“Damn it, Brad, I wouldn’t do what you’re asking even if I were single!”
Brad stood up, walked to the teakwood bar, and set the drink he had just reclaimed down with a thump. When he turned to face Mallory again, his eyes were snapping, even though his voice was low and evenly modulated. “Mallory, we are talking about big, big money here—millions.”
“I don’t care.”
“Damn it, I do!” Brad retorted. “If we have to recast your part, production will be delayed.”
“Then production will be delayed!”
“Mallory—”
“No. Damn it, Brad, no. I wasn’t planning to renew my contract as it was—”
Brad swore roundly. Then, without another word, he grabbed his overcoat and stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the doors behind him.
Having been wrenched, in just one morning, from one emotional extreme to the other, Mallory folded. She sank into Nathan’s chair, set her drink on the table beside it and wept softly into both hands.
She caught Nathan’s clean, distinctive scent just as he drew her up out of the chair and into his arms.
“What did that bastard say to you?” he wanted to know, but his tones were infinitely gentle.
Mallory could only shake her head and cry harder.
“Okay,” Nathan conceded softly, his hand warm and strong in her hair, his lips brushing her temple. “We’ll talk about it later. But if I see that guy again, he may have to order new knees.”
Despite everything, Mallory giggled into the fragrant warmth of Nathan’s red T-shirt.
Her husband caught one hand under her chin and tenderly urged her to look up at him. Briskly, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe we were conducting a rather interesting reunion before we were so rudely interrupted.”
Sniffling and smiling through her tears and already warming to the hard, insistent nearness of this man she loved so fully, Mallory nodded.
Nathan laughed softly. “I’ll be with you in a minute—just let me make a sign for the front door.”
Mallory lay in bed, looking up at the black velvet expanse of the skylight. The snow was melting, leaving shimmering beads of water in its place. Beside her, warm and solid, Nathan slept the sleep of the exhausted. Tenderness welled up inside Mallory as she turned to look at him, to gently trace the outline of his strong jaw, his arrogant chin, his neck. He stirred but did not awaken.
Mallory smiled. Nothing would disturb his desperately needed sleep—nothing. If need be, she would have fought tigers to see to that.
Gently she kissed the cleft in his chin. “I love you, Nathan McKendrick,” she said softly. Then, snuggled close to him, she slept.
The bright warmth of undiluted sunshine awakened Mallory the next morning, aided by the cold, wet nuzzling of Cinnamon’s nose in her face. The dog whimpered as Mallory sat up, wriggled impatiently as she crept out of bed without awakening Nathan.
“Shh,” she ordered, raising an index finger to her lips. “I know you need to go outside.”
Cinnamon whined as Mallory scrambled into her clothes, again wishing that she’d left the dog behind on the island. Keeping the poor creature in a penthouse was inexcusable.
In the outer hallway as Mallory and Cinnamon waited for an elevator, Mallory made up her mind to correct the mistake that very day. Provided the ferries were running again, she would take the dog home.
Outside, the glaring brightness of the day greeted them, as did the inevitable clamor of a big city. Horns honked, boat whistles whined and cars rushed helter-skelter through the glistening slush on the roads.
Cinnamon was terrified.
In a grocery store some blocks away, Mallory bought two cans of dog food, having left Cinnamon to wait bravely on the sidewalk.
Because the weather was so beautiful and Cinnamon seemed calmer, Mallory decided not to go directly back to the penthouse. Even though Nathan would be there, the blue and gold day was simply too appealing to be abandoned so quickly.
They walked,
Brad stood up, walked to the teakwood bar, and set the drink he had just reclaimed down with a thump. When he turned to face Mallory again, his eyes were snapping, even though his voice was low and evenly modulated. “Mallory, we are talking about big, big money here—millions.”
“I don’t care.”
“Damn it, I do!” Brad retorted. “If we have to recast your part, production will be delayed.”
“Then production will be delayed!”
“Mallory—”
“No. Damn it, Brad, no. I wasn’t planning to renew my contract as it was—”
Brad swore roundly. Then, without another word, he grabbed his overcoat and stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the doors behind him.
Having been wrenched, in just one morning, from one emotional extreme to the other, Mallory folded. She sank into Nathan’s chair, set her drink on the table beside it and wept softly into both hands.
She caught Nathan’s clean, distinctive scent just as he drew her up out of the chair and into his arms.
“What did that bastard say to you?” he wanted to know, but his tones were infinitely gentle.
Mallory could only shake her head and cry harder.
“Okay,” Nathan conceded softly, his hand warm and strong in her hair, his lips brushing her temple. “We’ll talk about it later. But if I see that guy again, he may have to order new knees.”
Despite everything, Mallory giggled into the fragrant warmth of Nathan’s red T-shirt.
Her husband caught one hand under her chin and tenderly urged her to look up at him. Briskly, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe we were conducting a rather interesting reunion before we were so rudely interrupted.”
Sniffling and smiling through her tears and already warming to the hard, insistent nearness of this man she loved so fully, Mallory nodded.
Nathan laughed softly. “I’ll be with you in a minute—just let me make a sign for the front door.”
Mallory lay in bed, looking up at the black velvet expanse of the skylight. The snow was melting, leaving shimmering beads of water in its place. Beside her, warm and solid, Nathan slept the sleep of the exhausted. Tenderness welled up inside Mallory as she turned to look at him, to gently trace the outline of his strong jaw, his arrogant chin, his neck. He stirred but did not awaken.
Mallory smiled. Nothing would disturb his desperately needed sleep—nothing. If need be, she would have fought tigers to see to that.
Gently she kissed the cleft in his chin. “I love you, Nathan McKendrick,” she said softly. Then, snuggled close to him, she slept.
The bright warmth of undiluted sunshine awakened Mallory the next morning, aided by the cold, wet nuzzling of Cinnamon’s nose in her face. The dog whimpered as Mallory sat up, wriggled impatiently as she crept out of bed without awakening Nathan.
“Shh,” she ordered, raising an index finger to her lips. “I know you need to go outside.”
Cinnamon whined as Mallory scrambled into her clothes, again wishing that she’d left the dog behind on the island. Keeping the poor creature in a penthouse was inexcusable.
In the outer hallway as Mallory and Cinnamon waited for an elevator, Mallory made up her mind to correct the mistake that very day. Provided the ferries were running again, she would take the dog home.
Outside, the glaring brightness of the day greeted them, as did the inevitable clamor of a big city. Horns honked, boat whistles whined and cars rushed helter-skelter through the glistening slush on the roads.
Cinnamon was terrified.
In a grocery store some blocks away, Mallory bought two cans of dog food, having left Cinnamon to wait bravely on the sidewalk.
Because the weather was so beautiful and Cinnamon seemed calmer, Mallory decided not to go directly back to the penthouse. Even though Nathan would be there, the blue and gold day was simply too appealing to be abandoned so quickly.
They walked,
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