Kitabı oku: «Hot for Him»

She couldn’t stand not having him a minute longer.

Claudia wanted Leandro, and she knew he wanted her. She felt like the sexiest woman in the world standing in front of her mirror fresh from her shower. Dropping the towel behind her, she waltzed into the living room, desire giving her all the confidence she needed.

“I was thinking we could skip dinner and go straight to dessert. What do you think?” she asked him, pausing in the doorway.

His head came up and she saw his jaw tense as he registered her nakedness.

“You are full of good ideas tonight,” he said.

Holding his eye, she walked slowly towards him, loving the way his eyes followed the bounce of her breasts.

“You have no idea,” she said as she pushed him farther back onto the couch and straddled him. She could feel the firmness of his thighs beneath hers, the rasp of his denim against her skin. His hands found her torso on either side, sliding up until they were resting just beneath her breasts.

This man was going to be hers at last.

SARAH MAYBERRY

lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner, Chris. In addition to writing romance, she writes scripts for television. Like all her characters, she loves sexy cars, chocolate, a good glass of wine and a great laugh. Unlike her characters, she has to pay for the chocolate on the treadmill. Long live fiction.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Claudia’s story. This book pretty much wrote itself – Claudia leapt off the page, grabbed me by the throat and wouldn’t let go until I’d left her happy and whole. It’s so cool to write a strong, gutsy character. I had a lot of fun with the contrast between her larger-than-life personality and her actual physical presence – as Grace once commented, Claudia can be one scary little lady sometimes!

I hope you enjoyed getting to know Sadie, Grace and Claudia in the SECRET LIVES OF DAYTIME DIVAS mini-series over the past few months, and meeting their hunky other halves, Dylan, Mac and Leandro. I also hope you enjoyed the behind-the-scenes world of soap production. It’s a gruelling business, but it has been a great training ground for me over the years and I love it.

I love to hear from readers! You can contact me through my website – www. sarahmayberryauthor.com – via e-mail at sarahjmayberry@hotmail.com.

Until next time, stay well,

Sarah Mayberry

HOT FOR HIM

BY

SARAH MAYBERRY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thanks to Chris for holding my hand throughout this book and the previous two, and to Wanda the Wonderful, the good editor from the north, for listening to hours of rambling madness. Here’s to walking the streets of Paris with you both again sometime in the near future.

1

HE SMELLED OF LEATHER and musk and warm skin, and his shoulder was a solid wall of muscle against her left arm. Every time he spoke, his deep voice vibrated through her whole body. And every time he laughed, she had to fight the urge to squirm in her chair.

Claudia Dostis was seriously in danger of screaming out loud. In fact, if Leandro Mandalor’s big, beefy arm knocked against hers one more time, she was not going to be answerable for the consequences.

It was the organizers’ fault. They’d squashed too many people at too few tables at the open forum sessions for the Daytime Television Convention, then they’d compounded their mistake by seating her next to her arch rival.

How was she supposed to concentrate on answering questions from the floor when she was pressed up against Captain Butthead?

He was easily the most obnoxious man she’d ever met. Hands down, without even trying. All he had to do was walk into a room and she was instantly annoyed. It had a lot to do with her innate competitive spirit—his soap, Heartlands, competed on a daily basis with Ocean Boulevard, her baby. It had even more to do with the fact that six months ago he’d tried to get the jump on her by poaching the Boulevard’s idea to run a feature-length wedding episode in the winter months.

But mostly it was just him.

He was too tall—six four, or something equally ridiculous. He was too dark—olive skinned, with glossy black curly hair that he wore cropped close to his head. And he was too, too, too cocky. The man oozed confidence and take-charge charisma. He liked to call the shots, and he expected people to give him what he wanted, when he wanted it, stat.

And the way he looked at her—as though she were a private joke that only he understood. His dark brown eyes always held a hint of laughter when they lit on her, and it made her long for a large, heavy object to aim at his big, fat head.

For about the millionth time that afternoon, she felt the warm press of his body alongside hers as he shifted in his seat. Her fingers curled around the edges of her notes as she fought the need to punch him and tell him to keep his distance.

“…it’s an interesting point, but I’m not sure that I agree with it,” he said in his deep baritone. “What do you think, Claudia?”

She stiffened. She’d been so busy grinding her teeth over their forced intimacy she’d completely missed the comment from the floor.

Shit.

Her stomach tightening with panic, she ran her mind back over the past few minutes. They’d been talking about audience expectations for daytime drama, and the challenge of both meeting those expectations and providing fresh formats and ideas. Unfortunately, about the time when the discussion had gotten more specific, she’d been mentally sticking pins in his voodoo doll.

In short, she had no idea what she was supposed to agree or disagree with.

Her chin came up and she cocked an eyebrow at the giant hulking next to her. When in doubt, come out fighting was her motto. It had never failed her yet.

“Nice try, Leandro,” she said, “but I think we’re all interested in hearing what you’ve got to say.”

He held her eye for a beat, a small smile curling his mouth. She couldn’t help noticing that he had full, sensuous lips, and that his mouth was bracketed by laugh lines.

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely?” he said. He held her eye for a moment longer—just long enough to make her feel distinctly…uncomfortable—before turning back to face the room full of eager wannabe writers, producers and directors.

“Television is a visual medium, we all know that. The simple answer is that there are always going to be beautiful people on our screens. But it doesn’t mean there isn’t a place for character actors. In all honesty I can say that when I sit down to cast a part, I’m thinking about the role, the character, not the sexual appeal or looks or body of the actor or actress trying for the part,” he said.

Signaling he had finished, he gestured for Claudia to pick up the gauntlet.

“As much as it kills me, I’m going to have to agree with Leandro,” she said.

A ripple of laughter washed through the room. Their rivalry was becoming an industry in-joke, she knew.

“The reality is, some of the most popular long-term characters on Ocean Boulevard are played by actors and actresses who fall outside the accepted norms for physical beauty in our culture,” she said, warming to her topic. “Particularly in daytime drama, the audience falls in love with people and personalities, not faces and bodies. They spend a lot of time with our characters every week. They love them and hate them—after a while, what they look like becomes almost irrelevant. Having said all that, however…I will plead guilty to casting for beefcake occasionally. I figure our stay-at-home moms deserve a bit of eye candy every now and then.”

That scored her a laugh. She sat back in her chair, waiting for the next question. When it was directed to the producer of the Kelly Larson talk show, on her right, she risked a glance at her watch. Ten more minutes and her official obligations for the convention were over. Hallelujah.

“Beefcake. I wonder how they’d react if I said I cast for tits and ass?”

Leandro had leaned close to her ear to deliver his sotto voce comment, and she could feel his breath against her cheek.

“You should try it, see how they like it,” she suggested sweetly.

He grinned, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. She wondered if he had them whitened, or if he visited a tanning salon, or both. Surely Mother Nature hadn’t bestowed all that height and breadth on him as well as great teeth and a year-round tan?

“Would you promise to tend my wounds after they tear me to shreds?” he asked.

“I’ve got a large container of salt out the back, ready and waiting,” she said.

He laughed, a full-throated sound that drew the eyes of their interested audience.

Suddenly realizing how it must look, the two of them whispering with each other and grinning like schoolkids, she concentrated on her notes. The problem was, she wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face so badly, she leaped at any opportunity to lock horns with him.

But then she’d always been stubborn. From a young age she’d learned to look out for herself, and it had been good preparation for her career. She’d had to fight many prejudices in her battle to be taken seriously in the world of network television. Now, fighting was so much a part of her life it was second nature.

“Well, folks, that’s all we’ve got time for today. Let’s join together in thanking our special guests from the industry for their time and expertise in answering our questions today,” their chairperson, Bonnie Randall, said.

Claudia acknowledged the round of polite applause with a small smile. The truth was, of the five-hundred-or-so hopefuls crowded into this session, only a handful would achieve their dream to become part of the entertainment industry. It made her sad to see all the expectant faces sometimes.

Pushing back her chair, she stood for the first time in two hours and winced at how tight her back and butt were. She really had to think about adding some stretching to her work-out routine—Pilates or yoga or something. She was turning into an old lady with all the hours she was clocking behind her desk.

“This way,” Leandro said from behind her, and she felt a large hand land on her back as he steered her toward the closest exit.

Instinctively she dug her heels in, not liking how small she felt standing next to him. On a good day she was the shortest person in the room at five foot one, but she felt positively childlike next to Leandro’s towering height.

“I can find the door on my own,” she said coolly.

His mouth quirked. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said.

“Trying being the operative word. Why don’t you quit pretending you’re anything other than what you are—a pirate,” she said.

“A pirate? Why am I not getting Johnny Depp vibes when you say that?” he said wryly.

“You know why.”

He cocked his head to one side as he looked down at her. “You’re not still upset about the wedding episode?” he asked incredulously, as though she’d brought up a spat they’d had on the playground in elementary school.

“Yeah, I am. And I will continue to be as long as originality and reward for effort remain important to me,” she said stiffly.

He shook his head, clearly amused. She hated that she amused him. It made her want to kick him in the shin, or any other part of his body she had ready access to.

“Claudia, when are you going to let it rest?” he asked mockingly. His hand landed in the middle of her back again and she found herself being steered toward the exit once more.

She was so busy being irritated by his condescending attitude that she went without protest.

“It’s really not the conspiracy that you’re imagining, you know. I heard through a reliable source—who came to me, by the way, and not the other way around—that my biggest rival was running a feature-length special. What would you have done if the same opportunity fell into your lap?”

“Let me think for a moment… Come up with my own bright idea? Decide to be original?” she suggested.

“Sure you would have. And then you would have decided to fight fire with fire. You’re a beat ’em at their own game kind of woman. You wouldn’t be where you are today if you weren’t,” Leandro said.

They were out in the foyer of the Universal Hilton by now, and somehow they’d managed to find a quiet, secluded corner to stand in. Claudia was oblivious to everyone and everything else as she glared at the man looming over her.

“Don’t put me in the same grubby little basket as you, bucko,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest. He was standing so close she actually hit him, her finger driving home into firm, resilient muscle.

To her consternation, he threw back his head and laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she warned him through gritted teeth.

“Then stop being so cute,” he said. “Did you know that your nostrils flare when you get really angry?”

It was too much. It had been a long day, and an even longer convention, and Leandro Mandalor had been a dark, disturbing presence throughout the whole damned thing. Giving in to base impulse, she hauled back her foot and kicked him, hard, in the shin.

“Yow!” he howled, skipping backward and bending to clutch at his calf.

“Cute my ass. And my nostrils are none of your business, flaring or otherwise,” she said before spinning on her heel and making for the elevator bank.

The sound of his laughter followed her across the marbled foyer.

She ground her teeth together and called him four-letter words all the way up to her floor. He thought she was a joke. A Kewpie doll he could poke a stick at and get some laughs out of. Her stride morphing into a stalk, she made her way to her hotel suite and swiped her key card.

Sadie and Grace looked up from where they were lounging in the living room when she entered.

“Uh-oh. Mandalor alert,” Sadie said as she saw Claudia’s face.

“The man is an arrogant ass. A patronizing pig. A…a…” Claudia spluttered, running out of appropriately vitriolic insults.

“Slippery snake? Jittery jerk? How about leprotic loser?” Grace suggested, poker-faced.

“It’s not funny,” Claudia wailed, throwing herself into an armchair and toeing her high heels off with a relieved sigh.

Sadie grimaced apologetically. “It is kind of funny. Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “Every day you’ve left the convention fuming at him. Even you have to admit that it’s a teensy, weensy bit amusing.”

Jumping to her feet again, Claudia crossed to the minibar and grabbed herself a bottle of mineral water.

“Have I been that bad?” she asked as she cracked the seal on the bottle.

Grace and Sadie made eye contact with each other, then nodded in unison.

“Yup.”

Taking a slug of mineral water, Claudia pushed her shoulder-length straight black hair away from her face.

“He reminds me of my brothers,” she admitted. “It’s not just that he’s Greek, either. Although that doesn’t help. There’s this whole macho man thing that Greek guys have—like they’re God’s gift to women. My brother Cosmo walks into a room and absolutely believes that all the women there want to have sex with him. Leandro is exactly the same.”

“Yeah, except that Leandro is probably not that far from the truth, whereas your brother is definitely on the deluded side,” Grace said wryly.

Claudia pulled a face and made a gagging noise. Sadie laughed.

“Come on, Claud, are you telling me you don’t find Leandro attractive?” Sadie asked.

“He’s a giant. And he’s got that big nose and those girly lips,” Claudia said, shaking her head dismissively.

Grace rolled her eyes. “You mean that sexy, masculine Greek nose and those lips that look like they could win Olympic gold in all the important oral events?”

“Sorry, can’t see it,” Claudia said firmly. It was true, too, she assured herself. She’d sat next to him for two hours today and felt nothing but irritation at being hemmed in and imposed upon. “He does absolutely nothing for me.”

“So, what did he say this time?” Sadie asked. She leaned forward, obviously eager for the latest installment in the Leandro Mandalor saga.

Claudia briskly filled in her two best friends and colleagues, feeling warmed when they gasped with outrage at the appropriate points and hooted their approval when Claudia reported her zingers.

“You’re definitely ahead on points,” Grace announced when Claudia had summed up the shin-kicking incident.

“Definitely. He’d have to do something really audacious to beat physical assault,” Sadie said.

Claudia winced. “Put like that, it sounds kind of…childish,” she admitted.

“Never say die, Claud,” Grace said. “And never, ever apologize.”

“Hmm. That’s so interesting, Gracie, because I swear when I picked you up from your place the other day, I heard you say sorry to Mac for using all the hot water in the shower…” Sadie said teasingly.

“Strategy. Mac thinks he’s got me where he wants me, but it’s so the other way around,” Grace said.

Claudia didn’t bother calling her friend on her faux feminist stance. Grace and Mac had long since ironed out the problems in their relationship and had been living with each other for nearly three months now. As for Mrs. Sadie Anderson…the content look behind her eyes was testament to how happy she was with Dylan.

“God, we’d better win tonight,” Claudia said. “If he walks away with that award, I am seriously going to need sedating for a few days.”

“We’ll win,” Grace said confidently.

“You don’t know that,” Claudia fretted.

“Yeah, I do. Mac made that episode look so perfect. And it rated through the roof. Of course it’s going to win,” Grace said.

“Really?” Claudia asked, her pulse surging with excitement as she thought about walking up on stage tonight and accepting a People’s Vote Award on behalf of the show. It would mean so much to her, both personally and professionally. The show hadn’t received a People’s Vote for nearly five years, and to win this year would put the seal on the success of their wedding feature. They already had another feature scheduled for next winter—with the story line very tightly under wraps—but the win would give them the cherry on top that Claudia craved.

The awards show wasn’t televised in prime time like the Emmys or the Oscars, but a cut-down version of the ceremony with highlights would be shown during the day. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want her mom and dad to see her on that podium accepting a crystal statuette. It would be a very public vindication of her battle to assert herself and her dreams.

The old sadness welled up inside her as she admitted to herself that she would probably never know if her parents had even seen the show, let alone if they had it in them to be proud of her still…

“We’re going to kick ass,” Sadie said, stretching out languorously.

“What are you going to wear?” Grace asked. “Please tell me it’s not black.”

Claudia threw one of the suite’s heavily tasseled cushions at her friend.

“It’s red, if you must know.” Sadie and Grace teased her a lot about always wearing black. Partly it was because she was too busy to shop, and black always went with black. But partly it was because she felt as though people took her seriously when she was dressed in dark colors. She was small and she was female—she wasn’t about to disadvantage herself further by dressing like a sex kitten or a vamp.

“Gracie?” Sadie asked, switching her attention to the other woman.

“Vintage Dior. Mac bought it for me. That’s all I’m saying,” she said, waggling her eyebrows mysteriously.

“What about you, Sade?” Claudia asked.

“I’m recycling. The black-and-white sheath I wore a few years ago.” She shrugged.

“You know, usually I hate these things, but I have a good feeling about this one,” Grace said, suppressed excitement in her voice.

Claudia met her friends’ eyes and held up both her crossed fingers.

She really wanted to win this award. And not just because it meant she could rub Leandro Mandalor’s big Greek nose in her triumph.

Although that was definitely part of the appeal.

LEANDRO TURNED the shower on, waiting till the water was good and hot before stepping beneath the stream. His old soccer injury was aching after a day of sitting in one position for too long, and he rolled his shoulder for a few minutes, letting the heat work the stiffness out of his muscles. Reaching for the tiny bottles of toiletries supplied by the hotel, he squeezed shampoo into his palm and massaged it into his hair. Immediately, he was surrounded by a scent that was strangely familiar and beguiling. Definitely floral, but with a warm undertone that hinted at something darker and deeper. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tried to think. A vague image swam across his mind’s eye, and then it came to him: Claudia Dostis. The shampoo smelled exactly like Claudia Dostis.

He smiled into the shower spray as he rinsed the lather from his hair. His shin had already turned a pleasing shade of bruise from her well-planted kick a few hours ago, and he knew he should be more pissed than tickled by her display of temper, but he couldn’t help himself. She reminded him of all the best things about his feisty female relatives—full of pluck and opinion and zest for life. She might be one step up from midget status, but she was all energy—a vibrant, dynamic woman who took life by the scruff of the neck and shook it for all it was worth.

Plus he’d always had a thing for short women. Easy to say when he checked in at six feet four inches, since almost every woman was shorter than he was, but Claudia was genuinely on the miniature side. Just like most of his girlfriends since high school. And his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Peta.

Thinking about Peta effectively killed any buzz he’d generated thinking about the feisty Ms. Dostis. He’d had the divorce papers couriered over to Peta last week, but she was still stalling on signing. They hadn’t been married for long enough for the delay to be about the money—they’d both agreed to walk away with what they’d brought to the relationship. The reality was, Peta didn’t need his money. As it turned out, she hadn’t needed his anything. Their marriage had been a joke from beginning to end—a joke perpetrated by his raging hormones and his stubborn belief that he could make their relationship work.

Now he just wanted it to be over. It was bad enough that he was the only member of his large family to have a divorce under his belt. His brothers and sisters had all chosen well when they gave away their hearts. His mama hadn’t stopped telling him that she’d known from the moment she set eyes on Peta that she was wrong for her boy. Too blond. Too skinny. Too ambitious.

While he still didn’t agree with his mother on points one or two, he had to bow to her superior wisdom on three; Peta, it turned out, had cared more about her career as an up-and-coming agent than she did about her fledgling marriage. When she’d opted to use confidential information that he’d shared with her in the privacy of their bedroom to further her career, he’d gotten the message loud and clear. Peta had a fire in her belly—but it wasn’t big enough to warm the both of them. It had only been a matter of time after that before their marriage had died a quiet, painful death.

Turning his back to the shower spray, Leandro planted his hands on the wall opposite and ducked his head, letting the water run down the column of his spine.

Was he bitter? He didn’t think so. More…wary. He still wanted a wife, children. He wanted the warmth and belonging of building his own little family unit. But next time around, he would choose more wisely. No more career women in their stiletto heels and neat little suits. No more business lunches that turned into personal dinners and then something much more personal. This time, he’d use his head as well as his heart and regions farther south when he picked his life mate.

His thoughts flew to the delicious Ms. Dostis again, and regions farther south gave a definite twitch of approval. Yeah, she was hot. A pocket rocket, his brothers would call her—small of frame and stature, but with curves in all the right places. She was all woman, and if she attacked sex with one fraction of the energy she attacked the rest of life, he figured bedtime with her would be a death-defying experience.

Reluctantly, he pushed the tempting thoughts from his mind. She was his competitor, for starters. And even if there wasn’t that major stumbling block to consider, there was the fact that he was about to become a newly divorced man at the age of thirty-six. His days of playing the field were behind him—he wanted to be young enough to kick a soccer ball with his children. There was no time to stop and smell the flowers anymore, even if Claudia was a particularly enticing bloom. He was a man on a mission—meet, mate, procreate.

Exiting the shower, he toweled himself dry and wandered, naked, into the bedroom. His suit was hanging on the back of the closet door and he eyed it with misgiving for a long beat. Monkey suits were the curse of the industry, in his opinion. No matter how well-cut the suit, he always felt as though he was wearing a straitjacket. Shrugging into his shirt, his mind drifted to the night ahead. Speeches, announcements, daytime stars, writers, directors and producers swanning about with too much champagne and too little food. It was going to be duller than dull. There was only one moment of possible interest—the Best Special Feature Award. There were four contenders in the category, but Heartland’s only real competition was Ocean Boulevard.

He was quietly confident they’d pull it off. He’d lavished money, time and effort on their white wedding episode. They’d shot on location in Aspen, bought a couture dress and sprung for extra publicity. True, Ocean Boulevard’s special had just beaten them in the ratings. But Leandro was sure the production values of his effort would tip the balance in their favor.

Slipping on boxer briefs, he pulled his suit trousers on. Claudia would breathe fire when he stood on the podium and accepted the award. Did it make him a cad that he was looking forward to seeing her delicate nostrils flare out in anger yet again?

Just the thought of it brought a smile to his face as he tied his shoelaces.

He couldn’t remember the last time a little friendly rivalry had been so much fun.

LIAR, LIAR, pants on fire.

The words ran across Claudia’s mind as she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Leandro Mandalor in full black tie. Good Lord, he looked stunning—a veritable man mountain in elegant black. His hair shone in the discreet lighting of the hotel’s ballroom, and the crisp white of his shirt was the perfect foil for his olive skin.

In contrast to what she’d told her friends earlier, he was a very, very attractive man.

There, she’d admitted it, if only to herself. And she’d be damned if she ever said the words out loud—it was embarrassing enough having the hots for a man so beneath her contempt.

Although…she’d been thinking quite a bit about what he’d said to her earlier at the convention—about what she would have done in his shoes. If she’d learned he was trying to stitch up the winter ratings period, she’d have seen red…then she’d have tried to out-maneuver him. Which was pretty much what he’d done. He’d announced his wedding episode, proclaimed it to the world as the last word in lavish soap excess, then dared her to best him. So maybe he wasn’t quite as contemptuous as she’d first thought.

But he was still her arch rival—conniving sneakery or no conniving sneakery. He still lusted after her ratings points, just as she salivated over his. And he was Greek. She never, ever dated Greek men. They reminded her of her brothers and her father and her cousins, and they brought to mind every family gathering she’d ever attended since before she could remember. They were too traditional, too alpha, too domineering. Not that she was in any danger of being dominated—she simply had better things to do with her time than to manage some lunkhead with a bee in his bonnet about looking after her, or something equally medieval. She preferred men with more modern outlooks, men who played by the same rules she did.

“Wow. Check out those sissy lips and that big Greek honker,” Grace said, eating up Leandro with her eyes.

“Oooh yeah, he just about makes me feel sick to my stomach,” Sadie chimed in.

Standing on Grace’s other side, Mac cleared his throat and shot Dylan a world-weary look.

“A little consideration for the chopped liver over here, ladies,” Mac said. “At least wait until we’re not around before you start scoring the other studs out of ten.”

“The other studs?” Grace asked, one eyebrow arched imperiously.

“We still qualify, even if we are spoken for,” Dylan said, smoothing a hand down the sleeve of his midnight-blue tux.

Sadie stepped close to straighten his tie. “I’m willing to concede the point,” she said huskily, smiling up at him from under her lashes.

Claudia tore her eyes from Leandro and tried to remember what she’d been thinking before she got hit by the freight train that was her rival’s sex appeal.

Right. Their table. She’d been looking for their table. Consulting the notes her assistant had provided, she began scanning the room for table five. It was flatteringly close to the stage, and Claudia told herself it was a good sign—easy access to the podium. The organizers wouldn’t do that unless she actually needed to get up there, right?

“We’re over here, guys,” she said, directing them toward the round banquet table marked for Ocean Boulevard.