“Lucky me.” She sat up, curling her legs under her, her posture designed for maximum male-appeal. Clearly, the girl was no stranger to flirtation. “Are you here for business... or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” Hale said. “Pure pleasure.”
“How nice. I’m Bitsy, by the way.”
“Hale.”
Above her sunglasses, her brow furrowed as her lips pursed. “Hale?” The smile was back, this time accompanied by wide, interested eyes. She pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him. “I know you, right? You’re on the cover of all those romance novels.”
“Guilty.” He tested his grin on her, pleased to see it seemed in working order.
“Are you here on a shoot?” She craned her neck looking around, probably for a camera crew. Considering how many celebrities frequented the hotel, Hale was surprised there wasn’t one set up nearby.
“I’m on vacation. Relaxing. Meeting new people.”
Trying to get myself out of a funk
.
“Well, the pleasure really is all mine, Hale.” The woman tossed her hair back, then peeked under the strap of her bikini top—presumably checking her tan, but also revealing the enticing curve of a breast.
Hale swallowed, not nearly as enticed by the view as he would have expected. In fact, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to go back to his room and watch a little Nick-at-Nite. For some inconceivable reason, this perfect specimen of a mortal woman just wasn’t pushing his buttons.
Frustrating. Damned frustrating, and he didn’t intend to tolerate it much longer.
“Come on,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
If she thought his invitation was abrupt, she didn’t say anything. Instead she gathered up her towel, wrapped a tiny sarong around her hips, then passed him her tote bag. “Carry for me?”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Twenty yards back to the hotel lobby. Twenty long, frustrating yards listening to the bikini babe ask him if he had a limo parked nearby and just how large was his expense account anyway? By the time they reached the lobby bar, the sad, inconceivable, inescapable truth had caught up with Hale and tackled him: There was no way on earth he was taking this woman up to his room.
Maybe Elmer was right. Maybe he was losing his touch. But it wasn’t that he couldn’t succeed with the ladies; it was that he didn’t want to. Why? At the moment, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to get out of there. But Bitsy’s hand seemed glued to his forearm, and shaking her was going to prove difficult. Damn.
“Drink?” He steered her toward the bar.
“Sure.” Bitsy was all smiles as she let go of his arm and perched on a stool.
He signaled to the owner, intending to order two of the bartender’s special concoctions.
“Why don’t you order us a bottle of Dom?” The blonde leaned close, her shoulder brushing against his forearm. “We can start our little celebration here, then move it to your room.”
“Great,” he said, sure his voice lacked even an ounce of enthusiasm. He nodded to the bartender, acknowledging the drink order even though he had no intention of having any himself. A drink like Dom could only be shared with a special lady, and Bitsy just didn’t fit the bill. Hell, maybe no one did.
The problem now was how to extricate himself from this unwanted and impromptu date.
“You know,” Bitsy began, taking a sip from the champagne flute put in front of her, “I’ve always wanted to be a model or an actress.” She aimed a little pout in his direction. “Maybe you can help me? Do you know any directors?”
“I really don’t—”
“My portfolio’s in my car.” She nodded toward the door. “Maybe you could buy me dinner and I could show you?”
“I’m not really—”
“I could show you more than that, too,” she cajoled, stroking his arm.
He
had
to get out of there. “Look at that!” Hale pointed across the empty room.
“What?”
“Over there. Isn’t that cool?”
The blonde squinted, swiveling on her stool to look in the general direction he was pointing. “I don’t see anything,” she said, turning back.
And Hale knew just how true that was. She really didn’t see a thing, at least not him. He’d completely dematerialized. Invisibility was a rather handy superpower when you got right down to it.
“Hale? Where’d you go?” The woman twisted around, searching the room for him, until her gaze focused on the mirror that backed the bar’s bottles of bourbon and rum. “Oh! There you are!”
Hale grimaced, realizing she must have seen his reflection.
In a second, she’d whipped back around so that she was looking in his direction—but again she couldn’t see him. Confusion flashed across her perfectly made-up face.
“Where are you?” She turned in her chair to look toward the mirror again, so Hale dropped down below the bar.
That was the one annoying thing about his particular superpower. He could turn invisible, yes, but reflective surfaces still picked up his image. Usually that was little more than an annoyance. Right now, though, it might foil his entire plan for escape.
Very quietly he crouched down, making sure his head was below bar level as he crept away. Disgust with himself—a superhero—for taking the chicken’s way out welled inside him, but not enough to suffer through an evening with this woman. No matter how ripe and lovely she was, he just wasn’t interested.
Still invisible, he headed for the stairs, avoiding the polished elevator doors and all other reflective surfaces and cursing himself the whole way as the blonde’s confused voice echoed after him. He had to be coming down with something. No other explanation made sense. He was Hale, Protector First Class, a direct descendant of Zeus, and he had a heck of a reputation with the ladies. The Hale he knew simply did
not
turn tail and run from bikini-clad women.
Hopping Hades, what was wrong with him? Flu? Leprosy? Consumption?
Whatever it was, the fact remained that he simply wasn’t in the mood, despite how soft and willing the girl might be. As he climbed the stairs, her voice drifted up from the lobby, calling his name as she searched for him. She couldn’t see him, but even so he raced ahead, zipping up the stairwell at lightning speed until he reached his room on the fifteenth floor. Only after he’d slammed the door behind him did he materialize.
Elmer looked up, his beady little eyes curious. He opened his mouth, but Hale held out a hand, in no mood to be razzed by his furry friend.
“Don’t say a word. Not one word.”
The ferret managed a shrug.
I wasn’t going to say I told you so. Really I wasn’t
.
“Just get ready,” Hale growled. “We’re leaving.”
“Sit. Sit.
Sit
!” Tracy sighed and dangled the doggy treat closer to Mistress Bettina’s cold, wet nose. “Please, Missy, you’re making me look bad—an animal trainer who can’t handle her own dog?”
Apparently Mistress Bettina couldn’t care less how Tracy looked, because the dog just sniffed, waggled her fuzzy little pedigreed butt, and yawned.
Resigned, Tracy tossed her the treat, which Missy promptly gobbled. “Thanks for nothing. Just remember who brushes you so that you turn all the boy dogs’ heads.”
“Does she talk back?”
Tracy yelped, her heart pounding as she turned around to face ...
him
. Leon Palmer. America’s latest heartthrob— and Tracy definitely counted herself among the Throbettes.
Behind her, Missy growled low in her throat. It was not particularly threatening considering the dog was tiny, but certainly not polite either. Tracy looked back over her shoulder. “Hush, girl. It’s Leon Palmer.”
Didn’t Missy realize what a big deal this was—
the
Leon Palmer... talking to her, Tracy Tannin, assistant animal trainer and Hollywood nobody? She really couldn’t believe it.
She wanted to savor the moment, but Missy’s growls and yips weren’t exactly enhancing the mood. She shot an apologetic smile Leon’s way, then bent over and scooped up the dog, rubbing her between the ears until Missy finally settled down and Tracy could again concentrate on Leon.
He must be lost. After all, the trailer that Paws In Production used to house the animals’ kennels was parked on a far corner of the backlot. It was well away from the day-today action of the filming of
Mrs. Dolittle, Private Eye
, so hardly any of the sitcom’s crew ever wandered back here, and certainly none of the cast ever did. Especially not stars like Leon. Tracy considered swooning but decided it would be terribly uncool. Instead, she rubbed Missy’s head, silently reassuring the dog that having Leon Palmer nearby was a good thing.
Leon grinned, apparently used to women staring at him in awe. After a moment, he flashed the full-blown for-the-photographers smile that was currently gracing a dozen entertainment magazines. “You okay? I didn’t mean to startle you.” His glance shot down toward Missy, his features tightening. “Or the dog,” he added.
“Oh. No. I mean, yes. I’m fine.” She squeezed her hands into fists and counted to ten. “I mean, don’t worry about it. I just didn’t realize anyone else was around. We’re pretty secluded back here.”
“I can see why.”
The corner of her mouth drew down. “Huh?” Oh, he must mean keeping the cameras away from the smell and noise. “The animals are all trained. Well, all but Missy here, but she’s not actually one of the company’s. She’s my dog, and she’s untrainable.” Tracy shrugged. “Anyway, all the other animals behave themselves.”
His grin displayed that famous dimple. “No, no. I just mean that I can see why they’d keep you in seclusion.” He leaned toward her. “Wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you distracting the actors and making the actresses jealous.”
“Oh. I...” She swallowed, wondering about his definition of pretty, but was flattered nonetheless. “Oh.” She gulped again. “So, uh, how can I help you?”
“I was hoping to meet my new co-star before shooting started this morning.” He paused, looking Tracy up and down. “Are you Melissa Carpenter?”
“I’m Tracy.”
His polite expression faded.
“Mel’s assistant,” she added, pleased to see his smile return. Clutching a squirming Missy under one arm, Tracy wiped her free hand on her jeans, wishing she had worn some makeup, had brushed her hair, and hadn’t been covered with fur. She held out her wiped-clean hand for him to shake, hoping it didn’t reek of doggie sweat. “Good to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Tracy. I’ll have to come back here more often now that I know what treats the producers are hiding.”
Tracy tried to smile, but wasn’t sure she managed. Men never noticed her.
Never
. So she wasn’t exactly sure what sort of response to make. Something more brilliant than drooling, that was for sure.
“Uh, fine. You can come by whenever. We’ve got lots of treats.” She fished in her pocket, then held one out. “Mostly doggie treats.”
He stared blankly then, almost as an afterthought, he cracked a tiny smile.
Good going, Trace. What a way with men.
“So, uh, can you introduce me to my co-star?” Leon asked after a moment.
Tracy cleared her throat. Best to focus on business and not attempt jokes. “Yes, well, she’s still back at the compound. Mel does most of the training there.” His “co-star” happened to be a particularly uncooperative female ferret named Penelope, and training the little beast was going terribly.
“That’s too bad. I was hoping we could make friends today.” He glanced at Missy, giving the dog a wary look. “I... uh ... was hoping we could get used to each other.”
“We were told those episodes didn’t start shooting for another week or so. Did someone tell you she’d be here?”
“No.” He waved off the question. “I just thought maybe I’d get lucky.” He smiled and moved closer. A low growl rose from Missy’s throat, and Leon jumped back. After a few seconds, he managed to regain his composure. He caught Tracy’s gaze. “I just didn’t realize
how
lucky.”
Oh, my. He was flirting with her.
Unbelievable.
Tracy fought the urge to pinch herself and see if she was dreaming. Instead, she just rubbed Missy’s head and forced herself to smile and act casual. Right.
Casual
. That was a much better plan than simply throwing herself at him.
His supremely confident expression suggested that he knew precisely how frazzled she was, and that he was more than happy to be the one frazzling her. Their gazes locked for a few seconds before his smile broadened. “Well, guess I better run. Don’t be a stranger.” One last show of pearly white teeth, then he turned away.
Tracy waved after him, her hand still limp in the air when Mel wandered up to the trailer a few moments later.
“Are you saluting? Or is this some weird new Southern California religious thing I just haven’t heard about?”
Melissa had moved to Los Angeles from Ohio years ago, and her favorite pastime was picking on Tracy’s hometown. Usually it got a rise out of her, but not today. Today, Tracy just lowered her hand, smiled at her boss, and passed her the dog. “He was here,” she said.
“He?” Melissa asked, shifting Missy under her arm. “Who he?”
“Leon Palmer.” Tracy whispered the name as if it were the key phrase of an incantation. “He asked for you.”
“Burke told me Leon was scared of ferrets,” Mel explained. “He probably came here trying to convince me to tell the show to use another dog or cat or something.”
Tracy frowned. “Really? He sounded excited about meeting Penelope. He even looked disappointed that she wasn’t here.”
Mel rolled her eyes. “Well, then he’s a good actor, because Burke told me yesterday that the whole cast knows the ferret’s being trained at the compound until we start rehearsals.”
Tracy wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Well, whatever his reasoning for coming back here, the point is that he ended up staying and flirting with me.”
“And this is a good thing?” Mel asked—as if Tracy had just revealed she was next in line for a brain transplant.
“
Any
man flirting with me is a good thing.” Tracy sighed. She was practically the invisible girl. Plain-Jane Tracy Tannin, the poor little Hollywood flop who hadn’t inherited her movie-star grandmother’s exotic looks or her father’s classic features. Not that it usually bothered her, but on occasion it would be nice to be noticed. And now, to be noticed by a guy she’d had a crush on for months ...