THE NEXT MORNING, Claudia woke to a world of regret and self-recrimination. As a general rule, she didn't believe in regrets. Life was full of experiences, some good, some bad-a roller coaster ride with peaks and troughs. She dealt with it all as it came, and she moved on. In her opinion, there was no other way to stay sane.
But regret was waiting for her when she woke the day after her sex-fest with Leandro. It didn't descend immediately. For the first precious five minutes of her weekend morning she stretched languorously in bed, the fine cotton of her sheets creating pleasant friction on her naked body-her highly satisfied, well kissed, licked, caressed naked body.
She purred contentedly as she remembered the magic she and Leandro had made in this very bed after they'd showered late last night. Some time in the very early hours, he'd dressed and gone home. She'd bid him a drowsy goodbye and rolled over into deep, contented sleep.
He was an amazing lover. Attentive. Generous. Earthy in the best possible way. The way he'd tasted her, as though he couldn't get enough. The look in his eyes as he caressed her body. The barely repressed passion in his big, hard body. Thinking about him made her stir restlessly in the bed.
Even though she knew it was crazy, she fantasized about calling him. As she slipped on her silk robe and padded out into the kitchen, she imagined what she would say to him to get him hot, where they might meet, what they might do to each other.
Then she saw her open satchel on the kitchen counter.
The leather flap lay open, the four scripts inside displayed for anyone to see. Anyone who was interested in taking a peek, that was.
Beside her satchel was a lone water glass. Just in case she had any doubt as to whether Leandro had had the opportunity to take full advantage of her folly last night.
That quickly, her memories soured in her stomach. Was it possible he'd looked through the scripts? There was no way of knowing if he'd pulled them out for a quick look, then carefully slid them back into place. Tugging them free from her bag, she stared at them nonetheless, searching desperately for any sign that he'd looked through them even as part of her railed against the suspicion that Leandro would take advantage of her like that.
He'd buried himself inside her time after time. He'd pressed his face, his mouth into her most intimate places. He'd been generous and fun and gentle and passionate. Surely he couldn't be all those things as well as a ruthless exploiter of other people's weaknesses? Or, in this case, her carelessness?
Then she remembered what he'd said to her at the conference. What would you have done if the same opportunity fell into your lap?
She didn't need to flip through the scripts to know that if Leandro had taken advantage of her stupidity, he was now privy to one of the biggest secrets the show had-namely, the write-out of Mac Harrison's long-term character, Kirk, in an extensive, ratings-grabbing ten-week story arc that was designed to dazzle, grip and torture their audience. Mac was at last leaving the show to take up directing full-time, having more than proved himself as a dazzling talent with the feature-length special. Between them, the four scripts in her bag made up the climax of his write-out story. If Leandro had so much as taken a peek, he'd know that Heartlands was going to be battling for every ratings point in three months' time.
The question was, had Leandro considered her leaving her satchel around while they were having rampant animal sex an opportunity that he couldn't pass up?
She honestly didn't know. She'd had sex with him four times. She'd groaned and moaned his name, taken him in her mouth, clawed at his back and begged him to satisfy her.
But she really didn't know him at all.
She guessed he was around thirty-five, but she really had no idea how old he was. She knew he was Greek, but knew nothing about his family except that he had nieces and nephews. She knew he cared about the environment-enough to drive a geeky car, anyway. But that was it.
Sliding the scripts back into her bag, she slammed the glass down into her sink and gripped the edge of the counter. It was very clear to her all of a sudden. Last night had been a mistake. A big, stupid, red-letter mistake.
She'd spent nearly fifteen years building her career in the entertainment industry. She'd worked two jobs at the same time, she'd kissed ass, she'd eaten more than her fair share of shit sandwiches. She'd worked for insulting wages, she'd swallowed other people stealing her credits, she'd pushed when she'd had to, and stepped back when she deemed it necessary. And all the while she'd felt the scrutiny and judgment of her male colleagues, peers and rivals. If she lost her temper at work, she was a bitch, not hotheaded. If she stuck up for herself, she was aggressive, not assertive. If she was passionate about something, she was emotional, not committed. She'd learned a long time ago that female executives were measured by different rules than their male colleagues, and she'd sucked it up and played the game because she'd been determined to prove herself.
Now she'd made a rookie's mistake-her head had been turned by a cute ass and some well-rounded pecs, and she'd made herself vulnerable.
She took a deep breath, then let it out on a long sigh. If Leandro had taken advantage of her, she'd soon know about it. If he hadn't, she'd had a valuable wake-up call. Sleeping with the enemy had been a bad, bad idea.
HIS LEGS POUNDING the ground, his heartbeat a steady thump in his chest, Leandro ran to the top of the hill. Beside him, his younger brother, Dom, wheezed and gasped for air.
"Jesus, Leandro," Dom choked when they reached the peak.
"You want a break, just say so," Leandro said, knowing his brother would hate conceding defeat, a hangover from their childhood battles for supremacy.
"Asshole," Dom said, slowing to a walk and then stopping altogether to hunch over, his arms braced on his knees.
Leandro stretched out his hamstrings and calves, taking in the view of Hollywood spread out below them. They were running through Griffith Park on a wide, well-maintained fire trail, and the white letters of the Hollywood sign were visible on the hillside to the west.
"I need to get back to the gym," Dom said after a few minutes of heavy breathing and brow wiping.
"No kidding," Leandro said, patting his brother's burgeoning beer belly. "You look like you're about four months along there."
"I'm growing out in sympathy with Betty," Dom said, shaking his head. "Man, I still can't believe we're having twins. What were we thinking going back for a third kid?"
Dom and Betty already had two small children, Alexandra and Stephen, both of them under three.
"You guys love it. The lack of sleep, the screaming, the scratched furniture, the smelly diapers," Leandro said.
Dom grinned, then cuffed Leandro lightly on the shoulder.
"Don't forget the good stuff. The good-night cuddles. Reading them books. Hearing them run up the hallway when you walk in the door at night."
"Hey, you don't have to convert me. As soon as I find a woman who'll stick, I plan on adding to the family album myself," Leandro said.
Dom eased the backpack from his shoulders and handed over a bottle of water to his brother.
"Not getting any younger, bro," he said.
"No shit. Thanks for reminding me," Leandro said dryly.
"I might be getting fat, but you're old-and I can diet," Dom said, rubbing salt into the wound now that he'd found a point of weakness.
"Yeah, but you're not going to. My bet is, you'll have a big belly like Pa's by the time you're forty," Leandro said.
Dom shrugged a shoulder philosophically. "Stored happiness. That's all it is."
Leandro laughed and took another swig of water.
"So, any prospects for the second Mrs. Mandalor?" Dom asked.
Immediately-insanely-he had a flash of Claudia from last night, spread-eagled on her couch, one leg over the arm as she touched herself.
"Nope," Leandro said firmly, as much to himself as to his brother.
If Peta had been a bad prospect for happily ever after, Claudia was doubly doomed. She was ferociously ambitious and competitive and she struck him as being absolutely committed to her single state. Everything in her home screamed single career woman-the modern, clean lines of her furniture, the lack of family photos and sentimental knickknacks. There wasn't a single frill, flower or furbelow in her house, and he suspected her mind was just as streamlined.
No, Claudia Dostis was not a viable prospect for "'til death do us part" fantasies.
Which meant he really shouldn't have had such a hard time resisting calling her all weekend. One of the reasons he and Dom were running through the Hollywood Hills right now was because his fingers had itched to dial her number on more than one occasion. He'd figured some good honest sweat and some friendly rivalry with his brother would bring him back down to earth.
If only Friday night hadn't been so hot. She'd been so tight and wet and ready for him, so abandoned to her own desire, so eager to explore anywhere he chose to take her. Before he'd lost himself inside her curvy, petite body, he'd imagined that stripping her bare and having her would more than satisfy his curiosity. But she was like fine chocolate, or freshly ground coffee-one hit and he only wanted more.
"Betty's got this friend," Dom said, waggling his eyebrows. "Nice Greek girl, works as a beautician, but she's studying at night school to be a teacher. Loves kids, great rack, even greater baklava."
Dom closed his eyes blissfully as he mentioned the honey and nut filled Greek pastry.
"No more blind dates. I can't handle them," Leandro said.
"What's your problem? This woman has been hand-chosen for you by people who care. Trust me, she's a hottie.
And she wants kids big-time."
Leandro stared at his brother. He should say yes, he knew he should. But his mind kept sliding across to those memories from last night. Claudia clenching her thighs around him, urging him on with her hands on his butt. Claudia bucking her hips as he tasted her. Claudia taking him in her mouth and teasing him with her tongue and her lips and her hand.
"Give me her number," he growled. Maybe his mother and sisters were right-maybe he did have a self-destructive attraction to the wrong kind of woman.
"You won't regret this," Dom said, slapping him on the back. "Her name is Stella. You're going to love her."
Sure he was. She was going to be so hot, so absolutely right for him that he was going to forget Claudia's name, the feel of her body against his, the sound of her husky voice in his ear.
Silently cursing his own stupid libido, Leandro turned back to the trail.
"Think you can survive the run back to the car? It's mostly downhill," he asked his brother.
Dom gave him the finger and started off downhill at a punishing pace. Leandro hesitated a moment before following him.
No matter how much he wanted her, he had to put Claudia out of his mind.
Letting out a whooping war cry, he plunged down the trail after his brother.
"CLAUDIA, I HAVE Leandro Mandalor on line two for you." Gabby's voice was carefully disinterested, but Claudia knew her assistant well enough to know she was bristling with curiosity.
If her stomach hadn't suddenly dropped into her shoes, she might find it in herself to smile over Gabby's old-woman tendencies. Unfortunately, it had. And her heart had also started pounding at a disturbing rate, and her palms were moist and she had what felt like a big wad of cotton wool stuck in her throat.
Despite herself, despite her suspicions and fears, she'd dreamed about him all weekend. She'd come to work this morning, determined to push him from her mind with the help of her towering in tray. And now it was eleven in the morning and he'd called and she was awash with sensual memories from their few hours together.
Giving herself a mental slap, Claudia took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
"Claudia," he said. Instantly her nipples turned into two demanding peaks of arousal.
Eyeing them sternly, Claudia sat back in her chair and put her feet on her desk-anything to give herself the illusion that she was in control.
"Leandro."
"How was your weekend?" he asked.
"Over. How about yours?"
"Long. Boring. Lonely."
Between her legs, damp heat began to build.
"Was there something I can help you with?" she asked coolly, angry with her body for being so easy. This man had potentially helped himself to one of her show's most precious secrets. Was she really such a cheap date?
There was a moment of silence, then he spoke again.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked.
"Should there be?" she countered.
"I don't know. When I left the other night, I got the definite impression that we'd both had a good time. So...did I make you sleep in the wet patch? Or maybe I used the good towels? Help me out here," he said.
He was awfully charming. And his voice was awfully sexy.
But she'd learned her lesson in those stomach-churning few minutes in her kitchen on Saturday morning.
"Look, Leandro, you're right. We both had a good time. But that's all it was. And it was definitely a one-off. I don't think we should fool ourselves about that," she said firmly.
"Why?"
"Because we're competitors. For starters. And I'm not interested in a relationship."
"But you are interested in sex, right?" he asked, his voice very low and intimate.
The way he said it, the meaning he injected into every word...She pressed her thighs together on a surge of desire, ignoring the fillip of unease that came hand-in-hand with the sensation as she recognized how much power this man could have over her. If she let him.
"Not with you. You're my rival. I worked too hard to get this job to jeopardize it," she said.
"We're both grown-ups. We can deal with the situation," he said confidently.
"No. I'm not interested," she said crisply, mostly because parts of her body were already screaming "yes." God, she really was cheap.
"Now, that's a lie," Leandro said, his voice lowering an octave. "I bet that if I was in your office with you right now, I could slide my hand into your panties and you'd be wet and ready for me. I bet if I unbuttoned your shirt and touched her breasts, maybe sucked on your nipples...I bet you'd be more than interested."
She swallowed, hard. Just like that, her body was on fire. It was almost as though he was in her office with her, as though he really did have his hand between her legs. Squirming in her chair, she recrossed her legs and straightened her black shirt and tried to remember her name and all the reasons why Leandro Mandalor was a nightmare on legs.
"I don't trust you," she heard herself say. She winced. The thought had formed in her mind and found its way out her mouth before she could engage her mental editor.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.
"Not sexually," she clarified, in case he'd misunderstood her. "I meant professionally."
"I see."
He sounded puzzled. And definitely offended. She felt driven to explain.
"There were scripts in my bag Friday night. On my kitchen counter," she said.
Nothing but silence from his end of the phone.