CHAPTER THREE

 

"Rock, you can't say that," Carey cried.

Rock knew his brother wasn't protesting him threatening the producer, he was upset big brother had said to go ahead and black ball him.

"I think it would be a good idea to go to the hotel, before tempers prevail." Ms. Morganstein stood and put her hand out. "Thank you for the coffee."

Alaskan rules of hospitality, much less common courtesy, demanded he take the woman's hand and acknowledge her thanks with a nod.

The others stood as well, the two assistants heading for the door like they had a bear on their tails. Pale and tugging at the collar of his trendy shirt, Carey looked like he'd like very much to join them, but he didn't.

As angry as Rock was at little brother, he felt a twinge of compassion and respect.

The director frowned at Carey and shook his head, but he offered Rock his hand. "I can appreciate your frustration right now, but I hope as a fellow businessman you have some sympathy for our point of view."

Rock didn't say he never would have signed a contract, much less transported an entire film cast and crew before being absolutely sure of the rights of use on a location property. No need to rub the other man's nose in it.

He did appreciate that Carey had put the film makers between a rock and a glacier, but sympathy might be stretching things a little.

Rock shook the director's hand, surprised at the firm grip. "Don't be too hard on Carey. He's got his reasons for doing what he does, and I expect you sympathize with them better than I do."

Gamble's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I suppose I do."

Carey stopped in front of Rock, his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast and his mouth turned down at the edges. "I'm sorry, Rock. I thought you'd understand. That you'd want to support me reaching the dream Mom and Dad never managed."

"Damn it, Carey. You know I wanted something else for you."

"So, you're going to undermine my big chance?" Carey looked up at him, but his brother's expression didn't have the petulance his words implied.

"None of this is on me, kid."

Carey sighed. "I know."

"Oh, hell." Rock grabbed his brother and pulled him into a hug. "I'm still here for you, Carey."

Carey hugged him back, tight. "I know. I just wanted..."

His brother let his voice trail off and they both were probably better off for it. Carey stepped back. "I better get out there. Mr. Gamble and Ms. Morganstein are probably pretty mad at me right now."

"You think?"

Carey grimaced. "Yeah, well..."

"Come back for dinner later."

"You mean that? You want to see me later?"

Rock rolled his eyes. "You're my kid brother. I love you. Yes, I want to see you."

"Okay. Well, I'll see if it's okay with um, Mr. Gamble, I guess."

Rock nodded. His brother had a lot of explaining to do and as much as Rock might wish otherwise, he didn't think his own involvement in this fiasco was at an end.

Carey left and Rock was surprised a second later when a small, feminine hand landed on his arm. Deborah.

Every zing of sexual current humming through his body earlier came back in full force as he turned to face her, careful not to dislodge her hand from his arm.

"It was nice meeting you, though I can say with absolute sincerity I wish it had been under different circumstances." She smiled ruefully.

Rock's hatred for the industry fought with an unexpected desire to make things better for her. "Me too."

Her pretty lips settled into a wry line, but the smile remained in her eyes. "You know the old saying. If wishes were horses..."

"All beggars would ride." He'd like to ride her into tomorrow.

Hell, into next week.

Something must have shown on his face because her nostrils flared and her dark gaze heated. "I know what you're thinking."

"You think so?"

"I'm sure of it." Her voice came out low and sultry.

Not the time or the place, but he sure enjoyed the affect it had on his body.

She sighed, letting her hand slide along his arm before falling away. "And I really shouldn't be wanting the same thing."

"But you do."

The shake of her head was less a denial than clear confusion.

He had no way of knowing if she had a string of lovers back in Hollywood, or not, but something told Rock this woman didn't give into her sensual instincts all that often.

The urge to reach out and touch rode Rock hard.

This was so unlike him.

He didn't have irresistible urges. Yes, he was a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. But, he was a businessman with a reputation for emotionless rationality.

To be turned on to a woman so deep and so fast just wasn't in him.

Or so he'd thought.

Reaching out, he gave into the need. His hands settled on her shoulders, seeming to fit there just right. "You're a beautiful woman."

"I pay a lot to keep these flawless looks." Her honesty surprised him.

But he liked it. "Is it worth it?"

"I used to think so."

"Not anymore?"

"I don't know."

He didn't press for more. Somewhere in the back of his head was the knowledge people were waiting on her, people he didn't want back in his house right now.

He leaned down, stopping with his lips almost brushing hers. "I don't kiss women I just met."

"I don't either."

"I figured."

"Men or women."

He smiled. "I figured that too."

And then he let their lips connect. Hot lava erupted and rushed through his bloodstream, telling him how stupid this move really was.

He wanted to carry her back up to his bed, but now was not the time. Could not be the time.

 

She made a small sound of shock and then just melted into him. Damn it.

She was definitely feeling it, too.

It took all his control to keep his hands where they were and the kiss to lips only; he knew if he got tongues involved he would be lost. Even so, his cock went harder than frozen titanium, pressing against his jeans and aching for her sweet depths.

Deborah's lips moved against his with equal urgency, but she kept her hands to herself.

The sound of a car honking outside came right before Deborah's phone started playing a full orchestra version of the William Tell Overture.

Their lips clung even as he stepped back.

He dry-washed his face with his hand. "You have to go."

"I do."

"Maybe I'll see you before you leave Alaska."

She jerked like something in his words had brought her back to earth with a thump. "Maybe. You sure you won't honor that contract Carey signed?"

"Yes." But damned if something inside him didn't warn him he was a liar.

 

"You can't be serious." Deborah stared at the three people who had crowded into her rustic room at the Northern Lights Lodge.

Her producer, her director and that darn Carey James.

He and his brother were lethal to her equilibrium, if for entirely different reasons. She had not even the tiniest desire to kiss the younger man giving her his most winning look.

Carey's smile turned up another hundred watts. "He's into you. I'm sure he'll listen to reason if you talk to him."

She couldn't deny the attraction, but somehow, she didn't think Rock Jepsom was a man who let himself be led around by his dick.

She crossed to the window, putting as much distance between herself and the others in the room as she could. "You're his brother. You talk to him."

"I tried. We all saw how well that went." Carey rubbed the back of his neck. "It didn't get any better when I went back there for dinner."

She bet that was an interesting conversation. Rock had been pretty restrained in front of everyone. She would like to have seen him showing some real emotion.

And not just the need to have sex.

Though she'd enjoyed that kiss more than she wanted to admit, even in the deepest recesses of her own mind. She touched her lips in memory and then dropped her hand fast when she realized what she was doing.

Carey's expression turned genuinely sad, if Deborah could believe her eyes and not his acting ability. "Rock refused to let me even mention anything to do with Hollywood at dinner."

There was something in Carey's demeanor that said he'd wanted to talk to his brother about his life in Las Angeles maybe even more than the movie. He looked vulnerable and possibly a little desperate.

However, Deborah couldn't forget the younger man had brought this on himself and he'd put her career at risk as well. "Maybe you should have tried it first without the whole movie entourage, you think?"

"Hey, Ms. Morganstein thought it was a good idea."

"Did you?" Deborah asked, not willing to let the younger actor off the hook so easily.

Carey's gaze shifted to the side and he shrugged.

"You know your brother better than any of us." With great effort, Deborah refrained from rolling her eyes. The truth was that obvious. "You knew he wasn't the kind of man who was going to bend to pressure."

"He's stubborn at the best of times, but you get his back up and he gets as immovable as his namesake," Carey admitted.

That's what she thought. "You had to know bringing us all in to his home was going to do just that."

"I suppose. Just this once, he could have seen reason, though. People change."

Deborah didn't agree. Not men like that. "If you say so."

"Look, he's pissed at me about this right now," Carey said. "He's not going to listen to anything I say, no matter how much sense it makes. You were the only one he was nice to."

That wasn't precisely true. Rock hadn't been mean to Carey. In fact, he'd repeatedly made it clear he considered his home as Carey's and hugged his brother good-bye.

Her parents would have thrown everyone out on their ears, including Deborah. "He was polite to all of us, considering the circumstances."

"But he wants you," Carey wheedled. "He doesn't just go for women like that."

"He didn't go for me." Which was an outright lie, but one she felt she had a right to.

Carey didn't look convinced. Neither did the other two.

"You were in there quite a while after we left," Ms. Morganstein observed.

Art Gamble had that calculating gleam in his eyes that never boded well between an actor and a director. "And you looked like you'd been kissing."

"I was thanking him for his hospitality."

Carey made no effort to hold back his own snort of disbelief.

Deborah rounded on him. "And you think I should do what? Offer him my body in exchange for use of his land?"

Carey and the director both looked hopeful, which probably should have made her angrier than it did. She'd been on her own in the world too long to be entirely surprised by their reactions.

Ms. Morganstein had enough sense to shake her head. "No, of course not. But you can talk to him. You're invested in this working too. Need I remind you that you exchanged part of your own salary for a production credit on this film?"

"No, or course not."

Art rubbed his chin. "You aren't going to direct one scene, much less two if this film doesn't get made."

"You're directing two of our scenes?" Carey demanded.

"Not our scenes--" Deborah started to say.

"That's not important right now. What is important is that Deborah has as much invested in this film going forward as any of us, maybe more than some of us." Ms. Morganstein's subtle reminder that Deborah's career wasn't setting the world on fire and this chance to move behind the camera didn't come along every day wasn't needed.

Deborah was aware. She stifled a sigh and refused to let the frown that wanted form on her face surface. "I know."

"You're not getting any younger," Ms. Morganstein pressed.

"I know." And Deborah really didn't appreciate having those facts rubbed in her carefully preserved face.

She'd managed to avoid plastic surgery and the use of Botox to this point, but she wouldn't be considered for anything but character roles pretty soon. No matter how good her skin regime and how careful she was about the nutrients she put into her body.

Ms. Morganstein's knowing eyes said Deborah's thoughts were transparent to her. "This is your chance to make a name for yourself, especially if you're hoping to make the shift to behind the camera. Art and I could do things for you beyond this film. Open doors."

The classic stick with a carrot at the end. Deborah felt manipulated, just like Rock no doubt did. She'd spent enough years in the business to know the studio execs didn't just take off the kid gloves, they'd never worn any. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

"All I have to do is convince one very stubborn and obviously extremely private man, who wants nothing to do with us, to change his mind about allowing us to use his home for a movie shoot." Piece of cake. Right.

Completely ignoring the thick sarcasm in her tone, Art clapped his hands together and smiled a shark's grin. "Exactly."

"I was being satirical."

"I'm not. You need to do this, Deborah." There was no question the producer was extremely serious. As in make or break your career serious.

"You can do it," Carey said persuasively. "My sister always has better luck with Rock than I do."

And the obvious reason for that had never occurred to Carey? "Maybe because what she asks for isn't so far from something he wants to do."

"He'll love having a movie made that saves the beauty of Jepsom Acres for posterity. It'll be great." Carey's eyes wide with sincerity and the enthusiasm in his tone said he really believed that.

"Are you on something?" she demanded.

Carey blushed and ducked his head. "No. Of course not. Rock might not know it yet, but he really will love the movie. It's in his blood as much as mine."

"I think he wishes it wasn't in yours."

"Nah. He says stuff, but that's just Rock. He was proud of Mom and Dad too. He's got a whole gallery wall dedicated to their achievements."

"Does he really?" That was unexpected.

"Yes."

Maybe it wasn't as hopeless as it first appeared. "Okay, I'll try to talk to him."

"Great! Look I'll take everyone on a tour of Cailkirn tomorrow, let them get to know the area. You go hang out with Rock."

Right. She'd just go hang out with the man that made her panties wet just being in the same room.

No room for disaster there. None at all.

 

Deborah pressed the buzzer on the gate for Jepsom Acres, startled when the voice that answered was female. Then she realized it must be Mrs. Painter.

"Hello, this is Deborah Banes, Carey's um..." Friend wasn't the right word but calling herself his costar right now would be pretentious. "Coworker."

"Is Mr. Rock expecting you?"

"No, I'd hoped he could give me a few minutes."

A moment of silence ensued and then, the woman said, "Come up to the house. You can have a cup of coffee at least."

"That would be lovely, thank you." Deborah didn't drink coffee, but she wasn't about to offer that little tidbit as a reason to go away.

The gate slid back, allowing her to drive the rental car up the long, but well-maintained drive. Following her instincts, Deborah pulled around behind the house and parked next to a late model bright yellow compact four-wheel-drive. Deborah didn't see a large man like Rock driving such a small car, much less one in such a cheerful color. It must belong to the housekeeper.

And he must pay his housekeeper better than most of Deborah's jobs paid her because that particular car didn't come cheap, despite its size.

Mrs. Painter opened the back door on Deborah's knock, the older native Alaskan woman's smile welcoming even as she peered past Deborah. "Good morning. Mr. Carey isn't with you?"

"He wanted to take some of the others on a tour of the town." Chilled in the morning Alaskan sunshine, Deborah was glad for the teal, double-breasted short trench coat she'd donned before leaving the hotel. The low seventies were winter temperatures for Southern California.

"I see." Mrs. Painter waived Deborah inside. "I hope he had the sense to book it with the MacKinnon boys."

"I'm not sure." But Carey hadn't said anything about having a guide.

The kitchen was as impressive as the rest of the house. Immaculate stainless-steel appliances complimented beautiful beams and exposed wood.

Mrs. Painter nodded toward a tall stool at the far side of the large island that held the range top. "Give me your coat and have a seat."

Deborah laid her quilted Chanel knockoff on the counter, then slipped out of her coat before handing it to the housekeeper. "Thank you."

"I'll just hang this in the mudroom." Mrs. Painter went back into the small annex to the kitchen they had just come through.

Deborah was sitting on the stool the other woman had pointed out when Mrs. Painter returned to the immaculate kitchen seconds later. She smiled at the older woman. "Carey is very lucky to be able to call this place home."

"That boy. He doesn't have the sense God gave a cat." Fondness along with a good dose of exasperation laced Mrs. Painter's tone.

Deborah did her best to stifle the laugh that wanted to bubble up. "He's young."

Not sure if it was Carey's apparent intention to guide the film crew around town on his own, or more likely his signing a contract turning his childhood home into a film location that had upset Mrs. Painter, Deborah forbore commenting any further.

Mrs. Painter filled a silver coffee percolator with water. "Mr. Rock was taking care of him and their little sister when he was that age. It wasn't easy either. You think those flighty Jepsoms left their kids more than a barely improved lot of land and a tiny life insurance policy? If it hadn't been for the payout from the airline after the crash, they wouldn't have had more than a pot to piss in."

"I didn't realize that." She'd thought Carey was wealthy and said so.

"Oh, he had a decent inheritance by the time he reached the age of eighteen. But that was Mr. Rock's doing. He's a financial genius."

And stubborn. And as sexy as any man Deborah had ever met.

Deborah cleared her throat. "Um, I don't actually drink coffee."

Mrs. Painter didn't stop what she was doing. "Oh, I remember, but Mr. Rock does. So, do I."

"Oh, okay. I just didn't want you going to trouble for me that would be wasted."

Mrs. Painter smiled. "Would you like water again today, or can I tempt you with ice tea?"

"I don't actually do any kind of caffeine." All part of keeping youthful skin.

"Not even chocolate?" Mrs. Painter demanded, sounding shocked at the idea.

"Especially not chocolate." Which was usually laden with fat and sugar, two things on her carefully moderated list.

"Mr. Rock would die. Chocolate is his weakness."

The idea of the overwhelming man being a chocoholic made Deborah smile. "Maybe I should have brought a box of fudge as a peace offering on behalf of the film company."

"Maybe Carey should have thought of it," Mrs. Painter said with a frown and a shake of her head. "He doesn't mean to be thoughtless. I know he doesn't."

"He has a good heart." Deborah wasn't sure it was true, but it seemed like the thing to say.

"He does," Mrs. Painter agreed with an expression that said she knew Deborah wasn't convinced of the fact. "Rock raised him right, even if he doesn't always show it."

Deborah was impressed with the other woman's loyalty and the kind of sacrifice she alluded to on Rock's part. "He must care about his younger siblings a great deal."

"Are you surprised?" the other woman asked with a smile. "He practically raised them single-handedly a long time before they lost their parents."

"I couldn’t have done it without you." Rock's deep tones rolled along Deborah's spine and settled right between her thighs. She squeezed them together in an involuntary movement.

"Well, you wouldn't have eaten nearly as often or as well, that's for sure." Mrs. Painter grinned. "And I wasn't there in the early years. You didn't move to Cailkirn until you'd about raised yourself. Not that you ever taught yourself to cook."

Rock's laugh was warm, and Deborah felt like she was lucky to be witnessing it. "They say charcoal is good for you."

Mrs. Painter shook her head. "For soaking up poison maybe."

"So, cooking is not your forte?" Deborah found herself smiling along with them, enjoying the proof that Mr. Amazing wasn't perfect after all.

"Not even a little." He inhaled appreciatively. "Is that fresh coffee I smell?"

Mrs. Painter patted his arm. "You know it is."

"Just what I've been needing."

"Well, it's about time for your midmorning coffee break."

"You take good care of me, Mrs. Painter." What would it be like to be the recipient of that affectionate and clearly appreciative look?

"Someone has to." Mrs. Painter gave Deborah a conspiratorial smile. "You don't want to know what he can do to a simple box of macaroni and cheese."

Deborah laughed, charmed by the color that slashed along Rock's chiseled cheekbones. "I wouldn't have survived the early lean years if I couldn’t cook that."

"So, you can boil water and read instructions?" Mrs. Painter teased, clearly implying Rock couldn't.

"Yes, but I'm no gourmet." Considering the limitations of her diet to maintain her figure, learning to cook anything fancy would be a complete waste of her time. "I do make a mean smoothie though."

When she had the money to support it, she practically lived on organic smoothies.

"Too busy acting for normal meals." Rock made it sound like hers was the only job that interfered with regularly scheduled life and she knew it wasn't.

She was a waitress at a health food café on the side. Talk about demanding hours and odd schedules. Working in the food industry was no picnic.

She lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug. "Or working so I can keep trying to act."

She might not eat eighty percent of what they offered on the catering tables during a job, but when she was acting, Deborah's meals were actually more regular and elaborate than when she was on her own.

Rock nodded, his expression somber. "It's a hard life."

"But worth it." The words came out more by habit than intent. She just wasn't sure anymore if it really was.

There had been many more lean years than easy ones, starting with college, and Deborah missed having a family. She missed having friends who wouldn't stab her in the back for a chance at a role. Not that everyone in the industry was like that, but it was a cutthroat business with thousands of hopefuls for every success.

Deborah had been burned enough she stayed away from the tempting flame of friendship with her coworkers now.

Rock settled onto the stool next to her. "Did Carey send you here to talk to me?"