She couldn’t stand not having him a minute longer.

Claudia wanted Leandro, and she knew he wanted her. She felt like the sexiest woman in the world standing in front of her mirror fresh from her shower. Dropping the towel behind her, she waltzed into the living room, desire giving her all the confidence she needed.

“I was thinking we could skip dinner and go straight to dessert. What do you think?” she asked him, pausing in the doorway.

His head came up and she saw his jaw tense as he registered her nakedness.

“You are full of good ideas tonight,” he said.

Holding his eye, she walked slowly towards him, loving the way his eyes followed the bounce of her breasts.

“You have no idea,” she said as she pushed him farther back onto the couch and straddled him. She could feel the firmness of his thighs beneath hers, the rasp of his denim against her skin. His hands found her torso on either side, sliding up until they were resting just beneath her breasts.

This man was going to be hers at last.

SARAH MAYBERRY

lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner, Chris. In addition to writing romance, she writes scripts for television. Like all her characters, she loves sexy cars, chocolate, a good glass of wine and a great laugh. Unlike her characters, she has to pay for the chocolate on the treadmill. Long live fiction.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Claudia’s story. This book pretty much wrote itself – Claudia leapt off the page, grabbed me by the throat and wouldn’t let go until I’d left her happy and whole. It’s so cool to write a strong, gutsy character. I had a lot of fun with the contrast between her larger-than-life personality and her actual physical presence – as Grace once commented, Claudia can be one scary little lady sometimes!

I hope you enjoyed getting to know Sadie, Grace and Claudia in the SECRET LIVES OF DAYTIME DIVAS mini-series over the past few months, and meeting their hunky other halves, Dylan, Mac and Leandro. I also hope you enjoyed the behind-the-scenes world of soap production. It’s a gruelling business, but it has been a great training ground for me over the years and I love it.

I love to hear from readers! You can contact me through my website – www. sarahmayberryauthor.com – via e-mail at sarahjmayberry@hotmail.com.

Until next time, stay well,

Sarah Mayberry

HOT FOR HIM

BY

SARAH MAYBERRY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thanks to Chris for holding my hand throughout this book and the previous two, and to Wanda the Wonderful, the good editor from the north, for listening to hours of rambling madness. Here’s to walking the streets of Paris with you both again sometime in the near future.

1

HE SMELLED OF LEATHER and musk and warm skin, and his shoulder was a solid wall of muscle against her left arm. Every time he spoke, his deep voice vibrated through her whole body. And every time he laughed, she had to fight the urge to squirm in her chair.

Claudia Dostis was seriously in danger of screaming out loud. In fact, if Leandro Mandalor’s big, beefy arm knocked against hers one more time, she was not going to be answerable for the consequences.

It was the organizers’ fault. They’d squashed too many people at too few tables at the open forum sessions for the Daytime Television Convention, then they’d compounded their mistake by seating her next to her arch rival.

How was she supposed to concentrate on answering questions from the floor when she was pressed up against Captain Butthead?

He was easily the most obnoxious man she’d ever met. Hands down, without even trying. All he had to do was walk into a room and she was instantly annoyed. It had a lot to do with her innate competitive spirit—his soap, Heartlands, competed on a daily basis with Ocean Boulevard, her baby. It had even more to do with the fact that six months ago he’d tried to get the jump on her by poaching the Boulevard’s idea to run a feature-length wedding episode in the winter months.

But mostly it was just him.

He was too tall—six four, or something equally ridiculous. He was too dark—olive skinned, with glossy black curly hair that he wore cropped close to his head. And he was too, too, too cocky. The man oozed confidence and take-charge charisma. He liked to call the shots, and he expected people to give him what he wanted, when he wanted it, stat.

And the way he looked at her—as though she were a private joke that only he understood. His dark brown eyes always held a hint of laughter when they lit on her, and it made her long for a large, heavy object to aim at his big, fat head.

For about the millionth time that afternoon, she felt the warm press of his body alongside hers as he shifted in his seat. Her fingers curled around the edges of her notes as she fought the need to punch him and tell him to keep his distance.

“…it’s an interesting point, but I’m not sure that I agree with it,” he said in his deep baritone. “What do you think, Claudia?”

She stiffened. She’d been so busy grinding her teeth over their forced intimacy she’d completely missed the comment from the floor.

Shit.

Her stomach tightening with panic, she ran her mind back over the past few minutes. They’d been talking about audience expectations for daytime drama, and the challenge of both meeting those expectations and providing fresh formats and ideas. Unfortunately, about the time when the discussion had gotten more specific, she’d been mentally sticking pins in his voodoo doll.

In short, she had no idea what she was supposed to agree or disagree with.

Her chin came up and she cocked an eyebrow at the giant hulking next to her. When in doubt, come out fighting was her motto. It had never failed her yet.

“Nice try, Leandro,” she said, “but I think we’re all interested in hearing what you’ve got to say.”

He held her eye for a beat, a small smile curling his mouth. She couldn’t help noticing that he had full, sensuous lips, and that his mouth was bracketed by laugh lines.

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely?” he said. He held her eye for a moment longer—just long enough to make her feel distinctly…uncomfortable—before turning back to face the room full of eager wannabe writers, producers and directors.

“Television is a visual medium, we all know that. The simple answer is that there are always going to be beautiful people on our screens. But it doesn’t mean there isn’t a place for character actors. In all honesty I can say that when I sit down to cast a part, I’m thinking about the role, the character, not the sexual appeal or looks or body of the actor or actress trying for the part,” he said.

Signaling he had finished, he gestured for Claudia to pick up the gauntlet.

“As much as it kills me, I’m going to have to agree with Leandro,” she said.

A ripple of laughter washed through the room. Their rivalry was becoming an industry in-joke, she knew.

“The reality is, some of the most popular long-term characters on Ocean Boulevard are played by actors and actresses who fall outside the accepted norms for physical beauty in our culture,” she said, warming to her topic. “Particularly in daytime drama, the audience falls in love with people and personalities, not faces and bodies. They spend a lot of time with our characters every week. They love them and hate them—after a while, what they look like becomes almost irrelevant. Having said all that, however…I will plead guilty to casting for beefcake occasionally. I figure our stay-at-home moms deserve a bit of eye candy every now and then.”

That scored her a laugh. She sat back in her chair, waiting for the next question. When it was directed to the producer of the Kelly Larson talk show, on her right, she risked a glance at her watch. Ten more minutes and her official obligations for the convention were over. Hallelujah.

“Beefcake. I wonder how they’d react if I said I cast for tits and ass?”

Leandro had leaned close to her ear to deliver his sotto voce comment, and she could feel his breath against her cheek.

“You should try it, see how they like it,” she suggested sweetly.

He grinned, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. She wondered if he had them whitened, or if he visited a tanning salon, or both. Surely Mother Nature hadn’t bestowed all that height and breadth on him as well as great teeth and a year-round tan?

“Would you promise to tend my wounds after they tear me to shreds?” he asked.

“I’ve got a large container of salt out the back, ready and waiting,” she said.

He laughed, a full-throated sound that drew the eyes of their interested audience.

Suddenly realizing how it must look, the two of them whispering with each other and grinning like schoolkids, she concentrated on her notes. The problem was, she wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face so badly, she leaped at any opportunity to lock horns with him.

But then she’d always been stubborn. From a young age she’d learned to look out for herself, and it had been good preparation for her career. She’d had to fight many prejudices in her battle to be taken seriously in the world of network television. Now, fighting was so much a part of her life it was second nature.

“Well, folks, that’s all we’ve got time for today. Let’s join together in thanking our special guests from the industry for their time and expertise in answering our questions today,” their chairperson, Bonnie Randall, said.

Claudia acknowledged the round of polite applause with a small smile. The truth was, of the five-hundred-or-so hopefuls crowded into this session, only a handful would achieve their dream to become part of the entertainment industry. It made her sad to see all the expectant faces sometimes.

Pushing back her chair, she stood for the first time in two hours and winced at how tight her back and butt were. She really had to think about adding some stretching to her work-out routine—Pilates or yoga or something. She was turning into an old lady with all the hours she was clocking behind her desk.

“This way,” Leandro said from behind her, and she felt a large hand land on her back as he steered her toward the closest exit.

Instinctively she dug her heels in, not liking how small she felt standing next to him. On a good day she was the shortest person in the room at five foot one, but she felt positively childlike next to Leandro’s towering height.

“I can find the door on my own,” she said coolly.

His mouth quirked. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said.

“Trying being the operative word. Why don’t you quit pretending you’re anything other than what you are—a pirate,” she said.

“A pirate? Why am I not getting Johnny Depp vibes when you say that?” he said wryly.

“You know why.”

He cocked his head to one side as he looked down at her. “You’re not still upset about the wedding episode?” he asked incredulously, as though she’d brought up a spat they’d had on the playground in elementary school.

“Yeah, I am. And I will continue to be as long as originality and reward for effort remain important to me,” she said stiffly.

He shook his head, clearly amused. She hated that she amused him. It made her want to kick him in the shin, or any other part of his body she had ready access to.

“Claudia, when are you going to let it rest?” he asked mockingly. His hand landed in the middle of her back again and she found herself being steered toward the exit once more.

She was so busy being irritated by his condescending attitude that she went without protest.

“It’s really not the conspiracy that you’re imagining, you know. I heard through a reliable source—who came to me, by the way, and not the other way around—that my biggest rival was running a feature-length special. What would you have done if the same opportunity fell into your lap?”

“Let me think for a moment… Come up with my own bright idea? Decide to be original?” she suggested.

“Sure you would have. And then you would have decided to fight fire with fire. You’re a beat ’em at their own game kind of woman. You wouldn’t be where you are today if you weren’t,” Leandro said.

They were out in the foyer of the Universal Hilton by now, and somehow they’d managed to find a quiet, secluded corner to stand in. Claudia was oblivious to everyone and everything else as she glared at the man looming over her.

“Don’t put me in the same grubby little basket as you, bucko,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest. He was standing so close she actually hit him, her finger driving home into firm, resilient muscle.

To her consternation, he threw back his head and laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she warned him through gritted teeth.

“Then stop being so cute,” he said. “Did you know that your nostrils flare when you get really angry?”

It was too much. It had been a long day, and an even longer convention, and Leandro Mandalor had been a dark, disturbing presence throughout the whole damned thing. Giving in to base impulse, she hauled back her foot and kicked him, hard, in the shin.

“Yow!” he howled, skipping backward and bending to clutch at his calf.

“Cute my ass. And my nostrils are none of your business, flaring or otherwise,” she said before spinning on her heel and making for the elevator bank.

The sound of his laughter followed her across the marbled foyer.

She ground her teeth together and called him four-letter words all the way up to her floor. He thought she was a joke. A Kewpie doll he could poke a stick at and get some laughs out of. Her stride morphing into a stalk, she made her way to her hotel suite and swiped her key card.

Sadie and Grace looked up from where they were lounging in the living room when she entered.

“Uh-oh. Mandalor alert,” Sadie said as she saw Claudia’s face.

“The man is an arrogant ass. A patronizing pig. A…a…” Claudia spluttered, running out of appropriately vitriolic insults.

“Slippery snake? Jittery jerk? How about leprotic loser?” Grace suggested, poker-faced.

“It’s not funny,” Claudia wailed, throwing herself into an armchair and toeing her high heels off with a relieved sigh.

Sadie grimaced apologetically. “It is kind of funny. Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “Every day you’ve left the convention fuming at him. Even you have to admit that it’s a teensy, weensy bit amusing.”

Jumping to her feet again, Claudia crossed to the minibar and grabbed herself a bottle of mineral water.

“Have I been that bad?” she asked as she cracked the seal on the bottle.

Grace and Sadie made eye contact with each other, then nodded in unison.

“Yup.”

Taking a slug of mineral water, Claudia pushed her shoulder-length straight black hair away from her face.

“He reminds me of my brothers,” she admitted. “It’s not just that he’s Greek, either. Although that doesn’t help. There’s this whole macho man thing that Greek guys have—like they’re God’s gift to women. My brother Cosmo walks into a room and absolutely believes that all the women there want to have sex with him. Leandro is exactly the same.”

“Yeah, except that Leandro is probably not that far from the truth, whereas your brother is definitely on the deluded side,” Grace said wryly.

Claudia pulled a face and made a gagging noise. Sadie laughed.

“Come on, Claud, are you telling me you don’t find Leandro attractive?” Sadie asked.

“He’s a giant. And he’s got that big nose and those girly lips,” Claudia said, shaking her head dismissively.

Grace rolled her eyes. “You mean that sexy, masculine Greek nose and those lips that look like they could win Olympic gold in all the important oral events?”

“Sorry, can’t see it,” Claudia said firmly. It was true, too, she assured herself. She’d sat next to him for two hours today and felt nothing but irritation at being hemmed in and imposed upon. “He does absolutely nothing for me.”

“So, what did he say this time?” Sadie asked. She leaned forward, obviously eager for the latest installment in the Leandro Mandalor saga.

Claudia briskly filled in her two best friends and colleagues, feeling warmed when they gasped with outrage at the appropriate points and hooted their approval when Claudia reported her zingers.

“You’re definitely ahead on points,” Grace announced when Claudia had summed up the shin-kicking incident.

“Definitely. He’d have to do something really audacious to beat physical assault,” Sadie said.

Claudia winced. “Put like that, it sounds kind of…childish,” she admitted.

“Never say die, Claud,” Grace said. “And never, ever apologize.”

“Hmm. That’s so interesting, Gracie, because I swear when I picked you up from your place the other day, I heard you say sorry to Mac for using all the hot water in the shower…” Sadie said teasingly.

“Strategy. Mac thinks he’s got me where he wants me, but it’s so the other way around,” Grace said.

Claudia didn’t bother calling her friend on her faux feminist stance. Grace and Mac had long since ironed out the problems in their relationship and had been living with each other for nearly three months now. As for Mrs. Sadie Anderson…the content look behind her eyes was testament to how happy she was with Dylan.

“God, we’d better win tonight,” Claudia said. “If he walks away with that award, I am seriously going to need sedating for a few days.”

“We’ll win,” Grace said confidently.

“You don’t know that,” Claudia fretted.

“Yeah, I do. Mac made that episode look so perfect. And it rated through the roof. Of course it’s going to win,” Grace said.

“Really?” Claudia asked, her pulse surging with excitement as she thought about walking up on stage tonight and accepting a People’s Vote Award on behalf of the show. It would mean so much to her, both personally and professionally. The show hadn’t received a People’s Vote for nearly five years, and to win this year would put the seal on the success of their wedding feature. They already had another feature scheduled for next winter—with the story line very tightly under wraps—but the win would give them the cherry on top that Claudia craved.

The awards show wasn’t televised in prime time like the Emmys or the Oscars, but a cut-down version of the ceremony with highlights would be shown during the day. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want her mom and dad to see her on that podium accepting a crystal statuette. It would be a very public vindication of her battle to assert herself and her dreams.

The old sadness welled up inside her as she admitted to herself that she would probably never know if her parents had even seen the show, let alone if they had it in them to be proud of her still…

“We’re going to kick ass,” Sadie said, stretching out languorously.

“What are you going to wear?” Grace asked. “Please tell me it’s not black.”

Claudia threw one of the suite’s heavily tasseled cushions at her friend.

“It’s red, if you must know.” Sadie and Grace teased her a lot about always wearing black. Partly it was because she was too busy to shop, and black always went with black. But partly it was because she felt as though people took her seriously when she was dressed in dark colors. She was small and she was female—she wasn’t about to disadvantage herself further by dressing like a sex kitten or a vamp.

“Gracie?” Sadie asked, switching her attention to the other woman.

“Vintage Dior. Mac bought it for me. That’s all I’m saying,” she said, waggling her eyebrows mysteriously.

“What about you, Sade?” Claudia asked.

“I’m recycling. The black-and-white sheath I wore a few years ago.” She shrugged.

“You know, usually I hate these things, but I have a good feeling about this one,” Grace said, suppressed excitement in her voice.

Claudia met her friends’ eyes and held up both her crossed fingers.

She really wanted to win this award. And not just because it meant she could rub Leandro Mandalor’s big Greek nose in her triumph.

Although that was definitely part of the appeal.

LEANDRO TURNED the shower on, waiting till the water was good and hot before stepping beneath the stream. His old soccer injury was aching after a day of sitting in one position for too long, and he rolled his shoulder for a few minutes, letting the heat work the stiffness out of his muscles. Reaching for the tiny bottles of toiletries supplied by the hotel, he squeezed shampoo into his palm and massaged it into his hair. Immediately, he was surrounded by a scent that was strangely familiar and beguiling. Definitely floral, but with a warm undertone that hinted at something darker and deeper. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tried to think. A vague image swam across his mind’s eye, and then it came to him: Claudia Dostis. The shampoo smelled exactly like Claudia Dostis.

He smiled into the shower spray as he rinsed the lather from his hair. His shin had already turned a pleasing shade of bruise from her well-planted kick a few hours ago, and he knew he should be more pissed than tickled by her display of temper, but he couldn’t help himself. She reminded him of all the best things about his feisty female relatives—full of pluck and opinion and zest for life. She might be one step up from midget status, but she was all energy—a vibrant, dynamic woman who took life by the scruff of the neck and shook it for all it was worth.

Plus he’d always had a thing for short women. Easy to say when he checked in at six feet four inches, since almost every woman was shorter than he was, but Claudia was genuinely on the miniature side. Just like most of his girlfriends since high school. And his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Peta.

Thinking about Peta effectively killed any buzz he’d generated thinking about the feisty Ms. Dostis. He’d had the divorce papers couriered over to Peta last week, but she was still stalling on signing. They hadn’t been married for long enough for the delay to be about the money—they’d both agreed to walk away with what they’d brought to the relationship. The reality was, Peta didn’t need his money. As it turned out, she hadn’t needed his anything. Their marriage had been a joke from beginning to end—a joke perpetrated by his raging hormones and his stubborn belief that he could make their relationship work.

Now he just wanted it to be over. It was bad enough that he was the only member of his large family to have a divorce under his belt. His brothers and sisters had all chosen well when they gave away their hearts. His mama hadn’t stopped telling him that she’d known from the moment she set eyes on Peta that she was wrong for her boy. Too blond. Too skinny. Too ambitious.

While he still didn’t agree with his mother on points one or two, he had to bow to her superior wisdom on three; Peta, it turned out, had cared more about her career as an up-and-coming agent than she did about her fledgling marriage. When she’d opted to use confidential information that he’d shared with her in the privacy of their bedroom to further her career, he’d gotten the message loud and clear. Peta had a fire in her belly—but it wasn’t big enough to warm the both of them. It had only been a matter of time after that before their marriage had died a quiet, painful death.

Turning his back to the shower spray, Leandro planted his hands on the wall opposite and ducked his head, letting the water run down the column of his spine.

Was he bitter? He didn’t think so. More…wary. He still wanted a wife, children. He wanted the warmth and belonging of building his own little family unit. But next time around, he would choose more wisely. No more career women in their stiletto heels and neat little suits. No more business lunches that turned into personal dinners and then something much more personal. This time, he’d use his head as well as his heart and regions farther south when he picked his life mate.

His thoughts flew to the delicious Ms. Dostis again, and regions farther south gave a definite twitch of approval. Yeah, she was hot. A pocket rocket, his brothers would call her—small of frame and stature, but with curves in all the right places. She was all woman, and if she attacked sex with one fraction of the energy she attacked the rest of life, he figured bedtime with her would be a death-defying experience.

Reluctantly, he pushed the tempting thoughts from his mind. She was his competitor, for starters. And even if there wasn’t that major stumbling block to consider, there was the fact that he was about to become a newly divorced man at the age of thirty-six. His days of playing the field were behind him—he wanted to be young enough to kick a soccer ball with his children. There was no time to stop and smell the flowers anymore, even if Claudia was a particularly enticing bloom. He was a man on a mission—meet, mate, procreate.

Exiting the shower, he toweled himself dry and wandered, naked, into the bedroom. His suit was hanging on the back of the closet door and he eyed it with misgiving for a long beat. Monkey suits were the curse of the industry, in his opinion. No matter how well-cut the suit, he always felt as though he was wearing a straitjacket. Shrugging into his shirt, his mind drifted to the night ahead. Speeches, announcements, daytime stars, writers, directors and producers swanning about with too much champagne and too little food. It was going to be duller than dull. There was only one moment of possible interest—the Best Special Feature Award. There were four contenders in the category, but Heartland’s only real competition was Ocean Boulevard.

He was quietly confident they’d pull it off. He’d lavished money, time and effort on their white wedding episode. They’d shot on location in Aspen, bought a couture dress and sprung for extra publicity. True, Ocean Boulevard’s special had just beaten them in the ratings. But Leandro was sure the production values of his effort would tip the balance in their favor.

Slipping on boxer briefs, he pulled his suit trousers on. Claudia would breathe fire when he stood on the podium and accepted the award. Did it make him a cad that he was looking forward to seeing her delicate nostrils flare out in anger yet again?

Just the thought of it brought a smile to his face as he tied his shoelaces.

He couldn’t remember the last time a little friendly rivalry had been so much fun.

LIAR, LIAR, pants on fire.

The words ran across Claudia’s mind as she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Leandro Mandalor in full black tie. Good Lord, he looked stunning—a veritable man mountain in elegant black. His hair shone in the discreet lighting of the hotel’s ballroom, and the crisp white of his shirt was the perfect foil for his olive skin.

In contrast to what she’d told her friends earlier, he was a very, very attractive man.

There, she’d admitted it, if only to herself. And she’d be damned if she ever said the words out loud—it was embarrassing enough having the hots for a man so beneath her contempt.

Although…she’d been thinking quite a bit about what he’d said to her earlier at the convention—about what she would have done in his shoes. If she’d learned he was trying to stitch up the winter ratings period, she’d have seen red…then she’d have tried to out-maneuver him. Which was pretty much what he’d done. He’d announced his wedding episode, proclaimed it to the world as the last word in lavish soap excess, then dared her to best him. So maybe he wasn’t quite as contemptuous as she’d first thought.

But he was still her arch rival—conniving sneakery or no conniving sneakery. He still lusted after her ratings points, just as she salivated over his. And he was Greek. She never, ever dated Greek men. They reminded her of her brothers and her father and her cousins, and they brought to mind every family gathering she’d ever attended since before she could remember. They were too traditional, too alpha, too domineering. Not that she was in any danger of being dominated—she simply had better things to do with her time than to manage some lunkhead with a bee in his bonnet about looking after her, or something equally medieval. She preferred men with more modern outlooks, men who played by the same rules she did.

“Wow. Check out those sissy lips and that big Greek honker,” Grace said, eating up Leandro with her eyes.

“Oooh yeah, he just about makes me feel sick to my stomach,” Sadie chimed in.

Standing on Grace’s other side, Mac cleared his throat and shot Dylan a world-weary look.

“A little consideration for the chopped liver over here, ladies,” Mac said. “At least wait until we’re not around before you start scoring the other studs out of ten.”

“The other studs?” Grace asked, one eyebrow arched imperiously.

“We still qualify, even if we are spoken for,” Dylan said, smoothing a hand down the sleeve of his midnight-blue tux.

Sadie stepped close to straighten his tie. “I’m willing to concede the point,” she said huskily, smiling up at him from under her lashes.

Claudia tore her eyes from Leandro and tried to remember what she’d been thinking before she got hit by the freight train that was her rival’s sex appeal.

Right. Their table. She’d been looking for their table. Consulting the notes her assistant had provided, she began scanning the room for table five. It was flatteringly close to the stage, and Claudia told herself it was a good sign—easy access to the podium. The organizers wouldn’t do that unless she actually needed to get up there, right?

“We’re over here, guys,” she said, directing them toward the round banquet table marked for Ocean Boulevard.

As she turned away, something tugged at her awareness. She knew Leandro was looking at her before she glanced his way. His near-black eyes were unreadable from a distance, but his acknowledging nod and the quirk of his mouth told her he was laughing at her again. In an instant she went from self-conscious to annoyed. More than anything, she’d like to flip him the finger. Instead, she smoothed a hand down her hip and over her butt, all of it hugged to perfection in deep red velvet, and turned her back on him.

She could feel him watching her all the way to her table, and she thanked her guardian angel that she didn’t stumble in her high heels and long skirt. Just what she needed, to go ass-over-tit in front of Mr. Machismo.

“Claud, you sit between me and Grace,” Sadie said. “That way we won’t have to talk across Mac and Dylan all night.”

“See? Chopped liver again,” Mac joked as he took his seat. Grace slid her hand beneath the table and an arrested expression crossed Mac’s handsome face.

“Still feeling like chopped liver?” Grace asked in a sultry tone.

“N-no, not exactly,” Mac said, his eyes finding Grace’s substantial cleavage.

“Settle, children. Don’t make me go find the fire hose,” Claudia warned them.

Lately she’d found herself feeling like a spinster aunt with two sets of lovebirds twittering around her constantly. Most of the time she was too busy to regret her lack of a love life, but when she saw a fine specimen of manhood such as Leandro dressed up in all his finery, she couldn’t help remembering that there were definite perks to having a man in her life.

Sex being the major perk on her mind right this minute as she watched Leandro weave his way through the tables. For a big man, he moved with surprising grace. And even though she’d made a few cracks about his Greek nose, it suited him. It was a man’s nose—a take-no-prisoners kind of nose.

Realizing that she was staring, Claudia concentrated on unfolding her napkin and spreading it across her lap.

Off-limits, she reminded herself. But perhaps a timely reminder that it had been a while since she’d caught up with either Harry or Simon, her two bed buddies. Although last time she’d seen him, Harry had been all doe-eyed over a woman in his office. One of the hazards of bed buddies—sometimes they fell in love with someone and left a girl stranded.

Sliding her slim-lined cell phone from her small clutch purse, Claudia punched in a quick text message to Simon. If he was free tonight, there was no reason why he couldn’t meet her at the hotel after the ceremony. Instead of spending the night on her own, ricocheting around the lavish suite the production company had provided for the duration of the convention, she and Simon could see how many rooms they could christen.

Her finger hovering over the Send key, Claudia glanced up and was caught in the magnetic darkness of Leandro’s gaze. His table was the one across from hers, and he was seated facing her. She’d be looking at him all night. At those shoulders. Those firm, full lips. And he’d be looking right back at her, his eyes full of heat and curiosity and challenge.

Her finger descended on the Send key, and she sent a prayer to the goddess that Simon was sitting at home twiddling his thumbs tonight. If she had any luck, he’d be twiddling something a lot more interesting later this evening.

Feeling distinctly jittery, she fidgeted with her silverware and wineglass and pretended she was listening to what her friends were saying on either side of her while she waited for her old lover to respond.

It had been a few months since she’d scratched the particular itch that was bugging her tonight, she realized as she did a mental calendar check. How had that happened? No wonder she was feeling like a cat on a hot tin roof. She was well overdue for a good roll in the hay.

Her phone beeped in her purse and she almost leaped on it. Her breath hissed out between her teeth as she saw Simon’s response: Can’t make it. Wish me luck—just got engaged! S.

Good Lord. Claudia stared at the screen for a full minute, feeling as though someone had pulled the rug out from under her. First Harry, now Simon. She really was a hard-up spinster. Automatically she sent a text back, offering her congratulations and best wishes. Simon was a nice guy. She really did wish him well.

She was so distracted, she didn’t notice the waiter leaning close to pour her wine, and her glass was full before she could protest. Grace solved the problem by placing her hand over her own glass, then swapping with Claudia’s full one when the waiter had moved on.

“Thanks,” Claudia said, reaching for her water glass.

“No problem,” Grace said. “Relax, Claud—if we win it’s great, if we lose it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. I’m not quite sure how the logic of that works, but I’ll try to go with it,” Claudia said.

She was nervous about the stupid award. That was probably half the reason why her stomach was tied up in knots. As for being sexually frustrated…well, it wasn’t like she was going to lose control and start humping Leandro Mandalor’s leg or anything, was it? She could survive one evening of being attracted to a handsome man without taking a one-way trip to Desperado-ville.

“Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats if you haven’t already. We’re thrilled to have you all here this evening to celebrate the twenty-third annual People’s Vote Awards,” a smooth voice announced over the speakers.

Claudia sat up straighter. Grace and Sadie grabbed one of her hands each.

“Two hours, a million speeches, and too much wine from now, it will all be over,” Grace said.

“We’re going to win,” Sadie said.

“Definitely we’re going to win,” Dylan agreed.

Claudia forced a smile. Suddenly she felt twelve years old again, standing in school assembly, waiting to hear her name called for the academic achievement awards. It was stupid to place so much weight on something that was essentially meaningless in her day-to-day life. She earned a good salary, the show was rating well, she had great friends. This award wouldn’t add or subtract from her life in any way.

But she was still ridiculously excited and nervous and apprehensive.

Against her will, her gaze found Leandro at his table. He was watching her, but she’d already known that. Lifting his champagne flute, he mouthed the words, “Good Luck,” to her. She inclined her head in regal acknowledgment.

May the best woman win.

LEANDRO SPUN his wineglass around and around on the white linen tablecloth and tried to keep his eyes from wandering to Claudia Dostis again. It was useless, however—she looked spectacular in a deep red velvet evening gown, and he was powerless to stop himself from seeking out the deeply shadowed V between her breasts. Idly he wondered if she was worried about one of her girls accidentally popping out to say “hello” during the evening—her dress was seriously cut almost down to her belly button. She must be using a hell of a lot of Hollywood tape, he figured. But it didn’t stop him fantasizing about the neckline of her top gaping or sliding open a fraction more. Just enough for him to see some nipple. One would be enough. For some reason, he’d developed something of a preoccupation regarding her nipples since she’d set foot in the room. He wanted to know what they looked like—whether they were small and pouty or large and swollen—what color they were, how they would feel beneath his hands, in his mouth, against his tongue. What sort of noises she’d make when he sucked on them, thumbed them, bit them.

Just your garden-variety obsession, really. One that had kept him in his seat for most of the evening, concealing the kind of hard-on he hadn’t enjoyed since senior high.

The bummer was, he wasn’t ever going to find out the answer to all those sensual conundrums. Claudia’s nipples would remain her little secret, for a host of good reasons he’d already gone over in his suite upstairs. Damn it.

A round of applause cut across his thoughts and he automatically brought his hands together. Dragging his eyes from the scarlet vixen across the way, he ran a finger down the awards list for the evening. One more announcement, and then they were up. He felt in his pocket to see if the speech he’d written earlier was still there, then surreptitiously used the back of his spoon to check that he didn’t have spinach stuck in his teeth.

When he glanced back at Claudia, she was smoothing on fresh lipstick and patting her sleek, shiny bob into place.

A waste of good makeup, he thought wryly. Sure hope she’s a good loser.

CLAUDIA SAT on the very edge of her chair, her hands hidden beneath the table as she clutched her speech between icy-cold hands.

She could feel her heartbeat echoing in her belly, and her head felt as though it was balanced precariously on the end of her neck. What if she won, but couldn’t make it on stage because she was so nervous? Or, worse, what if she tripped on the stairs, and went sprawling in front of the entire industry? Or—absolute disaster—what if she stood on her hem and her skirt tore off and she was left standing in nothing but the skimpy lace thong she was wearing beneath all the velvet?

The absurdity of the last thought brought a smile to her lips. She could walk. She could talk. Somehow, she’d manage to combine the two and get up on the stage if her name was called.

“…and our last two finalists in this category, Heartlands for their feature-length special White Wedding, and Ocean Boulevard for their feature-length special, Paradise Found. A great year for this category, I think you’d all agree, with some top-drawer competition,” the MC said.

Sadie’s hand squeezed Claudia’s knee beneath the table, and Grace shot her a look loaded with anticipation and excitement.

“And the winner of the People’s Vote Award for Best Special Feature is…Ocean Boulevard for Paradise Lost. Give a big hand to producer, Claudia Dostis, everyone!”

Absolute astonishment shot through Claudia like a jet of ice-cold water. Then a warm flush raced through her body and up into her face.

“We won,” she said stupidly.

Grace and Sadie were laughing and jumping up out of their seats to hug her and drag her to her feet. All around them, people were clapping and looking her way with congratulatory smiles. At the back of the stage, a huge screen showed selected highlights from their wedding special.

“We did it, Claud, we did it,” Sadie said, squealing with excitement.

“Go get ’em, tiger,” Grace said, pushing Claudia toward the stage.

Claudia blinked, then took a step forward. Then another. An agent she’d wrangled with just last week stepped forward to kiss her cheek in congratulations. A former boss clapped her on the back and told her he’d always known she had what it took. The MC smiled down at her as she mounted the steps, her head floating about a mile above her body now.

Then she was standing at the podium, and she came back into her body with a jerk. A thousand faces stared up at her, waiting. She forgot about her speech and spoke from the heart instead.

“One of the great things about working on Ocean Boulevard is the genuine passion that we all have for what we do,” she said. “I think that shows in every episode, but this special was a real labor of love from the word ‘go.’ I have to thank Dylan Anderson for his amazing idea and story magic, and my incredibly talented script producer, Sadie Post—sorry, it’s Anderson now, I keep forgetting—for pulling it all together. I also have to thank the gifted, the brilliant Grace Wellington for bringing Sadie and Dylan’s story to life with her wonderful script, and Mac Harrison for his inventiveness and creativity in realizing our shared vision when he directed the episode. Lastly, I have to thank the cast for once again giving their everything and making us all believe. Everyone here knows that television is a collaborative medium, and that behind the scenes are hundreds of people whose efforts make what we do possible. We have the best cast, an outstanding, can-do crew, and a supportive network. We’re all tremendously proud of this special, and we’re proud of the fact that it won the ratings, and it’s fantastic to stand up here tonight with this award. Thank you!”

Holding the award high, Claudia grinned broadly.

She’d imagined this moment for so long. The buzz of triumph. The satisfied knowledge that all their hard work had been recognized. The approval—even envy—of her peers.

And the vindication that originality and creativity would win over strategy and cunning any day of the week.

Moving toward the stairs offstage, her gaze tracked across the tables full of smiling, applauding people until they stopped on one man. His eyes held hers for a long beat before he nodded his head in acknowledgment and slowly clapped his hands in a private round of applause meant just for her.

Victory, it turned out, was sweet indeed.

The next few minutes dissolved into a blur of handshakes and kisses and jumping up and down from the Ocean Boulevard contingent as they passed around their trophy, took photos of each other and generally gloated and celebrated. Sadie and Grace stood on either side of Claudia, arms wrapped around her waist, big smiles on their faces. For a moment Claudia was choked with emotion. These women were so important to her, and together they’d made something great, and it had been recognized in front of the industry.

Despite her determination to keep things positive, her thoughts turned to her parents. If things were right between them, she would be out in the foyer right now, calling them to tell them she’d won. Her father would bellow loudly and break into excited Greek and want to hang up and phone the whole extended family to brag. Her mother would ask what she was wearing and insist that Claudia get plenty of photographs for later.

But things were not right with her parents. And they never would be.

Feeling an unaccustomed lump of emotion in her throat, Claudia excused herself from the celebrations and made her way to the ladies’ room.

It was cool and quiet in there amongst the marble and gold-plated taps, and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her color was high, she saw in the mirror, and she ran some cool water over her wrists before drying them and exiting to the foyer.

She’d almost made her way back to the ballroom when a warm hand wound itself around her elbow and tugged her into a darkened corner. She found herself facing Leandro—staring up at him, more accurately. Up close, he was devastatingly attractive in his formal wear and her heart instantly kicked up a gear.

“Claudia. I just wanted to tell you that dress is…spectacular,” he said, his dark gaze dipping into her cleavage.

“Thank you. You scrub up okay yourself,” she said.

He shrugged dismissively, then reached out a hand. She watched, for all intents and purposes paralyzed, as his fingers found the neckline of her dress just above the swell of her right breast. Catching the velvet between thumb and forefinger, he gave a murmur of appreciation as he ran his thumb back and forth over the pile of the velvet.

“Velvet is so tactile, don’t you think?” he said. “Makes you want to reach out and touch.”

She could feel the backs of his fingers against her skin, and she knew she should knock his hand away. But for some reason, she didn’t.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” she asked, trying to find some solid ground, some reason to not take him up on the invitation in his eyes.

“Definitely,” he said, and then he lowered his head and she knew he was going to kiss her.

She could have taken a step back, said no, pushed him away. She did none of those things. She stood on her tiptoes, swayed forward, met him halfway, her mouth already open. He gave a growl of approval as their lips met, heat on heat, silk on silk, and then she was leaning against the never-ending wall of his chest, and his arms were around her and his tongue was in her mouth.

She felt surrounded by him. Invaded by him. And she’d never been more turned-on in her life. His tongue brushed over hers, his hands splayed across her bottom and lifted her into the firmness of his erection, his teeth nibbled at her lower lip, his five o’clock shadow brushed her cheeks and neck.

Her breasts hardened into two demanding, greedy peaks, and even the thickness of the velvet was not proof against her need as her nipples jutted into his chest. Between her thighs, desire throbbed, thick and heavy as treacle. On fire for him, she thought feverishly of the suite upstairs, of the big bed, of getting this giant of a man naked and inside her where he belonged, where he could take away the ache he’d created inside her…

And then he broke the kiss, and stepped away from her.

It was like walking out of a sauna and straight into a plunge pool. She’d been so absorbed in him, in what they’d created between them.

“Congratulations, Claudia,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

Then he walked away.

2

CLAUDIA WAS STILL FUMING the next day when she arrived at work. She hadn’t seen Leandro Mandalor’s face when he’d walked away from her, but she’d bet her house, her car and her job that he’d been smiling. The smug bastard.

Her responding to his kiss didn’t mean a thing. He was obviously a practiced seducer, a charmer from way back. She’d allowed him to work his wiles on her, and it had been amusing. Entertaining, for a brief, unimportant moment in time. Then she’d gone back into the ballroom and reveled in her win and hadn’t looked at him once more all night.

So there was no need for him to feel as though he’d achieved something, just because she hadn’t slapped his face or gagged with disgust. It had been a kiss, nothing more. No big deal.

Slamming her car door shut, Claudia grimaced at her reflection in the tinted glass of her side window. Her eyes were deeply shadowed from lack of sleep—and not because she’d been partying endlessly all night with the gang from work. As usual, she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol and she’d rolled into bed and closed her eyes at the very respectable time of midnight.

And promptly not slept a wink for the entire night.

And not because of excitement, either. At least, not excitement over their win.

No. Unfortunately, it had been the other kind of excitement that had kept her up. The Leandro-Mandalor-induced kind.

One kiss, and she’d been ready to drag him up to her suite and ride him like a pony at the fair. She closed her eyes as she imagined how monumental her regret would be this morning if she’d actually followed through on that instinct instead of limiting her transgression to a single kiss.

Although, technically, it hadn’t been her who had limited it. Leandro had been the one who had walked away.

Which brought her back to her favorite two words for the day: smug bastard. Why hadn’t she been the one to push him away, to smile up into his face and deliver a sassy line? Why, why, why?

Thank God she wasn’t still at the convention. A small saving grace. With a bit of luck, she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye again for a full twelve months.

Collecting the award from her back seat, she clicked her car shut and made her way into the building. The news of their win had spread through the office and she was mobbed the moment she walked in the door.

It took her a full half hour to make it to her desk, but by then her mood had improved dramatically. It was great to see how proud her staff was of the award. As she’d said last night, television was a collaborative medium. No one person could take credit for the success of the show, and it was great to be able to pass the joy around. There was an official display cabinet for awards in the conference room, but she decided that this latest gong might find a home on the reception desk for the first few months. That way everyone could remember their win when they walked into work each morning.

Crossing to her office, she saw Sadie was at her desk already, looking bright-eyed and not in the least hungover. Claudia narrowed her gaze on her friend, taking in Sadie’s glowing complexion and suddenly remembering the untouched wineglass at her friend’s place setting last night.

Suspicion hardened into certainty as she walked into Sadie’s office and Sadie fumbled to hastily open a new screen on her Web browser.

Claudia smiled, propping her butt on the edge of Sadie’s desk and swinging her foot casually.

“Have a good time last night?” she asked idly.

“Of course. Not every day we get a People’s Vote Award,” Sadie said.

“So you’re not tired at all?” Claudia probed.

Sadie shrugged. “Not really. We didn’t tie one on, since both Dylan and I had to work today. I don’t understand why they hold the awards night on a Monday.”

Claudia nodded, then stood. “It’s so we don’t enjoy ourselves too much. God forbid that anyone ever feels comfortable in this industry.”

Moving toward the door, Claudia waited until she was on the threshold before she spoke over her shoulder. “And by the way, I think Amazon is having a special on baby books this month.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” Sadie said brightly, then she bit her lip and blushed hotly.

“Huh! Gotcha!” Claudia said, pouncing. “You’re pregnant.”

Sadie just smiled ruefully. “I told Dylan there was no point trying to keep it from you and Grace. He doesn’t understand about female intuition.”

Claudia ignored the small flicker of hurt that her friend would want to keep such great news from her in the first place. Plenty of couples liked to wait until they’d passed the crucial first trimester before spreading their good news far and wide. There was nothing unusual in Sadie and Dylan wanting to hold tight to their secret for a little bit longer. Except…for a while now, it had been just the three of them—her, Sadie and Grace. Perhaps it was an index of how wrong Sadie’s first engagement to Greg had been that Claudia had never felt this way about their relationship. But Sadie and Dylan were utterly committed to each other. They’d been married for just six months, and now they had a baby on the way. The friendship between her, Sadie and Grace would never be the same again.

Of course things were going to change, she scolded herself impatiently. She knew that; it was a part of life. Grace and Sadie had fallen in love and settled down. Claudia had simply been too busy working and looking in the other direction to really notice what was happening around her.

“How many weeks?” she asked, pushing her own feelings aside to celebrate her friend’s great news.

“We think eight. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” Sadie said.

Claudia rounded her friend’s desk to hug her.

“I’m so happy for you. For both of you. A little Sadie or Dylan. I can’t wait to meet him or her,” Claudia said.

“I still can’t quite believe it. A little person is going to grow inside me. How weird and amazing is that? I keep thinking about those scenes in Alien. Is that wrong, do you think?” Sadie asked worriedly. “Shouldn’t I be knitting booties or something instead of worrying about a monster bursting out of my abdomen?”

Claudia laughed. “Leave it to you to turn pregnancy into a science fiction gore fest. You’ll be fine, Sade. Worse comes to worst, you can sleep through the whole birth these days and watch it on video later.”

“Now you’re talking,” Sadie said with enthusiasm. “I know I’m supposed to want the whole yoga-aromatherapy-natural-birth thing, but pain is not my friend. I want whatever they’ve got in big, industrial doses.”

“A woman after my own heart. If I ever had a kid, I’d want them to just induce a coma in the last week of pregnancy and then wake me when the kid’s toilet trained,” Claudia said.

Sadie blinked with surprise.

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about having children,” she said.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s pregnant, not me. I was speaking hypothetically. You know I don’t want kids,” Claudia said, picking a piece of lint off her trousers.

A groan sounded behind them.

“All I want to know is, does one of you have a handgun?”

They both turned to find Grace standing in the doorway, her already pale complexion alabaster and her eyes hidden behind her cat’s eye sunglasses.

“It would be a mercy killing. You could take me out to the car park and do it quietly,” she moaned, flopping into Sadie’s visitor’s chair. Swooning theatrically, she pressed a hand to her forehead.

“I feel like Tallulah Bankhead,” she said.

Sadie and Claudia exchanged amused looks.

“Too much champagne, Gracie?” Claudia said in her loudest, no-nonsense voice.

Grace winced and held up a hand. “Don’t be cruel. It’s not nice to taunt the animals,” she said.

Sadie shook her head and reached into her desk drawer. “Here, have some aspirin,” she said, tossing the pack over. Then she caught Claudia’s eye and lifted an eyebrow. Claudia shrugged a shoulder in response to her friend’s unspoken question. The cat was out of the bag already, after all.

“But before you go off to nurse your hangover,” Sadie added, “I’ve got some news. Well, really, it’s mine and Dylan’s news.”

Grace sat up as though someone had goosed her. Her glasses slid down to the end of her nose as she looked over them at Sadie.

“Get out of town,” she said. “You’re not pregnant!”

“Incorrect. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars,” Claudia said.

Leaping to her feet, Grace raced around the desk and threw herself into Sadie’s arms.

“You and Dylan are going to make the best parents,” she said, hugging Sadie fiercely. “The absolute best. Imagine the bedtime stories that kid’s going to hear.”

They spent another twenty minutes combing over the few bare details of Sadie’s pregnancy so far—two missed periods, no nausea, no tiredness, definite increase in bust size—and discussing Sadie’s Alien fears before peeling off to go to their respective offices.

Claudia found a pile of phone message slips on her desk, all of them congratulation messages bar two. Her voice mail was likewise clogged, and she put a call through to her assistant to ask her to sort through the backlog and let her know if there were any genuine callbacks required.

Then she sat back and stared at her office wall. Sadie was going to have a baby. She and Dylan were going to have a little family. If Grace’s rapt expression and intent questioning were anything to go by, she and Mac wouldn’t be far behind, either. Grace had a couple of years on Sadie, after all.

And Claudia was older than both of them.

It wasn’t something she’d ever really registered before. They’d all met at university when they joined the Undergraduate Film Festival Committee, and soon formed a firm friendship. Even though Sadie had skipped a year at school, and Claudia had tried her hand out in the workforce for a few years before opting for higher education, age had always been irrelevant in their bonding.

Frowning, Claudia checked her e-mail. She didn’t care about her ovaries aging. They could self-combust for all she’d notice—she’d fought too long and too hard to get where she was to walk away from it all to serve up puréed apple and change diapers twenty-four hours a day. Babies were fine for other women, but not for her.

Ruthlessly she squashed the memory of holding her eldest brother’s first son in the hospital. She’d been surprised by the fierce tug of love she’d felt, the instinctive desire to protect and nurture the tiny red person bundled in the blanket. Almost as though to eliminate any maternal longing, a grim memory pulled at Claudia: an image of a woman huddled on a bed, sobbing her heart out.

Impatient with her self-indulgence this morning, Claudia brushed it away. While she was contemplating her navel, Ocean Boulevard awaited.

It was mid-morning when her assistant, Gabby, buzzed a call through to her.

“I have Leandro Mandalor on line one,” Gabby said. She sounded faintly scandalized that the competition would dare to call.

Claudia pursed her lips.

“Tell him I’m unavailable,” she said. “Tell him to call back in an hour.”

Smiling to herself, she bent to her work again. Did he really think he could just call her after what had happened and she’d jump at the chance to talk to him like a good little girl?

Probably he did, she knew. That ego. That selfassurance—of course he did.

Well, he had another think coming.

Exactly an hour later, Gabby buzzed her again.

“I’ve got Mr. Mandalor again,” she said.

“Tell him my meeting has run overtime. He should try again in another hour,” Claudia said.

An hour later, Gabby came through to Claudia’s office.

“It’s him again,” she said. She looked faintly harassed. “I think he knows I’m lying.”

“I’m a busy person, Gabby. He has no way of knowing if I’m in a meeting or not. Tell him I went straight out to my lunch meeting without checking my messages. You don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Gabby picked up the line from Claudia’s office.

“Mr. Mandalor? I’m terribly sorry, but Ms. Dostis has gone straight out to her luncheon appointment. Perhaps if you tried later this afternoon…?”

Claudia could hear the low bass of Leandro’s voice without being able to discern actual words. She frowned as Gabby flinched, then went pale.

“Um, just hold on a moment,” Gabby said, reaching for the hold key as though it were a lifeline.

“What?” Claudia asked. “Did he bully you? What an asshole.”

“He said that you’ve had your fun, but that he wasn’t calling about the kiss. He said that something very important has come up and unless you want to see it across the front page of The National Enquirer, you should take his call.”

To her everlasting shame, Claudia felt herself blush with self-consciousness. How dare he mention that stupid kiss to her assistant?

“Give me that,” she said, wresting the phone from Gabby’s unresisting fingers.

Her finger punched down onto the hold button.

“What do you want?” she asked bluntly as soon as the line went live.

“My, my. What a terribly quick lunch that must have been,” Leandro said.

It was the first time she’d heard his voice over the phone. To her astonishment, the deep vibrato of his baritone made something utterly primitive and feminine within her snap to quivering attention.

“Do you or do you not have a business matter to discuss with me?” she said.

Gabby was standing in her doorway, hovering curiously. Claudia gave her a thumbs-up to indicate all was well and sent her on her way.

“That kiss was hot, but not hot enough for me to jump through all those flaming hoops like a dumb circus pony, Claudia. Yes, I have a business issue to discuss.”

Not hot enough? Where did this guy get off? Claudia puffed her cheeks out and put her free hand on her hip, really ticked off now. Then she noticed Gabby still hovering.

This time she waved her hand at her sticky-beak assistant, indicating she should go, and Gabby had no choice but to slink away unsatisfied.

“Fire away, then, Mr. Mandalor. I’m a busy woman.”

“Not too busy for this. Are you aware that a member of your cast is, shall we say, getting it on with a member of mine?” he asked.

Claudia blinked and sat back in her chair. She usually had a pretty good grip on who was doing what with whom. It was part of the job—she needed to know who might be at risk, and who was putting the show at risk.

“No. Who are we talking about here?”

“Alicia Morrison on your side, Wes Brooks on mine,” he said.

Claudia winced. Alicia was just seventeen, Wes in his thirties. Not a particularly good look, especially when Alicia played a character called Angel.

“But wait, there’s more,” Claudia said, anticipating Leandro’s next line.

“Clever lady. The reason I know about this little… fling…is that Alicia and Wes were dumb enough to videotape themselves in action.”

Shit.

“Please tell me that tape has not disappeared,” she said.

“House break-in. Just your usual grab and run. But guess which tape was still in the video machine?”

Claudia mouthed a four-letter word.

“So Wes came to you and confessed all?” Claudia asked. “And now we’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“It’s worse than that. I got a call this morning from some scuzzball. He wants to meet tonight to find out what this tape is worth to both of us.”

Claudia frowned. “Blackmail?” Her stomach tensed. This was a first for her.

“In a word.”

Claudia stared at her desk, her mind racing as she calculated what was at stake. Alicia was a popular, up-and-coming young actress. She’d played a virginal innocent since joining the show at age fourteen. Lord only knew when and how she’d met Wes, but Claudia couldn’t help feeling some responsibility for the situation she was in. Who was to say what Alicia’s life would be like if Boulevard hadn’t plucked her out of a shopping center talent competition and put her on national television? Not that Alicia was crying herself to sleep at night over her great career or anything—but perhaps she shouldn’t have to suffer publicly for her bad decisions just yet.

Then there was the damage this would cause to the show. They had a strong core audience in the Midwest. She could just imagine the kind of mail she’d get if triple X-rated footage began to do the rounds. She’d be forced to lose Alicia, which would mean months of rewriting and stress for her team…

“Where does our budding entrepreneur want to meet?” she asked, grabbing a pen and pulling her notepad toward her.

“He gave me an address for a bar on the Strip. Here’s what I was thinking—I go along representing both of us tonight, see what he’s got, whether it’s anything to worry about. Then we reconvene to discuss our options.”

“Sure. What address and what time?” Claudia said impatiently, brushing aside his offer to be the front man for both of them.

“I don’t think—”

“I can see that. Don’t worry, I’m smart enough for both of us. Can I have the address, please?”

She heard him swear under his breath, then the shuffle of paper on the other end of the phone.

“It’s called Monkey Shine,” he said, reading out an address on Sunset Strip. “He wants to meet at nine tonight.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you there at eight-thirty,” Claudia said, underlining the address and time on her notepad.

“You really want to do this? Even though I’m giving you an out?” Leandro asked.

Claudia lifted the phone away from her ear and stared at the receiver. What planet was this guy from? Some place where women still met their men at the door with pipe and slippers in hand?

“News flash—having a penis doesn’t make you more capable of doing anything except urinating while standing up,” she said. “I’ll see you at eight-thirty. Don’t be late.”

THE LITTLE GRUB flexing his extortion muscles had picked a suitably sleazy locale to begin his apprenticeship, Leandro decided. Monkey Shine had grimy painted-over windows out front and a neon sign with several letters burned out. Inside wasn’t much better—sticky carpet, the stink of stale beer and cigarettes, and lighting so dim he could barely see his hand in front of his face.

Booths lined the left-hand wall, a bar the right. He made his way to the latter on the basis that the illuminated Jack Daniel’s sign above the glass rack offered marginally more light. He was early—Claudia wasn’t due for another ten minutes—but he’d wanted to check the place out first. If it was beyond the pale, he’d meet her at the door and lay down the law. He was sure she could hold her own in the boardroom or on the studio floor, but this was different. This was shady underbelly stuff, and she was so small he could pick her up and carry her around in his shirt pocket. He didn’t want to be responsible for her getting hurt.

Ordering a Miller, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the room. There was a doorway at the back with a sign hanging over it announcing that pool tables and toilets could be found on the other side. It was a seedy place, but it didn’t seem to have more than its fair share of bums, drunks, louts and hookers. He figured he’d have trouble convincing Claudia she should go home without bullet holes or a forensic body outline to support his case.

He’d just taken his first mouthful of beer when something sharp and hard hit him on the back of the neck. Frowning, he shot a look to the ceiling to see if the sky was, indeed, falling, then flicked a look over his shoulder. The second peanut caught him just below the eye, and he jerked his head back instinctively.

She was seated in the shadows of the third booth from the door, and Leandro shook his head as he slid in opposite her.

“Had to check it out on your own, didn’t you?” he said.

“Great minds think alike,” she said.

She was wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the way the thin knit clung to her breasts. She might be small, but her breasts looked more than enough to satisfy any man.

“Fancy that, my breasts are in the same place they were last night. A miracle,” she said dryly.

As always with her, he found himself smiling.

“You’re a sexy lady. I’m only human.” He shrugged.

“Subhuman, you mean,” she sniffed.

“There’s nothing sub about me, babe,” he said with a cocky grin.

She eyed him steadily. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He took a mouthful of beer, noticing that she was nursing a cola and something.

“Did you talk to Alicia?” he asked.

“Tried. She started crying the moment I said the words Wes and videotape in the same sentence. I think she’s been holding out on us,” she said dryly.

“How so?”

“It was an Academy Award winning performance—innocent-damsel-in-distress stuff. I felt like Dr. Mengele by the time I’d confirmed the facts. Wish I got that kind of performance from her on set.”

“You think they were crocodile tears?” he asked skeptically. “She’s seventeen, on her way up. Pretty legitimate to be freaked out that one moment of weakness might ruin it all.”

She wrinkled her nose, tilted her head to one side. “In my experience, women who do the whole sex tape thing are not wilting flowers. But I reserve my judgment until I see the footage. Maybe Wes had to lay a trail of bread-crumbs to coax my innocent little Bambi to the bed. But I think not.”

Leandro eyed her over his beer.

“You’re a real hard-ass, is that it?” he asked.

“I’m a realist. And, unlike Alicia, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with sex how you like it. The stinger for her is that she’s got a profile, but maybe this will teach her to be a little smarter in the future. Shoot, watch, erase. I’ll get a T-shirt made for her.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Her near-black eyes glinted in the dim light. She looked mysterious and sexy and forbidden.

“I’ve seen Sex, Lies and Videotape,” she said, shrugging one shoulder negligently.

“Hmm,” he said, grinning at her. “And the rest.”

Suddenly she slid along the booth seat and stood, crossing to his side.

“Shove over,” she said.

He stared at her. “What…?”

She rolled her eyes. “So the con man has somewhere to sit. I don’t want to rub elbows with him. He might have cooties,” she said.

“Right.”

He felt like a real dumb-ass as he slid along the bench seat to make room for her. What had he thought was going to happen? That she was about to give him a little demonstration of sex how she liked it?

The booths were designed for intimacy, and he found himself brushing against her as she sat beside him. Her scent enveloped him, and he inhaled surreptitiously.

“Bulgari,” she said matter-of-factly. “Drives men nuts.”

He let out a crack of laughter. She never missed a trick.

“You sure it’s the perfume?” he asked.

She turned her face toward him, and he admired the sweep of her cheekbones and the heart-shaped fullness of her mouth. Her nose was straight and proud, a delicate, feminized version of his own Greek prow, and her teeth flashed white against the plum of her lipstick.

He was as hard as a rock, thanks to her perfume, her tight little top, the sass of her conversation and the chemistry between them. He reminded himself again that she was forbidden fruit—his greatest competitor—but tonight little head was prevailing over big head. And little head was only thinking of one thing: getting Claudia naked as soon as possible.

She opened her mouth to respond just as a skinny guy wearing a cap pulled down low over his face slid into the booth opposite them. Leandro felt Claudia stiffen beside him and he instinctively put a reassuring hand on her knee. Her elbow jabbed him sharply in the ribs and he slid his hand free. For a moment there he’d forgotten who he was sitting next to. God forbid that Claudia Dostis need reassurance.

“I know who you are,” the guy said, gaze flickering over Leandro. He was more interested in Claudia, however. “You’re the producer of Ocean Boulevard, huh? Figured you’d be older. And uglier.”

His tone was lascivious.

“And I figured you’d be smarter. Life’s full of disappointments. Where’s this tape you say you have?” she said.

The guy’s rat-sharp face hardened as he processed her insult, but he placed a notebook computer case on the table.

“I don’t say I have anything—I’ve got it. And if you want it, you’re going to have to pay,” Rat Man said.

Claudia looked bored. Leandro dropped an elbow onto the table and leaned forward.

“More showy, less talky,” he said. “Then we can discuss what it’s worth. For all we know you’ve got footage of a pajama party.”

Rat Man laughed. “No pajamas at this party, buddy,” he said.

Unzipping the bag, he flipped open the lid on a seen-better-days notebook computer and pressed a button. The screen sprang to life, and Rat Man flicked them both a look of anticipation before hitting the touch pad.

Leandro met Claudia’s sideways glance and correctly interpreted the dismay in her guarded expression. Whatever was on the original tape, it had already been converted to digital. Which meant it was just a few mouse clicks away from finding its way, via the Internet, into every teen boy’s hard drive across the country.

The screen started out black, then a naked body walked in front of the camera and Leandro recognized Wes, naked and sporting a very respectable hard-on. A second body entered the frame, moving in a blur of motion, launching herself at Wes so that he fell backward onto the bed, the woman on top. Leandro recognized her as Alicia Morrison only because he knew it was supposed to be her—the woman on the screen could not have been further removed from the “pure as the driven snow” character she played on Boulevard, or the sweet girl next door she presented as in real life. Naked, full-breasted, and sporting a tattoo of a miniature devil with a pitchfork on her left butt cheek, she was very much in charge. Straddling Wes’s body, she wriggled her hips until she had him placed just right, then she glanced over her shoulder toward the camera.

The look on her face was pure naughtiness as she slid down onto Wes’s erection. She licked her lips, closed her eyes and mouthed the word “Yum” to the camera. Then she started to work her hips like a seasoned pole dancer, and Rat Man clicked the screen to blackness.

“I want five hundred thousand,” he said.

Leandro didn’t bother checking with Claudia.

“What do you think we are, Bank of America? You think we’ve got that kind of money lying around?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Rat Man said, supremely cocky now. “You get me the money by Friday, or this goes public. She’s pretty hot stuff, that little blond girl, isn’t she? I reckon I’ll be able to spin a few bucks out of folks watching her shaking her tail feather.”

“Spare us the yap, Sparky,” Claudia snapped. “How are we going to make this exchange? And how do we know you won’t take the money and release the footage anyway?”

“You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you? I’m the one calling the shots. Which means we’ll meet back here, this booth, this time on Friday. No cops, no smart stuff, nothing—or my partner smears this across the world,” Rat Man said, patting the computer confidently.

“I’ll be here,” Leandro said. There was nothing else to be done at this stage, of course. They had to keep stringing the guy along, no matter what they decided afterward.

“Not you—her. Just her,” Rat Man said. “I like her.”

He smiled, showcasing his yellowed and prominent canines. Leandro opened his mouth to protest, but Claudia’s hand clamped down on his thigh beneath the table.

“Done. I’ll see you on Friday,” she said.

She didn’t look at Rat Man again as she slid from the booth and strode for the door. Leandro wanted very badly to wrap his hand around the skinny guy’s throat and shake him until the videotape and all the copies the little creep had no doubt already made came tumbling out.

But he knew that wasn’t the smart way to play it, so he followed Claudia out the door and up the street.

He could tell by the way she walked that she was angry. Amazing how quickly a person could learn to read another person. He’d only ever seen Claudia at a handful of organizing committee meetings prior to the actual convention, but he could read her like a book. And right now she was steaming.

“What a sleazy loser,” she vented once she’d reached a silver Porsche Cayenne SUV. “Exactly how dumb does he think we are? The moment we give him his five hundred grand, that footage is going to every downloadable porn site on the Net. Even if only a small percentage of people actually pay to see it, he’ll still make a fortune.”

“Yep,” Leandro said, digging his hands into his jeans pockets as Claudia paced back and forth in front of him, her high-heeled boots clicking on the pavement. She was wearing tight black jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin, and even though most of his brain was busy trying to find a way out of the mess their two stars had landed them in, a small, primitive part of his mind was noticing that she had the pertest, perkiest damn butt he’d ever seen.

“No wonder Alicia was crying. That tape will ruin her career,” Claudia fretted, running a hand through her silky bob. “All because that…rat got his hands on something private and personal.”

She’d been right about the footage, about Alicia’s part in the taping. Alicia had been knowing, aggressive, a real vixen. And if it went public, she was going to be labelled a porn slut by the media no matter what spin was put on it. Rob Lowe might have lived his escapades down, but the only way Alicia could recover anything from this situation would be if she went the Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton route. He didn’t have to know Alicia to guess it wasn’t exactly the career trajectory she’d had planned.

“What do you think?” Claudia asked, stopping in front of him and tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

The action thrust her breasts out, and he allowed himself one lingering, appreciative look before responding.

“We don’t have a choice. We have to bring the police in,” he said.

“I agree. Then we have to hope they can wrap this thing up nice and tight. Poor Alicia and Wes.”

Leandro checked his watch. It was just past ten.

“Want to head over to the nearest station now and get the ball rolling?” he suggested.

She nodded and fished in her pocket for her car keys.

“My car’s just around the corner,” he said. “Might as well go together.”

She clicked the button on her remote locking and the SUV behind her beeped to life.

“My ride’s here. Hop in,” she said.

Leandro frowned. “I’ll follow you over.”

She eyed him wryly. “Don’t tell me—you hate women drivers?” she asked.

“No, I hate this neighborhood. I figure my car will be safer outside the police station than in a dark street off the Strip,” he said.

She took a step closer, head cocked to one side.

“Liar. You can’t stand someone else having the last word. Like last night when you kissed me and walked away.”

He snorted his exasperation.

“You really think that’s why I kissed you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Why else? I kicked you in the shin, I won the award. You had to score somewhere. You figured walking away made you a winner.”

“Did I? Wouldn’t hanging around have made me an even bigger winner?” he said.

Her dark eyes glittered dangerously and she stepped closer again. She had her pointing finger extended and ready to jab at his chest again—but this time he was ready for her.

“You weren’t about to score, if that’s what you’re thinking. You were minutes away from a knee in your privates, buddy,” she said.

He caught her finger as it moved toward his chest, his hand enveloping her much smaller one.

“Hey,” she protested.

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to point?” he asked mockingly.

She tugged on her hand, trying to pull it from his grip.

“Give me my hand back,” she growled.

“If that’s what you want,” Leandro said, but not before he’d pulled her closer. Only a foot separated them as he placed her palm flat on his chest.

He held her eye, very aware of how hot her hand felt, even through the shirt he was wearing.

A beat of taut silence, then the side of her mouth quirked up into a quick smile.

“You think you’re so smart,” she said, then she fisted her hand into the fabric of his shirt and jerked his body toward hers.

Her other hand snaked up and around his neck, guiding his head down, and then his lips were on hers again. She tasted like coffee and chocolate and desire, and he invaded her mouth the way he wanted to invade her body. His hands found her back, sliding down to cup her great little butt and hauling her close. She gyrated her hips against his hard-on and made a needy sound in the back of her throat.

She was liquid fire, and he wanted to be inside her. Angling her head back, he deepened their kiss, wanting to own all of her. His right hand slid around her torso and up her rib cage until he found the swell of her breasts. They were soft yet firm, and he could feel how hard her nipples were through the fabric of her top.

She gasped and pressed herself closer as he gently pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger. He gave a groan of satisfaction as her hand slid between their bodies to find the aching length of his erection. She smoothed her palm flat along the length of him, again and again, and the one remaining functional brain cell in his head remembered that he’d seen a motel just a few minutes up the road. Sure, it wasn’t ideal, but neither was dropping to the sidewalk on the very public Strip and taking her the way he wanted to right now.

“There’s a place up the road,” he said, breaking their kiss and staring down into her dark brown eyes. Her cheekbones were flushed and her mouth wet and swollen from his kisses. His boner throbbed. He wanted this woman like nothing on the planet right now.

She nodded her head. “Yes. It’s called the police station,” she said. Then her lips curled into a triumphant little smile as she stepped away from him.

Her gaze dropped to his crotch, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You might want to wait a few minutes before you walk into the station,” she said.

Then she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel of her expensive SUV.

He spread his hands wide as she lowered the driver’s window.

“Come on, Claudia—tit for tat? Aren’t we a little too old for these kind of games?” he said.

“Don’t be too long,” she said, giving him a cheeky finger wave goodbye.

He was still standing there looking—and feeling—like a dick when she pulled away from the curb and out into the traffic.

Running a hand through his hair, he let out a pent-up sigh of frustration and glanced down at the significant bulge in his jeans.

She was a minx, a conniving seductress, a master tactician.

And now he wanted her more than ever. Competitor be damned. Wife hunt be damned.

Grinning, he turned toward the street where his car was parked. He’d always enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

3

CLAUDIA HAD BEEN waiting at the police station for a full ten minutes before Leandro strolled in. In a perfect world, she would have been well and truly ensconced with detectives from the Major Crimes Unit by the time he’d arrived, but a woman couldn’t have everything. Leaving him with a giant boner on the Strip had just about made up for any embarrassment she’d felt after he’d left her floundering like a landed fish at the awards ceremony last night. Just about.

If only her own pulse wasn’t still pounding in her ears. Closing her eyes, she smoothed her palm down her thigh as she remembered how big and hard he’d felt beneath her hand. It definitely hadn’t been easy to walk away from all that throbbing masculinity. But it had been worth it, even if her own frustration levels were at an all-time high. He needed to be taught a lesson, cut down to size. And since no one else was volunteering for the job, it looked like the task had fallen to her.

When she opened her eyes again, Leandro was walking through the automatic doors into the foyer of the West Hollywood police station. She was powerless to control the kick in her belly as she caught sight of his tall, strong body. She wasn’t the kind of woman who lied to herself about what she wanted, and it was becoming pretty damned obvious that, sensible or not, she wanted Leandro Mandalor.

She liked the way he challenged her. And she’d have to be dead from the waist down not to want to go to bed with him. He had an amazing body, and she’d just had a sneak preview of the highlight, albeit through the fabric of his jeans. She couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his crotch as he walked toward her now. What if she’d taken him up on his offer and gone to that motel up the road…?

“What’s happening?” he asked as he dropped into the seat beside her.

As usual, he was too broad for the space allocated for ordinary mortals, and she felt the warm press of his body against hers.

It should have been annoying, but it wasn’t.

“They’re calling in two detectives from the Major Crimes Unit. They were on a dinner break,” she said.

Leandro raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch. “Nice life. Maybe being a producer isn’t so bad after all,” he said.

She stared at him. “Being a producer is the best job in the world,” she said.

He looked amused. “Maybe you ought to meet my boss. And my cast. And my writing team, for that matter. Bet they’d change your mind in a pinch.”

She frowned. Was he serious? Sometimes she couldn’t tell with him. Okay—most of the time she couldn’t tell with him. It was one of his most intriguing and annoying aspects.

“You hate your job. Are you serious?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for five years now, so obviously I don’t hate it. Let’s just say the challenge has faded. Until recently.”

He gave her a significant look. She sat up a little straighter.

“I get it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You were bored—until we started giving you a run for your money.”

He shrugged. “I love a challenge, what can I say?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Glad to be of service. When you’re consistently running second in the ratings, you’ll feel even more challenged, no doubt,” she said.

“You’re not going to steal our viewers, Claudia. Just like we’re not going to win over yours. Our core fans are loyal, obsessive even. But I’m going to fight you for the floaters, tooth and nail.”

She realized she was grinning. “Give it your best shot, big boy.”

“Big boy? I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he said, matching her grin.

“Size isn’t everything,” she said archly.

“You’ll have to let me know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

She glared at him. “That’s it—you are officially the most arrogant man I know.”

“Yeah? I’m going to take that as a compliment, too,” he said.

“It wasn’t meant as one,” she said repressively.

He leaned close so that only she could hear him.

“If we can get this hot with just words, imagine what it’ll be like once we’re both naked,” he said.

She ought to feel outraged at his absolute self-assurance, the way he was taking it for granted that they’d sleep with each other. She ought to ice him down and send him home with a flea in his ear.

But she didn’t. She didn’t do anything except lock eyes with him. She saw a million sensual promises in his dark gaze. Her breathing increased, almost became a pant. She leaned toward him, completely forgetting where they were.

“Ms. Dostis?”

She started in her chair and jerked away from Leandro as though she’d been busted with her hand in the cookie jar.

A middle-aged man in faded jeans and a nondescript T-shirt was standing in front of her. He held out his hand.

“Detective Arnold. This is my partner, Detective Wilkes,” he said, indicating a tall woman in her mid-thirties standing beyond his shoulder.

Right. They were at the police station. Here to report the very serious extortion attempt by Rat Man.

She felt a dull flush warm her chest and face as she clued into how unprofessional she was being. She never mixed business and pleasure. She always put work first. But somehow, whenever she was with Leandro, other things seemed to get in the way.

“Pleased to meet you. This is Leandro Mandalor, producer of Heartlands,” she said. At least her voice sounded relatively normal, even if her body was still burning with embarrassment.

“Hey, I love that show,” Detective Wilkes said, smiling broadly and stepping forward to shake Leandro’s hand. Claudia frowned as the other woman tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and smiled in a distinctly friendly way.

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