Chapter Four

 

THE ORCHESTRA WAS POSITIONED to the rear of the stage, the pianist testing a few quick chords to loosen his tension. The dancers in their practice leotards were posed around Ruby Gale, standing at front center stage. Beyond them the backup vocal group was fanned out.

This was a practice session, a dry run before tomorrow's dress rehearsal and the following night's concert. Each one of the songs and dance routines would be performed so camera angles could be corrected and the lighting adjusted.

The cameras were warmed up. Everyone on stage was waiting for the cue from Claude, the floor director. Dane Kingston was in the control booth in the van parked outside. It was his instructions and directions that were coming over Pet's headset.

"Camera two, we'll be opening with you," he informed Pet. "I want a close-up shot of Miss Gale, widening on my order. We'll be coming to you next, camera three. All right, we've been through this number twice already. I want the tape rolling on this one."

Pet nibbled at her lower lip, tension building as she rechecked her focus. She knew the procedure. The practice tape would be made and reviewed later that night for any final changes in angle or lighting. All of tomorrow's dress rehearsal would be taped, since the concert show was a one-time performance. There were a dozen things that could ruin a song at a lire show. In that event, the dress-rehearsal tapes would be a back-up that could be edited into the final product.

"Tape is rolling," Dane stated.

"Let's have it quiet!" Claude instructed the cast, and absolute silence descended on the center.

From this point on, the only voice would be Dane's as he communicated with the cameras, Claude, the soundman and the lights. Mentally Pet blocked out everything else. Someone else would be responsible for the quality of the sound, the tempo of the music and the volume of the singer on stage.

"All right, two." Dane's voice was calm, and Pet relaxed, too, now that the taping had begun. She didn't notice the signal Claude gave, nor hear the heavy beat of the base drum begin the song. The titian-haired Ruby Gale filled her camera lens, inviting and beguiling blue eyes staring straight at the camera.

As she began to sing the first lyric, Dane ordered, "Widen the shot, two! Slowly," he emphasized, then a little sternly as she began to reverse the zoom, "Don't lose focus, Wallis! Camera three, get ready. We're coming to you. Now!"

Pet didn't need to consult the paper clipped to her camera, listing the various angles of her coverage in this song. The next one was to be an overall shot of the entire stage, including the orchestra and performers, then narrowing in to isolate the star singing within the circle of male dancers.

"Hold the shot, two. We're on you," Dane advised. "When she moves stage left, go with her, Wallis." Pet tried, not very successfully, as Dane's angry voice informed her, "You're letting her get behind a dancer. Three, take it on the turn—quick! You blew that shot, Wallis."

She gritted her teeth, not convinced the fault had been entirely hers. She suspected the dancer had been out of position, although no one was ever precisely where he was supposed to be. Either way, there wasn't time to dwell on who had been in error. She had to be in position for her next shot.

Meanwhile, she listened to Dane heaping praise on Andy. "Great shot, one." The even pitch of his voice didn't change, although a level of amusement entered it. "I didn't know you had it in you, Turner. You'd better make certain you can do that again." Then, crisply, "You're off center, Wallis. I can't come to you until you have Ruby in the middle. You've got it!"

Concentrating, Pet followed the star through her next sequence of steps and its accompanying song lyrics. Her coverage was flawless. But she didn't receive the deserved praise from the control booth; Dane's attention was occupied elsewhere.

"Baxter, you're in three's picture. Duck behind the reed section," he ordered the cameraman on stage with the handheld camera. "Okay, three, it's yours."

As the song drew to an end, Pet's was the last shot. It was to be a close-up on the star while she belted out the last line, then opening to full length and finally widening to full stage. The first Pet executed perfectly but she faltered on the second.

On the third, Dane was barking in her ear, "Loosen it up, two! I said, loosen it up," he complained. "Hold it!" The song was finished. There was a mental countdown ticking in everyone's head. Then Dane gave the order, "Stop tape."

"Good job!" Claude called to the performers on stage.

His voice unfroze them from their positions. There was an instant gabble of voices and movement everywhere. Pet released an unconscious sigh and turned off her camera. The tension of needing to be as soundless as possible had been lifted.

A public-address system had been connected between the stage and the control van to extend Dane's communication link to the performers. It was switched on now and his voice filled the theater.

"That was a great number. You were sensational, Ruby," he praised her.

The compliment brought a radiant smile to the star. She blew a kiss in the direction of the loudspeaker over which his voice had been projected, and glided into the wings. Just as quickly, the PA system was switched off and Dane's voice was again restricted to the headsets of the crew.

"Claude, get the group set up for the next number," he advised the floor director.

But it was Lon Baxter's voice that dominated the earphones, "Hot damn! Did you guys watch her strutting through that number? She sent my blood pressure soaring!" His compliments became punctuated with swearwords, as if vulgarity somehow emphasized his enthusiasm.

"Let's clean up the language!" Dane snapped. "You're forgetting, Baxter, that there's a lady listening."

"A lady?" Lon questioned, then hooted, "You mean Pet?"

"That's exactly who I mean!" wag Dane's angry and silencing retort.

In the past, Pet had always turned a deaf ear to that kind of language rather than inhibit her male co-workers. If they weren't able to talk freely, she had always felt she would be driving a wedge between herself and them. So she didn't welcome this interference from Dane Kingston.

"Don't worry about it, fellas," she said into her microphone. "I have special earphones that automatically censor any words that might shock my virgin ears. All I hear is a confusing set of bleeps."

"Miss Wallis—" Dane's voice came low and threatening over the headset "—I give the orders around here. It's of little interest to me whether you would be offended or not. As long as I'm running this show, there isn't going to be any more of that kind of language around a woman. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly." She ground the response through her teeth, crimsoning at his sharp reproof.

"Now that we all understand one another, let's get ready for the next number. Ruby is doing a solo on stage. You shouldn't have any trouble this time, Wallis, in making sure no one else blocks the star out of your shot," he suggested sarcastically.

Pet seethed at that totally unjustified slur on her ability, and clamped her teeth down hard to hold back a sassing reply. She had already been the recipient of several rebukes from him and she didn't intend to invite another.

But it seemed nothing went right after that. One major production number went continuously wrong. Either a dancer missed a cue, or Ruby Gale muffed the lyrics, or the assigned camera lost the shot—usually Pet, it seemed. Finally Claude murmured to Dane that maybe it was time for a midafternoon break since their star was showing signs of screaming.

The minute Dane voiced a reluctant agreement, Pet tugged her headset off and hopped down from the platform. Her long blond ponytail was swinging back and forth like a cat's tail lashing in anger as she walked swiftly down the aisle for a tall cup of iced tea.

Without saying a word or waiting to see if anyone wanted to join her, she pushed out of an exit door and walked outside. Frustrated by her own apparent inability to do her job right and angered by the way Dane kept pointing it out to her, she needed to escape the tense and stifling atmosphere inside the building.

It was a hot July afternoon, but the air was fresh, circulated by a gentle breeze. She found a shady place to sit where the breeze reached her, and lighted a cigarette, hoping the nicotine would calm her jangled nerves. Some of the others wandered outside, as well. When Charlie walked over to enjoy the shade she had found, Lon and two others followed him.

"It may be hotter out here, but it's a lot more peaceful," Charlie sighed.

"It's a good thing Claude suggested a fifteen-minute break," Lon remarked. "We came very close to seeing that temper Andy has been telling us our star has. You should have heard some of the things she said to that poor dancer who forgot the routine! If Dane thought my language was out of line, he should have heard some of the words Ruby Gale used."

Pet wished he hadn't brought that earlier matter up. As if he realized what he had said, Lon glanced at her, noting her strained and downcast expression. A rueful grimace twisted his mouth.

"I guess I do owe you an apology, Pet. Some of the things I said were really off color. I forget sometimes that you're not one of the boys. I'm sorry," he offered.

"Forget it. I have." She crushed out the tasteless cigarette.

"I agree with you, Lon," Charlie inserted. "Dane was right to remind us that Pet's a woman. A lot of times we don't show her the respect that we should."

"Listen, I've never asked for any special treatment from you guys," she reminded them.

"If you think I'm going to open a door for you, you're crazy," Lon joked, trying to make Pet see the situation with a little humor.

"Sorry, I'm a little touchy. It's been a rotten day what with Kingston constantly harping on me" Pet explained with a genuine effort to contain her irritation. "I can't seem to do anything right."

"Maybe you're trying too hard," Charlie suggested.

"It sure sounded like Dane was singling Pet out for more than her share of criticism. Of course, that's just my opinion," Lon shrugged. "I don't know how it looked on the monitors. Maybe you had it coming."

"I just wish he'd quit picking on me—in general," Pet sighed. "I can take criticism, but I'd like a pat on the head every now and then."

"Don't let him get to you," Charlie urged, and rubbed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're good at what you do. Just remember that."

"Hey!" Claude stuck his head out of the exit door. "Everybody back inside. Let's get to work!"

Pet followed the crew inside and took one last drink of her iced tea before throwing the cup in the wastebasket. Then it was back on the platform to warm the camera up and try the same number that proverbial "one more time."

The short break didn't seem to improve anything. By the end of the day she was a ball of nerves, stretched thin and coiled tight. As always, the ride back to the hotel was noisy, which didn't help. The crew tended to make up for so many hours of enforced silence by laughing and joking at a fever pitch of excitement. Usually such gaiety was the ideal means of relieving their stress, but it didn't work for Pet this time.

At the hotel she didn't dawdle in the lobby or corridor with the boys, but went straight to her room and almost directly into the shower. She didn't take the time to dry her long hair. Instead she wound it into a golden brown bun on top of her head, crisscrossing a pair of jade pokes through it for an Oriental look. Her jade silk blouse buttoned up the front with a mandarin collar and a hand-embroidered water lily on the left side. The top was complemented by a pair of mother-of-pearl slacks. It was usually a morale-boosting outfit that enhanced her proud carriage, but she didn't feel any better when she studied her reflection in the mirror.

Sighing, Pet left her hotel room. Too on edge to have dinner yet, she decided to stop in the lounge and have a relaxing before-dinner cocktail with the boys. Her plans went awry when she walked into the dimly lighted bar and didn't see Charlie, Andy or any of the regular group. At a table near the bar she noticed Claude, Joe Wiles, Dane Kingston and the audio man, Greg Coopster, all seated together.

She started to leave, then decided to have a quiet drink by herself; after all, that was the reason she had come into the lounge. When Joe spoke and the others glanced around, Pet just nodded. She didn't approach their table as she made her way to a secluded booth in the corner. The barmaid came to take her order.

"A glass of sherry, please." Why on earth had she ordered that? Pet wondered when the miniskirted girl had walked away. Was she trying to prove what a "proper" lady she was?

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes in her purse, she shook one out. The lighter flamed with a quick snap. As she lifted the light to the cigarette, a shadow blocked what little light reached the corner booth. Her hand began to shake even before she looked to see who was there.

Because she had already guessed it was Dane Kingston. Lowering the hand holding the cigarette to the table to hide its trembling, she slowly turned her head to meet his gaze. The forbidding thinness of his mouth didn't make her feel any more comfortable. He bent forward to lean a hand on the table. It was an action that struck her as threatening despite his cold attempt at a smile.

"Would you care to join us, Miss Wallis?" he invited.

"No." She didn't temper the flat refusal and looked away to take another puff from her cigarette, pretending to ignore him. Which was an impossibility.

"I insist," Dane commanded firmly. "You shouldn't sit alone in a strange bar."

"You're impossible, do you know that?" Pet flared, unleashing the anger she had kept bottled up inside her all day. "First you criticize me for being the sole female drinking with a group of men I happen to work with, saying that it didn't look ladylike. Now you're upset because I'm here alone. Why don't you make up your mind?"

She didn't like the sudden flash of amusement that glittered in his dark eyes. Agitated, she looked away again. "Nothing I do ever pleases you," she complained bitterly.

The barmaid came back with her glass of sherry. Dane had to move to one side so she could serve it. After the girl had left, instead of resuming his former position, he slid onto the booth seat beside Pet. Initially she was too startled to offer a protest. Once she felt the contact of his hard thigh alongside hers, she couldn't seem to breathe, let alone speak.

Aware that his head was turned so he could watch her, Pet stared at the glass of sherry sitting on the cocktail napkin. She didn't even notice the ashes building up on the end of her cigarette or the gray blue smoke curling from its tip. His gaze was making a slow inspection of her profile; she could feel it as certainly as if he were touching her.

"Do you want to please me?" The drawled question suggested intimacy lightly spiced with a vague curiosity.

His implication sent her imagination off on a forbidden tangent. If he could affect her this deeply just by sitting next to her and hinting at familiarity, how would she feel if he made love to her? Her heart knocked against her ribs.

"I couldn't care less," she lied, impatient with herself for being physically disturbed by him. It gave false credence to her statement. She reached for the sherry glass. "Why don't you go away and leave me alone? I was doing fine before you came along."

"A woman alone in a bar is a target for any man who walks in. You can't sit here by yourself," Dane insisted, gently this time.

But it only increased his attraction and made her all the more determined to resist it. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted to be picked up by some—traveling salesman?" she challenged angrily.

His gaze narrowed to bore relentlessly all the way to her soul. "Is that what you want?"

Bravado failed her, but she managed to hold on to her poise. "All I wanted was a quiet drink before dinner and a chance to relax. If you're finally satisfied, will you please leave?"

"I'm not going to let you sit here by yourself. Bring your sherry over to our table. We're going over tomorrow's schedule," Dane told her.

Sighing, Pet could see that she had about as much chance of persuading him to leave as she did of moving a mountain. If she couldn't move the mountain, the only alternative was to remove herself.

"You obviously didn't hear me. I said I wanted a quiet drink and a chance to relax. Neither would be possible in the middle of a technical discussion," she retorted, and opened her purse to take out the money for her drink and leave it on the table. "Would you please get out of my way so I can leave?"

"But you haven't had your drink." His gaze roamed over her face, stubbornly not moving until he found out her intentions.

"I'm taking it into the restaurant with me, surely it can't be a crime if a woman has a glass of sherry in the restaurant before dining alone?" Pet challenged.

"It might be a shame, but I don't think it's a crime," he agreed, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in amusement.

"Then would you mind getting up so I can leave?" she demanded in a voice that was growing steadily thinner with the strain of his nearness.

With the suggestion of a smile still playing at his mouth, Dane slid his brawny frame out of the booth and rolled effortlessly to his feet. The touch of his hand was pleasantly firm as he helped her out.

"We'll be playing today's tapes about an hour from now in one of the meeting rooms to make any last-minute changes. If you're through with dinner by then, you can join us." He didn't release his hold of her elbow even though she was standing and didn't require his assistance anymore.

His fingers transmitted the natural warmth generated by his body and sent it spreading up her arm. It made her flesh tingle quite pleasurably. Briefly, she was tempted by the prospect of spending more time in his company until she remembered the tapes they would be viewing. She had endured enough of his criticism for one day.

"Is that an order?" she questioned, turning to pick up her drink and thus forcing him to release her arm.

"No, you aren't required to attend." Something flickered in his look—displeasure, perhaps.

"Then I respectfully decline," Pet replied with faint mockery. "Excuse me."

Pausing long enough to inform the barmaid that she was taking her drink into the restaurant, she entered the dining room through the connecting door to the lounge. She did eat alone. It wasn't until the waiter brought her coffee that any of the crew arrived. Pet could have joined them, but there wasn't any point.

Too restless to return to her room, she wasn't in the mood for the kind of shoptalk the group would be having in the lounge, so she wandered outside to stroll around the pool area and watch the sunset from a lounge chair. Reentering the hotel, she stopped by the small gift shop and newsstand to look around.

Ruby Gale's face stared at her from the cover of a movie magazine. Curious, Pet leafed through the pages to find the article about the star. Several photographs of Ruby accompanied the write-up. One of them was a picture of the redhead and Dane Kingston lying side by side on a beach mat. Ruby Gale was wearing the scantiest bikini Pet had ever seen, but it wasn't the woman that riveted her attention.

It was Dane in his dark swimming trunks. Lean and powerful muscles rippled across his chest and shoulders and held his stomach flat. The implied strength in the sinewed columns of his legs reminded Pet of nude sculptures she had seen of Greek gods. The tight-fitting material of his swimming trunks molded his narrow hips, sending her blood pounding with its emphasis of his virile, male shape.

She quickly studied his expression. He wasn't smiling, but there was a self-satisfied look about him that indicated just as plainly that he was enjoying himself. And the lazy way his eyes were lingering on the woman beside him indicated that she was the cause of his pleasure.

Irritated at herself for becoming so absorbed in the photograph of him, Pet abruptly closed the magazine and set it back on the shelf. She was adult, no longer given to crushes on men who were unattainable. But was he unattainable, a little voice argued. She ignored the question. That kind of thinking would ultimately bring her grief. Before leaving, she bought a pack of cigarettes and promised herself she'd stop smoking soon.

Crossing the lobby, she turned down the main corridor of the hotel. Joe Wiles walked out of a meeting room, leaving the door ajar, and started down the hall ahead of her. Pet glanced in the room as she went by, but there was only a member of the hotel staff inside, emptying ashtrays and carrying away the coffee cups. She quickened her steps to catch up with the heavyset man.

"How did the meeting go?" she asked.

The carpeted hallway had muffled her footsteps. Joe's balding head turned with a jerk at her question.

"You startled me," he accused without anger.

"Sorry. Did you make many changes after you saw the tapes?" She walked with him. For the time being, they were both going in the same direction.

"Surprisingly, very few, and most of those were minor," he replied. "Audio has some problems that they have to correct, but Dane was satisfied with the video. He's going to experiment with the switcher tomorrow, try for some different effects on the solo numbers."

"But it looked good?" Pet persisted. It didn't seem possible that Dane was as satisfied with the results as Joe implied.

"Of course. Did you think it wouldn't?" His smile was a little confused. "It will be even better tomorrow. Having everyone in costume will really make a difference in the finished product."

"Yes, I know it will," she agreed absently.

"What time does the dining room close?" Joe glanced at his watch. "I haven't eaten yet and I'm starved."

"I think they stop serving at eleven."

"I'd better hurry." He raised an eyebrow. "I'd like at least to wash and change my shirt before I eat."

They reached the point where the corridor branched into two separate halls. Pet turned left. "I'll see you in the morning, Joe."

"Good night." He waved,

Arriving at the door to her room, she searched through the bottom of her bag for the key. Just as she found it, the door opened in the room directly opposite the hall from hers, and Dane stepped out.

"Is that your room?" Pet blurted in surprise.

"Yes, conveniently located to keep an eye on you." The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile.

She hadn't expected him to admit such a thing. His frankness irritated her. She turned to unlock her door.

"As you can see, I'm retiring for the night—all alone—without any of the boys tagging after me. You don't have to worry about checking on me tonight."

"I'm not checking on you," Dane chuckled. "It's purely coincidence that my room is across the hall."

Instead of feeling better, she felt worse. She had been foolish to believe he was so concerned about her that he was virtually standing guard over her. To add to her difficulties, the lock was being its usual stubborn self and resisting her attempts to turn the key. Dane was watching her struggle with it, which made Pet even more uncomfortable.

She tried to urge him on his way. "If you're going to the dining room to eat, you'd better hurry. I think they stop serving at eleven."

"I'm not on my way to the restaurant." He crossed the hall. "Give me the key. There's a trick to unlocking hotel doors."

It was simpler to hand him the key than to argue, so she did. "Have you had dinner already?" she frowned. "I thought the meeting finished only a little while ago. I just met Joe in the hall."

"It just broke up," he agreed, and inserted the key in the lock again. "And no, I haven't had dinner."

She studied his bent head and the curling thickness of his dark brown hair, and her hands itched to run their fingers through his hair and feel those vigorous strands beneath her palls. She was shaken by the force of that unbidden desire. She clenched her hands tightly around her bag in case she unconsciously gave in to it.

"You have to eat." She tried to concentrate on the subject. "It isn't healthy to skip meals."

With a deft twist of his wrist he turned the key in the lock and pushed her door open. "Don't worry. I'll have room service send a sandwich or something up to the suite," he promised smoothly as he turned to face her.

"The suite?" she repeated. Separated from him by only a few feet, she noticed the shadows along his cheeks. The lights overhead were bright, clearly illuminating his rugged features. The darkness was obviously caused by a fast-growing beard.

Her thoughts returned to the implication of his statement. "Then you're on your way to Miss Gale's hotel."

"Yes," he nodded, and moved out of her doorway.

"At this hour?" She said exactly what was on her mind and instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, it's really none of my business."

"It isn't," Dane agreed, but he regarded her with lazy indulgence rather than anger. "After viewing the tapes tonight, I have a couple of things I want to suggest to her before tomorrow's dress rehearsal and taping."

"You don't have to explain to me." Pet didn't want him lying and making up excuses. Surely he realized that she had heard the gossip about the torrid affair he was having with Ruby Gale!

She had taken one step across the threshold into her room when his finger touched her chin and turned her head to look at him.

"Don't I?" he queried softly.

He was suddenly very close. His rough male features seemed to fill her vision, leaving room for nothing else. Alarm fluttered her pulse, sending danger signals through her veins. She didn't dare believe what her senses were saying. Dane was on his way to see Ruby Gale. She mustn't forget that, or that photograph of the two of them in the magazine.

"Don't you think you should shave first?" she suggested with an admirable degree of calm.

His hand was removed from her chin to rub his cheek. The action produced a faint rasping sound of beard stubble scraping across his skin. He seemed to have been unaware of the growth until she called his attention to it.

"Does it bother you if a man shows up to see you with a five o'clock shadow?" he asked.

"It doesn't bother me," she shrugged. "But I'm not Miss Gale."

"No, you aren't." When he took a step forward, Pet took one backwards and bumped against the door. "Your key."

She felt foolish for retreating like a timid schoolgirl before her first kiss when she saw the room key in his hand. Her fingers loosened their death grip on her handbag to reach for it but they weren't given the chance to take it from him, because the key was forgotten entirely as he lowered his mouth onto hers, blotting out everything.

A splintering shock held her motionless until the warm taste of his mouth melted her stiffness. She responded easily to the persuasive ardor of his kiss, a glow spreading through her veins. There was even pleasure in the light scrape of his beard against her soft skin. Desire grew within her to deepen the kiss, to realize the potential delirium that it promised.

Something cold and flat slipped inside her blouse where the top set of buttons was unfastened. Her skin shrank from the contact, but couldn't elude it. It took her a dazed second to identify the object as a metal key. The discovery was followed close on the heels by the realization that Dane's fingers were guiding it inside the left under cup of her bra.

Before she could protest his flagrantly intimate action, Dane was lifting his head and withdrawing his hand from inside her blouse. She tried to look indignant, but she wasn't very successful—the smoldering gleam in his dark eyes told her so.

As if to prove how completely within his spell she was, he circled her left breast with his large hand. The possession was light, in no way forcing her to endure his caress, while claiming his right to do so.

"Now you've finally pleased me, Pet," he murmured in a voice that nearly melted her knees. "Get a good night's Sleep, hmm?"

While she was still trying to surface, he was moving away from her and striding down the hall. In a wonderful kind of daze she stepped the rest of the way into her room and closed the door, trying to figure out how it had all happened and what it meant.

The first was easy because she recalled vividly the comment she had made in the bar that she couldn't please him. She remembered that Dane had asked if she wanted to. If that kiss was a sample, she definitely wanted to please him.

But why had he kissed her? Because she was an attractive woman and willing to be kissed? There was nothing wrong with that: it was a normal, healthy reaction. Except that Pet hoped it was more than that. She didn't like to consider the possibility that it might never happen again.

Sighing, she turned to bolt and latch the door. The action caused the room key to jab its point into the soft curve of her breast. She reached inside her blouse to take it out and return it to its rightful place in her handbag.