Starstruck

by Anne McAllister

  “That's your responsibility, Olivia,” he had said when she finally got through his receptionist. “You have custody.”

  “Yes. But if you want them to eat this month, you had better take him to cello because I’ll lose my job if I don’t get this interview,” she snapped. “Or perhaps you’d like to pay a bit more child support?” He had fought long and hard against paying as much as he did, so she thought she was safe there.

  “Interview with whom?” he asked.

  “Joe Harrington.”

  “You’re interviewing Joe Harrington?” He sounded as if his saliva ejector had just sucked all the air right out of him. No doubt he thought that the plain, jean-clad, pony-tailed Olivia James whom he had known and left wasn’t fit to interview the sex symbol whom all American women lusted after.

  “Yes,” she said. “Little old me. But don’t worry. It’s not by choice.”

  “I didn’t suppose it would be,” he said more calmly. “You never were the passionate sort.”

  The temptation to slam the receiver in his ear was almost overwhelming. “Will you take Stephen or not?” she bit out.

  Evidently sensing her contained fury, Tom backed off a little. “All right. Tell him to meet me in front of your place. I'll run him home after, too. But he can’t dawdle around. I’m driving to Chicago tonight.” The last was a calculated barb to prove that this negotiation was not going to go all her way. Liv had loved going to Chicago, and when she and Tom were married, they got there twice a year at the most. From what she heard from the kids, he was now busy “finding himself,” with Trudy’s help, in the Windy City almost every weekend.

  “Thank you.” She had hung up thinking that Marv had had no idea what he had asked of her when he sent her to do this interview. It wasn’t just Joe Harrington who was involved, it was the kids, it was Tom, it was her whole life. But she had done it, arriving at the Sheraton promptly at five o’clock—and now he wasn’t even showing up.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the man at the desk. “Are you sure he didn’t just sneak past?”

  “Joe Harrington?” His voice implied that Joe Harrington, like the royal family, couldn’t possibly sneak anywhere.

  “Well…” She couldn’t wait much longer. She had hurried home, popped the casserole in the oven, picked up the cleaning, fetched the rabbit from the vet’s—and it was hopping around the back of her VW bus this very moment. It might last an hour or so in there without dying of heat prostration, but it had been there almost that long now. And the casserole would burn… and Jennifer was waiting

  “Look!” the desk clerk sounded triumphant. “Here he comes now!”

  Liv turned, not knowing exactly what to expect. But whatever it had been, it wasn’t what she got. All the news photos and publicity shots she’d ever seen of Joe Harrington had made him appear suave, debonair, sexy and totally in command. But that hadn’t even begun to capture the sheer magnetism of the man now approaching the desk. Even dressed in the wholly unexpected gray sweat shirt, much-laundered jeans and running shoes without socks, and carrying a suitcase that looked as though it had seen him through ten years at summer camp, Joe Harrington was a force to be reckoned with. His lithe but well-muscled body was apparent despite the disreputable clothes. He looked disgustingly attractive for a man who, by rights, ought to be showing signs of dissipation, Liv thought with annoyance. His brown hair was thick and shiny, the tendency to curl giving him a boyish look at odds with the sense of full-adult masculinity that emanated from him. She could see how he would inspire men like Tom, but they would never achieve the same effect in a million years. She swallowed hard. Darn it, Olivia, she told herself firmly, shape up. He’s got every woman in the world falling at his feel He doesn’t need you, too.

  She wiped her hands furtively on the sides of her rust-colored linen skirt and then walked briskly toward him, extending her hand. “Mr. Harrington, I’m Olivia James with the Madison Times. Your Mr. Gates said you would speak with me this afternoon.” She focused on the potted palm somewhere just past his left ear. One look at his green gaze, even diminished by the horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, had unnerved her so badly that her hand shook.

  “Miss James,” he drawled. “Yes, Tim mentioned it to me while I was in Milwaukee.” He was holding her hand far longer than it should have taken for a perfunctory handshake. His hand was warm and slightly rough to the touch. Liv tugged hers away, but he hung on, apparently unwilling to let her go. What did he mean, “mentioned it,” for heaven’s sake? It was his idea!

  Her gaze flickered back to meet his. “If you’ll let go, Mr. Harrington,” she said, grateful that her usual asperity hadn’t entirely deserted her, “we could sit down over there and get this over with.”

  His eyes widened momentarily at her words and tone, but then a slow grin appeared on his face. A seductive grin, Liv decided, wishing she had a suit of armor. “Joe,” he corrected easily. “Call me Joe. And you’re Olivia?”

  Ms. James, she wanted to say. Or Mrs.— which would be more to the point. But she nodded, trapped, managing only a croaking, “People call me Liv.” What was wrong with her? Surely she’d seen a handsome man before!

  “Well, Liv,” he said, still not relinquishing her hand, “I’m delighted to talk to you. But we’re running a little late and—”

  No kidding, Liv thought. “I won’t take much of your time, Mr. Harr—Joe,” she amended quickly, seeing his frown.

  “I have an idea,” he said, the slow smile beginning again at the comers of his mouth, spreading to reveal the famous boyish grin tooth by tooth. How does he do that, Liv wondered. “I’ve got to get cleaned up before this speech tonight. You come on up to my room with me and we’ll talk while I shower and shave.”

  Liv’s mouth flew open. No wonder he went to bed with half the women in the world. He certainly didn’t waste any time on preliminaries! “I think not, Mr. Harrington,” she said, ice dripping from her voice. “I conduct interviews in lobbies, not hotel bedrooms. Or bathrooms. And this interview isn’t likely to be conducted at all!” The nerve of the man!

  “Hold on…”

  “No, you hold on, Mr. Harrington. I didn’t want to do this interview with you in the first place! I had enough complications in my life today without adding God’s gift to women—”

  “Miss James—”

  “Don’t Miss James me, Mr. Harrington,” she exploded. “I have a casserole in the oven about to burn, a child at the baby-sitter’s whom I should have picked up twenty minutes ago and a rabbit about to die of heat prostration in the back of my bus! I can damned well do without you! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure your speech tonight will tell me everything I want to know.” And if Marv didn’t like it, she thought, he could have her job—and the shower-and-shave interview that went with it, too! She spun on her heel and strode toward the main entrance of the lobby. She had almost reached it when a hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

  “What kind of casserole?”

  Liv stared at him. “Chicken and rice,” she said finally.

  “Room for one more?”

  “What?”

  He looked slightly sheepish. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” he said. “I didn’t mean… Oh well, maybe I did, I don’t know. But a chicken-and-rice casserole sounds better right now. Is there enough?”

  “Yes, but…”

  The grin nearly split his face. “I’ll pick up my key later,” he said to the stunned desk clerk who had watched the whole exchange. “Let’s go. I want no burned casseroles, mad baby-sitters or dead rabbits on my conscience.”

  “You aren’t serious,” Liv protested. But evidently he was, for he was propelling her out the door so quickly that she nearly lost her footing.

  “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I had a real, home-cooked meal?”

  “No,” she faltered. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Neither do I. But I’ll trade you. An interview for some chicken-and-rice casserole. Sound fair?�
�� He flashed her a disarming grin. “And safer?” he added, and she saw a teasing light in his eyes.

  She wasn’t so sure about that. “I guess, but—”

  “Which car?”

  “The green VW bus.” She pointed to it and then had to scurry to keep up with his long strides. “But what about your shower and shave?” she remembered.

  “You have running water at your house, I presume?” he drawled, and she thought that safe wasn’t a word she’d have used at all.

  Lord save me, Liv thought and unlocked the door. “Throw your suitcase in the back, then,” she told him, momentarily resigned to the fate that had sent her life spinning out of control. “And be careful not to hit the rabbit.”

  Chapter Two

  “So, tell me about yourself,” Joe said, settling easily into the passenger seat of the VW bus and turning sideways to watch Liv start the engine.

  “That’s my line, I believe,” she snapped irritably. “You’re the one who’s supposed to answer the questions.”

  “All in good time,” he promised. “Over dinner, I think. But now it’s your turn.” He was smiling at her, the sort of smile that they always did close-ups of in his movies, the ones in which he was trying to find out what made the heroine tick so he could use the right line to get her into bed with him. Liv clenched her teeth and concentrated on backing out of the hotel lot without sideswiping the Buick next to her. “Well,” he prompted when nothing but silence was forthcoming.

  “You’re not interested in me,” Liv said firmly, wishing he’d stop looking at her that way. “I’m not a very interesting person.”

  The dark brows drew together in a frown. “Not interesting? Hardly. You’re the first woman I’ve ever met with a rabbit running loose in her car.”

  “Something that doesn’t happen every day, I assure you,” she said. Nor did taking Joe Harrington home for dinner, she thought grimly.

  “Well then, we’ve determined that you’re fond of rabbits and casseroles,” he went on relentlessly. “And you have a child, I presume. It is your child we’re picking up at the baby-sitter’s?”

  “Yes.” They were in the throes of rush-hour traffic speeding along the shore of Lake Monona, and Liv was trying to pay attention to the road.

  “But you don’t have a husband.” It wasn’t a question.

  “What?” She nearly veered into a passing hog truck.

  “No ring,” he said smoothly.

  “I suppose that’s the first thing you look for in a woman,” Liv said acidly.

  “Not quite.” He grinned, and she knew he was watching the color rise in her cheeks and was amused by it. “But I don’t fool around with married women, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m glad to know you draw the line somewhere,” she said, slipping the bus neatly between two trucks and signaling to turn. “And here was I thinking you had no morals whatsoever.” She really didn’t care what she said to him now. If he was going to take offense he’d have done so in the lobby when she’d blown up. If he was simply going to invite himself along for dinner he deserved everything he got.

  Joe ran his tongue over his lips. “You’re not going to be an easy interview, are you?” he asked shortly.

  “I hope not,” Liv said. She turned into the tree-lined street where Jennifer’s baby sitter lived. “As I told you, this wasn’t my idea. And if you’d said no, I could’ve gone to Marv and said you’d changed your mind. Inasmuch as you apparently haven’t, I intend to get a good ten-inch story.”

  “And a pound of flesh, obviously,” Joe said with a hint of grimness.

  Liv gave him a sharp look as she turned into the driveway, but Joe was looking around the van curiously, not watching her.

  “Who plays baseball?” he asked, fingering the glove he had picked up off the floorboards.

  “That’s Ben’s,” Liv said.

  “Who’s Ben? Your lover?”

  Liv cut the engine and turned to glare at him. “Don’t judge us all by your standards, Mr. Harrington. Ben is my ten-year-old son.” She opened the door and began to step out.

  “And the other one?” he asked, jerking his head toward the larger, more worn glove on the middle seat.

  “Noel’s.”

  “Another son?” He looked as though he didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Clever of you. You’re getting the idea,” she said, turning away toward the five-year-old bundle of energy who was hurtling across the yard. “Hi, Jenn,” she called. “Tell Marge I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Joe muttered, “Three?” He looked at her narrowly, the green eyes glinting behind the lenses of his glasses. “Are you pulling my leg, Olivia James?” he demanded.

  Liv gave him a prim smile, the one she saved for all the men she’d met in the last three years who thought that five children constituted a flaw in her character. “Why no, kind sir. Why don’t you ask if there are any more like them at home?”

  It was Joe’s turn to stare. “Are there?” His voice was hollow, as it was in his movies when the bad guy had a gun leveled on him.

  “Two,” Liv said demurely, as she moved away to talk to Jennifer’s baby-sitter who had come out onto the porch. She couldn’t resist tossing him a backward glance as she did so. It was always worth it to see their faces when she told them. Some of them counted on their fingers. Joe Harrington was no exception. He looked as if he’d been poleaxed. Then, much to her amazement, he burst out laughing. She had just reached the porch when he leaned out the window and yelled after her, “Now I understand your predilection for rabbits!”

  “Who’s that?” Margie Cunningham asked, peering around Liv’s shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of the man sitting in the van.

  “A friend,” Liv mumbled, mortified, hoping that he wouldn’t do anything that would identify himself. Having friends who yelled things like that would be bad enough. Hearing it from one of America’s foremost sex symbols was too much all together.

  “Happy birthday,” Marge said. “Doing anything special?”

  If only she knew, Liv thought. “No, covering a story,” she said. “Sorry I was a bit late. I got a short-notice interview.”

  “No problem,” Marge assured her. “Say, did you hear that Joe Harrington’s speaking at the university tonight?”

  “Yes. On international communications, I think,” Liv said. “Celebrities for Peace or some crazy thing.” She shrugged. “The peace idea isn’t crazy, but why should some actor know more about it than anyone else?”

  “Who cares?” Margie said, the same dreamy look in her eyes that Liv had seen earlier in Frances’s. “He’s so gorgeous, I wouldn’t care if he was talking about grafting apple trees. I’d go to hear him anyway.”

  And another one bites the dust, Liv thought. Pity he had decided to waste his time on her when conquests were his for the asking all over town. He must really want that chicken-and-rice a lot, she thought wryly. “So long,” she said to Margie, and fairly sprinted to reach the car by the time Jennifer did. Jennifer didn’t know who Joe Harrington was—there was no need to worry about her being overawed by his presence or anything like that. The worry was what she would say to him, no matter who he was. Jennifer, Liv knew from five years experience, did not know the meaning of the word discretion.

  “Who’re you?” Jennifer asked as she climbed in over the driver’s seat and regarded the man slouching across the way with calm speculation.

  “I’m Joe,” he said easily. “Who are you?”

  “Jennifer Alison James,” she told him. “I’m five. How old are you?”

  Take that, Liv thought, starting the engine and backing out of the drive with a smile on her face. Joe slanted her a grin.

  “Another reporter in the family, huh?” he asked. “I’m thirty-six,” he told Jennifer.

  “That’s older than Mommy, isn’t it?” Jennifer asked. “She’s thirty-two.”

  Joe shot Liv a smug grin. “Is she, now?” He stretched his legs and smirked at her. He looks just like a ca
t, she thought. A very large, dangerous cat. A tiger. Did tigers have such startling green eyes?

  “Yes. Are you coming to our house for dinner?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Good.” Jennifer bounced up and down on the middle seat, her golden hair swinging in a halo around her head. Like a cherub, Liv thought, downshifting as she went around a corner. “Are you going to be Mommy’s boyfriend?”

  “Jennifer!” So much for cherubim.

  “It’s a thought,” Joe said lazily, not at all discomfitted. “Does Mommy need a boyfriend?”

  “No, Mommy doesn’t!” Liv snapped, trying to control a desperate urge to drive directly into Lake Monona. “Jennifer, I bet you can’t hold your breath until I count to thirty. And you—” she shot Joe a quelling glance that would have been more effective if he hadn’t already been almost doubled over laughing “—you hold yours for five minutes!”

  “Yes, ma’am, whatever you say, ma’am,” he mocked, wiping the grin off his face with his hand though his eyes continued to laugh at her.

  The silence that ensued was almost worse than the conversation. No job is worth this, Liv thought. But it was too late to get rid of him now. If she dumped him out, he would probably just follow her home, or call up Marv and complain. Why didn’t he at least stop staring at her? It wasn’t so much that he seemed to be looking at her as if she were a bug under glass. That wasn’t the feeling at all. Rather, she got the idea that she was being savored, like a very tasty looking mouse on a tiger’s dinner plate. Just before he opened his mouth. It was a relief to pull into her own driveway next to the story-and-a-half frame house she had been lucky enough to find within her budget when Tom left them and their other house was sold.