Page 117 of Wicked Fantasies

“It can be done. I see this movie as more of an artistic endeavor, an in-depth character study of the couples in each story. Of course, there’s no reason to worry about the how-to of the filming until we actually get the script written.”

She shrugged, worried lines forming on her brow as she glanced toward the front of the limo. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten about the Bambi incident. “I’d rather stay in a hotel while I consider your offer.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms under her breasts. He knew she meant the gesture to be standoffish and perhaps a bit protective, but he was staggered by the abundance of all-natural flesh beneath her shirt.

Christ, he hated breast implants and was delighted to see that under her clothing, Gwen wasn’t carrying around anything she wasn’t born with.

“Andas I said, that seems a waste of money. Come stay at my place, take a few days to decide, let me show you around Hollywood. If you agree to my proposal, the guest house will be yours while we work on the script. I should warn you, my schedule isn’t exactly what you call normal. My days are typically quite busy due to public appearances, meetings, work at the set. However, when we decide to start writing this script?—”

“If we start writing this script?—”

He grinned. “When we start, I really believe it would be better if you were close by while we’re working, so that neither of us is traveling during the wee hours to or from a hotel. With you ensconced in the guest house, we can work whenever we like.”

She sighed and turned her head to glance out at the passing scenery.

“Gwen, I know this may sound strange, but I feel as if I know you, even though our acquaintance has only been through email and phone conversations.”

She smiled and nodded. “I feel the same way but, Ty, I’m going to tell you right now, I’m not some movie star groupie and I don’t want to be surrounded by orgies or whatever other depraved things you may do in your house.”

He smiled, flashing his million-dollar dimples at her. “I’ll reschedule all my orgies until after you leave.”

She fought back a smile at his joke. “I mean it. If we’re going to work together, I insist that we keep things professional.”

He forced his head to nod in accord, even though his body was reading him the riot act for agreeing to such a thing. He had absolutely no intention of maintaining a professional distance from her. Something about her called to him, and he would be damned if he denied himself a taste of her sweetness.

He decided he really did owe her a decent explanation for Bambi. He prayed his words would set her mind at ease about him as a person.

“I hired Bambi this morning as a temporary replacement for my personal assistant. Apparently she thought a blowjob would make me inclined to hire her for a role in one of my upcoming movies. I know what it must have looked like to you, but I was pushing her away when you got into the limo.”

She looked over at him and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she believed him. A genuine smile crossed her face, and he was amazed by the transformation as she burst into peals of laughter.

He reconsidered his previous thought—shewasbeautiful.

“You poor man,” she said between gasps. “You must have been terrified.”

He let her have fun at his expense, relieved to see she wasn’t still thinking of him as a male chauvinist pig. He soaked in the sound of her laughter and grinned.

“Well, there’s some good news for you,” she teased. “If we actually write this script, you have your leading lady all lined up and ready to go.”

“Hell will freeze over before Bambi Starr lands a part in any movie I make.”

Mention of Bambi’s full name sent her into fits of laughter again. “Gee, I wonder if that’s her given name.”

The car pulled into the driveway of his house and her giggles ended on a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

He was used to seeing people’s expressions when they pulled up to his mansion. It was decadent in the extreme, and he thought perhaps he should feel guilty for the ungodly amount of money he’d pumped into the house.

Some small insecure part of him had never gotten over the feeling of growing up in a tiny one-room apartment, constantly worrying about the bills and where the next meal was coming from. He was determined he’d never let welfare checks feed him again, nor would he sleep in a cold, drafty room, wishing for the slightest bit of warmth.

His greatest regret in life was that his mother hadn’t lived long enough for him to set her up in a mansion of her own. She’d struggled throughout his entire childhood to care for him alone, and he’d never had the opportunity to reward her as he’d wanted to for her unending love and care.

“Holy shit,” she murmured. “Your house is as big as a hotel.”

“So now you see why I insist that you stay here. We could wander around for weeks and never run into each other.”

She nodded her head, still smiling. “You’re right about that.”

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