Authors: Mari Carr
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Night” that had sparked his serious interest and planted the seed of turning the stories into a screenplay.
For weeks, he’d attempted to find the elusive writer and had almost given up hope. Then one night,
he’d met a producer friend and his wife in New York for drinks. The wife worked in the publishing
business, so he’d casually mentioned Haynes. She’d told him that Michael Haynes was actually a
pseudonym for Gwen Preston. Gwen had written all the stories in
Evening Songs
, including “The Darkest Night”.
“I think you’ll discover I didn’t get where I am today because I accept the word no easily. Why don’t
you save both of us a lot of time and wasted energy by merely agreeing? You said yourself in our last email communication that you were fascinated by the idea of seeing one of your stories on the silver screen. I’m offering you that opportunity,” he said.
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Mari Carr
“I’m still not sure why you’re offering me that chance. I’ve never written a screenplay. Isn’t it
standard Hollywood procedure for someone else to buy the rights and write the script?”
“I have experience with scriptwriting. I hope that by collaborating, you and I will bring to the screen the same emotion, the same powerful characters and stimulating plot that you incorporate so flawlessly in your fiction. I truly suspect that between the two of us we can make one of the hottest movies of the year.”
What he didn’t say was that he was damn tired of being one of Hollywood’s action stars. It was an
image he was finding harder and harder to maintain as he got older. It was time he focused on the future.
He was desperate to establish himself as a serious actor and a talented producer. Gwen’s story had the potential to help him break free of the macho-man image he hated.
“You still haven’t told me which of my books you intend to use. I’m not sure I understand your
secrecy on that point or why you insisted I meet you in person.”
“I would like to make a movie using the stories in
Evening Songs
.” His words jarred her more than he would have imagined and he immediately noticed her slight discomfiture when he mentioned which book
he was interested in. Her face paled and her eyes drifted downward.
“Well, then you’ve wasted my time and yours. As you know, I wasn’t the only author of that book. I
only wrote two of the four stories.”
Ty grinned as her cheeks lost all color. She was a horrible liar.
“You and I both know you wrote all the stories in that collection. Please don’t insult me by continuing to deny it.”
“Well done, Sherlock. How much did that information cost you?” she asked.
“Four martinis.”
“Nice to know my privacy comes so cheap. Tell you what. Skip the hotel. Tell your driver to take me
back to the airport.”
“You won’t even consider the idea of making these stories into a movie?”
“Three words, Mr. Ransome. Three words that should explain to you why this project will never
work. ‘The Darkest Night’.”
He leaned back against his seat and pondered her concern. “It’s a terrific story, Gwen. I’m interested in making a movie with the four vignettes combining to form the larger work. There seems to be a trend on these kinds of multiple plot movies and I think the stories in
Evening Songs
would make a marvelous film.
Academy Award material. I’m afraid I’m not sure what your concerns about ‘The Darkest Night’ have to
do with making a film adaptation of the entire book.”
“It’s rather hardcore for Hollywood, isn’t it? I mean, how do you expect to make a movie that dabbles
in sadomasochism and bondage without crossing the line into pornography?”
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“It can be done. I see this movie as more of an artistic endeavor, an in-depth character study of the
couples in each story. Of course, there’s no reason to worry about the how-to of the filming until we
actually get the script written.”
She shrugged, worried lines forming on her brow as she glanced toward the front of the limo. Clearly
she hadn’t forgotten about the Bambi incident. “I’d rather stay in a hotel while I consider your offer.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms under her breasts. He knew she meant the gesture to be
standoffish and perhaps a bit protective, but he was staggered by the abundance of all-natural flesh beneath her shirt. Christ, he hated breast implants and was delighted to see that under her clothing, Gwen wasn’t carrying around anything she wasn’t born with.
“
And
as I said, that seems a waste of money. Come stay at my place, take a few days to decide, let me show you around Hollywood. If you agree to my proposal, the guest house will be yours while we work on the script. I should warn you, my schedule isn’t exactly what you call normal. My days are typically quite busy due to public appearances, meetings, work at the set. However, when we decide to start writing this script—”
“If we start writing this script—”
He grinned. “When we start, I really believe it would be better if you were close by while we’re
working, so that neither of us is traveling during the wee hours to or from a hotel. With you ensconced in the guest house, we can work whenever we like.”
She sighed and turned her head to glance out at the passing scenery.
“Gwen, I know this may sound strange, but I feel as if I know you, even though our acquaintance has
only been through email and phone conversations.”
She smiled and nodded. “I feel the same way but, Ty, I’m going to tell you right now, I’m not some
movie star groupie and I don’t want to be surrounded by orgies or whatever other depraved things you may do in your house.”
He smiled, flashing his million-dollar dimples at her. “I’ll reschedule all my orgies until after you
leave.”
She fought back a smile at his joke. “I mean it. If we’re going to work together, I insist that we keep things professional.”
He forced his head to nod in accord, even though his body was reading him the riot act for agreeing to such a thing. He had absolutely no intention of maintaining a professional distance from her. Something about her called to him and he would be damned if he denied himself a taste of her sweetness.
He decided he really did owe her a decent explanation for Bambi. He prayed his words would set her
mind at ease about him as a person.
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Mari Carr
“I hired Bambi this morning as a temporary replacement for my personal assistant. Apparently she
thought a blowjob would make me inclined to hire her for a role in one of my upcoming movies. I know
what it must have looked like to you, but I was pushing her away when you got into the limo.”
She looked over at him and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she believed him. A genuine
smile crossed her face and he was amazed by the transformation as she burst into peals of laughter. He reconsidered his previous thought—she
was
beautiful.
“You poor man,” she said between gasps. “You must have been terrified.”
He let her have fun at his expense, relieved to see she wasn’t still thinking of him as a male chauvinist pig. He soaked in the sound of her laughter and grinned.
“Well, there’s some good news for you,” she teased. “If we actually write this script, you have your
leading lady all lined up and ready to go.”
“Hell will freeze over before Bambi Starr lands a part in any movie I make.”
Mention of Bambi’s full name sent her into fits of laughter again. “Gee, I wonder if that’s her given
name.”
The car pulled into the driveway of his house and her giggles ended on a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
He was used to seeing people’s expressions when they pulled up to his mansion. It was decadent in
the extreme and he thought perhaps he should feel guilty for the ungodly amount of money he’d pumped
into the house. Some small insecure part of him had never gotten over the feeling of growing up in a tiny one-room apartment, constantly worrying about the bills and where the next meal was coming from. He
was determined he’d never let welfare checks feed him again, nor would he sleep in a cold, drafty room wishing for the slightest bit of warmth. His greatest regret in life was that his mother hadn’t lived long enough for him to set her up in a mansion of her own. She’d struggled throughout his entire childhood to care for him alone and he’d never had the opportunity to reward her as he’d wanted to for her unending love and care.
“Holy shit,” she murmured. “Your house is as big as a hotel.”
“So now you see why I insist that you stay here. We could wander around for weeks and never run
into each other.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re right about that.”
“Will you promise to give some serious thought to this project? I really do believe your book will
make an amazing film.”
“My agent mentioned yesterday that the publisher wants to sell the story rights to you, so it will be a movie whether I want it or not. I have to admit I was a bit miffed at the publisher’s secrecy about which book you wanted to use.”
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“The secrecy is my fault. One of the conditions of the contract was that I would reveal the title of the book to you. Another was that you agree to co-write the screenplay or the offer will be rescinded.”
She paused and he sensed he surprised her with his words. “So if I say no?”
“The movie won’t be made.”
“I suppose your lawyer has contracts drawn up?”
His heart leapt at her question. “Absolutely.”
“Give them to me. I’ll take a look at them and then fax them to my agent. I’m not saying that’s a
definite yes, but since I’ve come all this way, I guess I should at least take a peek at what’s in it for me.”
He laughed at her mercenary jest. She was a woman after his own heart. Perhaps the day hadn’t
turned out so badly after all.
“Come on. Let’s get you settled in the guest house and then we can have some lunch out on the
terrace. We’ll talk about the script.”
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Chapter Two
Building the conflict
She felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes. A scream crossed her lips at the sight of a man
looming over her bed.
“Shhh.” Ty placed a hand across her mouth to quiet her. “It’s me.”
“Dammit, Ty.” She pulled his hand away and sat up. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He grinned and she felt her anger building. “How did you get in here?”
He shrugged. “It’s my guest house.”
“So?”
“So I have a key.”
“Ty. You can’t just waltz in here. While I’m staying with you, this is my room.”
“Who says?”
“I say. You’re invading my privacy.” For three days, she’d tried to accustom herself to Ty’s tendency
to occupy not only his space, but hers as well. She wasn’t used to a man showering her with so much
attention, so much care. He was charming and courteous, but beneath all of that, she sensed a darker, more brooding part. A part that made her feel possessed and hot and needy in ways she couldn’t begin to
understand or explain to herself.
He sat on the edge of the bed and she fought to calm her racing heart at his close proximity.
“It’s my house. I can do whatever I want,” he insisted.
“Then I’m leaving. I’ll get a hotel room.”
The look in his eyes made her tremble slightly. With just one glance, he dared her to try, while letting her know in no uncertain terms she’d never succeed.
He shook his head and his eyes wandered down her body. She looked down and gasped when she
realized the sheet was pooled around her waist and she was flashing him—big time. She scrambled to pull the sheet up, only to discover Ty was sitting on it.
“Move,” she demanded.
“You’re very beautiful, Gwen. You shouldn’t hide that.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.” He laughed before leaning closer, and she fought to catch her breath. “You sleep nude. I like
that.”
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She continued tugging at the covers until he gave in and stood. She pulled the sheet over her breasts, fighting to retain her anger. Ty had a way of getting under her skin in ways she couldn’t understand.
“Promise you won’t come in again without knocking.”
“No.” He claimed the chair by her bed. “I missed you.”
“What?”
“I missed you at dinner. I wanted to talk to you.”
He’d been out all afternoon and evening at some charity benefit. She’d eaten dinner alone. “Talk to
me about what?”
He’d proceeded to tell her about his evening and she hadn’t slept in the nude since that night. Since
then, Ty had gotten into the habit of coming into her room during the darkest hours of night and they’d fallen into a strange nighttime routine. He’d sit in the chair by her bed and they’d talk for hours before he’d retire back to the main house and his own room.
Gwen rolled over and punched the pillow, trying to find a comfortable sleep position and wondering
what the hell she’d gotten herself into. Moving into the guest house of
Look
magazine’s Hottest Man Alive was not one of the brightest things she’d ever done. For one thing, Ty was filthy rich. He had a butler, two maids, a chef, a chauffeur, a personal assistant and at least a dozen other people in his entourage, doing God only knew what. The constant swirl of people surrounding him made her head spin, and she wondered
how Ty could stand it.
She’d read the contract and given her verbal agreement to co-write the movie script for
Evening
Songs
. She was leaving the legal hassles up to the lawyers, agents, and her publisher to sort out. She would be returning to New York tomorrow for two weeks so that she could tie up loose ends at home and pack up enough clothing for a two-month stay, which is how long Ty estimated it would take them to write the
