Page 39 of Prime Time

She sprang out of bed, but not before he slapped her on the fanny. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast, won’t I?” she asked, wrapping up in the towel and getting her bikini.

“If I can still walk.”

She winked at him wickedly and swayed with a saucy gait to the door. She blew him a kiss before checking the hallway and then hurrying down it to her room.

She took special care with her toilette, bathing in scented water and styling her freshly washed hair in a more casual style. She’d dress for the interviews later. For breakfast she put on a bright cotton print sundress. She felt totally feminine today and wanted to proclaim to the world her womanhood, which had only blossomed to full bloom under Lyon’s tender nurturing.

She was humming a catchy tune when she skipped out into the hallway and collided with a waiting Lyon. His arm surrounded her waist, and his mouth swooped down for a possessive kiss that stole her breath away.

“On your way to breakfast?” she asked when he at last released her.

“I could be persuaded to skip it.”

“I couldn’t. I’m starving.”

They nuzzled and their hips bumped together as they wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and started down the stairs. Halfway down they saw that Gracie was conversing with someone at the door. Andy’s animation died. Her light footsteps became leaden. Panic stopped her heart and clogged her throat.

She couldn’t see the man. Gracie’s generous figure was blocking him from her view. But she could see the top of his head. Only one person had hair that shade of red.

Les Trapper.

Chapter Eight

She stumbled against Lyon and gripped the bannister. Should Les find out about her and Lyon, his suspicions would increase a hundredfold. He would jump to the conclusion that her objectivity had been compromised. It hadn’t been, but there would be no convincing Les of that.

He had no jurisdiction over her life. She was free to love whoever she wanted, but her being with Lyon last night had put her credibility in jeopardy. She’d have to play the consummate professional and put Les off the track. There was no time to explain that to Lyon now. Surely he would understand.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved away from him and took the last few steps on a run. “Les!” she cried.

He spied her over Gracie’s broad shoulder and sidestepped the housekeeper to meet Andy halfway. She flew into his warm embrace. He kissed her roundly on the mouth. Would he taste Lyon there? she thought in panic.

“Andy baby, Lord, but I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he exclaimed, hugging her tighter.

“I’ve missed you, too.” She had been lying so often lately. Hopefully without arousing his suspicions, she eased out of his arms. “What are you doing here? And this early in the morning?”

“I got a red-eye flight out of Nashville and made it to San Antonio last night. I drove the rest of the way this morning.”

“I guess everyone’s going to want coffee.” Gracie had never sounded so ungracious. She was glaring at Les with undisguised resentment.

“Please, Gracie.” The deep voice came from above them on the stairs.

Les’s red head went up and back as he noticed Lyon for the first time. Andy’s heart swelled with pride as she watched him descend the stairs with the ease and grace of a proud man. A man in a three-piece business suit couldn’t look any more distinguished than Lyon did wearing his faded jeans and cotton shirt. The sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows to reveal the strong arms that had held her through the night. His dark hair shone in the sunlight that was filtering through the windows. It had been well brushed but was already getting out of control.

She heard Gracie huffing off to get the coffee, but Andy’s attention didn’t waver from the two men as they confronted each other. The way they measured each other could only be defined as a confrontation. Lyon was taller, leaner, brawnier, but Les exuded the cunning of a street fighter.

Their dislike for each other was instantaneous and intense, and the air practically crackled with it. So palpable was it that Andy had to clear her throat in the suddenly dense atmosphere before she said, “Ly … Mr. Ratliff, this is Les Trapper, my producer. Les, Lyon Ratliff.”

Lyon stepped down to floor level, but didn’t extend his hand. “Mr. Trapper,” he said by way of greeting.

“Lyon.” The casual use of Lyon’s first name was intended as an affront, and Lyon took it as such. Andy could see that he was bristling, even though he was clearly trying to conceal his reactions from them both. “Thank you for taking care of Andy for me,” Les said, placing a protective, possessive arm across her shoulders.

Lyon’s steely eyes stabbed into her and she wanted to cry out in protest at the accusation in them. No, no, Lyon, none of this has anything to do with last night.

“Ms. Malone impresses me as a woman who can take care of herself.”

“That she can,” Les said heartily. “After all, she convinced you and your father to grant her an interview that others have tried to get and failed. Speaking of which, I have some good news. One of the networks got wind of the project and has offered to buy the whole kit and caboodle from the cable company.”

Andy turned to him in surprise. “Are you kidding?”

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