controlling, blue-suited government storm trooper, you can. he rather nice. At times. Which is the only reason I'm putting up with you. Well, that and the fact that you're a dynamite kisser."

  "You're not so bad yourself."

  "So, are we friends?" Like Finn, she'd never been able to hold a grudge. It took too much emotional energy and was a waste of time.

  "Sure." He shrugged. "Why not?"

  "Now there's a ringing endorsement." She rested her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her palms, and looked at him over the bag of donuts. "Want to seal it with a kiss?"

  "Nope." He brushed the crumbs into his palm and dumped them back into the bag.

  "Surely you're not afraid of a friendly little kiss between friends?"

  "No. But you might want to be. Because if I touch you right now, I'm going to have you."

  It was neither threat nos promise. Merely, Julia realized, like so many other things Finn said, a statement of fact.

  "What if I touch you?"

  "Same thing goes. My libido's hanging by a ragged thread, which is not a good thing, since I need to stay coolheaded until the film wraps and you're safely off to Kathmandu."

  "Still, it seems we should celebrate this new stage in our relationship somehow."

  "Have a Krispy Kreme." He pushed the bag toward her.

  Drawn by the aroma of forbidden warm fat and sugar, she gave up trying to fight temptation, chose a chocolate-filled donut, bit into it, and nearly wept with pleasure. "Oh, God. . . . Okay, you're safe. Because I think I may just ask your brother to marry me."

  "If anyone could make him tumble, it'd probably be you. But he's vowed to play the field until they bury him in the Callahan family tomb. Nate views commitment as something that happens when the guys show up with a straitjacket and a one-way ticket to a rubber room."

  "He'll change his mind," she predicted blithely. "When the right woman comes along."

  "She'd better bring a length of rope to hog-tie him. Because he won't go down easily." He leaned toward her. "You've got chocolate on your mouth." A long finger set her skin to sizzling as he touched the corner of her lips.

  When he sucked the chocolate he'd gathered off his fingertip, she felt herself melting. Bone by bone. Atom by atom. "You're doing it again." Her voice was uncharacteristically fractured.

  "Yeah." He skimmed a thumb along her jaw. "It'd help if you told me to keep my damn hands to myself."

  "It'd help if I wanted you to keep your hands to yourself." She drew in a deep, painful breath. "But I don't. I want them on me. Everywhere. All the time."

  "Damn." He slowly shook his head. "Don't you have any natural defenses?"

  "Of course. At least I did. Until you came storming into my life."

  This time his curse was rough, and as ragged as her nerves. A tension as heavy as the rain falling outside the silk-draped windows rose to hover between them.

  He leaned closer.

  So did she.

  His lips were a mere whisper away from hers, which parted on a sLow sigh that was half surrender, half anticipation.

  His eyes darkened, like molten obsidian flowing over cobalt.

  They both jumped apart as the shrill demand of the phone shattered the expectant silence.

  "Saved by the bell," he muttered as he scooped up the receiver.

  "That's not funny."

  "I wasn't trying to be funny... . Yeah, she's here with me. Yeah, we'll be right down." He hung up without any polite good-byes. "The shooting schedule's been changed again."

  "There's a surprise."

  "Instead of the Confederate attack scene, they're going to shoot some more footage inside Beau Soleil." He paused. "It's the scene Hyatt added yesterday. The one where the Yankee captain rapes Fancy."

  Upping the sexual content of the movie one more notch, Kendall and Warren had decided to inject the scene into the early part of the time-travel story at the editing stage, so it'd occur before the confrontation in the cemetery when Fancy pulled the gun on him.

  It was just another scene. Just acting. But Finn knew he was in trouble when he hated the idea of any other man putting his hands on this woman.

  Chapter 20

  Damn. Her lipstick was smeared. Oh well, a little smeared Max Factor was definitely worth the kiss that had smeared it. Lorelei smiled to herself as she repaired the damage in the mirror of the rest room assigned to the extras.

  "Isn't this just the most fun?" she asked the elderly woman standing next to her. "I cannot believe I'm actually going to be in a movie."

  The woman, seeming intent on tucking wayward strands of gray hair beneath a bonnet, ignored her.

  "Are you from around here? I don't recognize you."

  "New Orleans." The woman's voice was deep and sounded as if she'd spent decades smoking. Her hands, on the other hand, didn't appear nearly as old as her face, which Lorelei took to be the work of the makeup people. She thanked her good fortune—and River Road's writer—that she hadn't been assigned the role of this elderly widow.

  ''Oh, then you probably don't find this nearly so exciting, since New Orleans is pretty lively itself. Out here in the sticks, watching paint dry can be considered entertainment. Of course, there was that little flap a few months ago when the sheriff got arrested, but everyone knew he was a crook, so it was more a case of him finally getting his comeuppance rather than a surprise. Then, of course, Jack Callahan moved back to town and bought Beau Soleil. You've probably heard of him. The famous writer?"

  That earned a muffled grunt.

  Undeterred by her listener's seeming lack o
f interest, buoyed by a night of lovemaking and the prospect of actually getting to speak real lines today, Lorelei chattered on.

  "His stories are horribly dark, and not at all what I'd usually read. I tend to like books with happy endings. But Jack's are very well written and exciting, though I'd certainly recommend reading them with the lights on. Why, after I read The Death Dealer, every time I heard a little noise outside the house at night, I was sure it was a Colombian drug kingpin coming to murder me in my bed."

  She trilled a laugh at the absurdity of that idea. "As if any drug kingpin would bother coming to Blue Bayou. As I said, the only real criminal to set foot in town for ages was the sheriff, who's doing time in Angola right now. I hear they have him in solitary, which isn't surprising since even though he was a bad cop, he was still technically a member of law enforcement, which I'm sure didn't exactly endear him to the rest of the inmates."

  As she paused to take a breath, the woman, apparently satisfied with her hair, turned and walked out of the rest room, closing the door behind her.

  "Well." Lorelei's breath ruffled the blond fringe of curls tumbling over her forehead. "Some people just have no manners." She couldn't imagine anyone, even someone from the city, being so rude. "Obviously a transplanted Yankee," she decided. Thanking her lucky stars that her mama hadn't given birth to her north of the Mason-Dixon line, Lorelei patted her own hair, flashed her best beauty queen's smile at her reflection, then satisfied, followed the woman out of the rest room.

  * * *

  Julia did not take the sight of Warren waiting at the steps of her trailer when they arrived at Beau Soleil as a good sign. She was right.

  "We're adding a scene," he announced.

  "I know. The rape one."

  "No, another."

  Her stomach sank. "Dammit, Warren, if we keep this up, we're going to run over schedule."

  "Maybe just a bit," he allowed.

  "More than a bit. At this rate I'll be lucky to get to Kathmandu before the wrap party. In fact, I'm probably in danger of being the only support hose-wearing septuagenarian Bond Girl in history."