by Rita Herron
"He is racking up publicity," Maddie agreed.
The crowd had thinned in the past hour but still several of the producers, directors and stars from some of the locally produced shows lingered, sipping drinks and enjoying the elaborate appetizer spread and pulsating music. Kicking off his sitcom's debut with this press-covered event, Greg had chosen a retro theme related to the sci-fi show. Reporters and photographers mingled through the crowd, interviewing the cast as well as jazzing up Greg's genius in producing the innovative program. Maddie had watched him pose for photo after photo. Poised.
Handsome. A Tom Selleck look-alike, he was definitely an eye-pleaser with the female crowd.
Izzy, the white-blond femme fatale of the show, exuded power, strength and beauty. Maddie could imagine her brothers drooling over the woman. Of course, they'd want to get her in the sack. Would Chase go goo-goo-eyed over her, too?
Forget Chase. Greg Pugh was a handsome, successful doll who obviously liked independent modern women or he wouldn't be producing a show featuring one. She'd have a little fun tonight, go back to work tomorrow and see Chase in a whole different light.
A tall blond man with a Brad Pitt face played the leading male role on the show. He pulled Sophie to the dance floor. Maddie laughed as her friend engaged in a bump-and-grind routine that had the man salivating. Greg approached, a reporter dogging him, and gestured toward the dance floor.
"Come on, I've been wanting to get you alone all night."
Maddie waved toward the crowd. "Alone?"
Greg laughed. "We can pretend."
Maddie accepted his hand, aware his palms were smooth and not calloused like her brothers' and Chase's. Because the man was a producer, not a construction worker, she reminded herself. A more exciting kind of guy. Classy, not that rough-hewn macho type. And he could dance, Chase probably couldn't even two-step.
Greg swayed seductively to the music, and Maddie slipped into the rhythm, playfully maneuvering her hips in sync with his, the crowded room fading from view. For the next hour, she felt almost smothered by his warm attention, stripped naked by his twinkling green eyes and suggestive smile. A fast beat bled into a slow song of seduction, and Maddie reluctantly allowed him to pull her in his arms.
"You're fabulous," he whispered near her ear. "I'm glad Sophie insisted I meet you."
"Thanks." She rested her hand against his chest and felt his heart beating rapidly. "She had a lot of nice things to say about you, too."
His hand stroked the small of her back, pulling her tight against his muscled body until Maddie felt the undeniable evidence of his arousal pulsating against her. The lights seemed to dim, the couples each gliding into a different, more intimate plane, but Maddie felt crowded, as if she couldn't breathe. As several couples left, Greg's gaze intensified. Uncomfortable with the lusty edge to his eyes, she tried to pull away slightly, but he accidentally stepped on her toe.
"Ouch." His shoe must weigh a ton.
"I'm sorry," Greg murmured, concern softening his voice. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Maddie whispered. "But I need to powder my nose." And go to the bathroom. Suddenly all the Diet Coke she'd drunk was pressing on her bladder.
A grin slid onto his face. "Sure. Maybe this crowd will leave and we can really be alone."
Maddie winced but hobbled away, her toe throbbing. Did the man have lead weights inside those designer shoes?
Sophie seemed enthralled with the blonde so Maddie didn't disturb her. She darted toward the bathroom alone, but several women had gathered, obviously waiting in line. Geez. She crossed her legs and swayed from side to side. She really had to go to the bathroom now.
A quick trip up the spiraling staircase, and she found the guest bath also occupied. She cursed. She couldn't wait!
She tiptoed down the hall, deciding she'd slip into the master suite and out before anyone knew she'd been there. Chrome and glass caught her eye as she opened the door. Steel-gray carpet covered the floor and a black lacquered bed dominated the room. A picture of a nude woman, blindfolded and chained to an iron bedpost, hung dead center above the modern-sculpted headboard. A basket of condoms sat on the nightstand with several tubes of body gels beside it. Nude figurines embraced in sexual poses graced an entertainment center, and videos were stacked neatly on the shelf below. A Tongue Lashing by Tiffany, Betty in Bondage, Danny for Dessert, The Twin Orgy...
Maddie rolled her eyes and studied the other furnishings, expecting to see a blow-up doll pop from the ceiling any minute with sexy music and strobe lights accompanying it, but footsteps sounded on the staircase. She didn't want Greg to find her near his bedroom. Panicking, she darted farther into the room, closed the door, and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. The footsteps grew louder, and the urge to go the bathroom hit her harder as a man's voice boomed from the hallway. Laughter followed. Greg's. Then another male voice. Good heavens, they were coming into the bedroom!
"I saw you talking to that redhead. You have plans for later?"
"I hope so," Greg said. "She sure is hot."
Maddie crossed her legs again, anger brewing, her bladder aching.
"Maybe I can talk Sophie and her into a threesome. "
Maddie's mouth dropped open.
"Or better yet, maybe I can talk Izzy into joining us, and we can have a party."
"Tell her to bring her whip and chains, and I'll bring my camera."
"We'll have a marathon night of it."
The other man laughed. "I don't know how you do it, Pugh."
"Viagra," Greg said with a masculine chuckle. "I'm going to take some right now."
Maddie curled her fingers into fists, her heart racing. The doorknob began to turn. She couldn't let him know she'd overheard him!
Or worse—what if he thought she'd come in his bedroom to wait for him? To seduce him? Oh, God, she had to hide!
Her heart pounding, she glanced at the bed, but it was so low to the floor she couldn't crawl beneath it. No large chair or screen to hide behind. Not even a blow-up doll!
The bathroom.
The door squeaked open, and she raced to the bathroom, scanning the huge room. The walk-in closet—no, it was too open. The tub, no, he would see her. The shower? Frosted gray glass shielded the black tiles. Maybe he wouldn't notice her through the muted glass. Sucking in a frantic breath, she slipped inside and leaned her head back, wincing when the door squeaked.
Had he heard her?
When she realized something sharp jabbed her ear, she pivoted. An oddly shaped massage tool dangled from the shower head, and a small camera was wedged in the corner of the ceiling. Above the mirrored wall floated a chrome shelf, overflowing with various body paints, gels, handcuffs and a dildo the size of a giant zucchini that looked painful. Obviously Greg Pugh liked kinky sex.
The footsteps grew louder. He was coming nearer.
She closed her eyes and prayed he didn't have to use the bathroom.
She was wrong. Seconds later, his hard shoes clicked across the tile floor. She pinched her eyes closed, stuck her fingers in her ears and silently hummed her own made-up version of "You Won't Get Any Tonight." But she had to go so bad herself, she had to bounce up and down in place to control herself. Seconds later, she paused to see if he was finished, but he was still going. Damn. He was like the Energizer bunny. He just kept going and going.
Finally, she heard the toilet flush. She opened one eye and peeked through the tiny crack in the door. He kicked off his shoes and began massaging his feet and she realized the man had metal lifts in his shoes. No wonder he'd clobbered her toe. And without the lifts, he was two inches shorter than her. Then she watched in shock as his hand swept along his head and removed a wig. A slick, shiny head appeared—the man was completely bald!
A bridge in his mouth came next. He scrubbed the front two teeth, gargled with mouthwash, then beamed a smile at himself in the mirror. "Gonna have a party tonight, Pugh."
That's what you think.
Maddie was s
o furious she backed up, but she bumped the tray of gels and a bottle of lime green goop toppled over. She reached out to grab it before it hit the floor, but the gel splattered all over her head, dripping down her face. The sticky mess was cold and... and fluorescent. Her tube top glowed with tiny bright green dots, her fingers, her hands, and most likely her hair and face! Geez, how would she return to the party now? She couldn't let Greg see her, or he'd know where she'd been.
Greg began to whistle, and she grabbed a dry washcloth from the corner of the shower to wipe the gel from her forehead, wincing in horror when he used a small pair of scissors to trim his nose hairs.
Then he splashed aftershave on his cheeks, reached inside his slacks and adjusted himself, and jammed a handful of condoms in his pocket. The weasely, toothless bastard!
With quick, confident movements, he slipped on the loafers, settled the dark crop of fake hair back on his head, then inserted the bridge that formed his front two teeth. Smiling at himself again in the mirror, he opened the chrome medicine chest, pulled out a bottle of what she supposed was Viagra, opened the cap, and swallowed a pill.
Maddie held her breath until he left the bathroom. She waited for what seemed like forever, then stepped from the shower. A peek into the bedroom revealed the coast was clear. Maddie quickly relieved her poor bladder, praying the whole time Greg wouldn't return. Then feeling five pounds lighter, she stepped into the bedroom. Her top glowed neon green in the dark. Frantic for a disguise, she ran to his closet and jerked out the first thing she came in contact with—his black silk bathrobe. Footsteps padded nearby. Darn it. Someone was coming in the bedroom again.
She had to get out of there!
Yanking on the robe, she searched the bedroom for an escape. No back door or adjoining room. The window would have to do. Heaving in frustration, she jammed up the frame and slid onto the balcony. Her heart pounded as she slowly climbed over the trellis and dropped to the ground. A dog growled, Pugh's watchdogs obviously, and she ran for the car as fast as she could with the hounds from hell right on her heels.
Once she made her way safely home, she'd call Sophie and tell her that her handsome friend and the director of the new hit show, which had all the press and women in Savannah drooling, was a toothless, bald, impotent, complete male fraud.
* * *
Chase lay in bed, listening to the early-morning rain splatter against the roof and hoped the bad weather moved on by lunchtime so the work crews could stay on the job. He rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head at the black patch he had over his eye. He felt like an idiot. And if Maddie ever found out the truth...
Thunder rumbled outside, and through the window and his one good eye, he spotted dark clouds rolling above the oak trees surrounding his apartment. Spanish moss draped the branches, creating shadows that framed the window like long bony fingers. As a child, he'd often had nightmares on stormy nights, had imagined those fingers were real, that they were going to reach out and strangle him because he was such a bad boy.
He'd wake up shaking and scared and alone.
Now he was simply alone.
Not that he minded it, he thought, forcing himself to gaze at the Bachelor Pact he'd photocopied and hung in every room of his house. But he couldn't help wondering if Maddie had gone out last night. He'd driven by her house after leaving Lance and Reid and had seen her car parked in front, but her lights were off, so he'd assumed she was in bed or had a date. He hoped she was not in bed with her date.
Had she gone back to that nudist colony?
Rolling sideways, he shoved back the covers and pushed himself out of bed, ignoring the way his muscles protested. He needed a quick run, some exercise to relieve his pent-up stress. And his unsatisfied libido.
Maybe he could run with one good eye without bumping into something and killing himself.
Yanking on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and tennis shoes, he stumbled toward the den and opened the front door, but a flash of lightning streaked the sky, and he decided he'd have to wait until things settled down. The morning paper lay on the stoop so he knelt and retrieved it, tucked it beneath his arm, then went to get some coffee. Several minutes later, he relaxed on the sofa with a cup of hot brew, opened the paper and gaped at the front page in surprise.
A picture of Maddie wearing some shiny slinky aluminum-foil type top and a short leather skirt caught his eye. But her outfit didn't disturb him half as much as the rest of the picture. She was plastered all over a tall suited man whose hands were cupping her butt while they performed a bump and grind.
He saw red for a minute before he refocused and his eyes zeroed in on the article.
Greg Pugh, director and originator of the new innovative show, Invisible Izzy, which features a woman superhero heavily into bondage, hosts a gala celebration to kick off the show. His house certainly reflects his modern philosophy and the theme of the sitcom, leaving fans to wonder—does his own personal life and sexual preference provide the inspiration for the show? And who is his latest conquest?
Chase cursed at the same time the phone rang. He didn't even have to answer to know the caller would be one of his buddies, wondering what the hell was going on with Maddie now, and why he hadn't been watching her. He had no idea what he was going to tell them.
Chapter 13
"Are there any normal, single men left in Savannah?" Maddie cradled the phone to her ear, juggling the coffeepot. "You should try that as a topic for your show."
Sophie laughed. "I can't believe Greg is such a phony. He has everyone at the station completely fooled."
Maddie filled her cup and emptied a packet of artificial sweetener in her coffee, then stirred as she grabbed a bagel from the toaster. "So, are you going to expose him?"
"I don't know." Sophie made a tsking sound. "I hate to ruin the guy; he has worked hard to get this show going, and it's supposed to be the best comedy of the year."
"He's a pervert," Maddie said matter-of-factly, jumping when a roar of thunder rent the air. It had been raining all morning, so she'd slept in and still wore her pajamas—boxer shorts and a T-shirt. "He wanted the two of us together, Soph."
Sophie laughed again. "A lot of men fantasize about having more than one woman at the same time," Sophie said, obviously unimpressed.
Maddie opened her mouth to bite into the bagel but accidentally bit her tongue instead. "So, you're saying you'd... you'd participate?"
"That's not what I meant," Sophie said quickly. "I interviewed a sex therapist on the show last year, and he said having more than one lover is the most common fantasy men have."
"He wanted to video us, too. And you should have seen his shower."
"You were in his shower?"
"Long story, but yeah. I was hiding out there." Maddie tucked her feet beneath her and rubbed her hand over the black silk robe lying next to her on the couch, wondering how she'd get it back to Greg without revealing herself. "Anyway, this guy had enough gels and body paint in there for an orgy. I'm wearing the evidence of it—my hair still shimmers with neon-green sparkles."
"Sounds interesting," Sophie said. "Wonder where he bought it?"
"Sophie!" They both burst into laughter. Finally, when they calmed down, Maddie said, "Maybe you can help me get his robe back to him."
"You stole his bathrobe?"
"I had to wear something to cover my neon glowing top." The doorbell rang, and Maddie set her cup down, almost spilling her coffee in her lap. "Uh-oh, someone's here. I hope it's not my brothers checking up on me."
"If it's Lance, tell him I'm going to drop by and see him later today."
Maddie hung up, then tucked her feet in her fuzzy bedroom slippers and hobbled to the door, cursing Greg for nearly breaking her toe with his weighted shoes. One glance outside, and she knew her brief reprieve was over—Lance and Chase stood on her doorstep, hunched over in the rain. Lightning illuminated the porch, highlighting her brother's fierce scowl. Chase kept his head tilted downward, raindrops sliding off his jaw and pl
opping onto his worn boots. She had a good mind to leave them both outside and let them drown.
Lance reached up and pounded on the door, though, and she realized her neighbors would be complaining if she didn't answer. Heaving a sigh, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and opened the door. Lance pushed past her, dripping water all over her floor as he strode in. Chase hesitated, then wiped his feet and followed. Without waiting for an invitation, Lance poured himself a cup of coffee and handed one to Chase. While Lance searched for the sugar dish, Maddie stared at Chase. He was still wearing his eye patch, which reminded her of her erotic dream—he was a pirate in a secret tunnel, wearing nothing but that patch—
Obviously aware of her gaze, his hand adjusted the black triangle. "Uh, I have to wear it a few more days," he mumbled sheepishly.
She quirked an eyebrow, trying to remind herself to treat him like a big brother. Nothing more. But her traitorous tongue betrayed her. "After that visit to the Pirate's House, I thought maybe you decided you liked it."
His gaze latched with hers, dark and dangerous, and she saw when he caught the connection. His mouth quirked sideways in that sexy half-smile, but his good eye strayed and landed on the couch. More exactly on the black silk robe she'd stolen from Greg Pugh. Greg's initials seemed to glare back at her.
Chase's half-smile evaporated. Panicking at the thought of Lance seeing the man's robe, Maddie grabbed it and shoved it beneath the cushion, then sat down on top of it just as Lance turned, slowly sipping his coffee.
"Who sent the flowers, shortstop?" Chase asked.
Maddie bit down on her lip. "Jeff."
Chase raised a brow.
Lance pushed the paper toward her. "Explain that."
"What?" Maddie opened the paper and stifled a gasp when she saw the front page. Remembering Greg Pugh and his toupee and bridge, laughter bubbled up inside her and spilled out.
"What the hell's so funny?" Lance asked.