Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (17 page)

“Another party? Boy, you actors lead a hard life,” Shane said wryly. Scottie came up and offered them both steaming-hot cups of coffee. She accepted hers gratefully.

“I’ll have you know that this one is for a good cause,” Nick informed her, pretending indignation. “It’s for charity. And you should be thanking me.”

“Oh, and why, pray tell?” she bantered.

“Because there’re going to be a lot of celebrities attending,” Nick told her, taking a long sip of coffee. Shane watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
Dummy, you’re acting like a star-struck kid, trying to absorb every movement your idol makes.

“What are they doing here?” she asked, looking around at the vast countryside.

“Not here,” Nick said, gesturing at the terrain, “Aspen. This is the beginning of the skiing season, and skiing is very ‘in.’ “

“No accounting for taste,” Shane commented. “Are we flying back up there?”

“No, they’re all flying down here. It’s Gloria’s party.”

Oh, yes, Gloria, the party giver, Shane recalled.

“Does Gloria do anything besides give parties?” Shane asked, munching on another nut.

Nick reached into the almost empty bag and took several for himself. “She backs my pictures.”

“Mustn’t offend Gloria,” Shane quipped.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it.” Nick grinned. He put the empty shells in his pocket and took out another handful of nuts, cutting Shane’s remaining supply in half.

“What do I do about a costume?”

“How about coming as Lady Godiva? That’s simple. I’ll lend you the horse—or you could ride me,” he proposed with a sexy smile.

“We’d never get to the party.”

“How about your costume for the film?” he suggested helpfully.

“Only if I want to spend the whole evening as a doorstop. It’s pretty, but mobility is definitely not one of its advantages. No, I’ll come up with something,” she promised, rolling the idea around in her mind. She thought of Martha, the wardrobe mistress, and an idea began to form. “Leave it to me,” she said airily.

“Rutledge, are you planning to phone in your performance?” Bowman called. “Get your butt over here!”

Shane waved gaily as Nick walked off toward the white stallion again.

Shane surveyed her reflection, a wide smile of approval on her lips. Martha had worked wonders with a minimum of effort, she thought, whirling about and watching the hot-pink material float after her. The harem-girl costume looked as provocative as anything Shane could have fantasized. Made of shimmery material that was layered discreetly, allowing just enough cover for modesty’s sake, the skirt hugged the lower portion of Shane’s hips invitingly, exposing a bejeweled navel.

The silver bolero jacket was deeply cut and laced together with slender threads. If she took a deep breath, she thought, it would be all over. The tips of her nipples threatened to show as they rubbed against the soft interior. She was going to have to be careful, she told herself, adjusting the gold armbands Martha had given her. Shane fastened her veil, taking care to leave her flowing hair free.
 

Sultry. That was the word
, she thought with satisfaction.
Salome, eat your heart out!

It was obvious that Nick was eating his out when he first laid eyes on her. She pretended not to notice as she slid into the backseat of the limousine, trying to keep her jacket shut. But the jacket did precious little to hide the outline of her legs beneath the skirt’s gauzelike material.

Nick was dressed as a Viking. A horned helmet lay next to him on the seat. He quickly pushed it to the other side, allowing Shane to move closer. “Now I know why the Vikings like to loot and pillage strange new lands. Look what they could come up with,” he said in admiration. “Let’s see the rest of it,” he coaxed.

But Shane clutched tightly at the jacket’s collar. “All in good time, my Viking lord, all in good time.”

“You’re turning into a real temptress,” Nick said, shaking his head. But he let her have her way. Shane smiled smugly all the way to the party.

“Martha’s getting risqué in her old age,” Nick said, his eyes echoing his obvious pleasure as Shane peeled off her jacket. She handed it to the very stiff, very proper butler, who also offered to take Nick’s fur cape.
 

But Nick declined. “The lady might have need of it if she inhales deeply,” he commented, eyeing the thin lacing on Shane’s bolero. “I should have made Scottie take us to my place,” he murmured into her hair. “God, you smell good. I might need this sword just to keep men away from you all night,” he teased, patting the scabbard at his side.

Shane felt all eyes upon them as they entered the huge ballroom. As at the last party, peaceful music floated through the air, thanks to a large orchestra that played off to the side. But there were many more people at this one, and Shane recognized more than a few faces that had graced movie screens across the world. Despite the fact that the room was tremendous, it was filled to capacity with gaily-clad partygoers. She glanced at Nick, but he seemed to be looking for someone. Probably their hostess, Shane thought, picking out several faces she knew and making a mental note of them.

“This way, Shane,” Nick said, taking her arm. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.” She wondered what big-name movie star or producer he was going to introduce her to. Instead he brought her over to an aging, distinguished-looking Rhett Butler. Next to him stood a very young-looking Scarlett O’Hara, making Shane once more aware of the fact that men were always interested in young, pretty women. Once a woman reached a certain age, her face became a liability, and another sweet young thing emerged to take her place. She looked at Nick, wondering how many “sweet young things” would dog his tracks ten years from now.

“Alexander Tate, I’d like you to meet Shane McCallister,” Nick said, presenting her. “Shane’s with Rendezvous magazine.”

“Ah, yes,” Tate said, a genuine smile touching his mouth. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m familiar with your work.”

What an odd way to put it, Shane thought. She judged the man to be a jet-setter. Probably read Rendezvous while sitting in different airports around the world, waiting for his flight.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Nick said, suddenly leaving her side. Shane stared after him, confused. Just a moment before, he had been so attentive. What had caused this change?
 

“Ginger?” Nick asked, offering his arm to the woman at Tate’s side. “How about a quick whirl around the floor? Watch him,” Nick warned Shane audibly. “He’s not as harmless as he looks.”

And with that, Nick and Ginger disappeared into the crowd, leaving Shane strangely feeling empty.
 

Get used to it, McCallister. It’s coming by and by
. She turned to Tate and forced a smile. “He seems to have run off with your date,” she said, her throat unusually dry.

“My daughter went quite willingly, I assure you.”

His daughter? Shane looked at the distinguished-looking man in a new light. “So,” she said, “you’ve read some of my articles. I’m flattered.”

“You’re also very good,” Tate told her.

A waiter walked by with a tray of glasses filled with champagne. Tate took two and handed Shane one. As he talked and asked her questions, Shane looked over the rim of her glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nick.

Chapter Twelve

Shane did her best to be polite to Tate. She tried not to be too obvious as she kept an eye out for Nick. But soon her answers to his questions were no longer preoccupied, and she turned to the man with genuine interest as he went on engaging her in conversation.

“Why don’t we sit down somewhere so we can talk without getting in the way of the traffic?” Tate suggested, taking her arm and leading her to a nook. Obviously the man knew his way around, Shane thought, and he was used to taking charge, though in a low-keyed manner. She offered no protest, wanting something to take her mind off Nick’s abrupt disappearance. “Scarlett O’Hara” was quite beautiful.

Tate gestured toward an unoccupied sofa that was partially shaded by a potted palm and flanked on the other side by a large window that offered a view of the vast grounds behind the house. Guests were milling about on the terrace, which was bathed in soft, colored lights. Shane noted everything as if she were a person apart from herself. The way she felt about Nick was affecting her normally keen eye.
This was going to have to stop
, she told herself sternly, sitting down. She was a mature woman, not some wide-eyed, teenaged romantic.

The eyes that looked at her were keen and interested as Tate continued to ply her with questions about her work, her interests, and her political opinions. He delved into a lot of corners without being offensive. It was one of the first times Shane had talked so much about herself without learning a great deal about the person she was speaking to. Yet she found herself liking Tate and his manner. He had put her at ease almost immediately, making her feel as if she were in the company of an old family friend instead of a stranger. Maybe it was the costume, Shane thought. She had grown up loving Rhett Butler and having him fill her fantasies.

Fantasies. Where was Nick
?
 

She tried not to be too obvious as she looked past Tate’s shoulder through the long green fingers of the palm, searching the crowd once more for Nick. A glimpse of white fur went by, but it was only someone dressed as a polar bear.

“He’ll be back presently,” Tate said warmly.

Shane flushed, embarrassed. “Your daughter’s very beautiful.” Now, why in heaven’s name did she say that? The man would know exactly what was going on in her mind.

“And very resourceful,” Tate added mildly.
 

Terrific. Did that mean that the raven-haired woman was sewing Nick up as her own right now?

“But Nick is very taken with you,” Tate said, and Shane almost dropped the goblet she was toying with. She stifled the urge to pump Tate with eager questions, asking how he knew something like that. That, she told herself, was supposedly reserved for high-school girls and long, afternoon phone conversations about the dreamboat in one’s homeroom.

“He speaks quite highly of you,” Tate offered when she couldn’t think of a suitable response.

“Have you known him long?” she asked, wondering just what Tate’s connection with Nick was. He had offered no information about himself, appearing only to be interested in what she had to say. In a subtle way, she realized, he had been questioning her.

“Since before he had his first rippling muscle,” Tate told her.

“Then, you were neighbors?” she prodded.

Tate brushed a speck of dust from his cut-waist vest, which hung from his thin body. “Once,” he replied without looking up.

Boy, some interviewer you are
, she thought disparagingly.
Can’t even get full sentences out of Rhett Butler.

“Ginger’s worn me out.”

Shane looked to her left in surprise as Nick returned with the voluptuous Scarlett still clinging possessively to his arm. They were both laughing.

“I give her back to you,” Nick said, handing her over to Tate.

“Oh, dear,” the silver-haired man said, rising, “that means I have to find someone else to occupy her for a while.” He turned toward Shane, who was still seated. “Thank you, Miss McCallister. I had a very pleasant chat.” He made Shane a little bow; then, offering his arm to his daughter, he left.

Nick sat down next to Shane, putting his arm about her shoulders. “Have a nice talk?” he asked.

“Yes, I guess you can say that ...” Shane’s voice trailed off.

Nick laughed. “Alexander’s a little eccentric,” he agreed, obviously interpreting her tone to mean that she wasn’t quite sure how to take the older man. “But geniuses are allowed to be.”

“Geniuses?” Shane echoed, looking at Nick quizzically. “What does he do?”

“Oh, Alexander’s dabbled in a lot of things in his time,” Nick said evasively. “Care to eat?”

Shane nodded, and they went in search of the sumptuous buffet that Nick had assured Shane their hostess was famous for. At the long table Shane found more gourmet foods than she could conceivably hope to sample in one evening. Absolutely everything looked tempting to her.

But the food did not hold her attention for long, as Nick began to introduce her to people she had only seen gracing the front covers of magazines or read about in newspaper articles. Names that flashed by in movie credits became flesh and blood for her as the evening wore on.
Nick’s life-style had its definite attractions
, she thought, enjoying herself thoroughly.

Suddenly there was a hush, and the milling sea of people parted as the hostess, dressed as Guinevere, came forward.

“And now,” she announced, “for our talent contest.” This was met with enthusiastic applause.

Shane moved closer to Nick, looking forward to the show. “This promises to be good,” she told him in a whisper. She couldn’t understand why he was grinning at her so mischievously as Gloria went on to refresh people’s memories about the rules of the competition. Each contestant had to do something that was connected to the costume he or she wore.

“Our first brave entry,” Gloria announced, “is Miss Shane McCallister.”

Shane’s eyes widened in horror as she heard her name. She jerked her head sharply toward Nick.

“I volunteered you,” he told her.

Her hands turned icy. “But what’ll I do?” she asked in distress, between lips that could barely move.

“You’re a harem girl,” Nick said, pushing her slightly forward. “Dance.”

The applause was kind, coaxing her to step up to the cleared area. Sultry music pervaded the air. Shane turned back to look at Nick, who smiled encouragingly. Obviously he had told Gloria that she was going to dance.

For a moment, Shane stood immobile, trying to recall a movement, a gesture with which to begin. And then her body just took over. Her hips began to sway to the tempo of the Eastern melody. Slowly Shane gave herself up to the music, her dancing becoming more and more heated. By the time the last crescendo cut through the air, Shane was dancing with controlled abandon, her cheeks glowing with exhilaration.