Girl of My Dreams (5 page)

To shake off the golden image, he turned to the other side of him. From his vantage point, Miss 44D’s melons looked exceptionally huge, almost vulgar, while Jillian’s looked just right. He’d seen Jillian almost every day, yet knew little about her; one reason being he’d devoted his  energy to the series, even going so far as to date every well-known star in the vicinity for publicity. He’d rather enjoyed that end of the deal, before the reinvented Jillian.

Troy took that moment to pull back his chair at the adjoining table and approach them. “No fair, producer. Share the wealth.”  

“What’s wrong with your table partners? They look good to me,” Blake said, glancing at Troy’s table.

“You go over there and listen to them. They won’t shut up.”

Maxine jumped up. “I’ll sit with you, Troy.”  

Blake nodded. “It’s your choice.”

After the top-heavy one had scampered off, Blake sat alone with his quarry. “It occurs to me, Jillian, that we’ve been so busy we’ve never gotten acquainted,” he said. “First of all, what should I call you, Jillian or Veronica?”

“Jillian is fine.”

“Veronica’s a lovely name. Why not use it?”

“For personal reasons,” Jillian said, fingering the condensation on her glass.

For some reason she seemed uncomfortable speaking about her private life. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall many conversations about anything outside the studio. Strange.

“I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women in this business and I must say you rank right up there. If you hadn’t disguised yourself at work, I’d have been too distracted to get the show together.”

She avoided his eyes and looked down at her drink. “I dressed for the job. My goal was to look professional, not to come on like a sexpot.”

That made sense. “You played it smart. Still, it occurs to me we were always so busy we never got to know each other on a personal level.”

She looked away fast. “There’s not much to tell.”  

There was something. He’d ferret it out.

“Where did you grow up?”

“In Hollywood.” 

“Your application said you went to college for a few years. Why did you stop?”

“I had personal commitments.”

Pain flashed through her eyes. She groped for her drink, took a huge swallow and blinked. Her eyes reddened.

The topic of her abandoned schooling appeared to be off limits. That made him all the more curious. What kind of commitments? Did she have a kid stashed away?

A dart of jealousy shot through him, but he ignored it. Her sex life wasn’t his business. He wasn’t exactly virginal.

The silence lengthened. Eyes narrowing, he watched as she fingered the jade ring on her left hand, as if to reassure herself it was there. She’d worn that ring as long as he’d known her. What was its significance? Had someone given it to her?

She caught his gaze and stopped.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you pick the theme song for the show? I’ve always wanted to know.”

“It was crazy how it happened. Mecca was in dire straits and desperate to latch onto something new. I’d been mulling over ideas about how to get the studio into shape. One afternoon I fell asleep on the couch and out of nowhere had a dream about the ideal woman. When I woke up, a sappy love story was playing on TV. Maybe the story had something to do with my dream, I have no idea. Be that as it may, in my semi-awake state, the show’s concept hit me. I grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote what I remembered from the dream. Then I went over to the piano, played around with melodies and found one I liked.”

“You make it sound so simple, but I suspect it’s not. You did a great job. I didn’t even know you played the piano.”

“Hey, I’m from a show biz family. I know all that good stuff,” he said with a sharp laugh. Yeah, and the bad stuff, too. That made him wise.

The dream girl was a farce, but hopefully a moneymaker. No woman could live up to the qualifications he’d set: sexy yet innocent, smart, but unafraid to learn, an ace in the kitchen, forgiving, an avid listener, loyal and loving, as in “till death do us part.”

The girl across from him had come close. He’d relied on her in many ways and would miss her presence. Damn, it was hard to believe she’d crossed him. Goes to show, no one’s perfect. The dream girl was just that, an impossible dream.

Jillian had been the best and he was having a hell of a time replacing her. Where were all the good workers these days?

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get started in show business?” Jillian asked, disrupting his disgruntled thoughts.

He smiled wryly. “It’s no secret. I was a curious kid. With my mom being Barbara Branton, I hung around the sets a lot. Both the big and small screens fascinated me.”

“You share your mother’s love of the industry, but you don’t resemble her, except maybe for the eyes.”

Blake frowned. “I take after my father in looks. I hope that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you must know, my issues go way back. For as long as I can remember, Darryl Caldwell has been referred to in the industry and by the public as Mr. Branton. He has no life. He won’t take a step without Barbara’s approval.”            

Though in her mid-fifties, Barbara Branton was still a looker. She packed in millions at the box office and drew multi-million dollar contracts. In her down time, she flitted from man to man. Darryl, fool that he was, meekly waited in the wings, ready to assuage his wife’s ego when she so much as beckoned in his direction.

“Maybe it works for him.”

“That’s Darryl for you, but it’ll never work for me. That whole marriage crap is for the birds. No woman’s worth putting a noose around my neck and turning me into a fool when my back’s turned.”

Jillian’s eyes almost bugged out. He realized he’d come on strong, but couldn’t help it. Marriage and all it entailed made him see red. He’d never risk losing his identity. His parent’s so-called marriage was a sham and an embarrassment.

He reached for the gin and tonic. Now it was his turn to take a large gulp. Its bitter edge matched the taste in his mouth.

“Judging from the son, your father must be quite handsome.” Jillian switched the topic.

“You’re not my assistant any more. You don’t have to butter me up.”

She flushed a bright red. He’d slammed a sincere compliment back in her face, and that was uncalled for. He should practice a little diplomacy.

Reaching over, he patted Jillian’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to round on you. I’m on edge lately.”

Jillian sighed. “I’m sure my entering the contest didn’t help.”

“Your intentions may have been good, but were misdirected. Jillian, you were a great assistant. Not just anyone can step in and take your place. It’ll be tough going for a while.”

“But if I hadn’t entered the contest and instead picked out someone who didn’t know a thing about the show, it might have bombed. I couldn’t take that chance. You worked too hard to make a go of it. You deserve success.”

Did she really mean that? Blake gave her a searching look. She seemed sincere. “Well, what’s done is done. We’ll never know how the other scenario would’ve played out. The good thing is the show did pull in the highest ranking for our time slot. And I have to admit, you did have the audience eating out your hand, not to mention, Mr. Billionaire. I don’t approve of your methods, but just the same, I thank you.”

“The show’s your triumph. I didn’t do anything special, except try to keep myself from falling. I was dying to put my glasses on, but couldn’t. I’m lucky I got these contact lenses before I came here. They’re a godsend.”

“They look good on you. They bring out your amazing green eyes.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” She blushed and flashed a sweet, sexy smile that made his heart trip.

Jillian still didn’t get it. She had no idea she owned enough charisma to magnetize an audience into submission. Actors studied to achieve it, but it couldn’t be learned. You either had it or didn’t.

Even now, just looking into her eyes, her presence pulled at him, drawing him in.

To get his bearings, he drew his eyes downward from her face. That was a mistake. Her well-rounded halter top made the blood rush to his head.

He loosened another collar button. Mamma mia, they could use some air conditioning out here.

Rising, he cleared his throat. “Listen up, everyone. Shooting’s bright and early tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I’m offering a private tour of the vicinity. Meet me in the main lobby at twelve sharp.”

An excited murmur swept through the cluster of tables, making him glad he’d thought of the diversion to relieve the show’s tension.

As they all rose from their tables to file out, his ex-assistant stifled a yawn.

“You look a bit beat.”

“Nothing a nap and shower can’t fix.”

The seemingly innocent remark sent blood rushing to his nether regions. X-rated visions of Jillian in the shower, and Jillian with him in bed flashed through his mind.

After inspecting the close-ups, he’d make a beeline for that shower. It would be solitary and damn cold enough to shake her out of his head.

Reason told him the old, dependable Jillian had morphed into a loose cannon. If he had any brains, he’d go about his business and steer clear of her. Trouble was, if he’d listened to reason in the first place, he wouldn’t be where he was now.    

CHAPTER SEVEN

JILLIAN STEPPED INTO the hotel room and breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could be herself. Pretending she didn’t care for Blake was becoming increasingly difficult.

It was too late to take back what she’d done. Nor could she regress to her old, frumpy self. Blake’s compliments on her appearance made her feel good, but that was as far as their relationship could go. It wasn’t as if she were a member of his exclusive set, nor were her attitudes about love and commitment anything like his. She may look different on the outside, but underneath, she was the same old-fashioned Jillian.

She stashed her new outfits on the padded hangers, the new silk and lace undies in the dresser drawer, and then stepped into the shower. The stinging spray did nothing to revitalize her spirits.

The few hours until the tour began could be spent primping, but the cool satin sheets of the princess style bed beckoned to her. It wouldn’t hurt to curl up for a few minutes.

She drifted into an easy sleep. Blake lay beside her in a secluded alcove. The waves splashed against the shore. The sun warmed her arms and legs. He reached for her bra strap. The feel of his large, gentle fingers melted her insides. She wanted more. Her heart beat fast, like the Tahitian drums in the background, louder and more insistent.

They weren’t drums. Groggily she opened her eyes. Where was she? What time was it? What was that noise?

Someone was banging on the door in the outer room.

“Jillian, are you awake? Can you hear me?” Blake’s voice boomed. The entire hotel could hear him.

She almost said no. She’d planned on looking her best when she saw him again, not like she’d just jumped out of bed. The knocks and his voice grew louder.

“I’ll be right there,” she yelled in the direction of the door.

Running quick fingers through her tangled hair, she stumbled toward the noise.

She opened the door a crack. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Would you like to come in? I won’t be long.”

Where were her brains? She should have said she’d be right out instead.

He looked her up and down. “That’s not a good idea,” he said.

At his inspection, her nipples sprang to life, straining against the satin robe. Like a deer caught in headlights, she stared into Blake’s deep azure eyes. What she saw in them made her face burn. She was no Cleopatra, but could recognize lust when she saw it. And felt it. It was new, but unmistakable.

She stared in fascination at the dark, curly hair springing from the open collar of Blake’s khaki shirt. He was rock solid, every inch a male, from his lean torso to his hard biceps. He’d earned a well-justified reputation as a lady killer. He could make her deliriously happy.

She fingered the sash of her robe. In her mind, she peeled it off, rushed into Blake’s arms and pressed her hands against his heart. Did it beat as fast as hers?

Dare she find out? Of course not. Even the new Jillian wasn’t that bold.

“I’ll wait right here. Hurry up,” he said.

Jillian almost ran into the bedroom, where she grabbed the most modest outfit she could find, which was the jade pantsuit. That would show him her mind wasn’t in the gutter. It was, but he needn’t know it.

She dashed into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her burning cheeks and patted them dry with the gold crested towel.

She could never replicate the makeup jobs from the experts, but had come away with a few tips. Her fingers shook as she extracted moss-colored eye shadow and earth tone eyeliner from the makeup kit. She smoothed tawny blusher onto her cheeks, then moistened her dry lips with peach gloss.