by JoAnn Ross
“So,” Roman said, trying again to dispel the building tension, “how long are you going to be home?”
“So long as the weather continues to cooperate, we’ll be here another week.”
“That long,” Desiree murmured.
“Yes.” Lorelei met her gaze with a level, faintly challenging look of her own. “That long.”
She was surprised when Desiree’s expression suddenly warmed, as if Lorelei had gained her approval. And then she thought she understood why the woman had been so cool and distant. She was Michael’s friend and she’d been measuring Lorelei as she might any woman who had come with him. Desiree didn’t know Michael was accompanying her because he was paid to and Lorelei decided she certainly wasn’t going to tell her.
“I realize you’re going to be incredibly busy,” Desiree said. “But perhaps, while you’re in town, we can get together for dinner.” Her gaze swept over to include Michael. “The four of us.”
“Sounds great,” Michael agreed before Lorelei—who’d been about to claim a horrendous shooting schedule—could refuse.
“It’s a date, then.” Roman glanced over at the mayor, who was shifting from foot to foot and looking impatient. “Oh-oh. Looks as if we’re keeping you from your fans.”
Lorelei followed his gaze and had to stifle her groan. “That’s not a fan,” she said flatly. “That’s my mother.”
Knowing that she had no choice, Lorelei started weaving her way through the rich and locally famous crowd. “Please,” she murmured, “don’t tell my mother you’re being paid to guard me.”
“I wouldn’t think of it” Although he’d never thought of himself as the kind of man to hold a grudge, Michael rather enjoyed the idea of pretending to be Lorelei’s date for the evening. Especially after all Maureen Longstreet had put him through so many years ago.
When he put a broad hand on her waist, in an outwardly proprietary manner, Lorelei felt a surge of warmth, even though she knew the gesture was solely for her mother’s benefit. Not that he wasn’t entitled, she decided, remembering how badly her mother had treated Michael in those long distant days of their teenage romance.
Neither of her parents had ever made any secret of the fact that Michael O’Malley—despite his famous father—was not the boy they would have chosen for their daughter. They preferred someone from the lofty environs of their own privileged world. A boy with a trust fund, a boy comfortable in Audubon Park drawing rooms. A boy whose roots weren’t buried deep in the lush, marshy land of the Louisiana bayou.
To her credit, Maureen’s only reaction to viewing her daughter with the man she’d once barred from her home, was a faintly arched brow. She was impeccably groomed in a black cocktail dress. The ash blond hair that was several shades darker than her daughter’s was styled in an upsweep that accentuated cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. A faint scent of oriental gardens emanated from smooth, pale skin that looked as if it had never been exposed to the southern sun.
“Hello, Mother.”
Maureen offered a powdered cheek. “Hello, dear.” Her gimlet gaze observed Michael over her daughter’s head. “Hello, Michael.”
He nodded, hating the way this woman could make him feel like a tongue-tied teenager again. Reminding himself that he’d won two medals of commendation before quitting the force, he forced the uncomfortable feeling down and managed a smile he was a very long way from feeling.
“Good evening, Mrs. Longstreet. You’re looking well.”
“As are you,” she replied with obvious surprise.
Mossy green eyes flicked over the navy suit Shayne had insisted he buy. Before his brother had come to town, Michael had owned one eight-year-old suit that he’d drag out whenever he had to testify in court. Now he owned three. Reading the grudging approval - in the older woman’s gaze, he decided the ridiculous price of the double-breasted suit had been worth it
“I read about your commendations,” Maureen offered. “Your mother must be very proud.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course, I think she was proud of me before I got the medals.”
“I’m sure she was.” She studied him over the rim of her champagne glass. “Did I read in the paper that you’d quit the police force?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And now you’re a private detective?”
Michael decided, for Lorelei’s sake, to ignore the tinge of disapproval he heard in Mrs. Longstreet’s tone. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Is your work like I see on all those television programs? All racing cars and shooting guns?”
“Not really. Since we deal mostly in private security—”
She pounced on that like a sleek Siamese cat upon a fat mouse. “Private security?”
Damn. Michael could have shot himself. That’s what he got for allowing this woman to get under his skin. He was usually much more circumspect.
Not wanting to whet Maureen Longstreet’s interest regarding his appearance tonight with her daughter, Michael was trying to think of a way to crawl out of the hole he’d dug for himself when Lorelei came to his rescue. “Is Dad here?”
“Unfortunately, your father’s at a medical conference in San Francisco.” The relief Michael felt at not having to face Dr. Longstreet was short-lived. “He’ll be back Friday evening. Of course we’ll expect you for dinner,” she added.
“Michael and I would love to come,” Lorelei said with a smooth, practiced smile.
Although he knew it was perverse of him, Michael enjoyed watching the cloud that moved across Maureen Longstreet’s aristocratic features when she realized that he’d be coming to dinner as well.
“Then it’s settled.” Her smile was as brittle as the crystal glass in her manicured hand. “We’ll be looking forward to seeing you.” Her cool gaze met Michael’s. “Both of you.”
That said, she turned and walked away.
“You know,” Michael mused, “back in the old days, when I was on the force, I got used to the idea that whenever I went to work, I could face a bullet. But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I’d rather go after the Norluns mob’s nastiest hit man, and all his henchmen, than get stabbed by your mother’s stiletto look.”
The idea of this man being afraid of anything or anyone made Lorelei laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he complained. “She made me feel about eighteen again.”
“She wasn’t looking at you as if you were a teenager,” Lorelei assured him. “Actually, I think she found you quite dashing, Michael.”
Dashing? Michael didn’t think he’d ever live long enough to have that term—which fit Shayne to a tee, he grudgingly admitted—applied to him.
“I think you misinterpreted her reaction.”
Lorelei folded her arms and gave him a long, assessing look, from his dark hair down his muscular body to the tips of his shoes, which he’d polished to a sheen that any marine drill sergeant would have envied.
“No,” she said with a slow, shake of her head, “I don’t think so.” Mindless of the fact that they were in a public place, she lifted her hand to his chest. “You really do look quite handsome tonight, Michael. I believe my mother was more than a little impressed.”
His grunt suggested he still thought she was wrong. But as he gave her a long masculine appraisal of his own, Lorelei, who was watching him carefully, couldn’t miss the rise of hunger in those midnight dark eyes.
Her fingers seemed to be branding him through the suit jacket and starched shirt. Although it suddenly felt as if they were the only two people in the room, on some distant level, Michael was aware that they were drawing attention to themselves.
Even as he reminded himself that he was being well paid to act as a bodyguard for this woman, his personal feelings steamrollered over his professional ones.
He lifted his hand to hers and linked their fingers together. “How much longer do you need to hang around here?”
His voice had deepened, and it skimmed along her nerve endings in a way designed to instill feminine awar
eness. “I think I’ve done my part.” She smiled, accepting the invitation she heard in his husky voice, viewed in his fathomless eyes. “And I do have an early call tomorrow. It’d probably be a good idea to go back to the hotel and go to bed.”
Michael knew she was not talking about going to bed alone. He reminded himself that what he was about to do would be the most unprofessional thing he’d ever done, but right now he didn’t much care.
“Wouldn’t want you to miss your beauty sleep,” he agreed. The energy between them was palpable; Michael was amazed that sparks weren’t arcing all around the room.
His hand still entwined with hers, he led her deftly through the crowd. If he thought they’d be able to escape unnoticed, he was wrong. By the time they reached the wide double doors at the end of the room, Lorelei had been intercepted by numerous members of the New Orleans social elite, all of whom professed to be fans.
“You’re a popular lady,” he said, as they drove back to the hotel.
“I’m the flavor of the month.... Okay,” she admitted, as he gave her a wry sideways look, “perhaps the flavor of the year. But fame is a quicksilver thing. Hard to capture and impossible to hold on to.”
“And fame’s important to you.” It was not a question.
“Actually, it’s not. You know that all I ever wanted to do was act Unfortunately, things like tonight seem to come with the territory.”
“Must be rough, being fawned over by the rich and famous.”
Lorelei didn’t like the sarcastic edge to his tone. “Actually, it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You can’t possibly believe that I like being stalked by some lunatic.”
It was, Michael knew all too well, another thing that unfortunately seemed to come with the territory.
“It’s partly because of things like tonight that encourage the guy.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice took on the icy tone he was accustomed to hearing from her mother. “Surely I misunderstood you. You didn’t really accuse me of encouraging him?”
“Not intentionally. But you’re too easygoing, Lorelei. Too accessible.”
“I’m not going to allow the creep to force me into a cage.” But it was, of course, exactly what had happened. She was every bit as much a prisoner as if she’d been locked away in some jail cell. “I’m going to live as normal a life as possible.”
He snorted at that. “I hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but going to a cocktail reception sponsored by the mayor is not exactly a normal life for most people.”
“True. And you know I didn’t want to do it, but—”
“That’s exactly my point.”
She folded her arms and exhaled a deep, frustrated breath. “If there was a point, I’m afraid I missed it.”
“You didn’t want to go to that reception tonight. And, after the day you had, not to mention tomorrow’s shooting schedule, you shouldn’t have to.”
“Eric set it up. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Of course you did. You could have told him no.”
Lorelei thought about that. “He promised the mayor.”
“The guy had no right to do that without asking you first.”
“I know, but once he had—”
“You felt you had no choice but to bail him out.”
“Well, yes.”
“Little Miss Perfect Lorelei,” he drawled. “After all these years, after all you’ve accomplished, I would have thought you’d outgrown trying to please everyone.”
The accusation stung. “There’s nothing wrong with being thoughtful.”
“That depends on your definition. Face it, Lorelei, you showed up at that party tonight because you didn’t want to disappoint a self-centered guy who wouldn’t know the meaning of the word thoughtful. A guy who, from what I can tell, hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve such loyalty.”
“Eric’s a friend.”
“That’s undoubtedly why he decided to scare you to death today, then drag you out in the rain to show you off like some show horse he’s just bought. I gotta tell you, sweetheart, if that’s how friends treat each other in Tinseltown, I’m glad I stayed here in the delta.”
“Eric is one of my closest friends,” she insisted again. “That’s why he hired you to protect me.”
“He hired me to protect you to protect his damn film.”
Lorelei hated the fact that he was right. “That, too. But you still haven’t explained how my appearing at that party tonight encouraged my stalker.”
“Honey, the sight of you in that dress is enough to make any man think of dragging you off to the nearest bed.” He’d been thinking of little else since she’d first come out of her bedroom. “But my point, which I’ll admit I’ve wandered from, is that it’s a proven fact that stars who tend to get stalked are the ones who are perceived as friendly. Open. Accessible.”
Although she was still seething, Lorelei stopped being angry long enough to think about that surprising statement. “Is that true?”
“Absolutely. But to be perfectly honest, your going to that party tonight probably didn’t make that much of a difference. Since we’ve already narrowed the list of suspects down to someone working on the movie, whoever your stalker is already knows your personality. It’s undoubtedly too late for you to pull off a complete 180 degree temperament turnaround, even if you could.”
He frowned, thinking about the fact that the guy was undoubtedly someone working on the film, which meant that he could have been one of the three men at the party tonight. He’d watched them—Taylor, Wilder, Nelson—and although the first two had registered masculine admiration the minute she’d walked into the banquet room, that wasn’t so surprising. After all, he’d spent a good part of the evening wondering what, if anything, she was wearing beneath that body-skimming bit of crystal-studded silk. The fact that Nelson hadn’t responded only proved he was definitely gay. But that didn’t necessarily preclude his being the stalker, despite the sexual content of the letters.
One of the problems Michael was having with any of those men being the perpetrator was that stalkers, as a rule, tended to have very low self-esteem. Something that could not be said for any of those three men.
“I don’t want you to think I’m prying,” he said. “But I have to ask you if you’ve ever been involved with Taylor or Wilder.”
“Involved? As in, have I had an affair with either of them?”
“Or maybe just a one-night fling.”
She shot him an indignant look. “I don’t have one-night flings.”
From her tight tone he knew she was telling the truth. Michael wasn’t about to admit her denial came as a relief. “Good for you,”.he said mildly. “How about an affair?”
“Despite what you may have read about wild and hot location romances, I have a hard and fast rule about sleeping with people I work with.”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“Gee, aren’t you clever? With deductive skills like that I’m not surprised you decided to become a detective.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Have you ever implied that after the movie was over you might be willing to enter into a relationship?”
“Of course not. We’re friends, nothing more.” She frowned. “Actually, not even friends. More friendly acquaintances.”
“Some of the things Wilder says to you are more than friendly.”
Lorelei felt the color flood into her cheeks and was frustrated by the way Michael could put her on the defensive. And angry by the way he could make her feel like a nervous teenager.
“Brian flirts. He seems to think being one of the hottest writers in the business makes him irresistible to women.”
“I imagine it doesn’t hurt.”
“I imagine it doesn’t.”
“I’d also imagine that some actresses might be willing to sleep with the guy to get him to write a part for them into one of his screenplays.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. But he never asked and I certainly never volunteered.
We have a symbiotic relationship. He can get more money for a script if I agree to star in it, while at the same time, just being in a Brian Wilder film gives me a cachet that boosts my career. There’s no way either of us would want to mess that up by screwing around.”
“That’s a very businesslike attitude.”
“Making movies may look glamorous, but it is a business. The people who survive are the ones who remember that.”
“Good point.” He glanced over at her. “So, if you didn’t work with the guy, would you be attracted to him?”
Lorelei wondered if Michael could possibly be jealous and was surprised to discover that she hoped he was. “Are you asking as a private detective?”
“No.” He pulled into the parking garage, maneuvered the car into a narrow slot, cut the engine, then turned toward her. “I’m asking as a man who once asked you to marry him.”
He wasn’t touching her. Not really. His fingers were merely playing with the ends of her hair. But as his knuckles brushed against the bare flesh of her shoulders, Lorelei felt as if he’d touched a sparkler to her warming skin.
She’d thought she’d changed. Surely, after all these years, and all she’d experienced, she’d left behind that idealistic young girl who’d dreamed of white knights in shining armor riding up on prancing stallions to carry her off to their castles. Correction. One white knight And his name had always been Michael O’Malley.
He leaned toward her, his eyes on hers, his intentions clear. As she felt her lips part in automatic response, Lorelei was reminded, not for the first time since returning to New Orleans, that some things—like her feelings for this man—had not changed even a little bit.
“No,” she said softly, her trembling voice little more than a whisper. “Brian is a very good-looking man, in a cute Tom Cruise sort of way. But I’m more attracted to the tall, dark and dangerous types.”
“Dangerous?” He arched a brow.
“Dangerous.” She touched a hand to his cheek and felt the muscle tense beneath her fingertips. “Dangerous to my mind.” Her fingers stroked the side of his chiseled face. “Dangerous to my heart.” Down his neck. “And incredibly dangerous to my body.” Her free hand took hold of his and lifted it to her left breast “Feel what you do to me,” she invited, her voice a rich ribbon of warmth. “I think I must be having a heart attack.”