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

by Sandra Marton

  Shannon watched in silence while he began scooping up handfuls of the fine white sand and flinging it aside. Finally, she shook her head.

  ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘OK, don’t help me. See if I care! I built my best castles without girls, anyway. Girls don’t know the first thing about defenses and walls and turrets. Girls...’ He ducked as a mussel shell hit him on the shoulder. ‘Second act of violence. Three strikes and you’re out.’

  ‘Girls—even in Kansas—build mud pies and play in the dirt. And we know all about turrets. After all, did you ever hear of princes getting locked away in castles? It’s always princesses, isn’t it? Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty and... go on, Morgan, shove over,’ she said, pushing up her sleeves and kneeling opposite him. ‘I’ll build you a castle the likes of which you’ve never seen before. Just don’t get in my way.’

  Ignoring Cade’s snort of disbelief, Shannon began to dig in earnest. The top layer of sand was sun-warm under her fingers, but as she dug deeper, it became pleasantly cool and damp to the touch. She glanced at him as she worked; he was concentrating on his piece of the sand sculpture with the same intensity he seemed to bring to everything. It was what she’d seen in his performance that night at the Coliseum, and it was what had im­pressed her most during the time they’d spent together on the set and at the workshop.

  Was it that intensity that he’d bring to their love scene, she wondered suddenly, and to her bed if she invited him into it?

  ‘How’s it coming,?’ he said. ‘Ready to admit that all the engineers in the world should be men?’

  She gave him her number one nasty smile. ‘Go on, laugh. Just wait until the first wave comes in. We’ll see who’s the better builder.’

  Maybe his walls were stronger-looking, she thought, glancing from her piece of the castle to his, but her turrets were more imaginative. Surely that was important. Turrets were...

  A sudden wave engulfed the shoreline, racing across her bare feet and ankles. The water was so cold that it took her breath away, but all that mattered was that it knocked down a piece of her wall. She fell back to the wet sand and touched the damaged structure with one finger. ‘Cade,’ she wailed, ‘look what happened!’

  He sighed dramatically as he knelt beside her. ‘I should have known a woman couldn’t compete in a man’s game. You faked me out with that bit about mud pies, but what’s a mud pie, after all? It doesn’t require a man’s skill and talent. It... Hey, no fair, Padgett, cut it out!’

  Her first handful of sand missed its target, but the second sprayed over his shoulders and face.

  ‘Can’t take the truth, huh?’ he laughed, reaching for her hands. ‘Is that your problem?’

  ‘You’re a male chauvinist pig, Cade Morgan. That wave came in and headed straight for me... Cade, don’t! Come on, that’s not fair! Cade...’ With a shriek of laughter, Shannon tried to roll free of his grasp, but he pulled her down to the sand and stuffed a handful of the damp stuff down her collar. ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘Damned right it’s not,’ he laughed, throwing his leg across her and pinning her body beneath his. ‘Men build better castles than women, Padgett. They’re also bigger and stronger.’

  ‘That’s it,’ she gasped, ‘if you can’t win fair and square, win by intimidation.’

  She was laughing up at him, squirming beneath his weight like a kid in a wrestling match when suddenly the laughter caught in her throat.

  Cade’s eyes met hers; the gleam in them faded, replaced by a dark intensity that made something stir deep within her.

  ‘Cade...let me up.’

  Her plea was a whisper, a husky sigh on the salty breeze. He shook his head.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Shannon,’ he said softly. ‘My fairy­tale princess with sand on her cheeks.’

  She drew in her breath as he reached out and stroked her face. Her skin felt as if it were glowing beneath his fingers.

  What would he do if she turned her head and pressed her mouth to his palm, she wondered suddenly? Would he take her into his arms and kiss her? Would he make love to her here on the empty beach, with only the gulls to see them while the ocean roared and the wind cooled their passion-heated flesh?

  ‘Listen,’ he said, and she could hear a touch of ur­gency in his voice, ‘listen, forget the damned play.’

  ‘What?’ She closed her eyes and then opened them again. ‘I’m not thinking of the play. I...’

  ‘I don’t mean right now, I mean... Just stop thinking of us as characters on a set.’ His body stirred against hers, and he bent towards her until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her face. ‘Isn’t it time we faced the truth? I want to make love to you—and you want that, too. You know you do. That’s why you can’t play that damned scene.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The scene embarrasses me, that’s all. It was the same with Tony.’‘The hell it was the same with Tony! You’re scared to play the scene with me because you’re scared of feeling something.’

  She turned her face away from his. ‘Acting doesn’t involve feeling.’

  ‘What we feel for each other hasn’t got a damned thing to do with acting,’ he growled, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her face towards his. ‘And we both know it.

  She took a shuddering breath. ‘Don’t you see how artificial all this is? Jerry Crawford brought us together.’

  ‘Don’t tell me we’re back to that?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. You know I’ve already admitted you’re a pretty good actor.’

  ‘Pretty good?’

  ‘Look, you’re not what I expected, OK? But you’ve got to admit you wouldn’t have this part if it weren’t for Jerry throwing us together.’

  ‘Crawford’s not responsible for what we feel.’

  ‘I’ve seen this kind of thing before,’ she said. ‘People meet during a play or a film, they have some kind of stage relationship and...’

  ‘Dammit, is that all you think this is?’

  ‘You’re new. You don’t know how easy it is to get trapped inside a part.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you think what we feel is mixed up with the parts we’re playing.’

  ‘I’m telling you that it’s easy to confuse fantasy and reality.’

  Cade’s eyes searched hers. ‘Some guy did a number on you, didn’t he?’ he asked softly.

  ‘If you mean have I been through this myself,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘the answer is yes. When I was in my first summer stock company. I played Juliet and I...I...’

  ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘Listen, I’m not that bastard, that—that two-cent Romeo.’

  ‘What he was,’ she said tightly, ‘was a lesson well learned.’ She forced a smile to her face. ‘You and I are lucky, Cade. We’re able to bring something special to our scenes together.’

  ‘And that’s all it is?’ He clasped her shoulders and stared at her, his eyes that indigo mystery that she feared. A thin smile crossed his face. ‘That’s all you want it to be?’

  No, she thought suddenly, and her heart thudded against her ribs.

  ‘Time to go back,’ she said, scrambling out from beneath him.

  At first, she thought he wasn’t going to let her go.

  The thought was as exciting as it was terrifying.

  Then he rolled away and sat up.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Time to go back.’

  Back to reality, she told herself.

  Although, all at once, reality seemed a dangerous place to be.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Shannon turned slowly in Cade’s arms, nestling her head on the hard plane of his naked shoulder. Some­where in the distance, music was playing, soft violins swelling as Cade’s mouth ravaged hers.

  ‘That’s wonderful, darling,’ she whispered softly, smiling up at him through half-lidded eyes. ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Jerry echoed from the sidelines. ‘OK, kids, you were great. Wrap it for the day.’

  Thank God, Shannon
thought desperately. She pushed Cade away from her and sat up quickly. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, swinging her legs to the floor.

  He smiled at her. ‘Sure.’

  Her eyes met his briefly and then she looked past him, towards the perimeter of the set. She could see her robe lying across an unused camera. But to get to it, she’d have to let go of the sheet she was clutching and then walk across the set in her bodysuit while Cade sat and watched.

  He rose and stretched lazily. Shannon looked away from him. Think about something else, she told herself. Think about all you have to do when you get home to­night. The laundry and the cleaning and...

  And, he was gorgeous. He wore jeans, nothing else. His shoulders, his chest were bare. All that hard, beautiful muscle, that tanned skin…

  ‘Here’s your robe.’

  She looked up in surprise. Cade was holding her robe out to her.

  ‘I...thank you.’

  She scrambled into it just as the director reached them.

  ‘You guys were terrific,’ Jerry said, beaming at them. He slapped Shannon on the back and grinned. ‘Fan-effing-tastic! ’

  Shannon avoided Cade’s eyes as each of them murmured their thanks. Crawford had been complimenting them all week, telling them and the network publicity department that he’d never seen such chemistry before. He’d been delighted ever since the day they’d finally played that first love scene together.

  ‘Spontaneous combustion,’ he’d said, and Shannon had avoided Cade’s eyes then, too, because she knew he’d figured out the truth, even if Jerry hadn’t.

  It hadn’t been spontaneous combustion. The sparks Jerry had wanted were there, but they were phonies.

  She’d given the best performance of her life and she’d gone on doing it every day since.

  She’d only lost her concen­tration once, only let herself feel Cade’s arms and Cade’s body and Cade’s mouth one tim,e and that had hap­pened today, damn it, today, and she didn’t know how she’d let herself slip into that trap…

  ‘I want you in early Monday. The network wants to get some publicity stills of you two.’

  Shannon nodded. ‘Yes, OK, Jerry. I’ll be here. Uh, if we’re done for the day... ?’

  ‘No problem. Uh, Cade? Can I have a minute?’

  ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, Jerry.’

  ‘I’ll make it fast,’ the director promised.

  Not too fast, Shannon thought, risking a quick glance at Cade as he reached for his shirt.

  His head swung towards her, his eyes catching hers for an instant. His slow smile brought a momentary rush of confusion and she swiveled sharply on her heel and hurried towards her dressing-room, de­termined to be in her street clothes and out the door before he could stop her.

  Her shoulders sagged with relief as she slammed the dressing-room door behind her. Well, she thought, an­other day and she’d survived. She sighed as she peeled off her bodysuit. At least there were no-gawkers standing around the set any more.

  Cade had seen to that after their afternoon at the beach.

  ‘I want the set cleared,’ he’d said to Jerry. ‘We don’t need anybody watching but the technicians.’

  His voice had been soft, but there was no doubt in Shannon’s mind that it was a command, not a request.

  ‘That should make things easier,’ he’d said to her with a quick smile, and she’d nodded, for once in her life grateful that stars had certain prerogatives denied to mere mortals.

  And it had made things easier. The cleared set, the tiny but private dressing-room—all of it helped her get through the day. And when Cade became persistent, when he tried to talk to her about what was happening each time he took her in his arms, she pretended ignorance.

  ‘You’re one hell of an actress, Padgett,' he’d said the day before. ‘You’ve even got Jerry convinced—he asked me if we’re seeing each other.’

  ‘You told him the truth, I hope,’ she’d said quickly.

  ‘I said I wished we were. Nothing more.’

  ‘There isn’t any more.’

  ‘Sure there is. I could have told him you’re the amazing mechanical woman. You walk and talk and you even breathe heavily on cue. You’ve made everybody a be­liever. Even him… but then, he’s not in bed with you.’

  ‘Dammit, Cade, don’t talk like that! I’m not—we’re not—‘

  ‘That’s a hell of a trick, you know. I reach for you and I end up with Alana Dunbar.’

  Shannon had taken a deep breath. ‘I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen. The woman in that bed is Alana Dunbar.’

  His fingers had curled around her wrist. ‘Prove it. Spend an evening with me. Let me take you to dinner.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘For drinks.’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Then we’ll make it tomorrow night...’

  ‘I’m busy then, too.’

  ‘You’re afraid,’ he’d said softly.

  ‘That’s crazy,’ she’d answered. ‘I’m just doing my job.’

  Well, at least it was Friday. That meant two days away from this pressure cooker.

  She sighed as she slipped into a pair of old cor­duroys and an oversized sweater. She’d sleep late and soak in the tub and maybe even indulge herself in cooking up a real meal—linguine with clams or chicken Kiev, and to hell with the calories and what an extra pound or two would look like through the cam­era’s critical eye—and then on Monday, she’d be in control again.

  Wearily, she slumped into the chair before her dressing- table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Alana Dunbar stared back at her, with her crimson lips and gilded eyelids.

  So long, Alana, Shannon thought, reaching for the cold cream. You can rest over the weekend, but I expect you to be ready for work first thing Monday morning. And you can do it, Alana. I know you can. You’ve done fine all week, ever since that day at the beach.

  That day had sent her home in a state of panic. She’d masked it from Cade, turning down his suggestion of dinner, maintaining her poise until she was up the stairs and safely in her apartment. Then she’d let go, flying to the telephone and dialing Claire’s number before she was out of her jacket.

  ‘What would happen if I quit the soap?’ she had asked without preamble.

  ‘Nothing much,’ Claire had said carefully. ‘We’d get sued for breach of contract, but don’t worry about it. I’ve always had this burning desire to manage a troupe of trained fleas, and I’m sure you can land a great job demonstrating pots and pans at Macy’s. What’s the problem, sweetie?’

  ‘Problem? Did I say there was a problem?’ Shannon had snarled, slamming down the phone. ‘Why should there be a problem?’ she’d demanded of the high- ceilinged room.

  Anyway, quitting was out of the question. You didn’t toss aside a career because you couldn’t handle one stupid love scene.

  Love scene? One love scene?

  Try multiplying that by a zillion.

  Not that she’d seen the story-board—it was guarded like a state secret—but only a simpleton would believe that the writers were going to suddenly turn Alana Dunbar and Johnny Wolff into celibates.

  If only she’d carried off that dumb love scene with Tony. Those damned laundry lists dancing through her head had done her in. Why had she let her mind drift to such mundane things? That had never happened to her before...

  Well, yes, once a long time ago, but then it had been deliberate. She’d had a part in an off- Broadway play and had to strip down to her teddy.

  ‘I’ll die of embarrassment,’ she’d moaned to Eli, and he’d taught her an exercise that required thinking about something dull to help maintain concentration while separating yourself from the actions of your character. And it had worked; thinking about laundry had got her through.

  Was it really that simple? Had the solution been there all along? Shannon had taken a deep breath.

  Yes. Yes, it was. If she kept half her mind occupied with trivia and the other half busy with camera a
ngles and cues and lines, there’d be no part of her left to think about... about whatever Cade was doing.

  Reach into yourself, Eli always said, and use what you find.

  She’d made a pot of strong coffee and sat up half the night, gulping the bitter black liquid and reviewing everything she knew about acting technique and control.

  And it had worked. Nobody suspected a thing. Nobody but Cade...

  ‘Shannon? Are you there?’

  She blinked as the light tap on the door was repeated. That’s what she got for wasting time, day dreaming.

  Cade had caught her. But not for long.

  ‘I was just leaving,’ she said, grabbing her jacket.

  The door swung open and she stared into his scowling face.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said, because instinct told her something was.

  ‘Have you seen the script changes for Monday?’

  She shook her head as he handed her a thin sheaf of papers. ‘I know Jerry said there would be some. Is something wrong?’

  Cade laughed, but it wasn’t a good sound.

  ‘Not unless you find fault with a graveside seduction. And before you ask, Jerry thinks it’s great.’

  ‘Graveside sed... ? What are you talking about?’ she demanded, leafing through the pages he’d given her. ‘I thought we were going to do the Dunbar funeral, the cemetery scene—complete with fog machines—and then the reading of Alana’s father’s will.’

  ‘Oh, we are. But take a look at page four, Padgett. How am I supposed to deliver those lines? “I’ll take you home and kiss the sadness from your beautiful eyes...” Jesus, who’s kidding who? I know Johnny Wolff is supposed to be the sexiest SOB in the world, but even Alana Dunbar would spit in his eye if he came on to her at her father’s funeral.’

  ‘Ours not to reason why, Cade, ours just to do...’

  ‘Or die. Yeah, and that’s what I’m afraid of—dying out there on coast-to-coast TV. This is supposed to be the start of the new Cade Morgan, not the finish. What comic wrote those lines, anyway?’

  Shannon shuffled through the script. ‘My God,’ she muttered, ‘have you seen Alana’s answer? You’re getting off easy. I have to smile from behind my black veil and whisper—where is it again?—I have to say, “Yes, Johnny, yes, make me fly away, make me forget this awful place.” Can you just hear Alana saying that with daddy lying in the grave at her feet?’