Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One Page 15

  Her time alone with Nick was limited to driving to and from the reservation because of the demands of the shooting schedule. Still, she consoled herself, she’d have the last night.

  Or so she thought.

  “A dinner party?” she repeated, trying to hide her dismay as he presented the idea to her that last afternoon on the set. Her plan to spend an intimate evening in his arms crumbled. Perhaps he was embarrassed to be alone with her, she thought. Perhaps he was afraid she’d raise the issue of his marriage proposal. Well, he needn’t worry about that. She was adult enough to handle the situation. Still, she avoided his gaze, knowing he had the ability to see the pain that she was experiencing. Instead she watched as various crew members busied themselves with packing the equipment, getting it ready to ship back to the studio. A man Nick had introduced as the production manager was rushing around, issuing orders.

  “Who’s going to be there?” she asked, pretending to be interested.

  “Alexander Tate and his daughter,” Nick said. They began to walk back to his trailer. Shane concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  She glanced covertly at Nick’s face. Was there a special light in his eyes when he mentioned Ginger? Or was that just her imagination? How loving Nick had brought her into close proximity to her best and worst emotions! She would have sworn she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body until meeting and falling for him. Even in her brief marriage, she hadn’t experienced jealousy, so much as hurt. Grow up, McCallister, she ordered sharply. Jealousy is for fools. And besides, you haven’t the right to be jealous of Nick. He hasn’t made any commitment to you.

  Nick was standing in front of his trailer, and she almost walked into him, oblivious to the fact that he’d halted. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

  “Hey, whoa, there. What are you so preoccupied with?” he asked, studying her face.

  She looked away. “Just the end of my article,” she lied. And the end of us, she tacked on silently.

  “Work on that this afternoon. I’ll have Scottie pick you up at seven. Don’t be late,” he said with a wink.

  “I never am,” she said, attempting to sound carefree.

  “Amazing woman.” Nick laughed, blowing her a kiss.

  She pretended to catch it, then turned and walked away, her heart aching.

  Nick’s chef had outdone himself, Shane thought as she sat in the spacious formal dining room that evening. But she discovered that her appetite had deserted her. She wasn’t the least bit tempted by the delicate dishes that were served. Shane was placed opposite Scottie and next to Tate, who sat at Nick’s right hand. Ginger sat at his left.

  Shane tried not to let the seating arrangement bother her.

  “Nick tells me that you’ll be returning to New York tomorrow,” Tate said.

  “Yes,” Shane replied dully. Back to New York. Back to her career. Back to her life without Nick.

  “Tell me, would you consider making a career move at this time in your life?” Tate asked, taking her completely by surprise.

  “I beg your pardon?” She must have misunderstood him, she thought. The question came out of left field.

  “Would you consider making a career move at this time?” Tate repeated, his tone as soft and unassuming as ever.

  “If a good offer came,” Shane said honestly. “I’d be more than willing to consider it.”

  “Would you consider a position as a senior writer on In-depth magazine a good offer?”

  Her eyes grew wide as she realized that conversation had otherwise stopped at the table and now everyone seemed to be waiting for her answer. Knowledge sizzled through her like a flash of lightning.

  “In-depth magazine?” she repeated dumbly, her mouth forming an unspoken “Oh” as the truth rushed in on her. “You’re that Alexander Tate? The owner of In-depth magazine?” She hoped that the squeal she thought she uttered was only in her imagination.

  “Among other things,” he told her. “How about it?” he prodded. “I realize that it would mean moving from New York. I like my writers to stay close to the home office,” he explained. “And the home office is in Los Angeles.”

  He needn’t have told her that. She knew all about In-depth magazine. It was an even classier publication than Rendezvous, and the position Tate mentioned was one she would have given her eyeteeth for—if she had come by it honestly.

  Shane eyed Nick suspiciously, but he merely smiled at her, appearing to be as interested in her answer as the others were. There wasn’t a trace of smugness in his expression. Had he arranged all this, or was she being unduly mistrustful?

  “I would consider an opportunity to work on the staff of In-depth a godsend,” Shane said. “The move from New York would be a small price to pay for the privilege of being part of the staff of your magazine. But—“

  Tate didn’t seem to hear the last word. “Fine. It’s all settled, then. Here’s my card,” he told her, fishing it out of his breast pocket and handing it to her. “Give me a call, and in private we’ll discuss salary, benefits, that sort of thing. Then, of course, I’ll have your contract all drawn up and ready for you to sign.”

  Shane stared at him, stunned. It was too good to be true, she thought. Things like this just didn’t happen, except in the movies. The movies. Yes, it did smack of romanticism. It smacked of Nick.

  She said nothing more on the subject for the remainder of the evening, which was short. Once Tate’s “mission” was accomplished, he and his daughter did not stay on very long. Tate said something about having an early flight to catch, and he thanked Nick for a wonderful time. And for the tickets.

  “Tickets?” Shane questioned as they returned from seeing their guests off in the front drive. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Scottie making his way up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone.

  “I sent him airplane tickets.”

  “To come here,” Shane said, filling in the rest of his statement.

  “To come here,” he repeated, nodding.

  “And offer me a job.” She felt angry tears that she only half understood forming in her eyes.

  “I was hoping. Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the foyer. He looked utterly puzzled.

  Shane shut her eyes. How could she make this come out right? “Don’t you see, Nick? It doesn’t mean anything if you get me the job. I have to get it. I don’t believe in favoritism. I’ve always hated it,” she said impatiently. This was another opportunity of a lifetime that circumstances were forcing her to turn her back on. She knew life was hard, but nobody had told her it was going to be this rough, she thought unhappily.

  Nick took her hand and led her into the den. “You are screeching so loudly that your voice is going to crack the crystal,” he said, his eyes indicating the chandelier that twinkled and sparkled overhead. “I don’t want Bernice having heart failure in the morning,” he said, referring to his housekeeper. Firmly, he shut the door of the den behind him. Nothing but the fireplace illuminated the room. “Now, you listen to me before you get on that high horse of yours. All I did was direct Alex’s attention to you.”

  “You call sending a man airplane tickets directing his attention?” she asked incredulously.

  “I call that being polite,” he said. “First I had Scottie go to the local library and get back issues of Rendezvous and make copies of your articles. Then I gave Alex a call, telling him about you and offering to forward the articles. I sent the tickets because I didn’t want to inconvenience the man any further. It was his choice to come, his choice to offer you the job. Your merit got him to do that, not any magical powers of mine!”

  The light of the fire bathed his face in hypnotic, warm hues. Shane reached out and ran her hand along the outline of his beard, her fingers tingling from the sensation. “Why did you do all that?” she asked.

  “Because, milady, I’m a firm believer that husbands and wives should try to stay on the same side of the continent whenever pos
sible. It makes the trip to the bedroom that much shorter,” he told her, taking her into his arms.

  “Husbands and wives?” she repeated, her heart hammering so hard she knew he must feel it too.

  “Um-hmm. In case you’ve forgotten, I did ask you to marry me.”

  She raised her eyes to his. “I haven’t forgotten. I just believed that you’d thought better of the idea,” she said in a small voice.

  “How could I have improved on the best idea I’ve ever had?”

  “Then, you still want to marry me?” she asked, not able to believe it. Why her? Why did she deserve to be the lucky one, when millions of women adored him? Millions, her mind echoed.

  “Still? Lady, I’d move heaven and earth to have you,” he said, his hold on her tightening as he kissed her cheek, his lips trailing off to the side of her neck.

  “Why?” she asked, her mind beginning to reel, the way it always did when he touched the sensitive areas of her body.

  “Why?” He chuckled. “Ah, there is a bit of female vanity to you, isn’t there?” he asked, pulling her down on his lap as he sank into the comfortable cushions of the sofa that faced the fireplace. “Because,” he said, slowly beginning to unzip the back of her dress, “you’re warm, vibrant, sensitive, intelligent, and you love me.”

  She felt the shoulders of the dress slip down. “Millions of women love you.”

  “Millions of women love the image of Nick Rutledge. You’ve proven you love the man. You’ve proven that you can stand being pulled out of bed at ridiculous hours, trudge manfully—woman-fully?” he amended, raising a teasing eyebrow in her direction—“up a snow-encrusted hill to ski with me. Camp out with only a few whimpers, and even put up with near-drowning without immediately thinking of either suing me or blackmailing me.” He nibbled on the soft outline of her breasts left uncovered by the top of her bra. Her dress now rested about her waist. She scarcely noticed.

  “But I’ll age,” she said sadly.

  “Most people do,” he pointed out. “I intend to.”

  “That’s one of nature’s jokes.” She thought of all the stories she had read about men leaving their wives for younger women. How much more susceptible to that sort of temptation Nick would be than the average male, she lamented, surrounded constantly by nubile beauties all vying for his favors. “Older men are still attractive. Older women are just—older.”

  Expertly, Nick unhooked her bra, slipping the delicate straps off her shoulders. “But I like older women,” he said, leering at her. “Just wait and see how wild I’m going to be around you when you’re ninety-six,” he promised, snuggling up to her freed breasts.

  Darts of excitement danced through her as she cradled his head, savoring the feel of his hair against her soft skin. For a moment, she was lost in the rapture that was swiftly overtaking her.

  “So will you say yes already?” Nick asked, looking up at her.

  “Yes already,” Shane murmured, her heart singing.

  “Good,” Nick said, sliding her off his lap and onto the sofa. He slipped the dress the rest of the way down, discarding it on the floor. She lay before him, ready. “I hate a contrary woman,” he said huskily, beginning to form a trail of kisses along her body that was meant to drive her beyond the brink of exhilaration, into a sea of joy.

  And it did, bringing with it the promise of a tomorrow that would be even more wonderful than today; a tomorrow made wonderful by the continual joining of two irresistible forces.

  “I love you, Nick,” Shane whispered hoarsely.

  “I sure in hell hope so,” Nick said. His mouth moved to her ear, and he whispered, “Because I love you with all my heart, and soul . . . and body.”

  The flames from the fireplace flickered warmly on the outlines of their bodies as they merged into one.

  THE END

  No Way To Treat A Lover

  No Way To Treat A Lover

  By Marie Ferrarella

  Marie’s Originals

  Book 2

  Marie’s Originals are reprints of romances published earlier by Bantam’s Loveswept line or Berkley/Jove, made available again in e-book form.

  Chapter One

  Reese!

  For a moment Charley’s blood pounded madly in her temples. She tried to pretend that she didn’t notice him, although her whole system was suddenly on alert. Even her breathing had become shallow. Maybe he’d be too busy to notice her. He was standing in the wings, talking to someone. She was all the way on the other side of the stage, along with a cluster of nervous actresses. Given normal circumstances, he might not even look over to where she was.

  Normal? Why should circumstances be normal? Her mind played with the word. She hadn’t been doing anything normally for the past year, unless you could call the six-week FBI training program and her subsequent assignments normal. Her mother had gone from shaking her head and saying, “Charlotte, why don’t you find a nice young man and settle down?” to staring at her, anxiety etched on her pale features, and asking, “Charlotte, is anything wrong?”

  Charley always cheerfully said no and told her mother that she was just striving to be a good actress. But mothers, she had once been told, had a sixth sense when it came to their offspring. Charley’s mother’s intuition was a little off, granted, but somehow she knew that her daughter’s life had undergone a drastic change during the past year.

  Yes, Charley’s mother knew, knew without knowing. Reese, on the other hand, hadn’t had a clue when Charley had broken off their budding relationship. All she had told him was that things were happening too quickly, that it would be best if they didn’t see each other for a while. She was sure he thought it was because she was having delusions of grandeur and didn’t want anyone hitching his wagon to her star. She let him believe that. He never knew her real reason. She had thought it was too dangerous. Too dangerous for him.

  The mission, Charley. Remember the mission, she told herself sternly, forcing her gaze away from the tall, imposing figure in the shadows. She focused instead on the depressingly barren stage. What a threat an empty stage had held for her when she was an actress, she mused. Now if an empty stage was the most threatening thing she faced, she was doing fine. But her heart went out to the anxious women standing backstage with her. They were all hoping that fate would smile on them today.

  The director of this new musical comedy was holding auditions for the five leading female roles, each of which called for a flaxen-haired beauty. Charley had never seen so many blondes in one place. With her own bouncy chestnut hair, she felt like a wild flower in a bouquet of long-stemmed yellow roses. Oh, well, wild flowers had their place, she thought. Right now her place was here, waiting to be called onstage so that she could read opposite the hopeful candidates. Her own small part was already secured. The producer of the play had agreed to cooperate with the FBI and had convinced the director to cast her without audition.

  Charley caught herself looking over her shoulder, searching for a glimpse of Reese. Her mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with cotton. Acting in a play never did that to her nowadays. Even playing her roles for the department didn’t make her so nervous. Reese was the culprit, she concluded with an inward sigh. Her lips quivered slightly as she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers. The mind was a wondrous thing. She didn’t want these thoughts. She hadn’t even known they still existed. Yet they had suddenly taken on an urgency she couldn’t ignore.

  “Charlotte Tremayne!” Charley heard her named called out with obvious impatience. Either the speaker was short-tempered or he had called her more than once.

  She hurried out to the center of the stage, peering into the first row of seats in order to focus on Elliott Chalmers, their director.

  “Here!” she said brightly, shading her eyes to cut off the glare coming from the light on the right.

  “That is a matter of opinion,” the bald man muttered accusingly. He had a very loud mutter, Charley thought. Obviously he was unhappy about having been saddled with her.
She was confident that she could have passed the usual audition, but the department hadn’t wanted to take any unnecessary chances. She had to be in this play. It was a matter of national security.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Charley had seen Reese’s head jerk up at the sound of her name. From the surprised look on his face, she gathered that he hadn’t known she was there. He did now. She tried not to think about that. It wasn’t easy.

  “Okay, Tremayne, let’s get to it,” Chalmers said in a biting voice, “now that your hearing’s been restored.”

  She flashed him a bright smile, refusing to wince. The man was going to be a bear to work for. How did she get herself into these things? By walking into them with open eyes, she reminded herself. The only way to cope was to behave like the professional she was. Acting had been her first love . . . and Reese McDaniel had been her first lover. . . .

  Forget Reese, dammit! All that happened a year ago, a lifetime ago. It’s not supposed to mean anything to you anymore, she chided herself. But it did. Seeing him again had opened a Pandora’s box of delicious memories. An exquisite hurt began to blossom inside her.

  Charley focused her attention on the director. He was calling the first sacrificial lamb out for the reading. The willowy platinum blonde barely had time to take her place before Chalmers motioned for her to begin, using his pastrami sandwich as an extension of his hand. As Charley and the blonde acted out the scene, Charley kept an eye on Chalmers’s reaction to her own reading. There was a good deal of the actress in her yet, and that part of her was none too pleased to see that Chalmers was paying more attention to his sandwich than he was to what was happening onstage. The blonde was wilting visibly.