The gentle tap-tap at her door broke her concentration

Jewel frowned. The knock sounded too damn familiar. The fact that she now recognized it as Taye’s bid for entry into her dressing room—and that it sent her heart into a spin—was ridiculous!

Without asking who it was, she finished wiping off her makeup and flung open the door. Taye stepped in, closed it and simply stood and watched her. Jewel glared at her visitor, not sure where to start, her careful analysis of the situation suddenly evaporating.

What should I do? Play a role or play it out for real? However she didn’t have time to speak, and didn’t resist when she saw the flicker of desire in his eyes and felt his grip on her upper arms as he swept her flush against his chest.

“Everyone’s gone,” he murmured.

“Why did you come here?” she groaned against his shirt, knowing she had lost her battle of wills.

“Thought you might need a little more coaching.”

ANITA BUNKLEY

is an author of seven successful mainstream novels and three novellas. A member of the Texas Institute of Letters and an NAACP Image Award nominee, she lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband, Crawford.

An avid reader all of her life, she was inspired to begin her writing career while researching the lives of interesting African-American women whose stories had not been told. A strong romantic theme has always been at the center of her novels and now she is enjoying writing true romance for her many fans.

Spotlight on Desire
Anita Bunkley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Crawford, with love.

Dear Reader,

Turn off the TV and enter the soap-opera world of Jewel Blaine, the sexy lead actress on The Proud and the Passionate, as she falls under the spell of her handsome director, Taye Elliott.

Jewel has risen to the top of her game by playing and living by a strict set of rules, but once Taye steps onto the set, her code to live by is quickly forgotten.

The fast-paced world of daytime television is the perfect medium for Taye—a stuntman turned director who has a lot to prove and a serious secret to hide. But as you know, Hollywood is not a place where secrets stay hidden for very long. As Jewel and Taye dodge prying eyes, they soon discover that there is no escaping the spotlight that shines on their emerging love.

Enjoy! If you want to drop me a line, please e-mail me at arbun@sbcglobal.net.

Read with love!

Anita Bunkley

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 1

Galveston Island

“Come home with me, baby. Tonight.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible, Caprice. Not if you want it badly enough, and if you loved me half as much as you say you do, you’d leave this island tonight and come home.”

“But, Darin…we can’t return to Elm Valley together. Think of the scandal. It’ll be better if you go ahead, and then I show up. I’ve got too much…”

“Cut!” A voice burst from the dark edges of the brightly lit patch of beach. Although the sun had set more than two hours ago, dissolving into Galveston Bay like a ball of liquid gold, huge overhead lights flooded the shoreline and created an island of activity in the otherwise-deserted cove.

Immediately, a fussy wardrobe attendant rushed onto the set and wrapped a thick white robe around Jewel Blaine, who smiled her thanks and closed it over her tiny gold bikini. The actress who played Caprice Desmond on The Proud and the Passionate (P & P) was petite, dark haired and flamboyantly attractive. At thirty-two, she had starred in the groundbreaking African-American soap opera since it debuted on TV five years ago.

Now, Jewel tilted her head, lowered her chin, widened her luminous brown eyes and spun around to face Brad Fortune, the man who called the shots on the set of P & P.

If we have to stay here all night to get it right, we will, she vowed.

As lead actress, Jewel felt personally responsible for the success of each episode and during her tenure on the daytime drama had won two Daytime Emmys, a BET Achievement Award, NAACP Image Award and many critical reviews.

Brad Fortune stopped less than a foot from where Jewel was standing, placed a slender hand on his right hip and narrowed his aquamarine eyes at his star, giving her one of his trademark extended moments. A confirmed bachelor who enjoyed the companionship of a male live-in friend, Brad possessed an instinctive awareness of his actors’ needs and used this insight to gain their respect and trust. With twenty years in daytime television, he was a talented man who knew what audiences wanted and made sure his cast delivered.

Now, the sound of waves lapping at the sandy shore and the rustle of palm fronds filled the night air as everyone waited in respectful silence for Brad to speak. “Not quite enough confliction, Jewel,” he said, his high-pitched voice lower than usual, his tone resolute. He swept a stray clump of reddish-brown hair back into his ponytail, cocked his head to one side and moved nearer to his star. “Infuse more worry into that line. Give me regret, some guilt. But hold firm! Remember, Caprice led Darin to believe that she’d do anything for him. Anything. And now she’s reneging on her promise to go home with him. She’s gotta sound conflicted. Understand?”

Jewel nodded. Brad was a pro, knew what he was after and she trusted him completely. No way would he put film in the can unless he believed the scene was the best that both he and his actors could deliver.

“Right, Brad,” Sonny Burton interjected. “I agree completely.” Nineteen years older than Jewel, Sonny Burton was well cast as Darin Saintclare, her mature on-screen lover. When CBC, the network that owned P & P, first lured handsome, charismatic Sonny Burton away from his popular daytime talk show to become a major black soap star, his national audience had cheered the decision. He was sexy and suave, with a fan of gray at his temples, a generous, welcoming smile and an easygoing style that contrasted sharply with Jewel’s methodically organized approach to her work. However, despite their differences, the two stars created magical on-screen chemistry that drove their fans wild and, so far, pleased the executives at CBC.

Sonny cleared his throat, eyes shining with resolve, clearly wanting to please his director. “I know exactly what you’re after. You want a real sense of Caprice pulling back from Darin, but at the same time…”

“Not overly dramatic. Right?” Jewel finished her costar’s remark. “Caprice wants Darin, but she’s afraid of how she’ll be viewed by the nosy busybodies of Elm Valley if she gives in and returns home too soon.”

“Exactly! Keep the relationship on target but slightly off balance. Jewel, you sure know your girl Caprice,” Brad concurred, blessing Jewel with an appreciative smile. “Caprice might love Darin, but she’s got to look out for herself, too.”

Jewel winked at Sonny, giving him a conspiratorial nod of approval. During the past five years, the on-screen couple had fine-tuned their relationship until it rolled along like raindrops slipping down a windowpane. And even when sticky issues arose on the set, Sonny always had her back and she protected his.

“Caprice can’t come off as too regretful,” Jewel went on, clarifying her character’s motivation. “She’s got her pride, you know?”

“Fine, fine,” Brad stated with a flip of his wrist as he turned around. “We all love Caprice as much as you do. Showing a little hesitant spunk in this scene is totally within character.” A beat. “Okay, let’s take it from the top, people,” Brad called over his shoulder as he walked out of camera range. However, before clearing the illuminated set, he stopped abruptly and spun around, his blue-green eyes wide with shock. His mouth opened, shut and then opened again. “Damn!” he shouted, reeling backward and stumbling to a half fall. Braced on his knees, he groped for words. “I…I feel…Oh my God!” He slammed both hands, palms flat, against his chest and emitted a startling howl.

Shana Dane, the makeup artist whose job it was to keep the cast glossy-photo perfect, tossed her tray of brushes, sponges and cosmetics to the ground and rushed toward Brad, followed closely by Karen Adams, the second-tier segment producer.

“Brad! What’s wrong?” Shana shouted, watching in horror as he collapsed on the sand.

Fred Warner, the executive producer of P & P, who had flown in from Los Angeles that morning to check on progress at the location shoot, jostled Shana and Karen aside to kneel over the fallen man.

“Call an ambulance! Somebody call 911!” Fred shouted frantically, cradling Brad’s head on his lap.

“Doing it now,” Sonny yelled, fumbling with a cell phone that he’d snatched from his pants pocket. He gave the emergency responder directions to their isolated location, unable to tell them more than someone had collapsed in pain and to get there as quickly as possible.

“Brad, Brad. What is it?” Fred urged, slipping an arm beneath Brad’s shoulders to tilt the director closer. He pressed his ear to Brad’s lips.

“I dunno,” Brad managed to whisper. “Got hit with a terrible pain. Here, in my…” Brad’s voice faded as his fingers groped the front of his shirt.

“Hold on, Brad! Hold on,” Jewel urged, dropping to her knees next to Fred.

Sonny jammed his phone back into his pocket and crouched beside Jewel, his shoulder wedged tightly against hers. Jewel grabbed one of Brad’s hands and squeezed it hard, scrunching even closer to urgently whisper, “Brad! Look at me! Open your eyes. Hold on! Hold on! Help is coming.”

Brad’s eyes fluttered open and then closed very quickly, as if trying to focus on Jewel took too much of his energy. His pale face was slick with perspiration, his lips blue and unmoving, his slim body as rigidly immobile as a mannequin’s.

When he shuddered jerkily beneath Jewel’s touch, she felt a jolt of hope.

“Brad! Brad! Don’t you dare give up,” she shouted over the shocked murmurs of the horrified cast and crew. Brad jerked wildly again. His legs shot upward, his arms flew out to the side and his head lolled from side to side before he went still.

“Where’s the doctor? The ambulance? Dammit! We need some help!” Jewel shouted, her words threaded with terror. She gripped Brad’s hand and pressed it hard against her lips, kissing the edge of his palm as she tamped the fingertips of her right hand down against his temple. Looking over at Sonny, a frown etched shadows on her face. “This is bad, Sonny.” Her voice trembled. “I can’t find a pulse. I think Brad is dead.”

Chapter 2

The lobby of Tinsel Town Theater in Fox Hills Mall was crammed with die-hard devotees of action/slasher movies who had come out for the premier of Terror Train 4. After viewing the latest installment in the cultlike series, they were milling around, clutching rolled-up posters, stacks of DVDs and commemorative T-shirts to be signed by the stars.

“Terror Train 4 kicked some serious butt,” a short Hispanic boy with long black hair said as he shoved a DVD at Taye Elliott.

Taye eyed the square plastic case with interest, but did not take it from the guy. Instead, he rotated one shoulder in a noncommittal manner. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not one of the actors,” he said. “I’m the director.” He cocked his head toward the outer edge of the lobby where two men and two women sat high on a riser, behind a table draped with gold velvet. “The autographs you want are over there.”

The long-haired boy mugged disinterest and gave Taye a flickering roll of his eyes. “Yeah? But you say you’re the director, huh?”

“Yep. That’s right.”

“Hey, that’s still cool, man. Gimme your autograph, too.”

Taye felt a brief ripple of pleasure flare as he took out the black Sharpie pen he always carried and signed his name on the boy’s DVD.

“You directed all of ’em?” the young man asked.

“All four films,” Taye conceded with a touch of pride.

“That means you directed that wild chase scene on that bomb-rigged bridge in Terror Train 2?”

“Yep. I sure did.”

“Loved it. The bomb! Hey, but I loved number four, too! The best so far, I think.”

“Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it,” Taye replied, appreciating the comment and impressed that the boy concurred with Taye: Terror Train 4 was his best directorial work so far. After having worked as stunt man for fifteen years, he ought to know what made a memorable action film. The Terror Train series had given him the opportunity to prove what he could do and even though the series went straight to DVD and would never hit theaters nationwide, it created a solid base of followers and pulled in substantial international sales.

“Is it true? Is this the last Terror Train movie?” the fan asked, sounding genuinely distressed.

“Yeah. This is it for the series.”

“Damn, man. That sucks,” the boy grumbled. “Why somethin’ this great gotta end?”

Taye offered a noncommittal lift of his eyebrows as the same question hung in his mind, feeling as agitated and frustrated as the boy. However, he understood how the industry worked: Taye was only a director. The money people held all the power. And without funding, there couldn’t be a deal. “Even good things gotta end sometime, you know?” he finally stated.

“I guess,” the boy grudgingly remarked, adding, “Stay cool.”

“Sure will,” Taye agreed, reaching up to slap palms with the guy, who slipped off into the crush of people clumped around the table where the real stars of the movie busily greeted fans.

Moving to a quieter spot in the lobby, Taye leaned against a wall and watched the animated audience move past, liking what he saw: young males in sports-branded clothing, slouch jeans, T-shirts and baseball caps. Girls in tight T-shirts, lots of jewelry, low-rise jeans and flip-flops on their feet. They were white, African American, Asian, Hispanic. Mostly young, but there was also a substantial number of graying baby boomers visible in the crowd.

A fair-skinned woman with dyed blond hair, accompanied by a bearded guy who looked stoned, stopped in front of Taye, breaking into his assessment of the audience. “You look better in person,” she bluntly assessed, blue eyes boring into Taye.

Taye snapped alert and stared at her. “What?”

She repeated her comment, even more emphatically the second time.

“Oh? Well, sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t in the movie.”

“I know you weren’t, but you’re a movie star, right?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Nope. Got the wrong man. Sorry, I’m not an actor.”

“But I’ve seen you somewhere. I know I have,” she insisted, cracking gum that bounced from one side of her mouth to the other while intently studying Taye. “I got it! Read about you on Hollywood Web Watch. You’re the stunt man who doubles for all those big stars.”

“Used to,” Taye conceded with an edge of defiance, not particularly interested in talking about those days.

A pause. “Mario Van Peebles in Downtown Killer, right?” the woman blurted with glee.

Surprised to have this bit of trivia thrown at him, Taye simply nodded.

“And that was the movie where an extra got killed in a car chase and you got hurt real bad, wasn’t it?”

A stream of air slipped from between Taye’s lips as he inclined his head in surrender. “You got it right,” he admitted, realizing that he should never underestimate how closely the public followed movies, movie stars and all the peripherals connected to the industry. With all the blogs and Web sites and Internet chats going on 24/7, it was easy to find obscure details about actors, doubles, scene sequences, writers and obviously former stunt people like himself.

The woman bobbed her head up and down, sending her halo of blond hair into a frizzy dance. “I knew I was right. Tore up your back and now you direct Terror Train films.”

“A lot safer line of work,” Taye offered, giving her a playful thumbs-up.

“Yeah…well, you still got that stuntman body.” She raked Taye with an appreciative glance that lingered at his horseshoe-shaped belt buckle and then swept down to his black ostrich-skin boots. She ran her tongue over cherry-red lips and sighed.

Suppressing a laugh, Taye raised both hands, palms up, as if to deflect the uninvited compliment. “Even a director’s gotta keep in shape, you know?”

“Hey, that’s cool. The ladies love a man who’s tight…on and off the screen.” She shot an appraising look at her bearded companion, gave up an easy snicker and then headed out into the mall.

Taye laughed aloud, not completely surprised that he’d been mistaken for an actor. He’d stunt doubled for Mario, Will, Wesley and even Denzel in dozens of movies before injuring his back in that rollover crash nearly four years ago. With his career in stunt work compromised, he’d decided to try his hand at directing and had taken on the Terror Train series as soon as it was offered. Shifting from in front of the camera to behind it had been a risky move, but Taye had never been one to shy away from risks. And while accumulating his directing credentials, he’d also formed valuable alliances with important industry people who were proving to be very helpful. He already had a new project lined up that presented quite a challenge.

When the movie crowd thinned, Taye went over to the stars, thanked them for coming out to promote the film and then headed to the mall parking lot. He got into his dark green Hummer truck, fastened his seat belt and glanced into the side-view mirror, catching his reflection while recalling the blond woman’s remarks.

In Hollywood, image was everything and although Taye no longer stunt doubled for handsome A-list actors, he enjoyed walking into a room and causing a stir, especially among women, even though he’d sworn off all but the most casual of relationships since ending his marriage nearly two years ago.

Chapter 3

Jewel could hardly believe that Brad Fortune was gone, struck down by a massive heart attack due to a long-standing heart condition. And it happened so fast, she sadly recalled as she braked at a red light and scanned the block until she saw Bon Ami, the restaurant where she was meeting Fred Warner for lunch.

Sitting at the corner of Rodeo Drive and Beverly Lane, her thoughts remained on Brad. She, along with everyone connected with The Proud and the Passionate, remained stunned by the loss of their beloved director. Brad had appeared to be in perfect health, with the energy and physique of a much younger man. However, he had vigorously protected his private life, so it should not have come as a surprise that he’d kept his illness a secret.

Jewel missed him terribly. They had clicked the first day on the set when, at the end of the shoot, they’d hunkered down in her dressing room with a bottle of Cristal champagne to toast the launch of the show. They’d gotten slightly drunk, bared their souls about their hopes and dreams and goals for their careers and bonded in a special way. Brad had made it easy for Jewel to display the raw emotion that her role as Caprice Desmond demanded. With him, she’d been able to lose herself in her character and give her heart and soul to the camera without inhibition or self-conscious worry.

A swell of sorrow came over Jewel, but she refused to let it build.

No one will ever replace Brad, she sadly mused. But he’s dead and as difficult as that is to accept, I have to press on. I just hope to God that whoever steps in measures up to the standards Brad set.

After handing her silver Lexus sedan over to the parking attendant, Jewel stepped out onto the sidewalk and glanced around. The trendy eatery on Rodeo Drive was a convenient meeting place for Jewel and Fred, as it was halfway between his home in Beverly Hills and her house in Brentwood. The white stone, multiterraced building was buzzing with activity on all three levels, packed with impeccably dressed people as well as tourists in casual clothing, cameras primed to snap photos of someone famous.

Jewel gave her gem-studded jeans a tug, fluttered the wide sleeves of her gauzy black top and touched her Chanel wraparound sunglasses for security, bracing for the paparazzi that she had no doubt were lurking nearby. She swept her eyes over the people sitting at the linen-draped tables nibbling zero-calorie endive-arugula salads and drinking pastel vitamin waters. She saw familiar faces and strangers, too. And in her mind’s eye she also saw fans, the people who appreciated her work, followed her career and were eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the cliffhanger story line that had been so abruptly interrupted by Brad’s untimely death.

Just as she’d suspected, a photographer rushed over and squatted down in front of her, initiating his usual clamor for a photo. She obliged, fluffing up her loose curly hair, striking a flirty, sexy pose with both hands on her hips and easing a pouty smile onto her lips. Jewel grinned and waved at the camera as well as at the curious onlookers who began moving forward, eager to see saucy Caprice Desmond—the character she loved to play and the public loved to follow—in the flesh. While maintaining her public-perfect pose, Jewel graciously accepted pens, pencils and pieces of paper that were thrust at her, happy to scribble “Love, Caprice” on each one.

When the Bon Ami hostess managed to push through the crowd to escort Jewel to her table, Jewel laughingly called out, “No more autographs. I’d like to eat lunch now, okay?” The crowd fell back, the photographer stood. With a quick wave, Jewel made her exit and walked up a short flight of steps to the outdoor patio where Fred was waiting, BlackBerry handheld pressed to his ear, a glass of white wine nearby.

Jewel gave Fred an airbrushed kiss before sitting.

“Just be a sec,” he told her, index finger raised.

“Take your time,” Jewel whispered in a breathy voice, before asking the server to bring her a Perrier water and lime. She settled into the white wrought-iron chair across from her producer and then glanced down at the street-level entry to the restaurant. People were milling around, waiting for their cars and chatting before saying goodbye.

Scanning the crowd, she was struck by the design on the back of a man’s shirt. The swirling collage of red, blue, yellow and green came together in what looked like an eagle, wings spread. It seemed oddly familiar. The man wearing it was talking to a parking valet and gesturing with his hands. Jewel tilted forward to get a closer look, but he disappeared inside the restaurant, so she put it out of her mind.

Some struggling actor, she decided. Hanging around the restaurant, hoping to get the attention of a director or a casting agent. She knew his type. Los Angeles was full of men and women like him—obsessed with creating a splashy impression, so they’d be noticed and, hopefully, offered a movie role. He’s probably a menswear salesman wearing a store sample, she mused, ripping her gaze from the street below just as Fred finished his call and the server placed her water on the table.

“So, tell me. Who’s our new director? I’m so ready to get back to work.” Jewel plunged right in, taking a sip of her drink.

Fred Warner slipped his handheld into the inside pocket of his beige linen suit and adjusted his tan silk tie. “Yeah, well, everyone is.” He sat back, lowered his chin and gave Jewel a look that lasted long enough to let his silence send a message of reassurance. Fred Warner, executive producer of The Proud and the Passionate, was fifty-two years old, two inches shy of six feet tall and startlingly corporate in both appearance and demeanor. His hair was silver, full and impeccably styled. His jewelry was real, understated and tasteful. He wore suits crafted by European designers and hand-made monogrammed shirts and insisted on being chauffeured around town in a white Bentley luxury car that reflected his status as a man with power and money.

“The network has decided to bring in Taye Elliott. He’ll fill in as executive director to take us through May sweeps.”

“Hmm, I don’t know him. What’s he done?” Jewel asked.

“New to daytime but comes with good credentials,” Fred replied.

“Yeah? Tell me more.”

“Youngish…well, younger than Brad. Midthirties. Divorced. No kids…he made a point of informing us of that. Said he’s free to work round the clock, if we need him.”

“Mmm-hmm. But what’s he been doing, if not daytime?” Jewel asked, eager for the professional credentials of the man she’d start working with on Monday. “Lifetime movies? Hallmark? A&E?”

“Nope. Nothing like that.” Fred tasted his wine, a silver eyebrow arched. “Ever heard of the Terror Train series?”

Jewel shook her head, confused. “No…they sound like teenage action/slasher flicks.”

Fred started to reply but stopped when the waiter arrived to take their order. He glanced at Jewel, who shook her head. Suddenly, eating was the last thing on her mind.

“We’ll order later,” Fred advised the young man, turning back to Jewel. “Basically, you’re pretty much on target. Action movies have been Taye Elliott’s forte. He did stunt double work for a lot of A-list actors…Wesley Snipes, Denzel, Will Smith.”

“Oh, he’s black?” Jewel commented, impressed. She could count on one hand the number of African Americans behind the camera in daytime television. This guy must be pretty damn good to have been tapped for a job like this. Suddenly, she was more eager than ever to meet him.

“Right. He doubled for Mario in that scene where he jumps off the roof of that skyscraper in The First Real War. Fantastic work. He won the award for best action movie star at the World Stunt Awards. Did you see that movie?”

Jewel shook her head no.

“Anyway,” Fred continued, “a few years back, Taye injured his spine in a car crash, decided to give up stunt work and try his hand at directing. Took on the Terror Train series…independently financed films that went straight to DVD.” Fred fiddled with a gold cuff link shaped like a half-moon, eyes locked on Jewel. “He did a heck of a job, impressed his producers and started making noise in circles that count.”

Even though Jewel trusted Fred and wanted to share his enthusiasm for this unknown former stuntman turned director, an alarming sense of apprehension began to rise. Her mind jumped ahead to visions of Taye cursing at his actors, corralling them onto the set like cattle on the range and of tough-guy talk in a brusque commando style.

“I don’t get it,” Jewel said, apprehension evident. “How can an action-hero stuntman replace a classy guy like Brad Fortune?”

“Former stuntman,” Fred deadpanned his response, the tip of his tongue pressed to his lower lip.

“Okay, former stuntman,” Jewel conceded, struggling to control her sense of unease, but wanting to hear the network’s rationale for going in this direction. “What am I missing, Fred? What qualifies Elliott to direct a soap opera?”

Hand raised, Fred cautioned patience. “I hear you, Jewel, and I understand your concern, but I really do think Taye Elliott will be a good fit. He’ll bring a fresh approach to the show and, hopefully, help us lock down that young demographic that’s been slipping. Daytime drama won’t be a problem for him. He’s used to fast-paced work and story lines that use recurring characters. He’s got a good track record…comes in on time, under budget and delivers tightly controlled, effective scenes. I have to believe he can do the job. I’ve screened every movie he’s directed and I gotta say, they might be action films, but they have beautifully crafted love scenes, too. They’re huge hits with his target audience….”

“Which is?” Jewel sullenly interrupted, too concerned with how this new director would affect her work to mask her growing irritation.

“Youth. Viewers between eighteen and thirty. The market we’ve got to go after hard…and hold on to. We’re heading into May sweeps with ratings that have been slipping a point a week. We’re counting on Taye to reverse that trend.”

“And I know what the problem is,” Jewel grudgingly concurred. “Down for Love’s debut in January.”

“Exactly. DFL is kickin’ our butts, pulling all the younger viewers, and if we don’t catch up soon, we may not survive this ratings war.”

“And you think Taye Elliott is the savior who will snatch that audience away from DFL?”

“I do. I think he’s precisely what we need right now.” Fred sounded confident, even though a new frown line deepened on his slightly freckled forehead.

“In theory, that sounds good, but it won’t be easy for him to step in, pick up the P & P story lines and pull off a winning sweeps finale. This is April, Fred. There’s not much time. This is gonna be rough on everyone.”

Fred rounded his lips over obviously capped teeth and shifted forward in his seat. “I know, Jewel. That’s why I want you to meet him, get to know him before you start working together. You can help smooth out his introduction. Make him feel comfortable, all right?”

Jewel didn’t respond, wondering if she should take Fred up on that. Certainly, she was dedicated to making P & P the top-rated daytime drama, but why stick out her neck to support a novice director? However, because the studio was firmly behind Taye, she had no choice but to agree to Fred’s request.

Pulling in a slow breath, Jewel groped for a less-than-pessimistic mind-set, knowing she needed an attitude adjustment. “Fine. Fred, I’ll do whatever I can to help Taye Elliott settle in and get his footing.”

“I knew you’d feel that way. You’re a real pro, Jewel, and Elliott will appreciate your cooperation.”

“So, when do I meet him?”

Instead of responding, Fred shifted his focus above Jewel’s head and made a calculating jerk with his chin. “Here he comes right now.”

Jewel turned around in her seat, looked toward the entry and was shocked to see the man wearing the fancy black shirt walking toward her. He had a smugly confident expression on his face and was moving across the room with long, purposeful strides. He looks entirely too self-satisfied, Jewel observed, gripping the arm of her chair to steady herself when he stopped, looked down and said, “Ms. Blaine?”

In answer, she slowly dropped her chin, eyeing him from beneath thick lashes.

“I’m Taye Elliott.” He offered her his hand.

Jewel stood up to take it and immediately two things clicked in her mind. First, his palm was dry and cool. Second, his fresh lemon-lime scent was making the muscles in her stomach tighten, freezing her greeting on her tongue.

Chapter 4

Gulping her surprise, Jewel floundered for a moment and then regained her voice. “Yes, I’m Jewel Blaine. Good to meet you, Taye.” She squeezed his hand, quickly let it go and then sat down, struck by an irresistible urge to grin. He was one fine brother! Just the touch of his hand had rocked her, shaken her, made her go damp in her panties! And she was supposed to maintain a professional cool while following this man’s direction? That was certainly going to be a challenge.

Keep it together, girl, she silently reprimanded. Gotta play this one right. Can’t act too glad to meet him. Luckily, the waiter arrived to take their orders, interrupting the electrified lull, providing Jewel a chance to regain her composure.

Deciding on shrimp salads all around made it easy on the server and while Taye consulted with the young man on the wine, Jewel studied her new director’s ruggedly appealing profile.

The tiny nicks and scars on the side of his face only added to his Alpha-male image. Trophies from his stuntman days, Jewel surmised, her eyes moving over his rich tan skin. He had sooty brown eyes that sloped gently at the edges in a lazy slant that sent serious bedroom signals. His jawline was severe, but rounded at the chin, softening an otherwise-tough-guy face. Flared nostrils capped a keen nose. Black curly hair that was slightly unruly, but still well-groomed. I’d love to slip my little finger through that ringlet behind his ear, Jewel impulsively mused, shifting her attention to the vintage Cartier watch on Taye’s wrist. The man’s got good taste, she allowed, moving on to assess his flamboyant shirt once more, realizing why it seemed familiar. Ralph Lauren. Last season. She’d seen it on the runway during Fashion Week in New York.

Fred Warner broke Jewel’s mental trippin’ with a jolt. “Jewel, I was telling Taye that you and the P & P cast are ready to get back before the cameras.” He blinked at Jewel, clearly urging her to jump in and express her mutual delight with the studio’s newest hire.

Getting Fred’s message, Jewel locked eyes with Taye, who shot her a dazzling smile. Exhaling, she plunged ahead. “I agree completely,” she hurried to say. “The cast is fired up and ready to get on with the show. And please, Taye, let me know if I can help in any way…as far as characters, motivation or backstory go.”

“Thanks, I’m sure I’ll need to take you up on that and I have to say…what an impossibly wonderful and complicated character you play, Jewel. Caprice Desmond is somethin’ else.”

“Yeah, she’s a sister on a mission, all right,” Jewel jokingly agreed. “And the more you get to know Caprice, the more you’ll love her.” Jewel gulped. Damn! Why’d she say that?

“I’m sure I will,” Taye concurred in a melodious voice that initiated a warm pulse inside Jewel. She held very still as his attention slipped from her face to the gold chain settled in her cleavage and then back up to her lips.

Jewel resisted the urge to show him how amused she was by his obvious visual meandering. Clearing her throat, she adopted an all-about-business tone. “You’ll find the cast easy to work with,” she said. “No divas, neurotics or dual personalities among us. We’re a pretty normal bunch, so don’t be nervous.”

“I won’t be as long as you’re around to keep things sane.”

“I’m on the set every day, except most Fridays. If things do get crazy, and they can…or if stuff starts to unravel, I’ll do what I can to help you sort it all out.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long for everything to fall into place,” Taye replied with a self-assurance that made Jewel flinch.

Unable to hold back any longer, Jewel launched the question that had been uppermost in her mind since he sat down. “What got you interested in directing daytime drama? Are you a longtime soap fan?”

“Not at all,” he quickly and laughingly confessed. “But I do appreciate the genre and I love a great romance. The Terror Train films incorporate romantic subplots with passionate, star-crossed lovers. They provide a nice respite from all the action…and encourage both the men and women to see the movies.”

Sounds reasonable, Jewel thought, while not thoroughly convinced that Taye completely understood what he was getting into. “Okay, you like romance and action, but still…if your expertise is action flicks, isn’t this a huge departure from the genre you’re most comfortable with?” It was time to get real, get down to the essence of who Taye Elliott was and why he thought he could direct The Proud and the Passionate.

Settling back in his chair, Taye went calm, assessing Jewel with vaguely sensuous eyes. “This is how it happened,” he started. “I guess I was in the right place at the right time and had the right vibes working for me. Like surviving an accidental collision that has positive results, you know?”

“Accident? Collision? No, sorry. I don’t understand at all.” Jewel tossed a questioning look at Fred, who mugged innocence and shrugged. Did Taye just compare directing P & P to a car wreck? A crash? No surprise there. With an obvious sigh of frustration, she launched her next zinger. “How exactly did you get in line to be P & P’s next director?”

Taye flashed Jewel a magnetic smile. “I’m happy to explain.”

Jewel bent forward, anxious for the story behind this surprising development.

Taye squinted at Fred, appearing uneasy, confirming Jewel’s suspicion that her question may have caught him off guard. “Well…you see,” Taye began. “Richie Farral, who produced the action movies that I directed, is Arthur Platt’s half brother.”

“The Arthur Platt?” Jewel had to cut Taye off. “The former CEO of CBC?”

“Right. So, I was talking to Richie about my plans after Terror Train, and he mentioned his relationship with Arthur Platt.”

Jewel went slack-jawed while listening to Taye, slightly annoyed by how casually he was tossing around the names of major players in the industry. Richie Farral was up there with Spielberg and Eastwood and Lucas. And Arthur Platt was the legendary founder of the network that carried her show, a hard-nosed billionaire rarely seen in public and not known to be a generous man.

“So I told Richie I was open for a change, you know? A project that would challenge me,” Taye was saying as Jewel struggled to concentrate. “A few days later, Richie called to tell me that Platt had alerted him to this temporary gig for a director for a daytime drama, so I took a meeting with CBC and here I am.”

Now, she was truly annoyed. “Oh, really? It was that easy?”

“Yep. Wasn’t much more to it,” Taye confessed.

The ring of pride in his snappy reply sent blood rushing into Jewel’s head. A flicker of anger propelled her next comment. “So, The Proud and the Passionate is your test case? An experiment to gauge your ability to direct a daytime drama?”

Taye scoffed a laugh. “No, nothing like that.”

“No, not at all,” Fred jumped in in support of the studio’s pick.

But Jewel wasn’t about to let either of them off so easily. “Sounds like P & P is little more than a guinea-pig project as far as you’re concerned,” she threw at Taye, not particularly liking what she’d heard and letting her displeasure show. To her, the whole thing smacked of a good-old-boy hire—done quickly to fill a gap, with little thought to how such a snap decision might affect the cast.

Now, Fred Warner leaned low on one elbow, close to Jewel, obviously concerned about where this exchange was headed. “Nothing like that is going on, Jewel. Taye’s got what we…”

“Wait a minute, Fred,” Taye interrupted, slicing the air at chest level with a sweep of one hand. “I can speak for myself. I’d like to clear up Ms. Blaine’s concerns.”

“All right with me. Have at it.” Jewel sat back, ready to listen.

Turning to Jewel, Taye rounded his shoulders, gave her a quiet stare and then said, “You need to know that I’m a man who is constantly learning. Maybe that’s why I went into stunt work in the first place. Every scene, every stunt, every movie was different and I like that, as well as the challenges that come with each new film. I view risky situations as opportunities to push myself, to see how far I can go with my talent and the talent of the actors. Daytime drama will expand my experience, diversify my body of work. I view every project as a collaborative effort to perfect a common creative vision.”

“But what if the creative visions of the actor and the director are traveling separate paths?” Jewel tested, having no idea what his creative vision for P & P might be or if she’d share it once she knew. How could a hunky stunt guy whose head was filled with images of fiery action sequences and love scenes in the backs of race cars possibly grasp the nuanced passion, silky romance and complicated personal relationships that made up a daytime drama? A long shot, at best, Jewel decided.

“If there’s disagreement, then we compromise, of course. It’s all about working together to get the best footage in the can, isn’t it?” Taye asked.

A short hesitation while Jewel considered his remark, thankful that at least his answer had a ring of sincerity. Compromise was good. Working together was vital and she had no choice but to cooperate fully with Taye. After all, she had legions of loyal fans and was committed to protecting her hard-won reputation as a dependable actress who never failed to deliver exactly what her fans expected. And, she reminded herself, Taye Elliott was only a temporary hire. She’d be at P & P long after he was gone.

Forcing a more rational attitude into play, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Good approach,” she tossed back, a bit warmer. “You’re absolutely right. We all want what’s best for the show.”

Taye sagged back in his seat, seemingly relieved to have passed that hurdle. “I’ve met with Lori, your head writer, and I’m up on the current relationships, but I could still use some help with the backstory on Caprice and Darin’s long-standing love affair.”

“Sure, it’s very complicated. How can I help?” Jewel offered.

“I was wondering,” Taye started, followed by a slight hesitation. “If it’s not an imposition, think you, Sonny and I might squeeze in an hour or so tomorrow to go over a few areas of the current story line?”

In the lull that followed, Jewel calculated her answer. Should she agree? Demonstrate her willingness to help? Or let him know that Jewel Blaine had other things to do on Saturday than talk story line with her executive director? “Well, I don’t know,” she hedged, watching for his reaction.

“I know it’s short notice and I’d hate to cut into your weekend,” he rushed to add. “So, if you’re busy, I understand. Just a thought…that maybe we could get a jump on Monday, but…”

Jewel’s mind flipped to the weekend. For the first time in months, she had no public appearances, charity events, social engagements or a date with one of the devoted bachelors she partied with when she felt like hitting the club scene or going out for a quiet dinner. In fact, she’d been looking forward to a few days at home alone to catch up on fan mail or simply lounge by the pool before launching back into work on Monday. But did she really want Taye Elliott to know that?

“Saturday’s not so good,” she decided. “Really busy all morning and most of the afternoon.” She swept her tongue over her teeth, appearing to be perplexed. “And I never work on Sundays if I can avoid it. That’s my day…totally mine to relax, do nothing I don’t feel like doing.”

“I heard that,” Taye agreed with a knowing smile. “We all need downtime. But what about later on Saturday? Maybe the three of us could talk over dinner?”

Startled by his persistence, Jewel inched one shoulder higher than the other in a subtle stall, thinking that one through.

Fred shot Jewel an impatient glance, which she interpreted as It might be a good idea, Jewel, while she was telling herself, Don’t push too hard, Mr. New-to-P & P-Director. I don’t like to be crowded.

Their shrimp salads arrived, temporarily letting her off the hook as they settled in to eat. During lunch, they discussed the shooting schedule leading into May sweeps and the kind of focus Fred wanted on the upcoming episodes.

An hour later, over dessert of pecan praline cheesecake, Jewel finally answered Taye. “Tell you what,” she started. “Maybe I can squeeze in an hour or two tomorrow. Early evening. Can I call you later to set a time?”

“That’d be great,” Taye replied with enthusiasm, handing Jewel his card, seeming pleased that his request might be accommodated.

“And I’ll call Sonny. See if he can fit it in,” Jewel offered, praying her costar would be available because meeting alone with Taye Elliott didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Now, tell me how you see Caprice Desmond and Darin Saintclare’s love story unfolding during sweeps,” she asked, making a mental shift in the jumble of unanswered questions cascading through her mind.

Sitting back, Jewel listened with interest to the man whose presence was sending all the wrong signals. Whose eyes were undressing her. Whose cologne was stoking a pleasure point deep inside her core and whose voice was challenging her long-standing, never-to-be-broken rule: no romantic involvement with anyone connected with her career.

Chapter 5

Taye drove away from Bon Ami with both hands tensed on the steering wheel of his truck, as if holding on to it kept Jewel Blaine’s image from slipping away too soon. Damn, she was hot! He could still feel her luminous brown eyes engaged with his, smell the delicate perfume that drifted from her beige-tan cleavage, hear the titillating chime of her voice in his ears. The heat of his reaction filled his gut, simmering there like hot coals banked to hold their warmth. Flushed with a strange sense of anticipation, he was not surprised that just thinking about her initiated the beginnings of an arousal that had no business existing and definitely no place to go.

She was more beautiful in person than she was on TV. Soft sable-brown hair, pulled back into a cascading upsweep of curls that created a sophisticated yet playful appearance. Smoky brown eyes that could flash with intelligence or simmer in sexy seduction. Skin like satiny sweet toffee—candy that he’d love to feel melting in his mouth. A diminutive powerhouse of a woman with gorgeous curves and the electric chemistry that put her slightly out of reach, even though her low-cut blouse had exposed sufficient cleavage to tease him, to dare him to try to shatter that proper-public image she presented to the world.

Taye smiled to himself. Jewel Blaine might not know much about him, but he sure knew a hell of a lot about her. Before their meeting today, he’d scoured the Internet for information about the mega soap star, checked out her Web site and viewed hours of past episodes of P & P. He knew that she came from a small east Texas town where she’d worked as a teenage model in a local department store before coming to Los Angeles to attend UCLA. Her first job after graduation had been as a pool secretary at Metro Artists United, a talent agency where she caught the eye of an agent who put her in a TV commercial and launched her career. She had never been married, had won two Daytime Emmys, a BET Award and an NAACP Image Award. She was devoted to her fans, whom she referred to as her family and in more than one interview she’d stated that a husband and children were most likely not in her future, as they would complicate the career goals she’d set for herself.

But is she happy? Taye wondered as he tried to throw off images of his lips easing down over hers, his hands spanning her tiny waist. Had she felt the sexual magnetism radiating between them every time they’d locked eyes? His heart turned over. Was hers doing the same? A quiver of arousal slid through him, making him shudder with startling need. God, how wonderful it would be to make love to her! But that was an impossible dream.

Jewel Blaine was smart. Professional. Driven. Secure. And certainly not easily swayed. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she would question if he was the right man to direct her show.

But she’ll come around, Taye told himself, sensing that he was just the man to handle a woman like her. It was going to be an incredibly exhilarating and possibly slippery experience, but he could hardly wait to get started.

It wasn’t the single glass of white wine that Jewel had had with lunch that made her miscalculate the distance between her car and the utility van that suddenly stopped in front of her. She stomped on the brakes and held her breath as the mind-fog fueled by thoughts of Taye Elliott broke apart and dissolved.

“Damn!” she cursed as her front bumper connected with the spare tire riding on the back of the van—thankfully, the hunk of rubber cushioned what could have been a major impact. Jewel slumped back in her seat, angry with herself for losing control and allowing this to happen. She was a good driver with a spotless record, and the last thing she needed was a moving violation or an angry driver screaming in her face.

Through her windshield, she saw the driver of the van—a wiry Asian man in a white jumpsuit—hop out and go to the rear of his vehicle. While he inspected the damage, three more men, who looked as if they could have been the driver’s brothers, emerged from the passenger side of the van and joined him. They began chattering away in a language that Jewel did not understand. However, she could certainly tell by the tone of their voices and their hand gestures that they were upset about the accident.

“Oh, hell, I gotta deal with this,” Jewel muttered, flipping open the storage compartment in the dash to retrieve a card with insurance information on it. Grabbing her purse and flinging her car door open, she jumped out and looked around.

Luckily, she had turned off busy Wilshire Boulevard to take Windsor to West Eighth, and was on a side street dotted with small shops, a gas station and a huge abandoned warehouse.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she began, hurrying toward the front of her car, thankful that no one was around who might recognize her and initiate a paparazzi frenzy.

“You hit me, lady!” the driver shouted, pointing to the back of his van. “You hit me hard.”

“I know, I know. It was all my fault. I’ll take care of any damage.” Jewel offered him her insurance information, which he snatched out of her hand, glowering more hatefully at her. Jewel sucked in a deep breath, stepped over to inspect the damage and was pleasantly surprised to see that the only vehicle injured was hers—a deep scrape that ran the length of her bumper. The spare tire on the back of the van had protected the other vehicle from damage.

“Well, that’s good,” she said with an audible sigh of relief, using hand signals to demonstrate to the man that hers was the only vehicle with a problem. “My insurance will cover my car. No reason to call the police,” she said, raising her voice. “No damage to you, thank God. No problem, right?”

The man rolled his eyes and glanced, three times, from the dent in her bumper to his unscarred van while his fellow passengers crowded around. Immediately, a rapid exchange of conversation erupted—short guttural bursts thrown back and forth, sounding very angry to Jewel, who stepped away in alarm.

Easing back toward her car, she began to worry. What were they talking about? Why were they waving their arms and screaming? Deciding that she’d better call the police after all, Jewel leaned into the open car door to get her cell phone, but when she raised her head, the driver of the van was standing in her face, screaming. He clutched his left shoulder with his right hand and bent over. “Problem, lady. Big problem. Hurt. Hurt real bad.” He kept rubbing his hand back and forth over his shoulder and groaning low in his throat. His companions patted his back in sympathy making pointed frowns at Jewel.

Jewel felt her mouth go dry and the muscles in her throat clamp shut. Was this some kind of a scam? Had she been drawn into a situation that was about to turn ugly? As the realization settled in, she made a quick decision: no way was she going to fall for whatever con job or sting these men planned to pull.

Revising her approach, she turned to the driver and, using her most intimidating voice, yelled, “What in hell are you talking about?” A pause long enough for him to understand that he’d chosen the wrong sister to tangle with today. “You’re hurt?” she snapped. “I did not hit you hard enough to hurt you and you sure as hell didn’t have any trouble jumpin’ outta your van.” She almost spat the words at the man. “I hit the spare tire. I was going only twenty miles an hour, at most!”

“Bad. Hurt bad,” the driver insisted in a more urgent groan, eyes swiveling toward his fellow passengers, who nodded their agreement.

Determined to maintain control over the situation, Jewel sniffed and then squinted suspiciously at the moaning man. “Fine. If you’re really injured, I’d better call an ambulance. And the police, too.” She whipped out her cell phone and held it up, almost like a gun, thumb poised, ready to launch a 911 call. Taking care to enunciate slowly and clearly, she told him, “I am calling the police. Police? Hospital? Okay?”

The driver’s eyes widened in apprehension. He let go of his shoulder and waved both hands back and forth. “No. No police, lady. No hospital. You pay me cash money, okay?”

Infuriated, Jewel laughed in his face, unable to believe this brazen demand. How dare he try to shake her down? In broad daylight? She snorted in disgust and jabbed the air with her cell phone. “Pay you cash money? I don’t think so. You gotta be out of your mind. I have insurance. If you’re really injured, my insurance will take care of you. I’m gonna call 911 and we’re gonna stay right here until the ambulance and the police arrive, then we’ll see how hurt you are.”

The man shouted something at his companions, who scurried back into the van. The driver spat on the pavement, hurled sharp words at Jewel and then returned to his van, taking off in a squeal of hot rubber.

Shaking with outrage, Jewel got back into her car and started the engine. Driving slowly, she paid better attention to the road and did not let her mind drift back to Taye Elliott, who’d already caused enough drama for one day.

Chapter 6

Early Saturday morning Jewel awakened feeling ravenous, so she ditched her usual wheat toast and herbal tea breakfast regime and whipped up a batch of cinnamon butter sweet rolls. The impulsive indulgence seemed perfectly logical to her, considering how much stress she was under.

Setting down her fork, Jewel crossed her arms over the silky soft fabric of her pale peach shirt, her stomach in knots and her appetite rapidly fading. Her car was wrecked. Taye was coming for dinner and she hadn’t heard back from Sonny.

Why did I agree to meet with Taye tonight? she fretted. What had she been thinking, inviting him to her house? They could have met at the studio, or in a private room in a restaurant, or at Fred Warner’s business office in downtown L.A. Anyplace less intimate than her home.

Jewel shoved aside her icing-laced sweet roll when the telephone rang. She snatched it up and scowled into the receiver as Sonny told her he could not make it to her meeting with Taye tonight. Family commitment. He’d catch up with her Monday.

Frustrated, Jewel jabbed the button to end the call and focused on the back door as it suddenly opened.

The woman who entered the kitchen was humming, an iPod device plugged into her ears.

“Hello, Carmie,” Jewel called over to her assistant, who removed her ear plugs, made three quick turns to wrap the black wires around her music player and then acknowledged Jewel with a short half wave as she pocketed her keys and shut the door.

Carmie Lewis was the woman who took care of both the mundane and the extravagant details that made up Jewel Blaine’s life. She was Jewel’s go-to person, secretary, trusted friend and her conscience, too, when the situation required.

Carmie was petite, almost as short as Jewel, but heavier in the hips and thighs. She had butter-cream skin, textured copperred hair that dangled in tight curls around a wise face, cheekbones that any professional model would kill for and wide-set brown eyes that drew attention away from the sprinkling of freckles that marched across the bridge of her upturned nose. At forty-three, she was as hip, sassy and attractive as a woman ten years younger.

“Thanks for coming over so fast,” Jewel added, sounding a tad apologetic, knowing how bad traffic on the 405 could be between Ladera Heights and her home in Brentwood. Monday through Friday, Carmie managed Jewel’s correspondence, kept her calendars on track, organized her wardrobe to ensure that Jewel’s clothing delivered a diva punch without looking slutty, did the grocery shopping and most of the cooking. In fact, Carmie was an excellent cook who enjoyed showing off her skill, with special meals for her busy, on-the-go employer.

“Sure you didn’t have plans this morning?” Jewel asked.

“Nope. Just like I said, coming over now is fine, but I’ve gotta leave here by two. Hair appointment that I can’t afford to miss.” Carmie removed her reflective sunglasses and stuck them into the side pocket of her purse. “I stopped by Royal Street Market and picked up a pint of mango sherbet for dessert.” She plunked her leather patchwork purse down on the gold-flecked granite counter separating the kitchen from the breakfast area and then stuck the sherbet in the freezer. “So, what do you want for dinner?” Carmie asked as she went to the sink and washed her hands.

“Something simple, light and in the fridge…ready for me to heat up and serve.”

“No problem.” Carmie paused, frowning. “And what’s that you’re eating?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at Jewel’s plate.

“Cinnamon sweet rolls.”

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Only time you make those things is when something or someone’s gotten to you.”

With a flick of her wrist, Jewel dismissed her assistant’s comment. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, things couldn’t be better. Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” Jewel feigned, pushing her plate aside.

“Well, I’m not surprised you’re stressin’ out and eatin’ all that sugar,” Carmie stated with the authority that came from three years of working for the actress, “with all that’s been going on. First, Brad up and dies, then you get a stunt director in charge of your show and next, some Koreans try to shake you down on your way home. I told you, you need a driver. Why you insist on driving yourself around L.A. I don’t understand. Los Angeles can be a dangerous place for a woman out and about alone. You need to be more careful. If I could afford it, I’d keep a chauffeured car on call 24/7 ’cause driving is one thing I could easily give up.”

“First of all, I didn’t say they were Koreans. Asians. That’s all I said,” Jewel clarified, having anticipating Carmie’s reaction to what happened.

“Okay, Asians,” Carmie conceded. “Doesn’t matter who they are, they oughta be arrested for trying a stunt like that.”

Jewel ignored the remark and went on. “And second, I don’t mind the driving. Being alone in the car with my music is kinda nice. Makes me feel safe, not insecure or helpless. As if I can really take care of myself.”

“Is it the freedom you like or the control?”

Carmie’s question was dead serious, giving Jewel pause. As a television actress, she was surrounded by people assigned to take care of her makeup, her hair, her body, her schedule and even the meals she ate. It seemed as if some eager man or woman was always standing nearby, prepared to do things for Jewel that she had once enjoyed doing for herself. Driving her own car to work every day was her last hold on an independence she was reluctant to give up. However, she had to agree with her assistant. “All right. I want both freedom and control! So what? And please don’t play Doctor Phil with me today, okay?”

With a louder-than-usual huff, Carmie bobbed her head up and down. “All right. Don’t want my advice? I’ll shut up.” She went back to getting her meal together, while commenting over her shoulder. “My son has all of those Terror Train DVDs and I’ve watched ’em with him and his friends a few times. They’re absolutely wild! The body count is so high you can’t keep up with who’s killin’ who. And the sex? Whew! It’s a whole lot raunchier than anything you’ve ever done on P & P. Closer to soft porn, I’d say. You think Taye Elliott’s gonna spice things up in the bedroom between Caprice and Darin? Let ’em get down and dirty? Do some serious lovin’, you know?”

Jewel made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. Spice things up? Get down and dirty? Hell, no! Caprice was sensuous, seductive and sexy. Nothing remotely close to soft porn was going to appear on a network show. Surely, Taye Elliott knew how far he could push the censors, didn’t he? If not, she’d make sure to discuss that with Taye tonight.

“Have you seen any of his movies?” Carmie inquired, opening the refrigerator to remove a bag of grated cheese.

“No, of course not.” Action flicks are not my thing.

“Well, why don’t you rent one, watch it before he shows up tonight?”

“Think I should?” Why? So we can talk car chases and rollovers all evening? Or analyze fake orgasms and equally fake tits?

“Absolutely!” Carmie was emphatic.

“Well, I’ll think about it,” Jewel vaguely responded, wondering if Carmie might have a point. Perhaps viewing Mr. Elliott’s work would give her a better feel for his creative approach as well as ammunition for any disagreements they might have over his vision for P & P. “Are they in stock at Movieland?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’d have all of ’em,” Carmie replied. “But you’d better get over there before noon. After that, all the good movies are gone.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll do that,” Jewel decided, leaving the kitchen and heading toward her bedroom.

Passing through the den, she paused at the bay window overlooking the shimmering aqua pool that swept the curve of the flagstone patio. Her favorite pink rosebush was in flower, creating a vibrant splash of color against the lush green foliage in the yard. She smiled, recalling that Brad Fortune had given her that rosebush as a housewarming gift when she first moved in. She loved her house in Brentwood. It was small enough to manage on her own, yet large enough to entertain a crowd of friends when she felt like throwing a party. The one-story Mediterranean white stucco house was the perfect home for her, where she, Brad and Sonny had spent quite a few Saturday afternoons by the pool, running lines and drinking margaritas while strategizing Caprice and Darin’s next moves. Jewel shuddered, throwing off the memories, unable to imagine doing the same with Taye Elliott.

Leaving the den, Jewel went into her bedroom to retrieve her purse and her car keys. Hurrying through the kitchen, she called out to Carmie, “Be right back!” While waiting for the garage door to rise, she tried to calculate how many Terror Train films she could watch before Taye showed up at six o’clock.

Chapter 7

When the phone rang, Taye clicked Pause on the remote control and stilled the image of Caprice Desmond kissing Darin Saintclare in the backseat of a dark limousine. The episode of The Proud and the Passionate that he’d been watching was the last of Brad Fortune’s work and from it, Taye had been able to detect nuances in the characters that he wanted to recapture when he took over as director.

Now, he checked the caller ID on the phone, saw the name “Elliott,” paused, took a deep breath and then reached for the handset.

“Hey, Cliff,” he said, greeting his younger brother, the only member of his family to whom he spoke on a regular basis.

“Taye. Just checkin’ in. Hadn’t heard from you for a while, man,” Cliff replied in an upbeat tone. “Been thinking about you…What’s up out there in la-la land?”

“Nothing much,” Taye hedged, not ready to tell his brother the truth: a hell of a lot was going on. He had a new gig at CBC. He was entering the world of daytime drama. He was totally smitten with a soap star named Jewel Blaine and thought he was falling in love. But now was not the time to elaborate on his chaotic show-business lifestyle, which was much more exotic and unstable than his brother’s predictable world.

Cliff was a steady, reliable lawyer with a wife, two daughters and a home in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. His life was safe, orderly and totally removed from the shifting, gutsy environment in which Taye moved, where everything could change in a heartbeat. A deal could be canceled with a phone call. A contract broken via e-mail. A director could be fired and replaced within the span of a day, without ever being told why he was no longer needed. In Taye’s line of work, nothing was certain until it was over—until the film was on the screen, the principals had been paid and the royalties started rolling in. Until that happened, it was all speculation and he’d learned to live with the insecurities of his chosen career.

“I saw the latest Terror Train. Good stuff, man,” Cliff said. “I took Sandra to one of those advance screenings in the mall. She really got into the movie and she’s not one for action flicks, you know? The love story was what she liked best. But that gas station explosion? That was the bomb, man. Too wild!”

“Glad you guys enjoyed it,” Taye replied, then there was silence for a moment. Cliff, his wife, Sandra, and their two daughters had visited Taye in Los Angeles last year, ending a family estrangement that began when Taye defied his father and left Pittsburgh to launch his acting career. All year, Cliff had been trying to bring their tiny family back together and Taye was beginning to feel guilty for not doing more to make that happen.

“So, what’re you workin’ on now? Another movie?” Cliff asked.

“No. Not now. I’m doing TV. A great opportunity that’s gonna be a lot of fun,” Taye hedged, hesitant to go into details. After all, the directing job was only for a soap opera, not a made-for-TV movie with A-list stars. A temporary fill-in until the end of the sweeps. But why did he feel so uneasy talking about it? Did he worry that his work was somehow less important than his brother’s, his father’s? Why did he feel like he had to prove himself repeatedly? He was making a damn good living and had no reason to feel ashamed. He was as successful as his brothers, wasn’t he?

“Yeah? Television? Any show I might watch?” Cliff wanted to know.

“No, probably not,” Taye responded. “I start Monday…. I’ll fill you in later, once I get a feel for how it’s gonna play out.” Eager to move on, Taye changed the subject, inquiring after his father and other two brothers, whom he had not seen in years.

As Cliff filled Taye in on the family happenings, Taye’s mind slipped back to the day he decided to drop out of medical school, leave Pittsburgh and head to Los Angeles to try his luck in the movies. His decision had infuriated and disappointed his father, Dr. Roland Elliott, the respected reconstructive surgeon who had invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in each of his sons’ educations with the expectation that they join the family business—The Elliott Cosmetic Surgery Center.

Taye’s three brothers went along with their father’s plan and earned degrees in medicine. Don specialized in nose jobs, eyes and face-lifts. William preferred liposuction and breast augmentation. And Cliff, who went back to law school to become a medical attorney, skillfully handled the legal challenges from clients who’d expected miracle results.

When Taye tossed away his chance at a career in medicine, brothers Don and William had blasted him for being foolish and naive, calling him ungrateful and selfish for allowing their father to fund his education when he had never intended to complete medical school. Only Cliff had sided with Taye, supporting his decision to go his own way.

Over the years, Taye had tried to repay his father’s investment, but his checks always came back, uncashed. This refusal deeply hurt Taye, who saw it as a blatant rejection of all he had accomplished, further hardening his heart toward his father. He spoke to his dad on Father’s Day and Christmas Day, in conversations that were one-sided and brief. Taye missed the close relationship he’d once enjoyed with his family, but wasn’t sorry about the career choice he’d made.

“We need to get together. All of us,” Cliff was pressing. “Dad’s getting older, the kids are growing up and time is passin’, bro. Think about coming home for a visit this summer, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll think about it,” Taye agreed, knowing that would never happen. He had too much to take care of in L.A.

After hanging up, Taye put Cliff’s call out of his mind and resumed the DVD he’d been watching. In less than half an hour, he had to be at Jewel’s house, but he wanted to see how the episode concluded.

Watching closely, Taye studied Caprice Desmond as she snaked her arms around Darin Saintclare’s neck and smothered him with a kiss. It was long and deep, ending when she slid her hands down to rest them on Darin’s thighs, very near his crotch. The scene brought a surge of heat into Taye’s belly, initiating an unexpected hard-on.

But I’m a hell of a lucky guy, Taye decided. He was actually going to direct that gorgeous woman! Watch her every move through the camera lens. Listen to her sexy voice, inhale her perfume and spend hours in conversations that he hoped would spill off the set and into more intimate settings. Taye shook his head, knowing he shouldn’t have such cozy thoughts about an actress under his direction, but couldn’t help himself. Engaging in a fantasy romantic encounter with Jewel Blaine was the only indulgence he could afford.

I wonder what she’s doing right now? He let his thoughts wander. Getting ready for our meeting? Stepping out of the shower? He could just imagine what she looked like wrapped in nothing but a towel, a damp swell of soft tan breasts peeking over the fold of white terry cloth.

Blinking away that vision, he refocused on the television where the romantic scene in the limo was giving way to a lover’s quarrel about Caprice and Darin’s upcoming separation. Taye kept one eye on the flat-screen TV as their argument unfolded and continued to dress, stepping into a pair of navy slacks and pulling on a crisp white shirt.

When the credits began to roll, Taye paused to think over what he’d just seen, realizing he’d expected much more emotion from Caprice at the end. More desperation. Remorse. Even fear. In Taye’s opinion, the scene had not inflicted enough emotional damage to the couple’s rocky relationship. It had been a predictable, satisfying exchange, but Taye would have done it differently.

Taye wanted Caprice Desmond to show more spunk, deliver more spark. As it stood, Caprice was coming off as a tiger that had been tamed. A domesticated wildcat seething with desire, which needed to break free.

Taye tapped his key chain against his thigh and mulled the episode, knowing Caprice’s undercurrent of simmering emotion had teased him, lured him into anticipating a climactic explosion that simply hadn’t materialized. He felt cheated and let down.

It’s time for Caprice Desmond to create some havoc, he decided. Become a mega diva wildcat that the fans will absolutely love…or hate. Either way, they’ll watch every episode to see what she’s gonna do.

Taye knew how to get what he wanted on film. He’d moved audiences, literally, to the edges of their seats, infusing them with awe, shock and fear laced with hope. He could do the same for the fans of P & P by making them hunger for Caprice Desmond’s next move like chocolate junkies craving a fix. He planned to engage and outrage her fans, encouraging them to cry for more. What Jewel Blaine needed was a director who could expose and exploit the raw undercurrent of heat that Taye knew she possessed. And I’m the one to do it, he vowed, knowing it could happen now that he was in control.

Chapter 8

The loose yellow-and-tan-print cardigan, paired with sleek chocolate-brown leggings, was the perfect backdrop for the chunky tiger’s eye and butterscotch jade necklace that Jewel bought last summer in Hong Kong. Two tortoiseshell cuff bracelets stacked on one arm and ballerina flats in metallic tones of gold and rust completed her casual at-home outfit. A short blast of Glossy Girl hair shine over the curls she’d arranged in a bouncy cascade at the back of her head and Jewel was ready for her meeting with Taye.

Deciding what to wear tonight had taken up the better part of the afternoon as Jewel pawed her way through her massive walk-in closet, examining different outfits. At work, her character’s clothes were like props, extensions of Caprice Desmond’s personality and attitude that helped set a mood or define her motivation. Caprice was a clotheshorse diva with an extensive P & P wardrobe that was trendy, hip and fashion-setting edgy. However, when Jewel Blaine was out of camera range and ready to relax at home, she preferred comfortable, easy-to-wear pieces that reflected her more conservative side.

The doorbell rang at exactly six o’clock. As Jewel had expected, Taye was on time and when he shook hands with her, in what she thought was a much-too-formal manner, her anxiety level dropped and the tension she’d been carrying around all day vanished.

What had she been worried about? she wondered, knowing she’d allowed her mind to conjure up wild scenarios about his arrival: that he would lean in and make an air-kiss just below her ear. That he would give her a firm hug of welcome, bringing his body in touch with hers. That he would make some flip remark that would shift their meeting from a discussion about P & P into a more personal zone. Clearly, she’d worried for no reason.

“Hi. Glad you could make it,” she told Taye, letting go of his hand and waving him through the candle-lit foyer toward the den. She was struck once again by his fresh lemony scent and wondered if it came from the soap he used or his cologne. Either way, she knew she liked it very much.

“Hey, I’m just glad you were able to squeeze me in. Hope meeting here at your house hasn’t inconvenienced you,” Taye remarked in a breezy manner.

Jewel laughed as she escorted Taye over to the white leather sectional that faced open French doors leading onto the patio. The first streaks of an orange-red sunset shimmered in the pool’s dark water.

“Great pool,” Taye remarked, walking over to the door to look out into the yard. “You a good swimmer?”

When he turned to look back at her, Jewel opened her mouth, thought a minute and then ducked her head in embarrassment. “I have to confess…I’m not. But I do water aerobics in the pool with my trainer a few times a month. I play around in the shallow end, swim a few laps now and then, but I don’t dive off the board into the deep end. That’s where I draw the line.”

Taye stuck a hand into the pocket of his navy slacks and tilted his head to one side, an inquisitive expression overtaking his features. “Really? I’m surprised you don’t swim. Why not?”

“I dunno. I think my fear of diving started when I took swimming lessons back home in Texas. It was not a good experience.”

“Too bad, but you do look like the swimming type,” Taye observed.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Clearly you’re in great shape and you don’t strike me as the type who goes in for lifting weights in the gym.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Tennis, then, perhaps?” he probed.

A hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth as Jewel shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Power walking, the treadmill?”

“You got me. That’s what I like to do.”

“Hmm, hmm. I thought so. You like to be toned, but not bulky. You like cardio, but prefer to do it alone. I’d guess you’re not much into competitive sports. Am I right?”

“You’re very observant,” Jewel commented, actually appreciative of his remarks. “Do you always pay such close attention to the exercise regimes of your actors?”

“I’m a director, remember? I watch actors all day. Size them up. Figure out what works for them.”

When he scanned her with a slow shift of his eyes, Jewel escaped his pointed assessment by moving behind the bar on the other side of the room. “What can I get you to drink?” Jewel asked.

“What do you suggest?” Taye responded, still standing by the door, resting one shoulder on the frame, watching her with measured eyes.

Jewel raised a bottle with a colorful sunburst label on the front. “I can recommend this crisp chardonnay from the vineyard of a friend of mine who lives in the Russian River Valley.”

“Sounds perfect. Want me to open it?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it,” she said, feeling his gaze on her hands as she worked the opener into the cork and poured the wine into two marquis cut crystal glasses. She was thankful that the marble-topped bar provided a barrier between them and support for her to steady herself.

“Tell me more about your nonswimming life,” he continued in a playful tone. “You blame it on what again?” Taye approached, accepted the glass of wine and took a sip. “Very nice,” he murmured with a satisfied nod as he settled on a bar stool across from her.

Jewel leaned over, both arms on the bar, chin up, thinking back. “I waited too late to start taking lessons,” she decided, picking up their conversation. “I was thirteen years old. Didn’t want to get my hair wet, didn’t want the boys in my class to see me in a swimsuit and didn’t want water up my nose. I did everything possible to stay out of the pool.”

“That’s too bad. Ever think about taking lessons again?”

“Absolutely not. I’m happy to sit by my pool and drink in the sun and watch others splash around.”

“You prefer to play it safe, huh?”

“Sometimes,” she tossed back. “Depends on what’s going on.”

“You never know when you’ll find yourself in a dangerous situation. Where you’ll have to take a chance.”

“But that doesn’t happen very often,” Jewel tossed back.

A long beat while they locked eyes.

Jewel walked from behind the bar. “I’m rarely blindsided by something that I know I can avoid,” she remarked, successfully disarming his banter. “Why don’t we eat before getting down to business?” she suggested, motioning for Taye to follow her into the dining room where they helped themselves to the seafood quesadillas and jicama salad that Carmie had prepared.

Moving to the round glass-topped table near the patio door, they ate, drank wine and chatted about industry-related topics like the blockbuster opening of the latest Batman movie and how action films were raking in big bucks. This was the perfect opening for Jewel to tell Taye, “I enjoyed Terror Train 1, 2 and 3 very much.”

He almost choked on a mouthful of salad. “You saw them?” he blurted, seeming genuinely surprised.

Jewel let a slow, secret grin ease over her face, enjoying the shocked expression that overtook Taye’s features and glad she’d taken Carmie’s advice. “Yes, I rented them this morning and watched all afternoon, although I have to admit that I squeezed them in between phone calls back and forth with my insurance company and the Lexus car dealership.”

“Oh? Something wrong with your car?”

“Nothing serious. I had a minor fender bender on the way home yesterday.”

“After lunch?”

“Yea. My fault. Not paying attention. Guess I was distracted.”

“By what?”

“Nothing important,” she lied.

“Were you hurt?”

“No. No one was injured.”

“That’s good.”

“Right. So, I’ll take my car in to be fixed Monday. Insurance will cover it and that’s all there is to that.” She shrugged. “One of those stupid self-inflicted scratches.”

A knowing grin. “Happens to all of us sooner or later. Need a ride to the studio Monday?”

“No, the dealer will have a driver take me in and, hopefully, deliver my car back to me by the time I’m ready to leave.”

“Good. Now…about my movies…you really enjoyed them? Truthfully?”

“Yes, I did, but in the second film, how did you convince Marilu Gale to squeeze into that child-size bed with Danny Lowe for their love scene? It was so cramped in that sleeping car! Must have been a claustrophobic situation for everyone involved.”

Taye laughed, agreeing. “It was. As I remember, there was nothing romantic about that scene. Blazing one-hundred-degree heat in the desert, trapped inside a stripped-down train for nine hours, with too many people and too many complaints. Whew! That was not a memorable shoot.”

“If the public only knew what you directors put your actors through…” Jewel teased, letting her sentence drift off as she got up and went back to the buffet table. “Ready for dessert? Then we get to work, okay? You’ve gotta taste Carmie’s lemon cream pie.”

“Sounds perfect,” Taye agreed, accepting a generous slice of the creamy confection Jewel handed to him.

When they had finished eating, they spread their scripts and yellow legal pads out between them, as if afraid to allow an unscripted moment to slip in and challenge their all-about-work agenda.

Tipping his head slightly toward Jewel, Taye launched into his assessment of the status of P & P and then listened to what she had to say, making it clear that he was extremely interested in her opinion.

“I think Darin has the bigger problem and that he’s trying to make it look as if Caprice is at fault,” Taye remarked after Jewel’s recap of the latest plotline. “He’s ruthless, power-hungry, scheming. And he has Caprice fooled into thinking she won’t be affected by his problems. What might work is to change Caprice’s direction.” Taye paused, sipping from his wineglass. He was about to go on when Jewel interrupted.

“Where do you think Caprice ought to be?” she queried, wanting to hear what Taye had in mind.

“Into her messiest confrontation yet. Where Caprice will have to carry the weight…you know, become the heavy and let Darin get more sympathy. I viewed the footage of the scene in the limo…where Darin pushes Caprice to come home. She’s gotta be desperate enough to make Darin fear their relationship might implode. I want her to inflict more emotional damage. Their romance is too predictable, satisfying but not electrifying. She’s gotta absolutely refuse to go along with Darin, sending him into total confusion.”

Jewel sat forward, making a small jerk of surprise with her shoulders. Something in Taye’s remark had alarmed her. “I don’t know about that, Taye. That’s not the way Brad wanted the scene to play.”

“Brad’s no longer the director.”

His words were clear and firm. So terse they sent a flash of annoyance through Jewel, who promptly replied, “But you told Fred and me that you planned to stick close to Brad’s interpretation, even use some of his footage as flashbacks.”

“Yes, I did.” Taye hunched over the table, a somber mood emerging. “But I’ve changed my mind. I want to reshoot the limo scene and maybe the beach scene, too.”

“Go back on location in Texas?” Jewel groaned. Hitting the road again was not high on her agenda. Too much turmoil, drama and friction. All she wanted to do was to stay home and get back to her normal routine.

“Not far. I can shoot closer to home, on Catalina Island. No need to go back to Galveston. But it’s gotta be reshot because it’s not on the mark.”

“In what way?” Jewel prodded, beginning to wonder if Taye Elliott was a man whose word meant very little. “What’s on your mind, Taye?”

“Flipping Caprice’s reaction to Darin completely.”

“You want to change Caprice’s motivation?” Jewel gave him a disbelieving chuckle. “Why?”

“So she can push back harder. State what she wants in a way that shows how desperate she is. After all, she’s got a lot to lose, too. I just don’t like that undertone of weakness that I’m getting. Regret weakens any character.”

Jewel didn’t respond right away, but simply sat quietly and listened as Taye forged ahead with his vision in an overconfident rush to prove what he could do. When he’d finished talking, she spoke up.

“Sorry, Taye. I totally disagree. Making Caprice so overtly aggressive will be disastrous. She’s aware of the damage she’s done. She’s gotta be contrite and vulnerable…this keeps the tension high.”

“No…it doesn’t,” Taye rejected with a snap. “It keeps Caprice in check when she needs to cut loose and challenge her self-imposed inhibitions.”

“But she’s not the real risk-taker. Darin is. There’s a predictable sense of stability and cautiousness that fans expect of Caprice. Altering that would destroy a major character trait that I’ve worked hard to develop. Caprice Desmond is a unique person. Complicated, yet easily accepted…if you understand her extensive backstory.” Which, obviously, you don’t, Jewel was tempted to add. Sitting back, she crossed her arms at her waist and waited for Taye’s reply.

The whir of the pool sweeper making its way across the water filled an awkward pause. When Taye broke into a wide grin of defeat, she flinched. “Touché,” he conceded, jabbing the air with his index finger, giving Jewel her props. “You know your character better than I ever could, so we’ll keep her reaction as you played it, but I still plan to reshoot the beach scene on Catalina so our visuals will be consistent now that we’re staying in California.”

“Sounds fine,” Jewel stated, pleased that they’d been able to compromise so easily, and certain Lori Callyer, P & P’s head writer, would certainly back Jewel up. “I appreciate your taking my input into consideration. Brad, Lori and I could usually work through these kinds of glitches and compromise.” She sighed in relief. “You know what, Taye? This get-together was a good idea. We’re on such a cramped shooting schedule and we’ve got so much work to do, this will help us move more quickly Monday.”

“I hear you,” Taye agreed.

“Thanks for agreeing not to change Caprice…or me.” Her voice slipped low, her words fading into a hush.

Taye slowly lifted his palm toward Jewel and rocked her with a steady gaze. “Don’t worry, Jewel. Changing anything about you is the furthest thing from my mind. I like you just the way you are.”

Jewel felt her entire body go on alert as his remark resonated through her veins. His intent was so obvious. She gave him a slow blink of her eyes, knowing if she tried to talk, she might blunder into territory that ought to be avoided. After composing herself, she spoke her mind. “Taye, we can either dance around this issue all night or clear the air right now.”

“I’m listening,” Taye replied, cool and unruffled.

His wide-eyed, little-boy innocent expression rattled Jewel’s nerves. She inhaled a stream of air and then swallowed with a gulp. “Taye, I will follow your direction and give you my best performance. Every day. Every take. We’ll work closely together, perhaps become friends. But that’s all. I want you to understand that I’m all about business. The success of P & P is all I care about, okay? There can’t be any reason for either of us to feel uneasy working together. Got that?”

When he didn’t reply, Jewel rose from her chair, went to stand behind it and leaned against its back. Studying Taye as she steadied herself, she waited for his reply, hating that his crooked half smile was turning her insides into jelly. “Agreed?” she pressed again.

His nod implied an affirmative answer, but the expression on his face sent Jewel a completely different signal.

Taye wished desperately that she was not Jewel Blaine, the actress he’d have to face on the set every day, because at that moment all he wanted to do was corner her behind that bar and push her up against that cool black granite, press his tongue between those full red lips, nibble her earlobe and ease himself deep into what he imagined was a sizzling-hot center that needed cooling down. But that wasn’t going to happen, so he’d better get a grip and pull himself together. With a jerk of his chin, Taye forced the blood zinging through his veins to calm down, told his heart to stop thumping so raggedly in his chest, unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and ran it over his lower lip.

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