“I didn’t break anything. I did something,” McCade said as she rushed past him. He followed her into the kitchen. “Actually, it’s something that I
didn’t
do.”
Sandy grabbed an apple from the refrigerator and washed it in the kitchen sink. Holding it with her teeth by taking a bite, she tucked her briefcase under her arm and headed for the front door. She unlocked the safety chain and the dead bolt, then spotted the videotapes on the hall table. Picking them up, she took the apple out of her mouth and turned to McCade. “What’s this?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He smiled ruefully. “Um…Vandenberg came by early this morning and dropped those tapes off. You were still asleep.”
She took a thoughtful bite of the apple, staring down at the tapes in her other hand. Nodding, she balanced her briefcase on the table, and slipped them carefully inside, and looked up at McCade. “James Vandenberg,” she repeated. “Came by.
This
morning.”
It was McCade’s turn to nod. “Yup.”
Sandy fought the urge to giggle. This was about as bad as it could get. So why did she have the urge to laugh? “You answered the door.”
It wasn’t a question, but McCade answered anyway. “Yup.”
“Before or after you took a shower?”
McCade studied the worn-out toe of his boot. “Um. After. But not by much.”
“I suppose you were wearing my pink bathrobe.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Just a towel.”
Sandy could picture it, like a scene from a romantic comedy. McCade, draped in a towel, his hair wet and his muscles gleaming…“I suppose James assumed…?” She let her voice trail off delicately.
“Yup.”
“Oh,
perfect,
McCade.” She leaned her head against the door. “I told him last night there was nothing between us.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that, and, well, now he thinks you finally succumbed to my charms.”
Sandy closed her eyes. If only she had…
“I’m sorry,” McCade said. “I should have straightened Vandenberg out as soon as I opened the door.”
“He probably wouldn’t have believed you. Not many people would believe a man like you could spend the night in a woman’s house and end up sleeping on the couch.” She took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Oh, well. I suppose it’s fate. I suppose James and I aren’t truly meant to be together.”
She looked up to find him watching her intently, a strange expression on his face. It didn’t seem fair. She’d lost her chance with James Vandenberg—not that she really wanted him—because he thought she was involved with McCade—who she really
did
want.
Why couldn’t life be easy? Why couldn’t McCade just realize how perfect the two of them would be together? Why couldn’t he come to his senses and pull her into his arms and tell her that he was madly in love with her?
Because he
wasn’t
madly in love with her, that was why he couldn’t. He wasn’t, and he never would be.
McCade watched Sandy’s eyes fill with tears, and his chest felt tight. Damn, she was really upset about this. She really did like this Vandenberg guy. “Look,” he found himself saying. “It’s not that bad. All we have to do is…break up.”
Sandy looked at him as if he were crazy. “What?”
“Look,” he said again. “Vandenberg really likes you, right? He made that more than clear this morning. All you have to do is pretend that you and I are an item for a few weeks, until this project is over. Then we stage a fight and break up.”
As McCade spoke, the idea began to appeal to him. He would have the chance to play Sandy’s lover for several weeks. It was a role he could assume with absolute sincerity, and who knows? Maybe, with a little time, Sandy would want him to play it permanently, and much more realistically.
“We can set this up so that I’m the bad guy,” he said. “You know, I’ll dump you. It’ll look as if I led you on and—”
“We pretend we’re an item?” Sandy asked, trying to get it straight. “How much of an item? I mean, what exactly does that mean?”
McCade kept his face expressionless. “It means we keep up this charade by pretending that we’re lovers.”
Sandy glanced away, frowning slightly. How
did
lovers act? It had been so long since she’d been in a relationship. Did people still hold hands, or walk with their arms around each other? Did they kiss each other hello and good-bye?
She felt a rush of heat to her face as she considered the ramifications of having McCade kiss her regularly over the course of the next weeks. After a few days she’d probably become totally incoherent. After a week she’d probably throw herself at him. No, this definitely wasn’t a good idea at all.
“This isn’t going to work.” She went out the door.
McCade followed, several steps behind. He smiled. This was going to work perfectly.
SEVEN
“O
KAY
,” S
ANDY SAID.
“We’re all clear on the schedule for this weekend?” She glanced around the conference table where James Vandenberg sat surrounded by her technical crew.
Late Friday night, the video crew was heading up to the Grand Canyon. Simon Harcourt owned a small cabin just outside of the national park and he frequently hiked down into the canyon with his family. This weekend, Video Enterprises was planning to hike with him and get it all on tape. A hike into the Grand Canyon would provide perfect footage for the bio piece—Simon Harcourt at play in Arizona’s own natural playground. It was all about the environment, about good health, family living,
and
the canyon itself would provide a pretty spectacular backdrop. “Now, if only we can get a guarantee we’ll have good weather.”
“This is Arizona,” Frank said. “That’s about as good a guarantee as you can get when you’re talking weather.”
McCade was sitting across the table from her, and she glanced up to find him watching her. Again. All during the meeting she’d been aware of his steady, heated gaze. He’d been playing the part of her lover for the past few days, and even though he didn’t touch her at work, he always watched her this way. Whenever their eyes met, he would smile. It was an outrageously sexy half smile. Combined with the look in his eyes, McCade almost succeeded in making even Sandy believe he was remembering every little touch, every single caress of a steamy, passionate night spent making love to her.
She pulled her eyes away from McCade and cleared her throat. “We should be able to get all the footage we need on Saturday and Sunday,” she said to her technical crew. “But be ready to stay longer. Keep Monday and Tuesday open too. And Wednesday, while you’re at it.” She softened her words with a smile. “I don’t want to hear any whining about prior engagements if we need to stay up north a few days longer. Got it?”
At the murmured agreement from her crew, Sandy stood up. “Let’s hit the road, then.” It was nine o’clock and time to get the equipment vans going. They had an eleven o’clock shoot with Harcourt at a local mall.
“Yo.”
Sandy looked up from her computer as McCade poked his head and shoulders in through her office door.
“Yo yourself,” she said with a smile. “You’ve got the day off. What are you doing here?”
He opened the door wider. He was wearing his trademark jeans and T-shirt and carrying a brown grocery bag. “I had this uncontrollable urge to see you.” His husky voice was low, but Sandy knew her secretary was probably straining her ears to hear their conversation.
McCade leaned back into the outer office. “Hey, Laura, hold all of the boss’s calls, will you? She’s taking a lunch break. So, do not disturb. Got it?”
Sandy heard Laura’s affirmative giggle as he closed the door behind him. He clicked the lock firmly—and loudly—into place, and she stood up. “McCade—”
“Time for lunch,” he announced as he unloaded the contents of his bag on Sandy’s desk.
“McCade, the entire office thinks we’re having a passionate affair. Locking ourselves in my office in the middle of the day is
not
going to help matters any.”
“We’re just having lunch,” he protested. He opened a container of chicken salad and helped himself to a forkful. “Mmm, this is great. You’ve gotta try this—”
“Right now half of my staff are devising some sort of office betting pool, probably having to do with the size of your smile when you leave.” Sandy crossed her arms.
“You want to go to the movies tonight?” McCade asked, putting a large helping of three-bean salad onto a paper plate. He sat back, putting his feet up on the other guest chair.
“You’re ignoring me, McCade,” Sandy fumed. “I
hate
it when you ignore me.”
He dropped his feet heavily back onto the floor and leaned over her desk. With one finger he pushed the intercom button. “Laura?”
“Yes?” The tinny speaker made Laura’s voice sound higher and scratchier.
He pushed the button again. “Just wanted to let you know we’re not having sex in here, okay?”
Sandy slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.
McCade pushed the button again. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Laura finally answered.
He looked up at Sandy. “Better?”
She was laughing despite herself. “My reputation is totally shot.”
“Why?” asked McCade. He was serious. “You’ve made this company a really cool place to work, Sandy. It’s very casual, very friendly, and very relaxed. You give your workers lots of slack, plenty of free rein. Are you so certain they’re not going to do the same for you?”
He reached across her desk and began loading a plate with chicken salad, lettuce, and a generous helping of cut-up vegetables. He set the plate down in front of her chair, then pointed at it. “Sit.”
Sandy sat down slowly.
“Besides, the pool has to do with
when
they think I’ll pop the question, not whether or not we’re getting it on.” McCade shrugged. “I guess they assume that’s a given.”
“My staff thinks we’re going to get
married?
”
“Frank offered me half of the take if I propose to you on the date he’s picked,” he said between mouthfuls of salad. “At ten bucks a head, it comes to about a hundred for him, a hundred for me. So two weeks from Saturday, I’m going to ask you to marry me, okay?”
“God, McCade.” Sandy had been toying with her chicken salad, but now she put down the plastic fork and frowned at him. “You’re about as romantic as a slug.”
He grinned. “Just wanted to give you a warning.”
“And what would you do if I said yes?” She glared at him. “Are you really willing to risk spending the rest of your life with me for a lousy hundred bucks?”
This was it, McCade thought. There would never be a better time to tell her that he was in love with her. But the words seemed to stick in his throat. He coughed and swallowed, then put his plate down carefully on the desk. “Look, Kirk—”
The phone rang, and Sandy picked it up. “Kirk,” she identified herself. She listened for a few moments, then turned to her desk calendar, flipping through the pages. “No,” she said. “No, I can’t do it then.” Another pause, and she flipped the pages back again. “Right
now?
” She narrowed her eyes, looked at her watch, glanced at her plate of food wistfully, then finally said, “Tell them I’ll be right over.”
She hung up the phone. “That was Aaron Fields’s secretary. I was supposed to go over to Channel Five tonight to sort through their video archives for footage we might be able to use in Harcourt’s bio. But James had to cancel, only he’s over there
now,
and both he and Fields are free, so—”
“So once again, you don’t get to eat lunch.” McCade watched as she put on a fresh coat of lipstick.
“The alternative was to risk letting the meeting take place without James.” She clicked her makeup mirror shut. “I’d skip lunch every day if it meant never having to be alone with Aaron Fields.”
“You never told me why you don’t like him.”
“He asked me out to dinner about three years ago.” Sandy’s hand was on the doorknob. “I was stupid enough to say yes, and he took that as a global response for the rest of the evening. That, combined with his incredible charm and his winsome way with the English language—among other things—won him his seat of honor on my top-ten list of people to avoid.”
McCade nodded. “Some day when you have more time,” he said, “you can tell me what
really
happened.”
How did he know there was more? Sandy knew he couldn’t read her mind. If he could do that, he’d already know how she felt about him, and he’d have long since left town.
Frustration rose in her. How could he look at her like that, as if his feelings were hurt because she wasn’t telling him the entire truth, when he himself refused to open up and tell her what was behind those flashes of pain she saw so often in his eyes?
“Sure,” she said. “Some day. Like, right after you tell
me
why you left L.A. in such a rush.”
“You better go.” McCade glanced away from her. “Or you’ll be late.”
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell me.”
He looked up at her then, smiling as he met her gaze. His eyes were warm and so intense that Sandy caught her breath.
“Sooner or later I will,” he agreed, then changed the subject. “Whaddaya say we catch a movie tonight? As long as your evening meeting has been canceled…?”
Sandy hesitated.
“Your pick,” he said, waving his words like bait in front of her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You promise you won’t try to talk me into seeing something with lots of blood and guts and gunfire?”
“Cross my heart.” McCade did just that. “Although I really want to see that new Bruce Willis movie. But I know how much you like Bruce Willis—”
“You didn’t even take a breath!” Sandy said in mock outrage. “You crossed your heart, and you didn’t even pause for an instant before you broke your promise!”
“You’ve been dying to see Bruce Willis. Don’t deny it.”
She opened the door. “Good-bye, McCade.”
“You win,” he called. “I won’t say another word about any movie at all until after we buy the tickets.”
She stuck her head back in the door. “Deal.”
“And
then
we found this absolutely priceless footage of Simon Harcourt. You probably don’t remember, but a few years ago there was a fire at a community center in south Phoenix,” Sandy told McCade as they pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater. “It was was one of those places kids could go to hang out after school, you know, to stay off the streets. Anyway, after the fire, the contractors’ estimates for the building repairs were so high, everyone thought that was the end of the center.”
She unfastened her seat belt and got out of the car, continuing to talk as she locked and closed the door. “But Harcourt heard about it, and he had the building checked out. Structurally it was still sound—most of the damage had been done by smoke and water.”
McCade and Sandy joined the line at the outside ticket window.
“So he got together with some of the kids and the community leaders, and—”
McCade slipped his arm around her waist. “And what?” he asked, pulling her close to him.
“And they organized a cleanup.” Her voice sounded breathless as his hand accidentally slipped under the loose hem of her shirt. “McCade, what are you doing?”
Her skin was like satin. She felt soft and warm and so smooth beneath his fingers. He forced his hand down to her denim-clad hips. But that wasn’t exactly safe territory either. Damn, he wanted to kiss her.
“We’re supposed to be lovers, remember?” he said instead, holding her firmly when she tried to pull away as the line moved forward.
“McCade…”
He encircled her waist with both of his arms, pulling her to face him. This was just another game to him, Sandy realized. And he
did
enjoy his games.
This particular game involved role playing. She’d always suspected McCade would have been as successful in front of the camera as behind it, and now she was more convinced than ever. He was acting as if he were in love with her, and that ardent look in his eyes could easily have been taken for the real thing—except she knew better.
“No one knows us here,” she protested.
“Are you sure?” he countered. “You never know who might be around—someone from your office, or one of Harcourt’s staff members. Phoenix isn’t
that
big a city.”
At her skeptical look, he laughed. “If you don’t buy that, then at least consider this an opportunity to practice some body language,” he said. “Come on, anyone who’s watching would think that you don’t like me very much.”
The line moved again, and McCade released Sandy as they walked forward. She reached out and took his hand.
“This is a little more my style.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Do you think it’s enough to convince our audience—of which exactly zero are paying us a speck of attention, I might add—that I like you, McCade?”
“It’s a start,” he said with a smile, loosely linking their fingers together.
They reached the front of the line, and she had to let go of McCade as he took out his wallet. “Two tickets,” he said to the woman in the ticket booth, “for…” He turned to Sandy. “What are we seeing?”
“You’re
not
going to buy my ticket.”
“We can argue about that later. Right now we’re holding up the line. What are we seeing, Kirk?”
“What do you think we’re seeing?” She couldn’t believe that he didn’t know. “The Bruce Willis movie, of course.”
McCade nodded. “Of course.” As he bought the tickets he glanced back at Sandy and grinned.
“You didn’t
really
think I’d choose another movie, did you?” she asked as he pulled her toward the popcorn line. “How much do I owe you for the ticket?”
“Nothing. Zip. Zilch,” he said. “This
is
a date, Sandy. Cassandra. And I’m buying you popcorn and a soda too. So don’t try to talk me out of it.”
Something in his eyes told her not to argue, and not even to tease. For some reason, paying for her tonight was important to him. It probably had to do with this role-playing game they were caught up in. Sandy knew that if she and McCade really were involved, he would insist on paying for everything.
It was clear that he was getting into his part, and like most things McCade did, he was probably going overboard. But just how far overboard was he going to go? Was he going to get so wrapped up in this game that he wasn’t going to be able to stop playing even after they went home tonight?
She didn’t want him to make love to her simply because he’d gotten swept up in a game. But how could she resist him?
McCade dropped his arm loosely around her shoulders as they waited for the teenage employees at the concession stand to fill two large paper cups with soda. With his other hand, he pushed Sandy’s hair back from her face. It was a tender gesture, gentle and loving, matching the soft look in his eyes. Her heart lurched, and she had to look away from him.