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

by Sandra Marton

  Applause thun­dered through the auditorium, rolling towards the stage like a mighty wave, meeting the song and curling over it until the applause and the music were a palpable force, throbbing with a life of its own.

  ‘Look,’ Claire whispered, poking her elbow into Shannon’s ribs. ‘Morgan’s coming.’

  The breathlessly delivered message had not been nec­essary. One of the spots had picked up a figure at the rear of the stage. Shannon’s eyes followed its smoky glow and locked on the man standing motionless beneath it.

  It was Cade, wearing a chambray workshirt rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of faded jeans. His head was bent towards his guitar as he twisted the tuning pegs. And then he looked up and smiled, and suddenly the crowd was on its feet, the applause a deafening roar from hands held high as it paid homage to a man who had survived musical fads by transcending them.

  Cade moved downstage, still smiling at the crowd, and when he reached the microphone, he nodded and held up his hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, the husky words barely audible above the applause. ‘Thank you,’ he re­peated, and the audience quieted in expectant silence. He looked around the huge auditorium and a slow grin eased across his face. ‘We’re happy to see you, too,’ he said, and as the applause thundered towards him again, he turned to the bass player and nodded.

  The crowd sighed as if with one voice, and suddenly the hall was silent. Cade lifted his guitar and his fingers plucked at the strings. A minor chord thrummed in the darkness, a chord so poignant it brought a lump to Shannon’s throat, and then Cade’s voice whispered through the darkened auditorium, as smoky and blue as the spot­light, as husky and intimate as she remembered it from the studio.

  She sank slowly back into her seat, her eyes never leaving the man on stage. He was singing an old song, a ballad she’d heard a thousand times before. But she’d never heard it sung quite this way: his voice caressed the words and re-grouped the phrases until suddenly the song had a passion and a meaning that made it new. Shannon realized she was holding her breath as she listened.

  Perhaps everybody had been doing the same thing, be­cause the auditorium was absolutely silent until Cade plucked the last notes from his guitar strings. A sighing sound whispered through the Coliseum, as if the thou­sands gathered there had shared the song’s sorrow to­gether, and then applause and shouts shattered the stillness.

  Claire turned to Shannon, eyes shining with delight.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’ she whispered. ‘He’s got this crowd in the palm of his hand.’

  But it was more than that, Shannon thought, watching Cade as he acknowledged the applause. She had been at concerts before, and always there was the sense that you were watching someone perform.

  Not tonight.

  A special bond existed between Cade and the audience. They seemed to share both the music and the pleasure in each other.

  ‘Play Sea Lover,’ a voice called, naming one of his earliest hits, and Cade nodded.

  ‘Great choice,’ he responded, and the audience laughed with delight at the shared joke.

  As he struck the opening chords of the song, a smile lit his face, curving into the shadowed contours of his high cheekbones.

  Shannon caught her bottom lip be­tween her teeth. Surely it was a trick of the light that made him look the way he did: powerful, yet with a counterpoint of vulnerability. There was no other way to describe the easy masculine grace of his body and the hint of loneliness in the sensual curve of his mouth.

  If only she could see his eyes, she thought suddenly. His eyes would hold the key to the real man...

  It was as if he'd read her thoughts. He looked down, straight down to the first row, to the center of the row, and her heart thudded crazily. He was smiling at her, his indigo eyes telling her things she wanted to forget, that he remembered her, remembered their kiss, remembered the feel of her lips under his and the taste of her on his mouth.

  She tore her eyes from the figure on stage and looked down at her lap. She felt light-headed: well, it was warm in here. And she hadn’t eaten much of her supper, and there hadn’t been time for lunch or breakfast. She needed a cup of coffee and some fresh air.

  He was looking at her again. She could feel his eyes on her, feel the power of his glance.

  Her heart was racing. She raised her lashes slowly, half-afraid to find him staring at her, half-afraid to find he wasn’t. Yes, his eyes were on her, there was the shadow of a bittersweet smile on his lips and he was singing about—about what it was like to want a woman he couldn't have…

  Shannon took a deep breath. I know what you’re doing, Cade Morgan, she thought, forcing her eyes to meet his unflinchingly. You want that part, don’t you? You don’t want a guest shot; you want something more permanent and meatier, and you think I can help you get it.

  She lifted her chin. He wasn't an actor, but he was one hell of a per­former. The act he'd put on in the studio was almost as good as this one, but she was onto him. Could he see into her eyes? She hoped so, because she wanted him to read what was in them.

  He might be able to twist this audience around his finger, but she wasn't that easy.

  She looked down at her lap. At her folded hands. No matter what he did, she wasn't going to look at him again. Or think about him. She was going to run through my lines for the next day, run through them again and again...

  Shannon lifted her head. People were on their feet throughout the auditorium, applauding and chanting Cade’s name. She glanced up at the stage and then quickly turned towards Claire.

  ‘Is it over?’

  Her agent pursed her lips. ‘Is it over? What kind of question is that? Yes, it’s over. Where have you been for the past hour?’

  ‘Then let’s go,’ Shannon said, disregarding the question. ‘Come on, okay?’ she said, rising from her seat, 'I've had it.’

  The agent stumbled to her feet and tugged at Shan­non’s sleeve. ‘We can’t leave yet. We have to go backstage, remember?’

  ‘I don’t have to. I’ll wait outside.’

  ‘You said you’d go with me.’ Shannon shook her head and the other woman smiled. ‘He knows you’re here. I saw him watching you.’

  ‘He can’t see anything with those lights in his eyes,’ Shannon said quickly. ‘It’s just a performer’s trick, looking out at the audience that way.’

  ‘There were no lights in his eyes. The man was looking straight at you.’ She smiled and one eyebrow arched delicately. ‘What’s the matter? Are you afraid of being in the same room with him? I saw the way he looked at you.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Shannon said crisply. ‘I just don’t see any purpose to this. I already told you I don’t want to work with him.’

  ‘Then let me tell Jerry Crawford he’s got the whole thing wrong. Come on, Shannon. Remember the old saying? There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.’

  I don’t need this, Shannon thought as she followed Claire through the crush to the backstage entrance. Cade Morgan, the entire situation—she definitely don’t need it.

  She wanted to tell Claire she’d changed her mind, but the noise of the crowd drowned everything out and then it was too late. They were backstage.

  Uniformed security guards stopped them every few yards and then wide-shouldered men in turtleneck shirts and tweed jackets replaced the guards, but, in spite of Shannon’s hopes, Claire talked her way past each questioner until finally they were standing in front of Cade Morgan’s dressing-room door.

  Shannon fought back a mounting desire to turn and run. Instead, with a mindlessness that embarrassed her when she thought about it later, she ran her fingers through her hair and wondered if she still had any lipstick on.

  Her pulse drummed in her ears as the door swung open at Claire’s knock.

  At first, she thought the room was empty. It was half in shadow, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

  But, of course, it wasn’t.

  He wa
s there, standing before a dressing-table, drying his dark hair with a white towel. He was bare-chested: water droplets gleamed in the dark hair curling on his muscular chest and in the shadowy strip that tapered to invisibility beneath his jeans.

  Shannon flushed and raised her eyes to his face. Yes, it was just as she remembered it, the cheekbones high and angular, the chin square and strong, and the eyes...those eyes...

  ‘I’m Claire Holden. I hope we aren’t disturbing you, Mr. Morgan.’

  ‘Miss Holden.’ Cade’s voice was soft and flat. He smiled politely, but his eyes never left Shannon’s face. ‘Thank you for coming tonight.’

  ‘Thank you for the tickets.’ Claire made a face as Shannon shot her a steely glance. ‘Look, if this is a bad time... ’

  Cade shook his head. ‘No, this is fine. Just as long as I had the chance to take a quick shower...’

  ‘Well, I just wanted you to know I enjoyed your per­formance,’ Claire said. ‘Miss Padgett and I...’ Her voice faded into the silence of the little room and she looked from Cade to her client. A smile started on her lips and she stepped back into the corner.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again, Shannon,’ Cade said softly, tossing the towel aside. ‘Did you enjoy the concert?’

  Shannon nodded. Be polite, she thought. You can manage that, can’t you? ‘I...yes, thank you, it was...it wasn’t quite what I’d expected.’

  Cade smiled. ‘Really? Is that good or bad?’

  ‘It’s... it’s neither. I just meant it wasn’t the way I’d thought it would be.’ He was still smiling, waiting for her to say something more, and finally she shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was a very polished performance,’ she said carefully.

  Cade laughed and tossed the towel aside. ‘Somehow, you make that sound like a put-down.’

  Shannon took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t come here to quarrel with you, Mr. Morgan,’ she said carefully. ‘I’m here because my agent asked me.’

  ‘I see.’ His smile curved. ‘I guess that means Jerry and your agent discussed the possibility of our working together, hmm?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I think...’

  He nodded and dug his hands into his back pockets. ‘You think it’s a lousy idea, right? Well, I’ve got to admit, I have some doubts...’

  Thank goodness, she thought, letting out her breath. ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. I was afraid...’

  His eyes darkened. ‘Yes, I’ll bet you were.’

  ‘The thing is, I’ve been an actress for a long time and I understand what happened today.’

  ‘Do you?’ he asked softly.

  At least he was listening, she thought. And he’d admitted he had doubts about Craw­ford’s insane scheme. Go on, she told herself. Get to it.

  ‘You see, you came along just after I’d blown a crucial scene. That’s why Mr. Crawford misinterpreted what he saw—what he thought he saw—happen between us.’

  ‘I see,’ he said evenly. ’“So it was simply Jerry’s error of judgment.’

  ‘Yes. No.' She knew she was blushing. 'What I mean is that I’m a seasoned actress. And Tony’s a trained actor...’

  ‘Which I’m not,’ Cade said bluntly.

  It was a statement, but it was more than that. There was a challenging tone to his voice, one it was imposs­ible to ignore. Shannon hesitated and then she took a deep breath.

  ‘Claire—my agent—told me you’d thought about taking a guest role. I think that’s a great idea. There’s so much you could pick up that way.’

  A cool smile flickered across his face. ‘Don’t be so polite,’ he said, brushing past her and reaching for a cashmere sweater draped across the back of a chair. ‘What you mean is, you think I’d be overstepping myself if I took an ongoing part.’

  ‘I didn’t say that, exactly.’

  He pulled the sweater over his head and turned to­wards her. ‘Then what did you say, exactly?’ he asked in an empty voice.

  His eyes had gone flat, and a coldness suddenly gripped Shannon’s spine. She looked at Claire, but her agent was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gazing upward with a vacant expression. Where are you when I need you, Claire? she thought desperately.

  ‘All I meant was that performing isn’t the same as acting. People think it is, but...’

  ‘That’s what I told Crawford.’

  ‘Did you?’ she said eagerly. ‘Well, then...’

  ‘He told me to let him be the judge of that.’ Cade smiled politely. ‘Don’t you think that’s good advice, Miss Padgett?’

  ‘My agent said...’ She looked across the room again. Claire had said she’d go back and try to talk Jerry out of this if she thought it was for the best. But that wasn’t what she’d intended to do at all, Shannon suddenly realized, staring at her agent’s bemused expression.

  How could she have been so naive? Claire had just said whatever had to be said to soothe her.

  The truth was that the agent had brought her here so she could see first-hand what Jerry Crawford had seen. And, dammit, even if there was nothing to see, she’d pretend there was.

  Everybody bowed and scraped, Shannon thought bitterly, even the people you thought were your friends.

  This man standing before her, this man who made her tense with anger, was going to re­place Tony. She knew that as surely as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow.

  Without warning, the afternoon’s disastrous love scene flashed into her mind. If she hadn’t been able to play it with Tony, how in hell would she manage it with Cade Morgan?

  She turned away quickly and reached for the door. ‘Then there's nothing for us to discuss, Mr. Morgan. Thank you for the tickets. It's been an interesting evening.'

  Cade grasped her wrist as her fingers closed around the doorknob. ‘Interesting? Even unfavorable critics come up with better words than that to describe my con­certs.’

  ‘Someone actually said something unfavorable about the great Cade Morgan?’ she said softly, raising her eyes to his. ‘I’m shocked.’

  His hand curled more tightly around her wrist. She could feel the heat of his touch burning through her jacket, through her silk blouse to the naked flesh beneath.

  ‘What’s your problem, lady?’ Can’t you get through five minutes without insulting me?’

  ‘I was simply being honest,’ she said, looking down at his hand on hers. Suddenly, all she wanted was to escape the sti­fling confines of the small room. Morgan’s presence seemed overwhelming.

  ‘Were you?'

  ‘It doesn't matter. I’m not really in a position to judge your music or your performance.’

  He drew closer. ‘We’re not talking about that, Padgett, are we? You just don’t like me.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it,’ Shannon said quickly.

  A tight smile spread across his mouth, leaving his eyes untouched and cold.

  ‘It has everything to do with it.’ He drew her towards him, his eyes riveted to hers.

  He was going to kiss her again. She could read it in his dark eyes, in the sultry ex­pression on his mouth. This time, she’d slap his face. This time, she’d tell him she didn’t like cavemen…

  But a honeyed weakness was spreading through her, fuelled by the soft, licking flame that was his hand on her wrist.

  ‘Let go of me,’ she said, thinking the words as a command, saying them as a plea.

  His eyes searched hers for the span of a heartbeat and then he took a deep breath. Carefully, as if he were letting go of something that might turn on him, his hand re­leased hers and he stepped back,

  ‘Look,’ he said gruffly, running his hand through his dark hair, ‘maybe we got off to a bad start. I didn’t mean to insult you this afternoon. I wish you’d just forget all about that kiss.’

  Of course, Shannon thought grimly. His apology, if that’s what it was, was all the proof she needed. The decision to hire Cade Morgan had already been made. And the man wasn’t a fool; he knew it would be a lot better to have her on his side than not.

/>   Well, he could forget that. She’d deliver when she had to—when the lights and the camera were on—and he could be damned when they weren’t.

  ‘I’ve already forgotten it,’ she said evenly, as she pulled open the door. ‘As I told you earlier, there wasn’t that much to remember.’

  She turned her back on him and stepped out into the hall. Cade followed her, and suddenly Claire moved toward them both.

  ‘Hey,’ she said with artificial good cheer, ‘let’s take it easy, kids.’

  Cade watched Shannon walk away. Then he swung toward Claire.

  ‘Miss Holden.’ His voice was ice. ‘Tell your client I’m going to take that part. Tell her she’s going to have lots to remember by the time I’m finished with her.’

  Claire nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. Shannon was almost running down the corridor, her high heels tapping an angry tattoo against the floor.

  Cade Morgan and Shannon Padgett, playing lovers.

  It was going to be like touching a lighted match to a fuse. Dangerous, volatile—but with breathtaking results.

  And the explosion would make Shannon a star.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The door to the Theatre Arts Workshop squealed as Shannon eased it open. Why didn’t somebody fix the stupid thing? she thought as she slipped into the dimly lit, overheated classroom. Did it always have to sound like an over-the-hill soprano struggling for a high C?

  The actor and actress reading lines in the glare of the lights at the front of the room were caught in their roles, thank heavens. They didn’t so much as glance in her direction—but the two people seated nearest the door turned towards her and frowned.

  She mouthed an apology, slid along the back wall until she reached an empty seat, and slipped into it. The wooden chair creaked noisily—why not? she thought, fighting against an overwhelming desire to kick it into silence—and a woman nearby glared at the intrusion.

  So much for unobtrusive en­trances.

  Maybe she should have waited in the corridor until break, but she’d missed so many classes lately that she was afraid to miss another.