Follow My Lead (15 page)

“Let’s go,” Frankie said. “Darla. Spike that heel onto his chest. Gently, please. Save the rough stuff for later.”

Darla’s tongue darted over her red lips. “Later it is.” She pressed her heel to his chest.

Instinctively, Blake’s hand went to her calf.

Darla shivered, and he was pretty sure he shook on the inside. And only from a small, simple touch. Darla’s claim of “it’s complicated” came to his mind and he amended his thoughts. There was nothing simple about what this woman did to him.

“No touching!” Frankie ordered. “You aren’t supposed to like each other.”

“We don’t,” Darla assured Frankie, staring intently into Blake’s eyes.

Blake took his hand away. “Not at all,” he agreed.

Blake had promised himself when he’d ended that phone call with Darla back in Denver that he would take things slow with her from here on out, that he would backtrack and make up for rushing too fast out of the gate and into bed. But as he sat there, her skirt riding high on her toned thighs, her delicate knees opened just wide enough to tease him, his cock mercilessly stretched against his zipper and he knew he was in for a rough ride. Oh, yeah. He was definitely in for the rough stuff later, when he might be the one to walk away from a chance to use those five condoms. Because he would, because he had to, if he wanted more than sex with Darla. And he did, he realized with certainty. He did.

Tonight would be a test of his willpower, which he’d always considered solid. Until Darla.

15

E
VEN THREE HOURS AFTER
the sexually charged photo session, Blake’s body still hummed with awareness, with desire, for Darla. It didn’t seem to matter that she sat across but several seats down from him at the rectangular table of the happening uptown Italian eatery. She was nowhere near close enough for him to accidentally touch her or to draw in that delicate floral scent of hers.

“Excuse me,” the stuffed studio shirt he’d been talking ratings with said when his phone rang. “I’ve been expecting this call.” The man pushed to his feet and headed in search of privacy.

For the millionth time since arriving at the restaurant, Blake’s gaze gravitated toward Darla, where she chatted stiffly with Mark Mercer, another studio exec whom Blake both knew and disliked. Mark was also enjoying Darla’s time far too much for comfort. Blake wasn’t sure who he was more irritated with, though. Mark, for managing to sit next to Darla. Or Darla, for clearly enjoying his company.

“Well, thank you, gentlemen, but it’s time for me to head back to the hotel.” Meagan rose to her feet as various members of the group followed. Finally, this little piece of hell was over, Blake thought, as he stood up with the rest of their party.

“Can I share a taxi with you?” Mark asked Darla. “I think we’re going in the same direction.” His tone was friendly and casual, but the look in his eyes was the opposite. Blake found himself sucking in a quiet breath and holding it, waiting for Darla’s reply. Darla would say no. He knew she would say no.
If,
he added silently, he hadn’t misjudged her ambition.

“Sorry to have to decline,” Darla replied, sounding as if she meant it in a tight, forced kind of way. “I actually have a friend from out of town meeting me here for drinks in a few minutes.”

Air escaped from Blake’s lips and his muscles relaxed, telling him just how important her response had really been to him. Only then did he allow himself to admit the truth. In the back of his mind, worry had been alive and well. Worry that Darla’s need to please everyone associated with
Stepping Up
would spell trouble.

Blake curled his fingers into his palms as he watched Mark slide his hand around her waist and whisper something in her ear. Darla gave a forced laugh in response before the man turned away from her. Darla’s gaze found Blake’s, and he felt the impact immediately. She affected him so easily—too easily. For just an instant, he wasn’t overly comfortable with that. But then her expression softened and he could feel her reaching out to him. She wasn’t meeting anyone. Neither was she leaving with the group. She didn’t want him to, either. And though he knew he should, knew that distance would provide the willpower he needed to slow things down between them, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he wasn’t leaving here without her. He also wasn’t about to make that obvious.

Blake wished her a casual good-night and followed the group to the front of the restaurant. Like the gentleman his parents raised, he hit the corner to flag the needed cabs, starting with one for Meagan.

She stepped forward, but stopped at the cab door to say, “There’s still something going on with Darla.” It was a warning rather than a question. “You two have chemistry. I like you together. But if the public figures out you’re together, like I have, then the advertising tease we’re doing—the daytime enemies come together in prime time—it won’t work. The tease will be gone. Stay low-key. Don’t let this affect the show. You know how studios are. On top one day and kicked to the curb the next. There are too many jobs on the line, too many lives changed, to blow this.”

“We’ll be careful,” Blake promised. “You have my word.”

She studied him for a moment longer and started to slide into the car. “Meagan.” She paused in midmotion, giving him a questioning look. “I appreciate the way you shoot straight,” he said. “It’s a rare quality in this business. With you, I’ll do the same.”

She smiled warmly. “You better.”

* * *

O
NCE
B
LAKE WAS THE ONLY ONE
left standing on the sidewalk, he could feel the charge of anticipation of what was to come—of him and Darla being alone, even if it was in a public place.

He turned to go back inside the restaurant, only to find Darla standing behind him, her garment bag swung over her shoulder. Somehow she appeared a few inches shorter than he remembered. His gaze dropped to her feet, where her heels had been replaced with flats.

She glanced down and then back up. “A girl learns practicality when she lives in this city. My apartment’s only a few blocks from here. I’m going to walk it.”

“What about your friend that’s meeting you?”

Her lips lifted slightly. That amazing awareness between them was back, and he wondered if the people milling on the sidewalk were feeling the charge. “His name is Blake,” she finally said. “So glad you made it.” Her voice was a caress, a promise.

He knew this could be a big mistake, but still, he found himself smiling and moving toward her. “I’ll walk with you. What do you have in that bag, anyway?”

“Frankie had me bring three changes of clothes in case he hated one or more of my options, which he was sure he would,” she said, handing him the bag. “He’s a very cranky man.”

“Artistic types that are too talented for their own good can be that way,” he said.

“Very true,” she agreed. She pointed to her right. “I’m this way.” She wet her lips. Damn, every time she did that his body reacted. He really was ridiculously, insanely, affected by this woman.

He nodded, and they started walking. “What time do you fly out in the morning?” he asked, trying to get his mind back on the present and not on the bedroom that could be in their future.

“Eight. Which means leaving my apartment by six.”

“Ouch. That stings.”

“I’m not complaining,” she said. “I feel blessed to have this opportunity. It’s just a little challenging to film my morning show in between auditions. It’ll be easier once I’m filming from the L.A. studios. And now that I put Lana in her place, I’m enjoying the auditions. I don’t want to worry that I’m going to deliver poor quality content and disappoint my audience.”

“I’m glad to hear you feel things are settled down with Lana, and you have a loyal audience so I don’t think you have to worry. They watch because of your reactions to situations and your personality, not because of the setting you’re in.” He cast her a sideways glance and watched as a slight breeze dusted blond wisps of her hair across her pale cheek. Everything male inside him stirred, but there was more. There was emotion—unfamiliar and potent. Emotion that drove him to the burning questions that demanded to be answered. “You’ve conquered the Lana problem. What about flying? Are you handling that any better than you did that studio guy hitting on you tonight?”

She stopped and turned to him, her eyes flashing with rebuttal. “I handled him just fine.”

“So you admit he was hitting on you?”

“I know what he was doing.”

“You could have shut down his nonsense but you didn’t.”

“I was polite and standoffish. It’s what girls do in that type of situation.”

Right. “I guess.”

“You guess? What did you want me to do? Make a fool of him so he hates me? Make everyone think he’s an idiot? And because I’m reading an underlying meaning here, it had nothing to do with his position at the studio. I would never blatantly make someone feel bad.”

“He was using your eagerness to please the studio to corner you.”

“He’s a jerk,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be. I was brought up better and smarter than that. It’s a small industry, one that breeds enemies without having to look for them.”

Damn. “You’re right,” he said, suddenly relaxing. He hadn’t even realized until that moment just how tense he’d felt. “I’m sorry. I just get irritated at the entire casting couch mentality in this business. I wanted to belt him one.”

Her expression softened. “I appreciate that, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. I tried to do exactly as you suggested earlier. Choose my battles smartly.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you on the defensive like that.”

“Then why did you?” she asked, narrowing her gaze at him.

He didn’t offer some fancy talking-in-circles reply. He wanted honesty; he had to give honesty. “I just want to know who you are, Darla. I want to know the real you. Not the public persona.”

“There’s no difference for me, Blake,” she declared without so much as a blink of an eye. “I am all I know how to be.”

An old, suppressed memory surfaced, and with it more raw emotions. A memory of a time when he had been young and naive, riding a wave of early success.

“Who burned you, Blake?” Darla asked softly, drawing his gaze, which had drifted to the pavement.

The question stopped him cold. How easily she had read him, read what he was denying even to himself. A name ran through his mind, a name he hadn’t allowed himself to say, even silently, in years.

He shoved away the memory. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to
think
about it. He hadn’t even realized just how easily
he could
think about it. It—
she
—happened ten flipping years ago. He hadn’t really loved her. He’d…

Suddenly, Darla held his hand. “Tell me when you’re ready.” She motioned them forward. “Let’s walk.”

He wasn’t sure she could have done anything more perfect in that moment, giving him a pass but also giving him an open door, not to mention her understanding. A few seconds passed and he gave a quick nod. They started walking again, both staring up at the dark sky, dotted with stars. And with each step, he felt himself relax. It was a comfortable night, no longer humid and not yet cold and all the more enjoyable because of Darla.

“Are you keeping your morning show focused on
Stepping Up
throughout the auditions?”

“Only a short segment for each show,” she said. “I’m afraid to overdo it and drive away viewers who crave the usual things on the show. What about you?” She pointed and they turned down a tree-lined street with rows of condolike housing.

“I’m going to incorporate the travel destinations as much as I can. For instance, my dad’s coming to Vegas Week. We’re doing a mechanical-bull-riding competition with a group of ex-rodeo stars. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get it booked at the same hotel as the show, so it’s at a property owned by the company. The winner takes ten thousand dollars to their charity of choice, provided by the studio.”

“That’s an awesome idea, Blake. I love it. And you know, that’s right up my alley. I am a rancher’s daughter.”

“I can see the down-home country girl in you,” he said. “An accident-prone down-home country girl who must have driven her parents crazy.”

“My father tried to keep me away from the ranch action,” she admitted. “It never worked. Proven by the six times that I had to get stitches.”

“You’ll have to show me the scars.”

She held up her elbow. “That’s the only one you can see.” She grinned. “Well, when I have my clothes on.”

“Like I said, you’ll have to show me the scars.”

“I’ll think about it,” she teased playfully. “Did you inherit any of your dad’s bull-riding skill?”

“I have an ex-rodeo champion for a father. If I couldn’t ride, he’d have had me hung up by my toes for the bulls.”

“I’ve ridden a mechanical bull a time or two,” she declared.

“No way.”

She nodded. “Way.”

“Prove it. If you come to the event and ride, I’ll personally donate to the charity of your choice myself.”

She laughed. “I’m in. Well, as long as it’s not a conflict with filming.”

“It’s the day after Vegas Week ends.”

“Then get your checkbook ready. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he said, more than prepared to plan six weeks ahead with her. “We can fly out to L.A. together when it’s over. Which brings me back to my earlier question. How
are
you handling the flying you’re doing?”

She snorted. “Who said I’m handling it?”

“That good, huh?”

“That good.” She stopped in front of a building. “This is me. How far away are you?”

“A cab ride,” he said, not really wanting to tell her the high-end area he lived in, because it had taken him years of doing his show and investing well to get there. She would get there, too, probably sooner than he had.

“I see,” she said, biting her bottom lip and gesturing toward the door. “You want to come up?”

He wanted to come up, all right, and that was a problem. Up meant he was one step away from being inside her apartment. Once he was there, it was all over. He’d forget all the reasons why he shouldn’t strip her naked and make wild, passionate love to her. He’d have to survive a kiss. But not down here in the open.