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He had to come home soon.

Patty’s cell phone rang, and she lunged for it. Maybe Robin had gotten a flat tire and needed roadside assistance. “Hello?”

There was a pause, and then “I’m sorry,” a male voice said. “Do I have the right number? Is this Patty Lashane? I was expecting an answering machine or voice mail . . .”

It wasn’t Robin. Patty sighed. “This is she.”

“I’m sorry to call so late. I just got home and got your message—I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “You must be either Carl or Wayne or—”

“It’s Wayne Ickes.” He pronounced it “Ickies.” Goodness, what a name.

She found his résumé and the form he’d filled out when he’d come for the extras casting. “Here you are. Are you available tomorrow at . . . Oh, we won’t need you until noon.”

“Noon’s great. Absolutely. Thank you.”

Patty told him the studio address and the check-in procedure. “You’re all set,” she said. “Thanks for calling—”

“Have you gotten used to the L.A. traffic yet?” he interrupted her to ask. “When we met at the casting call, you said you’d just arrived in town and that the crush on the freeways was blowing your mind.”

“Oh,” Patty said. “Yeah. No, I’m—”

“You said you didn’t like driving in rush hour, even back in Tulsa,” Wayne said.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s—”

“And I said, my college roommate’s sister lives in Tulsa and . . .” He laughed. “You don’t remember our conversation at all, do you?”

She flipped over his résumé to look at his headshot. He was average looking, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a pleasant smile on an equally pleasant but otherwise unremarkable face.

He’d remembered she was from Tulsa, and she wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a police lineup if her life had depended upon it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “But I met over seven hundred actors that day.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Beep.

That was the sound of Robin’s car alarm being set, from out on the driveway. He was finally home.

“Hey, you know—” Wayne started, but she cut him off.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” Sure enough, she heard voices in the foyer. Robin talking to what’s-his-name, the scary-looking security man. “Tomorrow, noon,” she reminded Wayne, and hung up.

Heart pounding, she went into the hall.

“I locked it,” Robin said as the Navy SEAL—the one he thought of as the X-Man, because, like Cyclops, he normally kept his oddly pale-colored eyes hidden behind sunglasses—started down the curved center staircase.

“Yeah.” The man came all the way down to the foyer anyway. “Thanks. I still need to check it.”

“Be my guest.”

Light gray. X-Dude’s eyes were such a light shade of bluish gray that they appeared to be almost white. He looked a little like Neal McDonough’s bigger, uglier brother.

As Robin watched, the SEAL checked the knob, but then threw the dead bolt—which he’d forgotten. “Oops,” he said. “My bad.”

“S’why I check,” Cyclops told him, already starting back up the stairs.

“You ever think about getting into acting?” Robin asked.

He didn’t break stride. “Nope.” He gave Robin a nod. “Night.”

Taciturn bastard—couldn’t even take the time to say it properly.

Although it wasn’t a good night. It was just another night that Robin had managed to get through without completely screwing things up.

All night long, he’d stayed far, far away from little Patty Temptation’s apartment.

Instead he’d gone clubbing in West Hollywood with Harve and Ricco, two of his gay caballeros. He’d started hanging with Harve and company as part of his preliminary research for playing Hal Lord. He’d never played a gay character before—never gave too much thought to the entire alternative lifestyle thing.

So he’d watched a bunch of episodes of
Queer as Folk
—which had freaked him out a little—and had asked Harve, who’d done the special effects makeup on Janey’s last movie, if there was even a modicum of truth in the Showtime TV series’ portrayal of gay life.

Harve’s response had been to take Robin clubbing.

And Robin had discovered that real gay bars weren’t as “male only” as they seemed to be on cable TV. He’d also discovered that gay bars were a great place for a straight man to hang out. Because gay men had female friends who went clubbing with them. And most fag hags, contrary to what the name implied, were far from actual hags.

Tonight he’d danced with some young lovely named . . .

Crap, he’d already forgotten her name. She’d had a pierced tongue—that much he remembered. Which had made it hard to close his eyes and pretend he was with—

“Holy Jesus!” A shadowy shape was standing at the end of the hallway leading to the offices.

And okay, he’d thought he’d merely gotten his swerve on, but he must have miscalculated, because he was hallucinating now. Either that, or Patty really was standing there, backlit like an angel.

Either way, he was royally screwed.

“I’m sorry—” Yup, it was definitely her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She took a hesitant step toward him.

“No,” Robin said. “That’s okay, that’s . . . What are you still doing here? You should’ve gone home hours ago.”

“Oh.” She was flustered. “I was working on . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. . . .”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Robin was unable to keep from moving closer to her. “Just . . . don’t let Janey take advantage of you.”

“Oh,” she said. “No. I wouldn’t. I won’t.”

It was the freckles that did him in, he decided as he got into freckle-viewing range. Wide blue eyes, wispy blond hair, farm-girl complexion, willowy figure . . . Robin couldn’t help himself—he touched her. Just one finger, along the baby smoothness of her cheek. “You are so lovely,” he whispered.

She actually trembled, and he knew if he kissed her, she would willingly let him pull her back with him through the kitchen, through the swinging door into the darkness of the formal dining room that Janey never used and . . .

God, he wanted her. He discovered to his dismay that whatever relief he’d found with what’s-her-name in the club parking lot had completely evaporated. He wanted
some
thing . . .

To his surprise, Patty took a step back so that his hand fell away from her. She met his gaze and said, “You’ve been drinking.”

“True,” he said. “I am aglow.”

Her laughter was musical. “Robin! You’ve got an early call—”

“Have I missed a call yet?”

“No, but—”

“Do you know,” he told her, “that when I’m Hal Lord, and I think about Edna Potter—you know, his high school sweetheart—I picture her looking just like you?”

Her eyes went soft. “You do?” she whispered.

Robin nodded. “Yeah,” he said just as quietly, hypnotized by the softness of her mouth. She moistened her lips with the very tip of her tongue, and he nearly started to weep. She was so ready for this. He let his backpack slide down his arm so he could drop it onto the floor. “You know what would really help me?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It would help if you kissed me, so I could have that to think about while I’m Hal and—”

Score.

She melted toward him and kissed him slowly, sweetly, a perfect first kiss. Not that he’d expected anything less from a twenty-year-old Hollywood movie intern with a head filled with classic big-screen romantic moments.

Her hands were on his shoulders, and he purposely didn’t touch her, didn’t pull her closer. He just let himself be kissed.

And kissed and kissed and kissed.

After weird and scary Cosmo Richter checked her room and went into the hall, Jane had gone into her bedroom and locked the door.

And finally kicked off her high heels.

God, but her feet hurt.

She’d peeled off her skirt, wriggled out of her too-tight bra top, and washed Mercedes’ makeup off her face.

She’d taken a shower, then thrown on a T-shirt and boxers along with a pair of athletic socks to keep her feet warm.

As much as she had a sudden burning desire to surf the Internet for any information she could glean about Navy SEALs, she’d gone to work instead. Despite the fact that this no-Rambo thing fascinated her—and jeez, the comment about her script aside, could scary Cosmo be any more obvious about the fact that he so totally disliked her?—she had press releases to write, fax, and e-mail. If her feet had to hurt, if her entire life had to be turned upside down, then, damn it, her movie was going to benefit from this.

It was after ten before she got down to the work she was supposed to be doing—outlining that battlefield dream sequence she’d promised HeartBeat Studios.

At around eleven, she heard Robin come home. She heard Cosmo go downstairs, heard the two men talking, heard Cosmo come back up.

Robin had no doubt gone into the kitchen for a snack, except he didn’t come upstairs. And he didn’t come upstairs and he . . .

With a sudden sense of impending doom, Jane went to the window, peeked through the curtains and out onto the driveway . . .

Where Patty’s car was still parked.

Damn it! Damn it!

She ran through her office, flung open the door, and came face-to-face with Cosmo Richter. He’d found a chair and set it out in the hall. He was on his feet instantly.

Shit!

She slammed the door shut in his face, ran back into her bedroom. Cursing the entire time, she yanked open her lingerie drawer, grabbed the slinky nightgown on the top.

She shucked off her T-shirt and kicked off her boxers even as she pulled the gown over her head. Hopping first on one foot and then the other as she took off her socks, she made her way to her closet, where her white silk robe hung—the one with the full 1930s-style train.

She slipped into it, tied the belt at her waist. She didn’t have time for slippers—besides, she had less of a chance of killing herself if she went down the stairs with bare feet. She let her hair down, shaking it free and pocketing her ponytail holder as she ran through her office again.

This time when she opened the door, she flung herself into the hallway.

He-who-was-never-to-be-called-Rambo was still on his feet.

“I need a snack,” she said as she flew past him. He probably thought she was out of her mind, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say, “I think my irresponsible brother is shagging my intern atop the conference table.”

He followed her, of course, as she thundered down the stairs, rounded the end of the ornate banister and headed back toward the main offices, and . . .

Nearly knocked over Robin and Patty.

Who were standing there, talking. Saying good night.

With their clothes on.

“See you in the morning, then,” she heard Robin say.

Patty had her big slouchy bag over her shoulder, her briefcase and car keys in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jane, “did we wake you?”

Patty’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes were sparkling. No doubt about it, the girl had been kissed. But now she was obviously on her way out the door.

Amazing.

“No, no . . .” Jane forced a bright, cheery smile. “Just getting a snack.” She turned to look at her brother to admonish him for staying out so late, not to mention stinking of whiskey and beer, but she didn’t need to.

Patty did it for her. Even more amazing. “Get to sleep,” she said. “Really, Robin, it’s going to be four-thirty before you know it. Everyone’s counting on you to show up and be able to hit your mark. I know you don’t have many lines tomorrow, but it’s important that you’re there and alert.”

“Your wish is my command,” Robin said, taking her hand and bowing deeply over it. “But I should walk you to your car.”

Oh, no, no, no . . .

But before Jane could leap upon him and put him in a full nelson, Patty spoke.

“I’m perfectly safe,” she said, “with what’s-his-name—the other guard—out there.”

“His name is PJ,” Jane said. “Patty, good night. Robin, upstairs.”

She took his arm and pulled him toward the stairs as Cosmo followed Patty to the door. The girl sent one last glowing look in Robin’s direction before slipping out into the night. Jane heard the SEAL locking up behind her as she focused on helping Robin navigate the steps.

“Didn’t we just have a conversation where you promised me you’d stay away from her?” she whispered from between clenched teeth.

“What?” Robin was all wounded innocence. “That means I can’t even talk to her?”

“Talk, yes,” Jane hissed. “Suck face, no. What is wrong with you? One girl. Stay away from just one girl. This one girl. That leaves, what? One million, two hundred thousand and fifteen twenty-year-old girls in the greater Los Angeles area? I ask you this one small favor and—”

“I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t do it,” Robin admitted as they reached the second-floor landing. He held on to her with earnest intensity. “Janey, I swear, this one’s different. She’s special. I think I’m completely in love with her.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re drunk,” Jane told him. “Again.”

“What if she’s the one?” Robin asked.

She steeled herself against his baby brother eyes. “Then she’ll still be the one when we wrap in two months.” She pushed him toward his room. “Sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said before he closed his door.

Yeah, sorry, right.

Jane turned to see Cosmo waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs—for her to come down and get her mother-loving snack.

God help her.

“I just lost my appetite,” she said, heading instead for her room.

Somehow he made it up and over to her door just as she did. It was creepy how fast he could move when he wanted to.

He stopped her with a briefly placed hand on her elbow. “I need to go in first.”

She stood there in front of the door to her room, wondering inanely if he would tackle her if she simply ignored him. Or if she made a run for it, screaming, “You’ll never catch me, Rambo, Rambo, Rambo. . . .” Instead, she said, “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

It was funny. He’d answered as if she were seriously asking. But she knew before the words left her lips that he wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t capable of kidding. Cosmo-the-humorless never kidded about anything.