Starstruck by Anne McAllister Page A

baked.” He looked at her as Theo did when he was trying to convince her that rocky road ice cream was far better than vanilla.
    “Hash browns would be great.”
    He looked pleased, starting up the engine and waiting patiently for a break in the traffic. Liv watched him, liking the way he handled her car, liking the way his glasses perched on his nose, making him look scholarly as well as sexy, liking the way his jeans hugged the contours of his thighs. She removed her gaze from his pants and watched him shift gears. He had strong hands, capable ones with long, slender fingers sprinkled with dark hairs. She glanced at the man driving the car next to them. He was laughing at something the woman in the car with him had said. They looked like a happily married couple. Like us, she thought suddenly, and blushed.
    How fanciful that is, she chided herself. Joe Harrington was not any old married man, nor was he likely to become one. Especially not with her. Just because he looked ordinary enough didn’t mean she ought to be getting ideas about him. This man raked in millions yearly making movies and providing hot copy for all the latest personality magazines.
    “I saw what you meant,” she told him as they wound their way back to Joe’s new house on the lake. “You were all over the covers of the magazines I saw.”
    Joe groaned audibly. “And don’t believe a word you read of it. It’s all ‘ J OE H ARRINGTON WAS MY LOVER — AGING STARLET TELLS ALL,’ or ‘ J OE H ARRINGTON—IS HE REALLY LIKE S TEVE S COTT?’ or ‘ J OE H ARRINGTON’S BIGGEST SECRET.’ ” He shook his head wearily. “It makes me sick. Which one did you see?”
    “It wasn’t too awful. Just a rehash of your early interviews.” Then she felt the color creep into her cheeks as she realized that she had admitted to having read all his early interviews. “And pictures. Lots o f pictures,” she added quickly.
    “I can imagine,” Joe said dryly.
    “You and Luther Nelson.”
    “Yeah. He’s not a bad guy, except when he wants something from you.”
    “You and Linda Lucas," Liv went on, hating the catch in her voice.
    “Hmmmm,” Joe replied, whatever that meant. It certainly wasn’t a denial of involvement with her. Liv knew she could hardly expect one. Joe had never been a saint. Still, she would have liked to know if he was still seeing her. Or anyone else. He was probably an expert at dangling four or five women at a time. Damn, she thought fiercely, why do I even care? Why am I letting myself be one of them ?
    The answer to that was increasingly obvious. She couldn’t seem to help herself. No willpower, she thought glumly. No self-discipline. A living example of the expression “putty in his hands.” If only he weren’t Joe Harrington she would feel a lot better about the way he attracted her. Joe Harrington’s biggest secret, she thought wryly, was how he could make normally sane, intelligent women forget their common sense and fall for him even against their better judgment.
    “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “You should see the expressions on your face.”
    “About Joe Harrington’s biggest secret.” She grinned.
    He laughed softly, then his eyes grew serious though he still smiled. “We’ll have to talk about that,” he promised. “Later.” And her heart quickened in response. “Right now I’m starving. And I bet you are, too.”
    True to his word, the moment they arrived at his house, Joe settled her into a leather-covered armchair, propped her feet on the hassock and handed her a glass of wine, saying, “Now, relax and enjoy it and watch the master chef at w ork.”
    “Those are daring words,” Liv countered. “Especially from someone who’s never cooked in this kitchen and doesn’t know if there’s a frying pan to be found.”
    There was. And Joe proceeded to amaze her with his ease in the kitchen. Another side of the man to like, damn it, she thought as she sipped her wine and watched him move