Temptation's Kiss (7 page)

Patrice narrowed her eyes at him. Was he playing it safe now after all that talk about honesty? He needed to tell her what he wanted from her, and he needed to be specific just like he'd asked her to be. “Spell it out,” she told him. “Three weeks from now we're going to be in Wyoming. By the way, why so soon? Mark didn't mention that. Usually I have several months to report to work after the contract's been negotiated. Luckily I was available.”

“The actress who was to portray Bella got pregnant, and she backed out at the last minute,” T.K. said.

“Who is she?”

“Dina Thompson.”

“I like her,” said Patrice. “She would have done a good job. So I'm second choice.”

“Does that rankle?” he asked, thigh to thigh with her.

She laughed shortly. “No, I'm lucky everything turned out the way it did.”

“That's how I feel about it,” T.K. said, bending to kiss her again.

This time Patrice rose onto tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and finally fulfilled a secret wish; she wound up with her hands caressing his bald head and the delicious sensation she was rewarded with was even better than she'd imagined.

T.K. smiled when she released him. “Can you tell me you can resist doing that for the entire time we're on location?”

Patrice took a deep breath and stepped backward, regarding him with clear eyes. “I admit rubbing your head is nearly orgasmic it feels so good, but yes, I can, and I will avoid doing it when we're on location.”

“Well, you're a stronger person than I am,” T.K. complimented her. He couldn't believe he was about to do this, but he wasn't going to simply lie down and take defeat either. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted her in his life, and eventually he wanted her in his bed. If he left it up to her and her exalted sense of a work ethic, they might never get together.

“I'll tell you what,” he suggested sweetly. “If while we're on location you can resist kissing me, when not doing so in the course of your job, then fine, we'll stick to your rules. However, should you kiss me, of your own free will at any time, then it's on. We, as you put it, will ‘get involved' while on location.”

Patrice considered him for a while. That rugged square-jawed face, that smooth golden-brown skin, to say nothing of those lips, those eyes and her favorite feature—his bald head. His hard body was oh so
enticing, but what lay between his ears was even more compelling. He was intellectually stimulating as well, and a thinking man always turned her on. He thought he could outmaneuver her. Was that overconfidence on his part? Or conceit? Had he been one of the top actors in the world for so long that he thought he was irresistible to every woman on the planet? She might need to take him down a peg or two.

She offered him her hand to shake. “You've got a deal.”

T.K. accepted her hand but used it to pull her into his embrace, whereupon he kissed her until she nearly swooned in his arms. Patrice peered up at him after he let her go. “You play dirty.”

“It's the only way,” T.K. told her with a mischievous smile. “I'd better be going before Patrick comes back out to see what I'm doing to his sister. I saw that look he gave me as he and Nina were leaving the room.”

Patrice walked him outside. “One more thing,” she told him after she'd pulled the door closed behind them. “I can't see you again until we're on location.”

“What?” T.K. exclaimed, none too happy with her announcement. “We've got three weeks before we go to Wyoming!”

She smiled. “Don't you see? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. This is to your advantage. Surely after experiencing your kisses and then being deprived of them for three weeks I'll be ready to fall into your arms once we get to Wyoming.”

“You're an evil woman, Patrice Sutton.”

“Wait a minute,” Patrice said, thinking. “If I lose the bet, you get, well, me. But if I'm able to resist you, what do I get?”

“I hadn't thought about that because I'm not going to lose,” T.K. told her honestly. “However, you have a point. Name it, and it's yours.”

Patrice spied the car parked at the curb. She walked over to it and ran her hand across its hood. It was a beauty. “Is this a Camaro?”

“Yes, it is,” T.K. said with a note of pride. “It's a 1968 Chevrolet Camaro SS. I restored her myself.”

“Then she means a lot to you?” Patrice asked speculatively.

“She's my favorite,” he confirmed.

“I'll take
her
if you lose the bet,” Patrice told him.

Even though his heart skipped a beat in shock and disappointment at her demand, T.K. didn't protest. “I'm not going to lose the bet because you're going to want to kiss me every minute of every day while we're on location.”

“Don't hold your breath!” Patrice said with a laugh as she turned to go back inside. “Good night, Trevor Kennedy McKenna.”

“Good night, Ms. Sutton,” he said grimly. Let her think she'd won that round.

T.K. chuckled after he got behind the wheel of the Camaro and started the engine. He liked her spirit. He had no intention of losing the bet!

T
hree weeks later, Patrice arrived in Casper, Wyoming. She drove through one of the city's main thoroughfares, looking for the name of the street of the inn where the cast and crew would be staying. She'd flown in to the Casper/Natrona County International Airport and rented a car. She would have driven the nearly nine hundred miles, but then she'd realized that if she had she would be driving back home in the snow in December when filming was supposed to end. She didn't like driving in the snow.

Soon, she found the inn and pulled the Ford Focus into the parking lot. It was eighty degrees out, and the sun felt wonderful on her skin as she walked to the inn's entrance.

“Hey, Patrice, you made it!” a male voice called from
across the parking lot. Patrice removed her sunglasses and smiled at Mark Greenberg. “Mark, yes, a day ahead of schedule. Has anyone else arrived yet besides you and I?”

Mark, looking relaxed in a golf shirt, khaki slacks and athletic shoes, came and gave her a quick hug. “A few,” he said. “But I don't expect most of them until tomorrow just in time for the first meeting.”

Patrice knew what he said was true. She liked to arrive a day early so that she would be well-rested and sharp during the meeting about the shooting schedule. Smiling up at him, she asked, “Any sign of T.K.?”

Even though she and T.K. had not seen each other in three weeks, they had stayed in touch by phone, and he had told her he would be arriving today. He was driving because he wanted to bring Sam with him, and Sam hated air travel.

He left the dog with a friend or his parents when he had to be out of the country, but when at all possible, he took Sam with him on location.

“Not yet,” Mark told her. “It's early. He'll probably get here before dark.” He gestured toward the inn's entrance with a nod of his head. “Come on. Let's get you checked in. Then, if you're not too tired, we can go get some lunch.”

“I
am
a little travel-weary,” Patrice told him. She turned, and he placed a protective hand at the small of her back. “So, you and T.K. have gotten to know each other?”

Patrice smiled. “Yes, a little,” she said, leaving it at that. They'd spoken every day since he'd come to dinner that night, and she thought she knew him quite well by now—so much so that she could barely contain her eagerness to see him again. No, she was not going to make it easy for him to win their bet by leaping into his arms and kissing him hello. But she wasn't going to be too hard on herself if she couldn't resist giving him a hug or three.

Mark opened the door for her and admired the shape of her bottom in her jeans. With her jeans, she was wearing a sleeveless white cotton blouse that buttoned up front. Mark looked down at her feet—cowboy boots. She would definitely fit in around here. He'd never seen so many people wearing them before, and he'd been to Texas twice.

At the desk in the beautifully decorated lobby that had a highly polished hardwood floor and an Italian marble front desk, the clerk took her name, checked her registration and handed her a key card. “Your room is all ready for you, Ms. Sutton,” said the young man, smiling warmly.

A few minutes later, Patrice was opening the blinds in the suite to allow some light inside while her bags were being placed at the foot of the bed by a strapping young man with blond hair. She tipped him when he was done and locked the door behind him.

With a sigh, she threw herself onto the bed and lay flat on her back looking at the ceiling for a few minutes.
She had declined Mark's lunch invitation in favor of a nap. She'd been up since four o'clock this morning, and tiredness was finally coming down on her. He'd looked disappointed when she had told him she preferred sleep to food right now. She hoped it had only been a friendly invitation between colleagues. Mark seemed sweet, but it was T.K. who fascinated her. He'd talked to her about his brother Malcolm and how devastated he and his family had been when he'd died. She had been so touched that she'd wanted to hop in her car and drive to Malibu to comfort him. They had talked for hours that night. She told him that although she had lost her grandparents to death, she couldn't imagine what he was going through because their transition had not been unexpected. Her grandparents had prepared the family for their deaths by living long lives and planning their own funerals. In the case of her grandmother, Ina, every detail had been planned down to what kind of flowers would drape her casket to the desire not to have a funeral but a wake at which the family would celebrate her life and not mourn her passing. Malcolm's death, however, had been unexpected and a shock to his family.

They had also discussed their last relationships. He told her he'd had suspicions that Edina was not with him out of love long before he'd discovered her many infidelities.

“It's one of the things you have to be wary of in this town,” he'd said. “People are willing to do anything to get and stay in the limelight. Unfortunately, celebrity
is not based on talent anymore. You can be a celebrity simply by association or by being notorious.”

Patrice had to agree. Today, women and men, who'd had affairs with prominent people, could wind up with their own reality shows and bring in millions of dollars of revenue. Or by virtue of giving birth to multiple babies, you could have people all over the world observing your life 24/7.

She told him about Andre, whom she had loved and thought was the man she would spend the rest of her life with. He was not in the business. She'd met him at a restaurant he co-owned in Los Angeles. Initially, he told her he had never been married. Months later, after she was already in love with him, she had learned that not only had he been married before but the co-owner of the restaurant was his ex-wife. They had not been able to agree on who would get the restaurant in the divorce settlement. Both had been so vehement about hanging on to it that they were still hanging on to it. Because they still worked closely together practically every day, their love had been rekindled, which left Patrice out in the cold. She could not hate Andre, though. Even though he'd broken her heart and lied to her about never having been married, at least he'd done it by getting back together with his first love. They were remarried now.

“Are you sure you don't have any hard feelings for him?” T.K. had asked. “He lied, and then he started fooling around with his ex-wife while he was with you.”

“When I found out he'd lied about his ex-wife, yes, I wanted to dropkick him into the middle of next week, but after I thought about it I wondered why I was upset. He loved her. My moaning and groaning wasn't going to change that fact. Sometimes you have to simply let go.”

T.K. had sighed but had grudgingly agreed with her. “I just wish I'd given up on Edina long before the world found out about her extracurricular activities.”

“It'll take time, but you'll forget the hurt one day and thank God you didn't marry her,” Patrice had returned.

He'd laughed. “Yeah, thank God for that!”

Patrice fell asleep while reminiscing about that particular conversation. When she awakened it was late afternoon, the sun had gone behind a cloud and the room was in shadows. She sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Golden light illuminated the dark corners of the room. Rising, she went to the bathroom, used it and stood in front of the mirror to assess the damage. Her short black hair was sticking up on her head at weird angles, and she had the imprint of the bedspread on her left cheek where she'd lain on it. Wide, dark eyes laughed at her reflection. “You're why actresses have professional makeup artists on the payroll,” she said.

Her cell phone rang, and she hurried out to the bedroom and snatched it from the side pocket of her purse. She squinted at the display. It was T.K.

“Are you here yet?” she asked anxiously.

He laughed. “Sam and I are downstairs checking
in. What are you up to? I'm starved and want to get something to eat before crashing.”

“What's your room number? I need to shower and dress, but I can meet you in twenty.”

“Sounds good, it's number 101,” said T.K. “Then you can give me a hello kiss.”

“I'd rather kiss Sam.”

“He'd appreciate that. He hasn't had a good kiss in ages,” T.K. quipped.

Patrice laughed. “See you soon.”

In the lobby, T.K. closed his cell phone and peered down at Sam. “She wants me.”

 

T.K. answered the door with a towel wrapped around his waist. Patrice took a sharp intake of breath and tried to pretend she hadn't been affected by the sight of him standing there nearly naked. They didn't refer to him as “the body” for nothing. Arm, chest, stomach and leg muscles were beautifully defined. Still a bit damp from his shower, he looked like one of those oiled-up bodybuilders she saw on the beach. “There was no bathrobe in the room, and I can't find the one I brought with me,” were T.K.'s first words as she walked into the room and he shut the door. “I'll only be a minute,” he continued as he turned and went into the walk-in closet of the big suite, leg and thigh muscles flexing enticingly.

A beautiful golden retriever approached her, his tail wagging. “Oh, that's Sam,” T.K. called to her.

Patrice knelt and hugged Sam. He made happy noises
as she rubbed his head and scratched him under the chin. “Aren't you a handsome boy,” she cooed.

T.K. found them on the floor when he came into the room in jeans and a T-shirt. “Can I get some love?” he asked as he reached for her hand and pulled her up.

They hugged tightly. Patrice enjoyed the feel of his hard body cradling hers. She looked into his eyes.
God, I missed you,
she wanted to tell him, but that would only strengthen his belief that he was going to win the bet. “You look well,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I missed you like crazy,” T.K. told her plainly, not caring one whit about the bet.

“I missed you too!” she cried, and hugged him again.

He bent and nuzzled her neck. “For nine hundred miles, I thought of nothing but seeing you again.”

She melted. She ached to kiss him. Hugging was nice, but there was nothing comparable to a heartfelt kiss—to taste him, breathe him in, feel his tongue enter her mouth and claim hers. She wanted to give herself to him.

When she felt his mouth on the side of her neck, she came to her senses. In the space of five minutes, he had her about to cave in to his desires. Oh, he was good, really good!

She disentangled herself from him and took a couple steps back. “That's enough, I'm only human. Let's go if we're going.” She picked up her purse from the bed where she'd tossed it upon entering the room.

T.K. looked at her with hooded eyes. It was impossible for her to read his emotions at that point, but she was pretty sure he wasn't pleased. After a moment, he smiled. “This isn't going to be easy, is it?”

Patrice shook her head, no. “Now, put on your shoes, and let's go.”

She played with Sam while he sat on the bed. “My plan backfired,” he admitted after he'd gotten one sock on. “In three weeks, I'm ready to surrender and wave the white flag. There is
no
way I can work with you from late August until late December without kissing you. I'm weak.”

Patrice didn't move. Sam had turned over onto his back, and she was rubbing his belly. A look of ecstasy was on the dog's mug.

T.K. envied him.

She waited until he had both shoes on, and then she rose and gave Sam a parting pat on the head. “Good boy,” she said to Sam. She walked over to T.K. and pulled him off the bed. “From now on, I want you to be a good boy.” Her hand was on his chest. “I'd like to rip your clothes off right now and make love to you until we're both too weak to move. But that kind of behavior would compromise my principles, and I do have principles. My parents raised me right. I don't jump into bed with someone I've known for a month. If you want me, you're going to have to prove to me that when I give myself to you, I'll be doing the right thing with the right man. You know my history.”

T.K. liked the fact that she had principles. He was not
without them himself. “What has that got to do with a kiss?” he asked.

“Because a kiss is the prelude to intimacy, and in and of itself, it
is
intimate.” She gave him a knowing look. “How long do you think it would be before we'd be in bed if we started kissing each other at every opportunity, thrown together, as we are, up here in lonely Wyoming? You know I'm right.”

“You have a point,” T.K. conceded. “But, damn, woman, take cold showers or something.” He put his wallet in his pocket, picked up his car keys and peered down at Sam. “We'll be back soon, buddy. I'll bring you a doggy bag.”

Sam barked once and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

He and Patrice left the room. In the hallway, Patrice resumed her argument. “Besides, abstinence is good for you. It builds character.”

“I've got enough character,” T.K. told her. “I need more kisses.”

She sighed. “We're obviously not going to agree on this.”

“Not anytime soon,” T.K. assured her.

“Then the bet's still on,” she concluded.

“Yes, indeed,” he said as they turned the corner and entered the lobby area.

 

The next morning the cast and crew, sixty-eight people, gathered in the big conference room at the inn.
The director, Mike Whitcomb, a short, stocky African-American in his late thirties who wore his dark brown hair in dreadlocks and had a well-groomed goatee, led the meeting. “The construction crew has finished with the fictional town of Quincy in the Badlands, and tomorrow we will be moving out there in trailers. All of the equipment trucks should be there early in the morning, so we should be able to begin shooting at ten.” He regarded T.K. and Patrice, who were sitting up front side by side. “We'll be starting with the love scene. Let's get that out of the way, shall we?”