Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set

by Sandra Marton

  ‘All right, Jerry, I know what you want. I...’

  A buzz of sound erupted at the entrance door to the studio.

  ‘What the hell’s all that about?’ Crawford said.

  He and Shannon turned toward the door.

  A small crowd had gathered around the door. A small crowd had gathered beside it. More and more people joined it until he and Shannon were the only ones at the far end of the huge room.

  ‘Just what I need,’ he said sharply, taking Shannon’s elbow. ‘A party of VIPs out slumming.’

  Shannon hurried along beside him, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. The crowd was babbling with excitement; the sound guy and the cameramen were staring as if royalty had just stepped into the room. The script girl and the make-up woman—all the females, in fact—had grins on their faces.

  Crawford muttered something as he shouldered his way through the crowd, Shannon beside him.

  ‘Come on, people,’ he said, ‘get back to work. We have a final shoot for tomorrow’s show in a little while, and I want to finish rehearsing before—' Crawford stopped in mid-sentence. 'Well, I’ll be damned!’ he said softly. ‘! I didn’t expect to see you today.’

  Shannon fell back as Crawford moved towards the man in the center of the crowd. ‘Why didn’t you let us know you were coming, Cade? I’d have had the welcoming committee out.’

  The man separated himself from the group sur­rounding him and stepped forward.

  ‘This looks like a pretty good welcoming committee to me,' he said, grinning as he took Crawford’s out­stretched hand in his. ‘How've you been, Jerry?’

  ‘My God,’ Tony’s voice drawled softly in Shannon’s ear, ‘it’s Cade Morgan.’ He shook his head and droplets of water rained on to her face. ‘Isn't he one gorgeous sight?'

  Usually, Shannon laughed at Tony’s ov­erblown adjectives, but not this time.

  It was hard to quarrel with Tony’s description, although she wouldn’t have used the word to describe Cade Morgan.

  Gorgeous was a word that conjured up images of softness, and there was nothing soft about this man.

  He was a world-famous musician and she’d seen him dozens of times before—on television, in magazines and newspapers—but never in person.

  ‘Did you see him on the tube with the Boston Pops the other night?’ Tony whispered. ‘How can a guy head a group like the Marauders one day and play classical guitar the next?’

  It was an interesting question, Shannon thought, staring at Cade Morgan, one which had intrigued music critics for years. Only Morgan’s admiring fans asked no questions. They were content simply to pack his con­certs and buy his CDs, whether they were blues, rock, or classical.

  And, yes, she'd watched him with the symphony. Dressed in black tie, he’d been incredibly masculine and almost heart-stoppingly handsome.

  Today, he was all that and more, although the formal outfit had been replaced by a black leather motorcycle jacket, tight, faded jeans, and dusty black leather boots. Add amazingly sexy to the list of words that described him, she thought, watching as Jerry led him through the excited crowd. The two of them were talking but Morgan still managed to pause and smile, shake hands and exchange pleasantries.

  ‘Somebody’s going to whip out a piece of paper and ask him for an autograph any second,’ Tony whispered. He chuckled softly. ‘You’d never think we were a bunch of pros, would you?’

  No, Shannon thought, you certainly wouldn’t. Even Rima was gushing like a schoolgirl.

  Clearly, Jerry wasn't going to hold to his usually rigid five-minute break—al­though it wasn’t rigid when Rima wanted to take time out for coffee or to have her hair fixed or her make-up touched up and it evidently wasn't rigid for the Cade Morgans of this world, either.

  ‘Told you," Tony said when somebody thrust a script and a pencil in front of Morgan’s face. ‘Can you imagine the future I'd have if I looked like that?’

  He grinned. ‘I’m not modest, love—you know that— and I like what I see in my mirror, but there’s something about that man. You’d think Hollywood would have picked him up by now, wouldn’t you? Jeez, if I were in his shoes, I’d be beating the studios off with a stick.'

  Shannon looked up sharply. Tony, too, she thought with disgust.

  ‘Do you think Jerry will introduce us?’ he asked. ‘I’m not sure the peasants get a shot at visiting celebrities...’

  ‘We’re not peasants,’ she said sharply. ‘And I’m not going to stand around waiting. Cade Morgan is a guitar player, that’s all. That’s why Hollywood hasn’t bothered with him. They have more sense than we do. Why people with stage credits and years of training should make fools of themselves over someone like that... ’

  Her words seemed to echo through the sound stage, bouncing off the walls of the cavernous room. Shan­non’s face turned crimson with embarrassment. Somehow, what she’d intended to be a whisper had turned out to be a roar. Every head in the room turned toward her; every eye fastened on her.

  ‘Bye, bye, kid,’ Tony whispered in a mocking tone ‘it’s been nice knowing you.’

  She felt him move away from her. In fact, everyone seemed to have moved away from her—except for Cade Morgan. He had turned at the first sound of her voice and now he was standing a few feet away, smiling politely.

  ‘Were you speaking to me?’

  His voice was low and husky, but she was sure it carried into every nook of the room.

  ‘No,’ she said, trying to sound calm, ‘I wasn’t.’

  Cade Morgan smiled and moved towards her. ‘About me, then. You were speaking about me, Miss... ?’

  She tilted her chin up and her eyes met his. ‘My name is Padgett,’ she said clearly. ‘Shannon Padgett.’ He was smiling, but his eyes were cold. What color were they, anyway? Blue? Black? Indigo, perhaps. ‘And I didn’t mean what I said—not quite the way it sounded.’

  Morgan stopped inches from her. ‘Really?’ He grinned lazily. ‘You mean, you don’t have stage credits?’ She shook her head and his smile broadened. ‘Then, perhaps you’ll explain which part you didn’t mean the way it sounded, Miss Padgett. That you’ve had years of training? Did you mean that?’

  Shannon closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. In the two weeks she’d been working here, she’d never heard the studio this quiet. Like a graveyard, she thought, flinching inwardly at the simile, for she might be at her own funeral. Her glance flickered to her di­rector. Jerry was standing just behind Cade Morgan, and the expression on his face was unreadable.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t play cat and mouse with me, Mr. Morgan,’ she said evenly. ‘You know what I said as well as I do. And I apologize. It was rude. It was insulting. It was...’

  ‘It was true,’ Cade Morgan said easily. ‘At least, part of it was. I am a guitar player,’ he said, giving the words the special emphasis she’d afforded them. ‘I take it you think that’s not a respectable occupation?’

  ‘I’ve already said I was sorry, Mr. Morgan.’

  ‘You made it sound like an obscenity, Miss Padgett.’

  She looked past him again, silently pleading with the director to interrupt, but Jerry’s face was a blank.

  ‘Mr. Morgan...’

  ‘I’m a musician, Miss Padgett. I’ve never pretended to be anything else. And I’m as proud of that as you are of being an actress.’ His indigo gaze drifted over her, and she felt as if he’d undressed her and left her naked and defenseless. ‘You are an actress, aren’t you?’ he asked, his eyes lingering on the long expanse of bare leg visible beneath her thigh-length robe. She resisted the urge to try and tug it down as his gaze met hers. ‘Although I can think of other ways you could earn your living.’

  Someone in the crowd tittered nervously and Shan­non’s head snapped up.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘As a dancer, for ex­ample. ‘Or a model.' His smile was slow and challenging. ‘What did you think I meant?’

 
; ‘I’m an actress, Mr. Morgan, and you have no right to—'

  ‘An actress. And a damned good one,’ Jerry Crawford said, walking towards them. He smiled broadly. 'Shannon’s one of our new cast members, Cade. She’s playing the part of the girl who shows up in Clover City claiming to be the Dunbar heiress.’

  Cade nodded. ‘I should have figured that. Sure, the one who seduces the guy at the party.’

  Shannon stiffened imperceptibly. Somehow, it irri­tated her no end to learn that her director had discussed her part with this man. After all, he had nothing to do with the soap. In fact, he had nothing to do with acting. And he certainly didn’t know her character, she thought grimly.

  ‘She doesn’t seduce anybody,’ Shannon said to Jerry. ‘Not Alana Dunbar.’

  But it was Cade Morgan who answered. ‘Sure she does, Miss Padgett. She meets this guy—what’s his name, Jimmy or Johnny... ’

  ‘Johnny,’ she said automatically. ‘Look, Jerry...’

  And she turns on the heat and he winds up in bed with her.’

  ‘Mr. Morgan, you’ve obviously never read the script. She does no such thing. She...’

  ‘She charms the hell out of the guy.’

  'You're wrong. That’s not what happens. I go to the party, I meet this man, and he sweeps me off my feet. When he kisses me...’

  Cade Morgan snorted. ‘When he kisses you? Jesus, Miss Padgett, you sure as hell look old enough to know who kisses who.’ He turned to the director. ‘I’m right, aren’t I, Jerry? She kisses him, doesn’t she?’

  Jerry Crawford shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he said innocently. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Shannon snapped. ‘He kisses her. I should know, shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s my scene. And I certainly know whether someone’s kissed me or I’ve kissed him. I...’

  ‘Clearly, you don’t, Miss Padgett,’ Cade Morgan growled. Before she could move, he wrapped one hand around the back of her head and drew her to him. ‘This is what it’s like when someone kisses you,’ he said, and his mouth closed over hers.

  Shannon’s outraged cry was lost against his hard mouth. She heard the startled gasp of the people watching them and then, for the thudding tick of a heartbeat, the room spun away from her. Her senses reeled under the sudden, unexpected assault, telling her that he smelled of leather and cold air, that his mouth tasted clean and sweet, that his grasp was like steel, that it was drawing her closer to him, so close that she could almost lean into him and close her eyes and...

  Cade’s hand dropped away from her as suddenly as it had brought her to him.

  ‘Have you got it straight now, Miss Padgett?’ he asked softly. ‘That’s what it feels like when a man kisses you.'

  For a second, something glinted brightly in his eyes. Then, it was gone.

  Satisfaction, she thought, that was what she'd seen. He'd re-paid her insult, and with interest. Carefully, she squared her shoulders.

  ‘Really?’ she asked in a voice that almost purred. ‘Well, I guess I haven’t been missing much, then.’

  The crowd murmured in delight and Cade Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

  Don’t push your luck, , Shannon told herself quickly. Exit, stage left, and do it fast.

  ‘Jerry,’ she said sweetly, turning to the director, ‘I’ll be in my dressing-room.’

  She waited for Jerry to tell her not to bother, that all she had to do was pick up her pay check and leave the set forever, but he simply nodded.

  ‘Sure, Shannon,’ he said agreeably. ‘I’ll call you when we need you.’

  ‘Do that,’ she said, as if she gave directors orders every day.

  Without so much as a glance at Cade Morgan, Shannon and stalked across the stage, trying not to dwell on the fact that her bare legs probably ruined what she had wanted to be a regal effect.

  But Cade Morgan was dwelling on it, at least, she thought he was. Why else would his low, wicked chuckle follow after her? It didn’t make for a dramatic exit— and neither did the fact that she could still feel the im­print of the man’s arrogant mouth against hers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind having dinner on the run, Shannon? I know you were probably looking forward to that lasagna at Luigi’s.’

  Shannon shook her head and shrugged free of her corduroy jacket. ‘Luigi’s lasagna tonight means black coffee all day tomorrow,’ she said with a grin. ‘Believe me, Claire, I’m better off sticking with something less fattening. A salad, maybe.’

  ‘You need more than that after working all day. Have a small steak along with it.’ Claire Holden looked around the noisy restaurant and sighed.. ‘Although I don’t think places like this know the meaning of the word small. Just look at the size of those portions, will you?’

  ‘This is the real world, Claire,’ Shannon said lightly. And people eat real food in—where are we, anyway? Queens? Brooklyn?’

  Her agent grinned and folded her hands on the table top.

  ‘For shame,,’ she teased. ‘You’ve lived in New York long enough to know that the Nassau Coliseum is on Long Island. You know, just east of Queens...’

  ‘And west of the moon,’ Shannon laughed. ‘Well, it might as well be. I never get a chance to get out of the city.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to,’ Claire said. ‘Up and coming actresses spend all their time with their noses to the grindstone. Acting lessons, dancing lessons, exercise class...’

  ‘Up and coming,’ Shannon repeated wistfully. ‘Why does that sound so much better than struggling?’

  ‘Because you’re not struggling, not anymore. This part is the break we waited for, sweetie. Good money, good lines, good exposure... ’

  ‘Don’t remind me about the exposure part,’ Shannon said, reaching towards a large muffin peeking out from a napkin-covered basket, ‘not after I spent the whole afternoon playing hide and seek with Tony in that damned bed.’ She shook her head imperceptibly and drew her hand back. ‘Take my mind off it, Claire. Tell me what we’re doing here.’

  ‘I already told you,’ her agent said casually, smoothing a thick layer of butter on half a roll, ‘I have to see some guy who’s at the Coliseum tonight.’ She popped the roll into her mouth. ‘Delicious,’ she said, her words muffled and uneven. ‘I bet that muffin’s even better.’

  Shannon shook her head. ‘Too many calories for me.’ She folded her hands in her lap and smiled at the other woman. ‘I thought they played hockey games at the Coliseum. Don’t tell me you’re representing hockey players now.’

  ‘Can you just picture that?’ the agent asked with a laugh. ‘Not very likely. The only thing I know about hockey is that it’s played with a chuck.’

  Shannon burst out laughing. ‘A puck,’ she said. ‘Even I know that much.’

  The agent shrugged her shoulders and buttered the remaining piece of roll. ‘You see? It’s a good thing we’re not here to see a hockey game.’ She bit into the roll and chewed silently. ‘They hold concerts here, too,’ she said, swallowing the mouthful of bread. ‘Matter of fact, there’s one tonight.’ She glanced at Shannon and then at the bread basket. ‘I could have sworn I saw a cran­berry muffin in there.’

  ‘If you wanted to see a concert, we could have stayed in the city. There’s a Chopin program at Lincoln Center tonight.’

  ‘This is business,’ Claire said, poking at the basket. ‘Aha, there you are, you little devil. Thought you could escape me, huh?’

  ‘Will you please give me a straight answer? Are you telling me you’re here to watch a musician perform?’

  Claire nodded.

  ‘I didn’t know you handled musicians.’

  The agent sighed dramatically. ‘Please, let’s not talk about my sex life, OK? You know it only depresses me.’

  ‘Come on,’ Shannon laughed, ‘you know what I meant. I thought you only represented actors.’

  ‘I do, unfortunately. I should only be so lucky as to represent this guy. This is, well, a favor,
you might say. Jerry Crawford asked me to take a look at him.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Is this guy a friend of Jerry’s or what?’

  Claire’s glance skidded away from Shannon’s. ‘I guess you’d call him an acquaintance,’ she said in a muffled voice, brushing crumbs from her ample lap.

  Shannon cocked her head to the side. ‘I must be missing something. You mean we came all the way out here to watch somebody Jerry Crawford hardly knows play the piano?’

  Claire shifted uneasily. ‘He doesn’t play the piano. He...’

  ‘Are you ladies ready to order?’

  ‘We certainly are,’ Claire said emphatically. ‘I’ll have the—let’s see—the cream of leek soup. And the meat loaf. Mashed potatoes with it, and, um, apple pie and ice cream.’ She looked across the table at Shannon and rolled her eyes. ‘Bring my friend a small salad...’

  ‘No dressing,’ Shannon warned.

  ‘Right. And a small steak, rare.’ Claire handed over their menus and settled back into her seat. ‘So,’ she said quickly, before Shannon could speak, ’how did things go today?’

  ‘Terrible,’ Shannon said with a sigh. ‘We taped to­morrow’s show—the others taped it, actually. I didn’t even have one line. And I told you that Tony and I re­hearsed our big scene.’ She waited while the waitress served her salad and Claire’s soup. ‘Crawford didn’t like my performance very much,’ she said, picking up her fork and toying with the greens before her.

  Her agent sipped carefully at a steaming spoonful of soup. ‘Are you sure? I thought he said that you and Tony weren’t giving the characters enough life.’

  ‘It comes to the same thing, doesn’t it? I’m an actress. I’m supposed to be able to tune out the cameras and the lights and the crew and concentrate on Tony.’ She grinned ruefully. ‘I’m even supposed to forget that I’m not Tony’s type.’

  ‘Females aren’t Tony’s type,’ Claire laughed.

  ‘Yes, but I’ve played love scenes before, Claire. I know that you don’t have to have some­thing going between you and the actor for the scene to sizzle. Maybe it’s just that this particular scene is tougher. You know, me in that damned bodysuit, Tony with his bare chest, all that moaning and clutching and rolling around in that stupid bed... ’ She lifted her eyes to the other woman’s and shook her head. ‘The craziest things keep going through my head while we’re playing the scene. Today it was laundry.’