The rhythm of desire

Former child star Roxanne Deveraux is stepping back into the spotlight. Tired of growing up in front of sitcom cameras, she left Hollywood and her controlling parents to finally follow her true passion, which exists offstage. Still, the offer to appear on Celebrity Dance is hard to resist—as is Nicholas Torres, her dance partner. He’s creative, passionate, and they’re growing more and more in sync—until family interference throws everything off balance.

Nick had a hunch that Roxanne would prove a smash-hit contestant. But he’s taken aback by her beauty, poise and his desire to partner with her off the dance floor. Watching her confidence and skill soar each week is a thrill. But as Roxanne’s chaotic past resurfaces and a secret threatens to tear his own family apart, both must weigh old loyalties against the promise of a brilliant future together.

“I don’t think we should give the neighbors a show,” she said. She held out her hand and led him into the house and straight to her bedroom.

Warmth rose off his skin. He smelled like cool water and man. She bit her bottom lip, realizing she was lost. She let her gaze explore him, from his wide shoulders down to his narrow waist. She wanted him so badly.

Desire rose inside her and should have scared her, but didn’t. He made her feel safe, protected, but mostly wanted. Very wanted. That sensation hadn’t happened to her in a long time. Her stomach somersaulted as he moved closer. She closed her eyes for a second and imagined his hands on her body, his lips on hers. Nick was her every fantasy come to life.

He shrugged. “Roxanne. Tell me you want me.”

She tilted her head. “I do.”

He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and answered her with a seductive smile. The tip of his finger left a trail of fire on her skin. “Good.”

Dear Reader,

For Jackie and me, finding a way to work together and make it look effortless takes time and teamwork. It’s not always as easy as it looks. Sometimes Jackie gives me this “what the devil are you talking about” look. And then I say something that confuses her even more. We argue, we shoot arrows of irony at each other, and we shake our heads in confusion. But at the end of the day, we have one goal—to write the best book we can possibly write.

For Nick Torres and Roxanne Deveraux, finding a way to create an effortless dance routine takes cooperation and persistence. Roxanne thinks she’s clumsy, but Nick thinks she’s perfect. After hours and hours of rehearsal, they perform in a way that not only entertains but strengthens the bond that will bring them together as they search for their happy-ever-after.

Much love,

Miriam and Jackie

Love Tango

Jackie and Miriam

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE AND MIRIAM have been writing partners for twenty years, though some days it feels like forever. Jackie is a spontaneous writer and Miriam is the planner. Despite such diverse approaches to writing, they have managed to achieve a balance between their unique styles. Jackie is creative, passionate and dedicated. Miriam is focused, thoughtful and detail-oriented. Jackie loves dogs and thinks she doesn’t have enough of them. Miriam loves cats, though currently, she is catless. Between the two of them, they work hard to bring their stories to life.

To all our loyal readers: thank you for trusting us and allowing us to tell the stories of our hearts.

Acknowledgments

To the entire Harlequin Kimani Romance team, thank you for all of your hard work, dedication and patience. You make us look good.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Roxanne Deveraux sat at her dining room table, genealogy charts spread out around her. The front door to her house slammed. No one slammed a door like her sister, Portia.

Portia stormed into the dining room, thumped her purse down on the table and glared at her sister. She dropped a pile of scripts down on the table. “Here’s your weekly pile of scripts from Mom and Dad.”

“What’s wrong?” Roxanne asked in a mild voice designed to calm her sister. For almost the first half of her life, she had been the peacemaker, the problem solver in a family that thrived on chaos.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Did you know you’re trending?” Portia asked, as she pulled out her iPad, woke it up and scrolled through the screens. “In fact, you have been for the last three days.”

“I really haven’t done anything.”

“You play a corpse for five minutes on Bayside PD and people take notice. After all, it’s the number one cop show.”

“I was alive for thirty seconds before I was a corpse.” Acting was now her creative hobby and she used her gigs to get celebrity clients for her genealogy business and keep her SAG membership active. “Even a corpse on a number one show gets paid and I get to look at hot actors.”

“Mom and Dad weren’t impressed.” Portia took several deep breaths, as though willing herself to calm down. The anger in her dark brown eyes slowly faded and her breathing evened out.

“I do it just to irritate them.” Roxanne stood and neatly gathered up the charts and placed them in a folder next to her laptop.

“Mom says it’s a waste of your talent.” She gestured at the pile of scripts. “Plus even a bit part is going to give you money that isn’t going into their pockets, which is also a point of contention.”

“No, it’s not. I get exactly what I need out of it.” Even though she hadn’t talked to her parents in years, they still felt the need to meddle in her life.

Portia’s phone chimed and she rummaged in her purse for her phone and turned it completely off.

For two women from the same parents they were as dissimilar as two sisters could be. They resembled each other in their facial structure, high cheekbones, large brown eyes and elegant lips.

Roxanne stood five foot ten in her stocking feet, slim and trim from all the jogging and yoga she did. Portia, at twenty-two, was six years younger, five inches shorter, curvier in the bosom and hips and in some ways more volatile. She was into kickboxing and tae kwon do. While Roxanne’s hair was cut into a fashionable shape and left in its natural curly state, Portia had gone for a straightened hairdo, cut into a stylish bob in a Naomi Campbell way. Portia’s tawny skin tone and amber eyes were slightly darker than Roxanne’s.

Roxanne liked to dress in casual clothing, though today she wore a black pencil skirt with a scarlet leather jacket belted around the waist, black kitten heel shoes and a gold locket nestled against her throat. Portia, who was more fashion conscious and usually wore clothes more cutting-edge in the latest trend, had chosen an ivory pants suit with a short black jacket and a colorful Hermès scarf. A platinum necklace in the shape of a panther with emerald eyes winked against the darkness of her jacket.

“Going back to why you’re angry at Mom and Dad.”

Portia sighed. “Among many things, they want me to convince you to let them be your agents again. Even the residuals from your old sitcom still bring in a lot of money and they want to capitalize on it.”

While the residuals were okay, each year brought a little less since the show wasn’t always on the schedule as it became dated and secondary networks had more choices. She was still dependent on her parents sending her the money since it went to them first. She couldn’t always depend on them paying out in a timely manner.

Portia gestured at the pile of scripts and picked up the one on top. “I’m supposed to talk you into this movie.”

“I was in a movie last year.”

“You played a salesgirl. You were on screen for exactly four and half minutes.”

“I enjoyed that role, small as it was.”

Portia issued another sigh. She picked up the script and held it out to Roxanne. “If you accept this role, their commission will pay the balance of Dad’s past-due taxes. You’ve always been the big moneymaker in the family. Me, I’m just a minor actress who does commercials and voice-overs. Plus the positive media they’d get from having you involved with one of their projects—especially since things have gone downhill since your emancipation—would go a long way into reviving their business reputation.”

“I’m not interested in helping him pay off his back taxes. Dad’s IRS problem isn’t our fault,” Roxanne said. “He did it on his own. If he’d filed properly and claimed all the income he was supposed to claim, he wouldn’t be in this fix.” Instead of trying to hide the fact that he’d borrowed heavily from her trust fund for reasons he’d never totally explained.

“His scheduled payments are going to last at least another two years. Failure to make any of his payments on time could land him in jail. I’m counting the days until I can stop working and maybe get in to UC Davis.” Portia had always been into animal rescue and her dream was to be a veterinarian. In her spare time she volunteered at the Los Angeles Zoo.

“But...” Roxanne coaxed. She’d offered to pay for her schooling, but Portia turned her down time after time because their parents already exploited Roxanne for money and Portia felt accepting money from her sister would make her just like them.

“They’re pressuring me to sign another two-year contract with them. I feel guilty because I don’t want to stay in this business and yet—” she paused, the conflict she was feeling showing on her face “—even I can’t argue with the money. I have almost enough put away for school.”

“You always were the nice daughter.” Roxanne gave her sister a kiss on the cheek.

Portia rubbed her forehead and Roxanne hoped one of her migraines wasn’t about to start.

Portia frowned. “I’d rather be like you—the smart, stealthy daughter who got away.”

Roxanne’s parents had never forgiven her for emancipating herself when she was sixteen and all but walking away from the business. After eleven years on a popular family sitcom, she hadn’t wanted to be a full-time actress anymore. The industry had become more and more obsessed with an actress’s physical appearance and less appreciative of a woman’s talent, and Roxanne was tired of fitting into someone else’s mold. With her grandmother’s encouragement, she’d won an early admittance to Berkeley and eventually earned a degree in history at the age of twenty and her parents hadn’t spoken to her since.

Roxanne, who’d always been interested in genealogy, had taken her hobby and turned it into a small business that she’d been trying to expand into something more the past couple years. She used her own colorful ancestry, which had turned out to be filled with swindlers and con artists, as part of her sales pitch to her clients to show them what could be found.

“You look really nice.” Portia motioned for Roxanne to turn around, studying her clothes. “You should have worn those stilettos instead of the shoes you’re wearing. I know they add inches to your height you don’t want, but they make your legs look really long and sexy and every man in the restaurant will be watching you.”

She didn’t want every man in the restaurant watching her—especially when she might fall on her face walking in stilettos. She wouldn’t consider herself the most coordinated.

Portia reached behind her neck and unfastened her panther necklace. “Take off that locket and wear this instead.”

“Where did you get that?” Roxanne hadn’t seen the necklace before.

“Mom bought it and then decided she didn’t like it and gave it to me. It’s really more your style than mine anyway, but I like it.”

“Like Nancy is going to care what I’m wearing.”

Roxanne had met Nancy several years ago when Roxanne had a small part on a sitcom Nancy’s husband, Mike, produced. Nancy had been on the set and curious about an ancestry chart Roxanne had done for another member of the cast. Curious about her own ancestry, Nancy hired Roxanne to investigate and they’d become friends. Portia, who occasionally helped with the searches, had formed her own friendship with the older woman. Roxanne fastened the heavy platinum necklace around her neck and glanced at herself in the mirror over the sideboard. She’d worn her hair up in a French twist. The necklace added just that last bit of style she knew she needed to emphasize her long, slender neck. Leave it to Portia to recognize exactly what would complete an outfit.

“Nancy is all about appearances and she expects you to show up looking classy,” Portia said, opening the front door and gesturing toward the car. “Let’s go, you know how Nancy hates waiting.”

* * *

“Nancy,” Roxanne said, surprised. “I hope we’re not late.” Ever since Nancy’s phone call asking to meet for lunch at her favorite restaurant, Believe, Roxanne had been curious.

Nancy Bertram was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall with an even tinier waist. Roxanne found it hard to believe her petite body had birthed two lusty boys and one girl. But more than that, Roxanne had always envied Nancy’s unerring sense of fashion, from the peach Louboutins on her feet to the matching Chanel suit and tiny gold starburst pin on the collar.

The hostess seated them in a comfortable booth in the back of the restaurant and handed them menus.

“What’s going on?” Roxanne asked. “You seemed urgent to see me.”

Nancy grinned. “My husband sent me to ask if you’d like to be on Celebrity Dance.” Her husband produced a number of shows, all of them dramas except for Celebrity Dance.

Roxanne’s stomach dropped to the floor. Dancing? On television? This wasn’t acting, this was a coordination test—one she was sure to fail.

“What? I mean why?” Celebrity Dance had only been on television for a year, but was already popular, challenging Dancing with the Stars for top ratings. Roxanne had a hard time seeing herself on the show. She wasn’t very graceful and didn’t know how to dance.

Nancy whipped out her iPad and swiped across the screen. She held it out to Roxanne. “Have you read any of the comments about your small role in Bayside PD from the last episode?”

“I never read those comments. The only thing I read is to make sure my name is spelled correctly on my paycheck.”

Nancy took her iPad back. “In the few minutes your character was on scene, you created your own following. People bonded with your character and spent the rest of the show wondering who killed you and why.”

“A lot of advertising featured me in it. Maybe the audience was just curious.”

“Bayside PD has been solidly placed this year and ratings have been steadily growing. Something about this episode just piqued a lot of interest in your character.” Nancy shook her head, her elegant blond bob swishing back and forth and settling back into style without one hair out of place.

“I told her she was trending,” Portia put in.

Nancy smiled at Roxanne. “Don’t you miss being the center of attention?”

Did she miss the attention? Not really. “What I miss is getting to pretend to be someone else for a while. It’s like being a superhero with your mother’s towel wrapped around your neck to make a cape, but the next morning you’re back to being you.”

Nancy laughed and Portia shook her head. “Not that we ever did that?”

“You didn’t!” Roxanne said in mock dismay at her sister.

Nancy waved her hands as though settling a cape around her shoulders. “My mother had a gold silk capelet that was the perfect length when I was five. Though I don’t think she ever forgave me when I jumped in the pool wearing it because I was pretending to save the dog.”

Roxanne and Portia joined her in laughter.

“But that’s all it is, playtime.” Roxanne and Portia’s mother had not been thrilled to discover her expensive towels being used as superhero capes.

“Which brings us back to why I wanted to have lunch with you.” Nancy put her iPad back in its jacket. “You know Mike and his friend Nicholas Torres developed Celebrity Dance. Nick had this idea to let the audience choose the next contestants for the summer season. And your name came up in the top three. Apparently, you have the most loyal following despite the fact you haven’t done more than a few roles here and there since Family Tree was canceled. And I’ve been tasked to get you to agree to be on the show.”

“I don’t know...” she countered.

“You mean you don’t want to do it?” Nancy said, her voice clipped.

The last thing she wanted was to alienate Nancy. The woman had been one of her first clients and was well connected. She was also very protective of her husband’s business interests. Nancy might like Roxanne a lot, but clearly she wouldn’t take kindly to anyone letting her husband down. Roxanne couldn’t blame her. Hollywood was full of backstabbers. Loyalty was something rare and valuable—even among spouses.

Roxanne owed Nancy for helping her with her fledgling genealogy business.

“I like to dance,” Roxanne said, hesitantly. “I’m not good at it, but I do enjoy a rousing polka.”

“Perfect.” Nancy pulled out her phone. “After lunch we’ll head over to Mike’s office. He would like to meet you.”

“I should take my sister home first.”

“Nonsense. Bring her along. Mike won’t mind. I’ll keep her occupied.”

Portia clapped her hands. “This sounds like fun!”

Fun. Right. Roxanne had some reservations. Who would they pair her with? And what in the hell had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Mike Bertram’s office was large enough to hold a dozen people. A large picture window overlooked the street. Bookshelves lined one whole wall and were stuffed with scripts and books. A huge black glass desk sat across a corner and Mike stood in front of it with a tall, slim man. Mike was shorter than Roxanne, slightly paunchy, but with a friendly face and kind eyes. He wore an expensive black suit, snow-white shirt and red tie.

“Roxanne, thank you for coming,” Mike said holding out his hand. His head barely came to her shoulder and his handshake was soft. “Let me introduce you to my business partner, Nicholas Torres.”

She shook Mike’s hand and turned to Nicholas Torres. She caught her breath. Nicholas Torres was more handsome in person than on TV. He not only produced the show, but was the lead dancer for Celebrity Dance. Nicholas was tall and lithe, but with a muscular catlike grace as he walked to her and shook her hand. His hand was warm and strong. His skin was a pleasing light cinnamon tone and his eyes were gray-brown flecked with green. He was dressed more casually in dark blue pants, a steel-gray shirt at the neck, no jacket or tie. His hair was cut tight to his head and he wore a diamond stud in one ear. She especially liked the fact that he towered over her by several inches—something most men didn’t do.

His handshake was pleasantly firm without being crushing. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Deveraux.”

Something about him made her insides go all hot and gooey. Roxanne grinned at him. “Please, call me Roxanne,” she said, her voice sounding a little breathy. Hmm... It had been a long time since she had been so immediately taken by a man. She was surprised.

He smiled, revealing straight white teeth. “I’m Nick. Shall we sit down?” He gestured at a grouping of chairs in a corner surrounding a coffee table with a glass top. A tray with coffee cups and a pot rested on one end. “I understand you started a business doing genealogy.”

Roxanne began, after taking a long, slow breath to calm herself, “It’s still in its infancy stage. Most of my clients have come from the shows I’ve worked on. Genealogy is one of the fastest growing hobbies in America.” She laughed. “Did I just sound like an infomercial?”

Nick grinned at her. “You sounded like you’re passionate about genealogy.”

“I am.” Roxanne glanced at Nancy who took a seat at the bar with Portia next to her.

“Mike,” Roxanne said, “didn’t you find it exciting to know Nancy is descended from the Sun King, Louis XIV, through one of his mistresses?”

“I didn’t need to know that to recognize she was royalty.” Mike blushed a little after a quick glance at his wife. “My own ancestry was a bit of a surprise. Who knew I came from a long line of entertainers? I don’t have a talented bone in my body. And when you showed me that one of my ancestors was sponsored by King Charles II of England, I was surprised. And even more surprised to find out he liked playing female roles.” Mike gave a short, self-deprecating laugh.

“That was a lucky find. Women weren’t allowed on the stage at that time,” Roxanne said. “They weren’t allowed to do much besides produce more little humans. So nice to know we’ve come such a long way.”

Nick Torres had a deep, pleasant laugh. “I’ll admit, I’m a little curious myself about my ancestors.”

“It’s like a trail. Finding all the landmarks is fun and exciting and people learn about history in a very personal way because it grounds us to our past and makes everything real. I remember in high school how bored I was by historical facts that had little context for me. But finding out about my ancestors made history come to life.”

Mike beamed, obviously proud of his ancestry. “What happens when you don’t find anything?”

“The internet is pretty extensive when it comes to ancestry searches,” Roxanne explained, “but sometimes records are lost or haven’t been digitized yet, and that’s when the real work starts. But there’s always a trail of some sort no matter how tiny. It could be something as simple as a marriage certificate or a birth certificate. My great-grandfather’s WWII service records were lost in a fire, but I found his draft card. That wasn’t much, but it did give me a context to work from and I discovered my great-grandfather was stationed at Pearl Harbor the day Japan bombed it and I was able to find the son of one of the men he served with, who actually remembered my great-grandfather.” That had been a happy accident that had added another piece to the jigsaw puzzle of her family history.

“Sounds like fun,” Nick said, “but what we really wanted to talk to you about is being on Celebrity Dance.”

Roxanne smiled at him. “I love to dance, but I’m a little on the klutzy side.” She didn’t add she was five foot ten. They could see that for themselves.

She also didn’t add that she really didn’t want to do the show but felt obligated to do it. She only hoped she still had her dignity intact when it was over.

“You’ve been turning up in a lot of bit parts lately.”

“Just keeping my hand in the business.”

“Are you thinking about making a full-blown return?”

“I don’t want to do a weekly show anymore or movies. I’m really happy just doing little bit parts here and there. And being a corpse works just fine.” She’d thought she’d hated acting, but after a few years and a lot of thought she realized she enjoyed acting on a limited basis. Her parents’ manipulation of her had been what she’d really despised.

“But being a corpse isn’t much of a challenge,” Nick said.

“Are you making fun of me?” She felt a stab of disappointment that he would judge her without knowing anything about her.

He looked startled. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

She said defensively, “You try holding your breath and looking dead at the same time for a minute or two and not turn blue.” She wondered if she could specialize in corpse acting. Was there such a thing? She liked the short jobs. In their own way, they were fun. Those jobs weren’t a challenge. She wasn’t in Death of a Salesman. Nick and Mike laughed. She glanced at Nancy and Portia who had zoned out and were bonding over their shoes.

“Your name has been showing up in a lot of places lately,” Mike said.

“Which I don’t understand.” Roxanne gave a little shrug.

“So, you’re not a fan of social media.”

“I’m more connected to the past.”

“Does your business pay well?” Nick asked.

“It does when I have celebrity clients. You’d be surprised how many actors and actresses are disappointed when they find out Shakespeare isn’t in their family tree.”

Nick grinned at her and the beauty of his smile made her blood race. She imagined herself in his arms and heat rose in her. “I can guarantee he’s not in my family tree?”

“Don’t be so certain,” Roxanne cautioned, but she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or herself.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been some controversy that Shakespeare had a longtime black mistress. And the fact that he wrote Othello does give us some clues into his social group.”

He looked so surprised, she laughed.

“If I agree to go on Celebrity Dance, who are you going to partner me with. LeBron James?”

“How about me?” Nick asked. He stood and pulled her to her feet. With her hands in his she stared into his eyes and tried not to focus on his very kissable mouth so close to hers.

“Well, I am enjoying looking up at you.” The top of her head was just even with his nose. His eyes held a sparkle that let her know he was attracted to her, too.

He took her in his arms and started to draw her into a simple waltz. She smiled at him and immediately stepped on his foot and a second later tripped on an uneven spot on the rug.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry.” Portia and Nancy clapped. Roxanne gave her sister her best stare-down which made Portia burst into laughter.

“That’s okay,” he said with a grin. “I like to know I have my work cut out for me.”

Mike stood and held out his hand to Roxanne. “My legal department will be getting in touch with your agent.”

“Trudy Mendoza handles my legal affairs.” Everyone knew Trudy. She was one of the best entertainment lawyers in the industry. She’d handled Roxanne’s emancipation and had become a friend along the way.

* * *

“That is one tall woman,” Mike said.

“I like tall women,” Nick said. And boy, did she have legs. A little fantasy played out in his mind with her legs wrapped around him. Heat spiraled through him and he stood up and walked to the window. He saw the women exit to the street and make their way to the parking structure.

“You two are going to look good together,” Mike continued. “But her parents are a piece of work.”

Nick had only been back in Los Angeles for a couple years and wasn’t up on all the current gossip. He’d had his own controversies in New York. He’d been involved with a Broadway star. Things had ended badly. She’d stalked him all the way to Los Angeles and the situation didn’t end until she’d been checked into a very nice mental facility. The movers and shakers on Broadway had been furious with him, because he’d put a guaranteed moneymaking legend out of business during the run of a very productive play. Nick had been lucky to escape to Los Angeles even though his reputation in New York was in tatters. Nobody liked whistle-blowers even when they were in the right.

Mike nodded. “Her parents wanted her to do this movie to get around child labor laws. They encouraged her to apply for emancipation. She did, was emancipated and refused to do the movie saying it made her uncomfortable. Before the emancipation came through, they tried to force her, but she had the brains to hire Trudy Mendoza...”

“I remember Trudy Mendoza. She’s the shark all the great whites sharks are afraid of.”

“She discovered some financial misconduct and before her parents knew anything, she was out from under their thumb. The news was she was able to get her high school diploma early. She ended up at Berkeley.”

Nick vaguely remembered the gossip, but hadn’t paid that much attention. The parents didn’t stay down long, because they specialized in managing child actors. Plus they had two more of their own biological children to exploit, not as talented as Roxanne who had been the big moneymaker, but still bankable.

Nick said, “You think when her parents hear about her being on the show that they are going to be trouble?”

“Nancy tells me,” Mike said, “they have been trying to get back into her good graces for years. She’s still a moneymaker if she wants to be. The public loves her.”

Nick could see why. She was just the kind of person he liked. Besides being beautiful, she was smart and funny.

“We have a nice lineup for the second season of Celebrity Dance,” Nick said. He liked diversity. Roxanne Deveraux would add just the right kind of spunk and sass that he liked. She could laugh at herself. That LeBron James line was funny. And that look of panic in her eyes when he told her he wanted her as his partner had been priceless.

“She’ll work out,” Nick continued, suddenly anxious to get her to her first practice. Already he was planning their first dance. They always started with a waltz because it was simple. She would be elegant in burgundy silk with her hair up, showing off her long neck. He’d wear a white tuxedo and matching top hat. He found himself swaying as he imagined their waltz.

“Nick. Nick. Nick. Where are you, Nick? Come back to me.”

Nick came back with a start. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“I could tell,” Mike said with a wry tone. “I need to call the lawyers and get them working on her contract. You need to get back to the studio. The publicist is sending me urgent SOSs. He’s been receiving calls all morning regarding the guests for our summer season and when we’ll release the list.”

Nick had to laugh. “I’ll go help him field the calls.”

* * *

In the car, Roxanne handed her keys to her sister, climbed onto the passenger seat and leaned her head back as Portia cleanly navigated out of the parking structure and onto the street heading for the freeway.

“Thank you for the emotional support at that meeting.”

“You were fabulous.”

“You never did tell me what Mom and Dad want you to do?” Roxanne said, suppressing a yawn.

Portia drove up the entry ramp and merged into traffic heading back to Pacific Palisades. “You know who Javier Gomez is, don’t you?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“You probably know him as El Gomez. He got his start in Mexico composing narco corridos and managed to make the transition to the LA music scene.”

Roxanne stared at her sister. “What are narco corridos?” She had no idea who El Gomez was.

“Mexican ballads that glorify the drug trade and the crime lords in Mexico. Mom and Dad want me to date him.”

Roxanne sat up straight. “Are your parents insane?”

“They are your parents, too.” Portia said with a laugh.

“Only through the sharing of DNA. What...what...huh...what... The words just won’t come.”

“He’s edgy and trending. He has three million Twitter followers and another five million on Instagram. And he’s a kid. I’m twenty-two years old and he’s eighteen. He still acts like he’s the hot man on the high school campus. He struts. All he has to do is point his finger at whichever groupie is following him around at that moment and she falls at his feet.” Portia shuddered.

Roxanne opened the browser on her phone and did a quick search. A photo appeared of a good-looking teenager in a slick Latin sort of way. “He has a face tattoo.”

“And a tongue stud, ear plugs and a nose ring. He has more jewelry on his body than I have in my jewelry box. And he’s four inches shorter than me and I’m not tall to begin with.”

Roxanne scrolled through the photos and articles. “What do Mom and Dad think your dating this...this...man-child is going to accomplish?”

“The Latin market is the fastest-growing market on TV—discretionary income and, well, just about everything. They think it would be good for my career. They want me to be the first black actress on a telenovela because I speak Spanish so well.”

“I told you to take German in high school,” Roxanne said. Portia had been surprisingly good at languages and picked up Spanish in no time. “I repeat—they are insane.” And greedy. “What did you tell them?”

“Words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I just got up and left.”

“Is our brother on board with this?”

“He hasn’t objected. It was originally Dad’s idea, and if I wasn’t driving, I’d add air quotes to ‘they’re all bros now.’ I’d feel like Esther the molester.”

Roxanne continued to read. “Do Mom and Dad realize his uncle is Manuel Gomez? He runs the second-largest drug cartel in Mexico.” Her parents may have been the most difficult people on the face of the earth, but they didn’t condone drugs. For that, Roxanne had to admire them. She started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just went to my future place and had this image of your wedding. His side of the church, your side of the church and the DEA in the middle.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh. Right now, I’m picturing my bridesmaids in jailhouse orange.”

“Since I’ll be your maid of honor, can I wear horizontal stripes and carry a bouquet that could double as a prison weapon?”

“Stop,” Portia begged. “I’m going to run off the road trying not to laugh.”

“We can serve prison-gourmet food of chicken nuggets and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches,” Roxanne continued, the image in her mind growing more detailed. “And sit on hard benches and bang our plastic utensils on the table.”

“We’re done,” Portia said. “My stomach hurts from trying not to laugh. But the reality is...he scares me. And what happens if being around him makes me a target, too?”

Roxanne sobered. The more she read about El Gomez the more he frightened her, too. “They can’t force you to date him. You’re a grown woman. If you want to walk away, I can help. I have money and I can protect you.”

“I’m fine,” Portia said. “I like doing the commercials and voice-overs. And I’ll deal with Mom and Dad.”

Roxanne didn’t say anything to her sister—Portia needed her dream of escape—but their parents wouldn’t let her go easily. She might be only twenty-two but as the middle child, she was the family peacemaker with their parents using her as a buffer even between themselves. She didn’t like the chaos or drama that dominated their parents’ lives and did her best to soothe difficult moments, to keep things running smoothly.

They would find a way to keep her trapped. Roxanne pondered what she could do to help, but nothing came to her. Sometimes she felt sad that she’d extricated herself from the chaos that was the Deveraux family and left her brother and sister behind. When she’d been sixteen, she’d been more worried about herself and anxious to get away. She never thought about how her parents would exploit Portia and Tristan. And now, with her parents all of a sudden encouraging their kids to run with people with hardcore criminal ties, she knew she had to do something. She just didn’t know what. She would again offer to pay Portia’s college tuition or cosign for a loan, and maybe this time she’d accept.

Chapter 2

“I was surprised when you called me.” Surprised but pleased. Roxanne sat down at the sidewalk table across from Nicholas Torres.

The restaurant bordered Santa Monica Boulevard. Nicholas Torres had chosen an outside table to enjoy the pleasantly warm afternoon and watch the young people on spring break crossing the Pacific Coast Highway and making their way to the beach. In the distance she could hear the faintest roar of the waves and smell the tangy salt air. She loved living by the ocean.

“You looked a little uneasy yesterday,” Nick said, “and Nancy told me you’re concerned about being clumsy.”

A waitress handed her a menu and she asked for a glass of water.

“Uneasy was not the word I would use.”

Nick grinned at her. “What word would you use?”

“How about apprehensive, troubled or edgy? Or better yet, let’s try the phrase full-blown panic.” The waitress brought her water and she ordered a Greek salad with extra Kalamata olives.

“You seem very graceful to me,” Nick added.

“First of all, I wear flat shoes, walk slowly and concentrate on what I’m doing.”

“Dancing is the same thing.”

“At a much quicker pace. And then I have to throw in breathing and trying to look comfortable. I’ve seen some of the dresses you’ve put your contestants in. You know the scene with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers where she’s wearing this white dress with feathers. That is the most beautiful, seductive dance scene in the whole of movie history and all he could talk about was the feathers that kept flying into his mouth. I’m not Ginger Rogers. I’m the feathers—all over the place and in your mouth.” Oops, that was very suggestive. Heat spread across her cheeks. “Let me rephrase that...”

Nick just laughed. “Oh, no. You are funny.”

“Yeah I’m hilarious,” she said.

“You’ll do fine,” Nick said. “Again, the best dancer doesn’t always win. When you strip away all the glitter and sweat, it’s really a popularity contest. The person who wins is the one that connects with the audience the most. You’ve got that in the bag.”

“Then why do we have to dance? Why can’t we just be us and pose prettily?”

“Do you not want be on Celebrity Dance?”

She paused for a second thinking. “I’m going to be on your show. I’m going to practice my little heart out. I just don’t want you to be disappointed in me when I don’t measure up to your standards.” She had spent last night watching reruns on YouTube. His grace and talent took her breath away. She’d seen him dance on the show and watched clips of him on Broadway. That man could move like a cloud. Did he have any idea how sexy he looked? How strong and masculine. Oh, he gave her tingles in all the right places.

The waitress brought her salad and placed a thick steak sandwich in front of Nick. Their conversation paused while they took a few bites. “People who don’t try disappoint me.” He popped a french fry into his mouth and chewed. “I come from a big family. I have four brothers and two sisters and we’re all competitive. We all want to win. We all want to be king of the hill.” He smiled as though the nostalgic memories were pleasant.

Her own family was more about backstabbing, which made her sad. Weren’t parents supposed to love and protect their children? Hers had exploited her, and their selfish needs had superseded hers and her siblings’. “I haven’t done anything truly competitive in a few years, and I’m not afraid of anything, but there’s a reason my parents didn’t name me Grace.”

Nick grinned. “I’m happy my mother didn’t let my dad name me Heriberto and my twin brother Mattero like he wanted to.”

Roxanne started to laugh. She was enjoying her lunch with Nick. He was an entertaining man and from some of the looks she was getting from women at other tables, they were just a touch envious she was the one having lunch with the most handsome man in the whole restaurant.

“What happens next?” Roxanne asked. Her salad was delicious and the company was delightful. She felt herself relaxing.

“The official announcement of the next season’s contestants will be on The Morning Show with Daniel Torres next Monday and then later on Entertainment Tonight and The Insider, but before then, we’ll be doing short little interviews that will go up on the show’s website immediately after the announcement. I want to set up a time for you to come in for an interview. My assistant will call you later today with your schedule. We’ll start with hair, makeup and head shots, then do the interview. Next week after the announcement we’re filming a commercial. So you’ll need an appointment with the wardrobe department and then you and I will practice a quick dance move for the teaser trailer. Nothing elaborate, just something easy to showcase you.”

“I get to practice my dance moves.” She flung out her hand trying to quell the nervous fluttering in her stomach and tipped over a glass of water that ended up half in her salad and the rest quickly spreading across the table and dripping down to Nick’s pants. “I’m sorry.” She sprang up.

The waitress hurried over with napkins and started sopping up the mess.

“I should have just settled for jazz hands,” Roxanne said, chagrined at making such a mess. She was never at her best with men and the idea of dancing on TV in front of millions of people was making her more clumsy than normal.

He laughed. “I used to work in a restaurant and this is not the worst thing that has happened to me.” He took a pile of napkins and helped the waitress mop up the water. “We’re outside in southern California, my clothes will dry.”

Heat flooded her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t cry over spilled water,” he said.

The waitress wiped up the last bit of water and picked up the drenched salad. She grinned at Roxanne. “I can remake your salad but, honey, you look like you could use a piece of chocolate-silk cream pie instead.”

“No, thank you and I’m done with the salad. I’m going to have to fit in a tight dress.”

“Bring her a piece of pie,” Nick said, his eyes alight with amusement. “Trust me, you’ll work it off starting tomorrow.”

* * *

Nick found himself chuckling in the car as he drove back to the studio. He hadn’t had so much fun with a woman in a long time. He tended to keep things on a light note with the women he normally dated after the bad experience with the stalker had left him shaken.

Roxanne was full of surprises. She had more determination than dance talent, but he could work with that. He wouldn’t be able to turn her into a swan, but he could turn her into a competent dancer. Her personality would do the rest. He just had a feeling the audience was going to love her.

Once at the studio, he found himself walking into his brother’s office instead of heading farther down the hall to his own.

Daniel was hunched over his laptop, frowning. He looked up and his face transformed into a smile.

“What cha doin’, bro?” Nick said. He flopped into a chair.

Daniel grinned. “Greer wants to design a cake that looks like a parade float and actually moves.”

“If anyone can create that, she can. I have total confidence in her.” Greer Courtland was Daniel’s soon-to-be bride. She also designed parade floats for the Rose Parade. Daniel had been impressed by her talent and fallen in love with her while filming segments of the progress of his Rose Parade float. They were planning a January wedding because Greer wouldn’t be able to get away until after October.

“I just want to get married,” Daniel said. “I just want her to be mine forever, so everyone can see. All these details are making me crazy. I’ve spent years looking for her. I never have to date again. I have the woman of my dreams. I just want to get married.”

Nick held up his hands. “Whoa, there. What brought this on?”

Daniel scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m ready to get on with the next phase of my life.” Daniel wasn’t the most patient man in the world. He could fake patience well, but underneath he would seethe. “Okay. I got that off my chest and can get on with my day. But that needed to be said.”

“You need to tell Greer.”

“I’m good now. I am willing to have the wedding of her dreams because it’s more important to make her happy. Dad sat down and gave me the ‘now that you’re getting married’ speech. His talk boiled down to his ‘happy wife, happy life’ metaphor.”

“That must have been uncomfortable.”

“It was more uncomfortable than the sex talk.”

“Yeah, he just gave us a condom and hoped for the best.” Nick remembered the talk clearly. He and Daniel had been fifteen and they’d received only one warning from their mother. There would be no Torres baby-daddies, she’d told them. And like their other brothers, they listened.

“I want to grab Greer and head to Vegas like Mom and Dad did.”

“And disappoint Nina,” Nick said. Their sister was the planner in the family. With Greer and her sisters busy with the floats they was currently building, she’d asked Nina to help with the wedding plans.

Daniel rubbed her temple.

“Good luck, bro,” Nick said cheerfully. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He closed the door on Daniel’s groan and headed to his office.

* * *

The morning of the announcement, Roxanne was up and out the door by 4:00 a.m. racing for the studio to have her hair and makeup done before the big announcement on Daniel Torres’s show. She grabbed her laptop and the file of her current client so she could work during the lulls. She couldn’t afford to waste one minute.

The drive from Pacific Palisades to the studio went more smoothly than normal. No accidents jammed the freeway and traffic was unusually light. She walked into the studio still yawning, a huge cup of coffee in one hand. She never skipped her morning coffee.

After her hair and makeup were finished, she joined the other contestants on the set. Nick reached for her hand and pulled her out slightly ahead of the others.

“We’re live in five,” the director held up fingers. As each one went down, he silently mouthed the number.

“This is Daniel Torres. Welcome back to The Morning Show with Daniel Torres. This morning we have the announcement of the contestants for Celebrity Dance season two, starting May 22. I want to welcome everyone.”

Daniel stood in the center of the set. He backed away and the camera panned across Roxanne and Nick, down the row of people. She knew three of the contestants already, the rest she had never met. Nick chose a broad spectrum of people. A former astronaut, a football player, a Broadway star, the head of a Fortune 500 company, a politician, along with two actresses, herself and two men she’d never heard of. She tried to memorize the names, but everything happened so fast.

Daniel approached her. “Roxanne Deveraux,” he announced her name. “Partnering with Nicholas Torres. You have a strong lineup, Nick, for the coming season.”

Nick smiled. “I give a lot of thought to who I think will do well. I look for people who are entertaining, fun and enthusiastic.” He stepped to the side and held out a hand. “Like Roxanne here.” He twirled her around.

Roxanne tried to stay upright, but one ankle collapsed and she stumbled against Nick. Mortified at her clumsiness, she was amazed when Nick caught her and dipped her. She tried not to look surprised at how smoothly he’d turned her almost tumble into what looked like an orchestrated dance move. She had to admire his ability to think so quickly even as she couldn’t stop thinking she’d made a big mistake.

Stilettos just weren’t her thing. Plus the fact she felt like André the Giant next to petite Adela Gardiner who stood five foot three.

Nick pulled her upright. “Don’t worry, I can work with this.”

She smiled for the camera and Daniel moved down to introduce the rest of the contestants. Each one did a small dance step almost flawlessly and Roxanne tried to keep her spirits from sinking. Even the football player was perfect. When Daniel said something, the football player grinned and said he’d taken ballet lessons in high school so he knew where to put his feet.

Roxanne was even more embarrassed. She tried to slide back into the shadows, but Nick kept a tight grip on her hand refusing to let her hide. She kept a grip on her emotions, refusing to think about how she was going to be humiliated. She couldn’t back out now, she’d committed and Nancy had faith in her.

Daniel finished introducing everyone and he stepped in front of the camera. “There you have it, Los Angeles. The cast of the summer season of Celebrity Dance.”

Everyone smiled. Nick whispered to Roxanne, “Stop being embarrassed. You just gave us a leg up in the competition.”

“I almost broke your foot,” she whispered back.

“You made us the underdog and you know everyone loves an underdog. So smile and look like you’re ready to grab the world.”

She widened her smile and tried to look like she wasn’t cringing inside. She could do this. She was the little train that could.

* * *

The rehearsal room was large with walls lined in mirrors.

Roxanne sat on a bench looking tired. “The waltz is so beautiful. How can it be so deadly, so lethal?” She unbuckled her shoes and rubbed her instep.

Nick knelt down in front of her and took one foot. He could feel the cramp in her instep. Slowly, he massaged the tight muscle, marveling at how soft her skin was. “Your muscles will loosen up. It’s all about muscle memory.”

She sighed. “My body is hoping for amnesia. I have sore muscles I didn’t know I had.”

Nick laughed. “You’re going to be fine.” For the past four hours he’d guided her through the steps over and over, adding little routines that changed the waltz and made it more interesting in his opinion. And holding Roxanne in his arms had sent a thousand different signals to his brain. Her scent, her touch, her nearness almost made him breathless and all he knew was that he didn’t want to let her go.

“This is our first rehearsal and I fell four times.”

Nick continued massaging her instep. “You’re getting it out of your system.”

“I should be dressed in football padding.”

Nick laughed again. “This is the first rehearsal. Just relax, we have plenty of time to make this beautiful. Right now, you have to be comfortable with the dance.”

Roxanne groaned. “How long did it take you to learn the waltz?”

He wasn’t going to tell her it took him maybe ten minutes to figure out the steps and the rhythm. He’d been five years old at the time and had no idea that dance would play a major role in his future life. “No one is judging me. I know what I’m doing.”

“How long?” she pressed.

“Fifteen minutes, tops,” he said with a grin. He moved to her other foot and slowly massaged the tight muscles. “But I make my living as a dancer.”

“I think I’m going to be making my living from a hospital bed.”

“Before you head to the hospital, we’ll do some more stretching exercises, then you’re going home. Ice your feet and calves, then take a nice, hot bath. If you have a Jacuzzi tub, spend some time in it. Then have a glass of wine and eat a lot of protein. Tomorrow we’re really going to get into it.”

“What were we doing today?” She stared at him incredulously.

“This was just the start, learning the steps, getting into the feel. Tomorrow you’ll see Wardrobe for your first fitting and then back here for another four hours of practice.”

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m going home and curling up on the floor.” She stood and stumbled. “Ow. Ow. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my skin hurts and my eyelashes hurt.”

Nick smiled at her performance as she limped across the floor barefoot. “Walk it off,” he said.

She glared at him. “Twenty hours a week in rehearsal, I’m going to be skin and bones when this over.”

“You’re going to be skin and bones with muscles you didn’t even know you had.” And considering how good she looked now, the extra muscle tone would make her look even sleeker and sexier.

She groaned again.

He’d had a lot of dance partners, and Roxanne was the most inexperienced he’d ever had. He was going to enjoy the challenge of whipping her into shape. And he was enjoying her. And he was thinking of ways to enjoy her more. Even though he shouldn’t be. She made him laugh.

She grabbed her tote and purse from her locker. She looked down at her feet. “My ankles are swollen. My pinky toe doesn’t look right. Is it broken?” She pushed her foot toward him.

“It looks a little pinched from being in those shoes you brought. You might want to look for a wider size.”

She grumbled. “Tomorrow I’m bringing my slippers.”

She slung her tote and purse over her shoulder and headed out the double doors to the parking lot. Nick followed her. From the way she was hobbling, he felt he needed to get her safely to her car.

The parking lot was mostly empty. She limped toward her white Prius and Nick frowned at the huge black Escalade with tinted windows parked next to it.

As she approached her car, the doors to the Escalade opened and a man and woman stepped out.

Roxanne groaned. “No. Not now.” She stopped and Nick stood next to her, every muscle tense in response to her moan.

The woman approached. She was tall and slim and dressed for success in a ruby-red pants suit and black blouse. She wore dark glasses, but even from a distance, Nick could see Roxanne was related to her. The man was also tall, with dark curly hair threaded with gray. He was a little more casual in designer jeans and a white button-down shirt.

“Darling,” the woman said as she air-kissed Roxanne.

Roxanne stepped back, avoiding her mother’s outstretched arms. “Mother.”

“You look...a bit disheveled, dear.”

Roxanne glanced around. “What are you doing here?”

From the resemblance, he knew this man was Roxanne’s father. He stood back slightly. He removed his dark glasses and studied Roxanne.

Her mother laughed. “Darling, you’ve become so cynical.”

“I wonder why.” Roxanne’s tone was dry and tart.

Roxanne mother smiled at Nick. “Hello, I’m Hannah Deveraux, Roxanne’s mother and this is Eli, her father. And you’re Nick Torres. I know all about you.” Hannah smiled pleasantly, but Nick knew he was facing a barracuda. A big hungry barracuda.

“What do you want?” Roxanne’s voice was strained.

“We haven’t spoken much the last few years, but we wanted to congratulate you for being chosen for Celebrity Dance. Such a coup. So much better than playing a corpse.”

Hannah’s voice was smooth and gracious on the surface, but Nick felt an underlying subtext meant for Roxanne alone.

Hannah turned her dark eyes on Nick. “And you, Nicky, you are so lucky to have Roxanne on your show. She’s always wanted to learn how to dance, but her feet never cooperated.”

“I prefer Nicholas.” Nick ground his teeth together at the passive-aggressive performance by Roxanne’s parents. “And Roxanne is going to be great.”

Hannah glanced at her daughter’s bare feet. “Where are your shoes, sweetie? You shouldn’t be walking around barefoot.”

“I have to go,” Roxanne said, taking a step toward her car. “Nice to see you. Bye.”

“But we need to talk,” Hannah sidestepped to cut off Roxanne’s attempt to escape. “We can put you back on top, sweetie. You’d be on every A-list in town.”

“I don’t want to be there.”

Her mother frowned. “Then why are you doing Celebrity Dance?”

Roxanne said nothing, staring her mother down.

Hannah broke the stare down first. “Did you look at the script I sent you? Your father and I own the rights to it. Starring in it could be an opportunity to mend fences. Clear the air.”

“No, I haven’t read it. Nor do I intend to read it.” Roxanne skirted her parents, unlocked her car with the remote in her hand and was in her car before her parents could object.

Nick stood back, half admiring as Roxanne deftly maneuvered her Prius out of its parking space.

Hannah’s mouth tightened. “You must pardon my daughter’s rudeness.”

Nick’s eyebrows rose. “She wasn’t rude to me at all.”

“I hoped she would talk with us,” Hannah said with a sad little sigh. “She’s so very stubborn. We’ve only ever wanted the best for our daughter. I don’t understand what her problem is. We’ve done everything for her.” She gave Nick a coy, sideways look that contained an invitation to unburden himself in some way.

Nick edged back. He needed to get out of here. Confession wasn’t going to be good for their souls and he had a sense they were trying to enlist him.

“I have to get back.” He took another step away from them.

“We need you to help us,” Hannah continued. “Will you talk to Roxanne for us? Tell her we love her and only have her best interests at heart.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but that isn’t my job. We’re coworkers and that’s all. So you have a nice day.”

When he glanced back, Hannah and Eli stood in the middle of the parking lot. Hannah’s gestures were sharp and angry. Eli’s gestures matched hers. Nick wondered what they were arguing about. After a few minutes they climbed back into the black Escalade and peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires and burning rubber.

Once they were gone, Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mike’s number. “We need to talk. I’ll be at the office in thirty minutes.” He disconnected and walked toward the locker room to get his stuff.

* * *

Nick opened the door to Mike’s office. His wife, Nancy, sat on the sofa, her legs crossed, hands fluttering as she laughed at whatever Mike had said.

Mike looked up. He sat at his desk, one hand poised over a stack of papers. “How did the first rehearsal go?”

“She stepped on my feet eight hundred times. She tripped over her own feet at least four times. She’s a challenge.”

“You love a challenge,” Nancy said.

“You’re right, I do. And she is that.” Nick perched on the corner of Mike’s desk.

“Last year, you took over an overweight, over-the-hill actress...”

“Ouch,” Nick said.

“Those were Mia’s words, not mine... And you made her a dance champion and resurrected her career. She’s going to be in the next Joss Whedon film playing a superhero.”

“Roxanne,” Nancy added, “is young, fit and easy to look at. She’s got a lot of personality.”

And she was a delight to hold, Nick thought. Her skin was soft and her subtle perfume filled him with desire. “Her lack of grace is not going to be the problem.”

“What’s going to be the problem?” Mike asked curiously.

“Her parents,” Nick said with a sigh. “They were waiting in the parking lot after rehearsal. And I think things could have gotten incredibly nasty.” The kind of nasty that could end up in the gossip rags. True or not, the information crippled anyone involved.

Mike rubbed his temple. “I’m glad Roxanne is not contractually obligated to them in any way. That could just be ugly.”

“They’re her family,” Nick said. His own family was so different. They supported each other.

“Family means nothing in this town. It’s what’s written down on paper that counts.”

Nick shook his head. “I still think they are going to be a problem.”

“I don’t think much is going to stop them from being a problem,” Nancy added.

“You’ve been friends with Roxanne for several years now. What does she say about her parents?”

“Nothing,” Nancy replied. “She never talks about them and I don’t ask.”

“Roxanne is a nice woman and I like her.” He liked her a lot. “Her parents might prove a big enough distraction to keep her from doing her best.” Roxanne had an honesty about her that appealed to him. She had no illusions about who she was.

Nancy frowned. “Roxanne is too classy to get dragged into a tawdry controversy with her parents. And I don’t want to see her hurt.”

Mike looked thoughtful. “Controversy can be great publicity, but it’s not something I want for my show. I don’t want this season to be overshadowed by a mudslinging war between Roxanne and her parents. It’s unfair to the other contestants who are actually trying to revive their careers. Plus it creates all kinds of tension on the set.”

“Do you honestly think that will happen?” Nick asked, although he knew the answer.

“You know how the paparazzi and gossip rags love that kind of stuff,” Mike replied.

* * *

Roxanne pulled into her driveway to find Portia’s car parked on the street.

“What are you doing here?” Roxanne asked after walking into her home.

Portia stood in the kitchen making a chicken-salad sandwich. She wore her zoo uniform with the faint hint of hay clinging to her. She held a knife and waved it through the air. “Mom and Dad sent me.”

Roxanne stopped and stared at her sister. “Speak of the devils, I just ran into them. They were waiting for me outside the rehearsal studio.”

Portia patted the top piece of bread into place, cut it and took a bite. She chewed her food for a half minute, swallowed and took a sip of iced tea. “Well, they want to bury the hatchet, extend an olive branch, so to speak. Whatever they can do to bring you back into the fold. I’m supposed to be their ambassador.”

Roxanne opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Why?”

“They’re bleeding clients like mad. Mom and Dad are giving them all the runaround while they’re trying to sort out their finances. Having the IRS hanging over them every second is messing with their ability to run their business, and even though none of the clients know the details of their tax troubles, Mom and Dad’s erratic behavior about the whole situation is not breeding confidence in their ability to handle their clients’ affairs because they can’t seem to handle their own. And this script they want you to read, they own the rights and it’s actually pretty good.”

“So why don’t they get another actress—a bigger actress? Tons of actresses would kill for a great starring role.” Even as the words left her mouth, Roxanne knew the answer.

Portia gave her an exasperated look. “Public relations. Image rebuilding. Think about it. They have a great script. And with the prodigal daughter partnering with them on it—you know how far that would go to rebuild their image. If you trust them, others would, too.”

Roxanne knew. The industry was full of sheep. Where one went, often more followed.

Portia sat at the table across from Roxanne. “I just spent the morning brainstorming with them and their plan of attack is to bring you back into the warm embrace of our harmonious family and take advantage of your new fame on Celebrity Dance. If they can get you back for this film and show that you have every confidence in them, they would be able to rebuild their client base.”

“Ow,” Roxanne said. “Whose idea was that?”

“Tristan’s.”

“Oh, baby brother.”

“He desperately wants to be on Broadway, especially since his character is being written out of that medical drama he’s on, and the lead in the revival of Timbuktu is coming up for audition. Even I know he’s perfect for the role.”

Roxanne said in a jaundiced tone, “He’s going to have to give up drinking, partying and chasing women. That type of behavior is only excused when you reach the top.”

Portia nodded as she bit into her sandwich and gave a little sigh. She ate in silence for a few minutes. “Mom and Dad are frantic.”

“They’re seeing their little empire crumble around them.”

Roxanne didn’t want to be drawn back into her parents’ domain. Until she’d turned sixteen, she’d been under their controlling thumb and spent a lot of days resenting them.

The garage door opened and their grandmother walked into the kitchen carrying a load of grocery bags. “Hello, girls.”

Portia jumped up to kiss Donna Deveraux on the cheek. Like Portia, Donna was small and compact with gray hair cut tight to her head and expressive brown eyes. Her voice still held a hint of Southern cadence from her Mississippi childhood. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her granddaughters.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, Portia. Are you staying for dinner?” Donna asked as she set grocery bags on the counter.

“Sure.” Portia said. “I was hoping we could have a slumber party tonight.”

Roxanne kissed her grandmother on the cheek and set about unpacking the groceries and putting them away.

“We can do that,” Donna said.

If not for her grandmother, Roxanne might have gone insane as a child. Donna had cared for her, homeschooled her, acted as guardian when Roxanne was on the set and generally kept her grounded in the real world. Donna had always been around when Roxanne needed her and once she’d graduated college and bought this house, she’d moved her grandmother in with her. She’d set up a modest trust fund that generously supplemented her grandmother’s social security because somewhere down through the years, her parents had forgotten to pay her for her services. When Roxanne had found out, she’d been livid.

“Grams,” Roxanne said, “What are you cooking tonight?”

Donna grinned at her granddaughters. “Chicken and dumplings, child.” She reached into one of the plastic bags. “And a bottle of your favorite pinot grigio.”

“Maybe not,” Portia said. “I’m being considered as the lead in a series of commercials for some car ads.”

Roxanne countered, hating to see her sister deprive herself. The industry was merciless on women who weren’t a size two. “One decadent meal isn’t going to kill your figure.”

Portia looked thoughtful. “I can always spend a little more time working out tomorrow.”

Roxanne took the wine bottle and put it in the refrigerator to chill.

“Are we celebrating something?” Portia asked.

“I just felt like doing something special.” Donna opened a cabinet and pulled out a large pan. “How did your first rehearsal go?”

“My feet hurt,” Roxanne said. “I want to soak my abused toes and everything else in between that and my ears. I stepped on Nick’s toes so many times, I’m surprised they aren’t broken, and tripped over my own feet. I lost count after five.”

“That bad, was it?” Donna said.

“And that wasn’t the worst part. Mommy and Daddy showed up.”

Donna’s eyes narrowed. “And they wanted what?”

“They want me to read that script Portia brought a couple weeks ago.” Roxanne sat down at the table and cupped her chin in the palm of one hand.

Donna poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the table with them. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Roxanne replied.

“Don’t you want to help them?” Donna asked.

“No.”

Donna grinned and walked over to the table. Putting an arm around her granddaughter’s neck, she said, “Just testing you.”

Roxanne hugged her grandmother.

“Forget the wine, we need the hard stuff.” Donna straightened, opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila.

Roxanne burst out laughing. “Is that your answer to everything?”

“It is. Especially since you girls are both over the age of twenty-one. Margaritas, anyone?” Donna then opened the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of margarita mix and limes. “I made myself a solemn promise. If I exercise every day, I can drink margaritas.”

“Didn’t you spend an hour at the gym this morning doing Pilates?”

“Just so I can have a cocktail,” she said to Roxanne.

Portia shook her head. “Grandma, you’re my hero.”

Roxanne hugged her grandmother. “Mine, too.”

“Then we’re going to sit down, put our heads together and figure out what we can do to foil my DNA’s contribution to the future.” Donna pulled out the blender.

“Grams,” Roxanne said, “At some point you have stop blaming yourself for Mom and Dad’s decisions. Life is a crapshoot.”

Portia jumped to her feet to retrieve ice from the freezer. She filled a bowl and handed it to Donna who dumped it into the blender, then added tequila and margarita mix. Roxanne stood and opened a cabinet and brought out the margarita glasses.

“What are our options?” Portia asked.

Donna thought hard for a moment. “Just ignore them. That irritates them the worst.”

“Having my parents back in my life would bring up all the old anger, resentment and distrust. I don’t need them.”

“Then option two would be figuring out a way to get them to back off,” Donna continued.

“Maybe if I accused them of stalking...” She doubted an accusation would stop them. They were too determined. “Is there an option three?”

“Pack up and move to Norway,” Portia said.

“Paris,” Donna said, “and you’d have a deal.”

“London,” Portia said. “I don’t speak French.”

“There’s an island right in the middle of the Channel,” Roxanne said with a laugh. “We could go there.”

“What would you do?” Roxanne asked. She trusted her grandmother implicitly.

Donna pursed her lips. “Let your parents initiate all the drama. I think in the long run, it reflects badly on them and not you, no matter how hard they try to spin it otherwise.”

Roxanne spun all the information through her mind. Maybe she needed to stop worrying that bad stuff was going to happen. After all, the endgame was building her business and making Nancy happy, not diving headfirst back into show business. Her bit parts were enough, and even those were becoming less and less appealing as they pulled her away from her true passion of genealogy.

Her grandmother took her hand. “What happens, happens. You have no control over your parents and what they think or do. All you have to do is act in the gracious manner you’ve cultivated all these years. Be classy. Be above the madness.”

Roxanne closed her eyes. She would try, but with her parents on her back, it was hard to rise above it.

She just hoped her parents didn’t interfere too much. She needed her head in the game so she didn’t let everyone at Celebrity Dance down.

Chapter 3

Tristan Deveraux was tall and thin. He shared the same facial structure as Roxanne, but his mouth was tight and his eyes held an angry, challenging gleam as though daring the world to cross him. Though he wore a business suit and all his tattoos were covered except for the snake curling up the side of his neck, Nick knew he ordinarily dressed like a thug with gold chains around his neck, no shirt and lots of leather.

Nick had seen Tristan in his parents’ restaurant in the past, but tonight Tristan had a look about him as he approached Nick, a small, pudgy man in tow.

“Nick Torres,” Tristan said, keeping his voice low and pleasant. “Can I have a minute?”

“What can I help you with?” Nick said, annoyed at being approached. Both of the men reeked of whiskey fumes.

Tristan said, “My sister is going to be working with you on Celebrity Dance. She’s a bit of a klutz, so I hope she doesn’t embarrass you too much.”

Nick was almost too surprised to answer. “I have no complaints.” He had no intention of telling this man, even though he acted as though he were still in high school, about anything that happened between him and Roxanne.

Tristan gave him a slight smile. “I hear you and your business partner are planning a revival of Timbuktu. I was hoping we could talk.”

“I make it a policy to not talk business in my parents’ restaurant. This is family time.” He considered calling security and having them eject Tristan, but the man was Roxanne’s brother. Her family was already a huge mess—he didn’t want to add more to the chaos. He said, “Make an appointment with my assistant.”

“I can do that.” Tristan touched an eyebrow in a mock salute. He turned and left, the pudgy man following close behind.

Nick took out his phone and called Mike. “Prepare yourself. Tristan Deveraux is planning to make an appointment to talk to us.”

Mike sighed. “What the hell did you agree to that for?”

“Roxanne. Not that she asked me to.”

The explanation seemed to appease Mike. “That doesn’t sound like fun. Any idea what the man wants?”

“He wants to talk about Timbuktu.”

“That’s still in the planning stages. If he wants a part, we’re a long way from casting.”

“I can’t say. We’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“I’ve been doing some digging into the Deveraux family. They are a hot mess, especially with the IRS breathing down their backs.”

And gossip like that got around. Image was everything in the industry. And his sister Nina was an expert at publicity and could certainly handle any bad press that came his way.

He didn’t want to need her for that, though. Roxanne deserved to be in the spotlight for her own right—not because of her parents’ bad business decisions.

“I’ll let you know when Tristan calls,” Mike said and then disconnected.

Manny Torres made his way through the restaurant toward Nick. He stopped at a few tables to chat briefly with the occupants. Luna el Sol had been a hangout for the Hollywood crowd for decades.

Manny finally reached his son and sat down. “Is that yahoo giving you trouble? He and his parents are loud, obnoxious and lousy tippers.”

“How do you know they’re lousy tippers?” Nick asked.

“I had two waitresses out sick with the flu. I pitched in and waited on his table. He stiffed me on a tip, and I’m a better waiter than a chef and I’m a great chef. And I own the restaurant. I found out from everybody, he and his parents tip lousy anyway, and complain about the service and the food.” Manny pulled out a chair and sat down.

“You don’t need tip money,” Nick said.

“I don’t keep my tips—I put them in the emergency slush fund for the staff. Terry Logan, one of the A-listers, was so happy with my service, he tipped me five large. Told me to buy your mother something pretty. I handed the money back to him and said, ‘Sold.’ Called your mother over and said, ‘Hey, Grace, look what I bought for you.’”

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