Page 33 of Heavy Shot

"Ah, I'd forgotten," Rhiannon nodded, then glanced around. "Is she here?"

"Not in the house, no. She has the guest house, but actually she's taken a vacation while Jack's away. Cozumel, I think."

"Sounds fun. Can I help with anything?"

"Absolutely! You can sit right down there and talk to me. Tell me everything about you. I've been hitting the circuit telling everyone all about me, and I'm sick of me. Tell me about you."

Rhiannon laughed, but launched dutifully into her autobiography, answering questions he asked, and expounding when prompted. She found that he was very easy to talk to, but wasn't sure if he was the greatest listener. Still, he acted full of interest, and after a half-hour of her going on about her childhood and college days, he had produced a lovely looking dish, and was doling it out on cobalt blue stoneware.

Before handing one over to her, he added some fruit and a side of toast she hadn't seen cooking. Then he pointed her to the variety of jams on the long table.

He joined her with his plate, then brought over the carafe of coffee, "I'm not giving that up," he'd said almost violently. And a carafe of juice for her.

"So, you're really doing Atkins? That’s so old fashioned."

"Yeah. I need to drop at least five pounds and I know it works."

Rhiannon blinked at him. "From where?"

"My gut," he shrugged. "When I get my leathers on, I have a roll. I'm wearing them when I go on Colbert, so I'm doing a bit of a crash. Extra workout, less food, major protein. No alcohol. It's killing me at parties! How are you supposed to go to those things sober?"

Rhiannon laughed at the expression on his face. From what she could tell, he was as fit as he could be, down to the tightly cut muscles of his stomach. If there was fat there, she had yet to see it, and she'd inspected rather closely. She shook her head. "It must be hard to have to be so body conscious all the time."

"It's life," he shrugged. "Everyone has to do something uncomfortable for their job. Some people sit at computers and get carpel tunnel. Some people sit and smell my feet doing pedicures. I just have to watch what I eat and sweat a bit. Mine pays more, so I can't gripe about it."

"Well, if this acting thing doesn't pan out, you've got a great future as a chef. This food is amazing," she said, giving him a wink.

He chuckled. "I worked as a cook in New York. Did I tell you that? My dad worked in a restaurant in Leeds, and I grew up in the kitchen there. When I moved to the States, it was getting a gig as a waiter or a cook. I picked cook. So, I'd work the night shift and then hit the auditions during the day."

"Were you now?” She chuckled, thinking back to Jill’s vegetable-chopping skills. “All this and he can cook, too. Hm.”

They talked for a while longer, until both had finished their meals, then Rhiannon helped him clean up the few dishes.

"You don't have to do that," he said, as she began drying plates.

"Well, you cooked. It's the least I can do," she said, with a shrug, "Besides, if I help, it means that it will be that much sooner that I can have you back in bed."

"Oh, bed!" Kline grinned, then made a dramatic face, "Ah--not being twenty years old anymore, I might need a little more recovery time. You want to watch a movie? Go get in the pool? Hot tub?"

Reading the look of humor in her eyes, Kline snorted, "Fuck it all, I'm getting Viagra. I swear to god, I'm getting a prescription."

Rhiannon laughed and began unbuttoning the shirt she wore, "Well, until you do, I'll just have to come up with other forms of inspiration." She stopped at the second to the last button and allowed the shirt to hang open slightly. "The hot tub sounds like fun. Where is it?"

"Right out that door," Kline pointed, eyeing her appreciatively.

She dropped the shirt and padded outside, with a glance back over her shoulder. "Coming?"

"On my way."

Kline stripped down before he stepped out the door, then met her on the edge of the tub for a deep kiss. They eased into the warm water and Kline turned on the jets, then spent the next several minutes doing everything he could short of pulling her onto his lap to make her purr, stretch, and be otherwise delighted.

The joke about Viagra was forgotten as they made love in the swirling water, and after, when Kline lifted her from the tub and carried her, arms and legs wrapped around him, into the house. Eventually, after a brief tour of the leather couch in the living room, they made their way back up to the bedroom and lazed the day away, alternately making love, talking and snoozing until the sun went down.

She woke before he did and availed herself of the huge bathtub in the master bath. While she was soaking, she noticed a stack of scripts within arm’s reach, so she plucked one up and thumbed through it. She'd gone through about four when the water started to chill, so she let the tub drain and sat down on the loveseat across from the vanity and finished perusing the others.

Kline had made a name for himself playing an insecure, but romantic hottie on a Friends-like sitcom. He'd distinguished himself from his castmates, Thad included, by starring in two back-to-back romantic comedies, then opened up his personal Hollywood world by taking the lead in an action flick. Currently he was wanted for every role that required a hunky leading man. None of the scripts were particularly interesting, Rhiannon thought. He was a better actor than anyone had seen so far, but nothing in that stack would show it off.

She wandered back into the bedroom around 3 in the morning and settled in with him. Both slept soundly into Sunday morning, when she woke to the smells of another home-cooked breakfast. She padded down the stairs in his bathrobe and smiled to find him yawning over the stove. "Tired?" she asked.

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