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Cutting Loose
Kristin Hardy
Members of Sex & the Supper Club cordially invite you to a sneak preview of intimacies best shared among friendsWhen a gang of twentysomething women get together, men are always on the menu! A makeover. A masked stranger. A master suite. When Trish Dawson's new look attracts the attention of a fellow costume-party guest, she decides to cut loose and go for it. When his mask comes off, not to mention his clothes, hot actor Ty Ramsay is revealed. Insisting this'll be a one-night-only performance, she's going to risk it all. But Ty has other ideas…ones that involve all-night make-out sessions, doing damage to the headboard and three-day getaways to the sexiest spots on earth. He might even be thinking long-term, Trish has him so wound up–but she's not sure and may need a lot of convincing…Ty Ramsay style!
Her moan was loud in the quiet of the room
Trish couldn’t help herself. She was feeling totally free, wanton for the first time. And with Ty of all people—gorgeous, smart, sensitive, built. Totally built.
She let out a shuddering breath. His hands paused at her bare waist and their eyes locked. The moment was intoxicating. Like a drug, she didn’t want it to end and thought she’d never get enough.
“I don’t think this is smart,” Trish managed.
His eyes were very green up close. His rough hands started to move again, stroking, touching one breast, then the other. “We’re long past smart.”
“I shouldn’t be doing this.” Her words were barely audible.
“You want it anyway,” he whispered back.
And his mouth claimed hers in a deep, deep kiss.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to book two of SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB. To tell Trish’s story, I interviewed screenwriters and producers to find out what life in the movie industry is really like. I never dreamed that the filmmaking process would strike so close to home. I would never have guessed that while I was in the middle of spinning the tale of Trish’s screenwriting success, I’d find out that one of my own books had been made into a film by the Oxygen Network. My Sexiest Mistake, my debut book for the Harlequin Blaze line, was only the first. Word is, more of your favorite Blaze novels will follow, so keep your eyes peeled.
Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy Trish’s story. Trish leads a quiet life—at least until her book starts—but what happens to her proves that there’s a little bit of Blaze out there in all of us. Write me at kristin@kristinhardy.com and tell me what you think. Or visit my Web site at www.kristinhardy.com for contests, recipes and updates on my recent and upcoming releases, including the next SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB story, Nothing but the Best, coming in December 2004.
Have fun,
Kristin Hardy
Cutting Loose
Kristin Hardy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the members of the Wednesday Night Dinner Club who gave me the idea, and to Stephen, who kept me inspired.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Prologue
Los Angeles, 1995
“COME ON, everyone, sit down, please.” Trish Dawson glanced around the room at the managers for the university’s spring play. Why the producer had asked Trish to run the meeting in her absence, Trish had no idea. Maybe she had a head for details, but she was much happier acting as script doctor than ringmaster. Thanks very much.
Trish took a deep breath. “Anita’s sick so she’s asked me to get things going. Now, we’ve got two weeks until opening night. We just need to do a status check before we start rehearsal. Martin, you first,” she ordered, trying to avoid looking at the director with his razor-sharp cheekbones and spill of dark hair. He was too good-looking to trust, in Trish’s book. She might have learned that lesson about men the hard way, but she’d learned it well.
“We’re in pretty good shape,” Martin allowed, flashing his careless smile. “Right now we’re still running about ten minutes long. Where are you at on the cuts, Trish?”
“You’ll have the revisions by noon tomorrow,” she answered, mentally cursing the flush she could feel moving over her face.
“In that case, I’d like to plan for a dress rehearsal in a week,” Martin said. “How are we doing with the battle scene?” he asked the dark-haired choreographer, Thea Masterson.
“Same as we were when you asked me an hour ago.” Humor glinted in Thea’s hazel eyes. “I’ve been running the cast through the sequences and they’re coming along nicely.”
“How about costumes?” Trish turned to her best friend, Cilla Danforth, wardrobe mistress. “Are we on target for dress rehearsal?”
“The outfits for the leads should be done,” Cilla said, rolling up the cuff of her Marc Jacobs couture grunge shirt. “A couple of the bit players might have to play it in street clothes, but their costumes aren’t that important.”
“Historically accurate?” Martin asked.
Cilla stared at him blandly. “You worry about the actors, Martin, sugar. I’ll worry about the clothes.”
Cilla never took anything from anybody, Trish thought admiringly, wishing she could be the same way. “How about sets?” she asked, turning to the design manager, Paige Wheeler.
Paige consulted her tidy stack of notes. “Everything’s ready,” she supplied. “Touch-ups on the interior set for act three should be finished by tomorrow. Otherwise, everything’s done.”
The day Paige missed a deadline was the day the planets stopped moving in their orbits, Trish reflected. She looked at a blonde in a Pearl Jam T-shirt. “Delaney, where are we at on marketing?”
“Signage is up and Kelly’s been running her ‘Behind the Scenes’ series in the school paper,” Delaney responded, nodding toward Kelly Vandervere, staff reporter.
“And there’s Sabrina,” Kelly reminded her.
“Oh, right, thanks.” Delaney turned to the group. “You guys all probably know Sabrina Pantolini, the one who’s doing the documentary on the play. She’s going to cut a commercial from her footage to play on the college station.”
There was a round of applause. Trish waited for it to die down and checked her watch. “Great, so it looks like everything’s on schedule. I’ll just write this up for Anita and we can get started with rehearsals.”
Everyone rose and began drifting out. “S&S meeting tonight at Tortilla Flats,” Cilla reminded her before leaving.
“S&S? What’s that?” asked Martin, standing nearby.
Tell him it stood for Sex & Supper Club? No way was Trish going to go there, especially not when her palms were already sweating from nerves. “Just a group of us getting together,” she said vaguely, picking up her notebook.
He considered. “Maybe I’ll come along.”
To hear them dissect which guy they knew kissed better than the rest? Trish resisted snorting. “It’s, um, a girl-only thing.”
“Maybe some other time, then,” he said lightly. “So, are you nervous about opening night?”
“A little,” she admitted. “Are you?”
“Not really. It’ll be fine.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
He shrugged. “It’s not hard. It’s just a matter of trusting to luck.”
She met his eyes for the first time. “I guess everything is.”
1
Los Angeles, Present
“SO THIS is your favorite sex fantasy, jeans and a T-shirt? All this time, I never knew you were acting out your dreams at the Supper Club meetings.” Cilla looked out the door of her ’30s Brentwood bungalow, an impish look on her triangular vixen’s face as she stared at Trish and her casual clothes.
“You guys always turn me on so much,” Trish said, walking through the door.
“I’ll bet. You do realize you’re going to have to change, right? Remember? ‘Dress like your favorite sex fantasy?’”
“‘To see my fantasy become reality.’ Yep, I read the invitation, too.”
“Sabrina’s serious about her costume parties.”
“Right. Well, just now my favorite sex fantasy involves a bath and a foot massage,” Trish sighed, setting her purse down on the hall table. Working for her sister Amber, at her home concierge company, doing errands for a living, was exhausting. “I am beat. Anyway, you’re one to talk.” She gestured at Cilla’s plum-colored Michael Kors business suit. “Where’s your costume?”
“I just got home. The big Danforth’s couture show is tomorrow, so of course everything went wrong all day long.”
“Rodeo Drive retail. It’s a rough life you live,” she said with false sympathy as Cilla stuck out her tongue. “So is it all taken care of now?”
“I think so. We’ve got someone to pick up the designer when she flies in, so I’m off the hook for the night. And I do have a costume for the party, I’ll have you know. I’m going as a naughty nurse,” Cilla said, flipping back the neckline of her blouse to flash her the black lace of her bra.
Trish fanned herself laughingly. “You keep that up, you’ll give your patients heart failure.”
“Oh, but what a nice way for them to go,” Cilla grinned. “So I’m set, but we’ve got to do something about you.” Suddenly her eyes brightened in a way Trish didn’t entirely trust. “You know, it’s only seven-thirty,” she said casually. “We’ve got buckets of time. Let’s get a drink and we can fix you right up.”
Trish flopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs as Cilla walked to the kitchen. “It’s been a long day. I’m as fixed up as I need to be.”
Cilla popped her head out of the kitchen doorway. “If you go like this, you’ll feel totally uncomfortable and be convincing yourself to leave half an hour after you get there.” She ducked back into the kitchen.
Trish raised her voice. “I’ll be ready to leave after half an hour anyway. You know how much I love parties. Right up there next to root canals.”
“So don’t think of it as a party. Think of it as a Sex & Supper Club meeting with a few extra people there. Come on. Just this once, trust me.” Cilla walked out, carrying fizzing glasses of something pale. “I’ll make you look so gorgeous you’ll be the toast of the evening. Now what happened with the hunky carpenter you were talking to when I called you this afternoon?”
Trish shrugged. “He finished the job and left. They usually do.”
“That’s all? You didn’t talk with him?”
“Of course I talked with him. I had to get him to sign the paperwork, didn’t I?”
Cilla blinked. “You spend half a day in a house alone with a gorgeous man and you don’t even flirt with him? Trish, Trish, Trish, what are we going to do with you?” She clicked her tongue in disappointment.
“The client could have walked in. Besides, he’s a contractor we use regularly. If I’d joked back with him, he might have gone ahead and asked me out.” Trish said, and took a sip of her drink. Ginger ale.
“So? He might have been a nice guy.”
Trish swirled her drink around. “Yeah, but if we went out, I’d have to talk with him, and then I’d be all stressed over saying something clever so of course I wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing, and then I’d be worried about the silence and then I’d be worried that he would be thinking I was a boring goob and wondering how to end the evening as soon as possible. And there’s the whole kissing thing at the end of the night, and I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for it.” She took a drink. “And if we hit it off, it would be worse. I’d spend way too much money on haircuts and new underwear and then he’d break up with me and I’d have to work with him later. It’s just not worth all the hassle.” Trish looked up at Cilla, who was suppressing a smile. “What?”
“That’s efficient. You got all the way through the entire relationship without even leaving the room, let alone talking to the guy. Look at all the money and time you saved.”
Trish flushed. “Look, it’s just more than I want to mess with right now.”
“It doesn’t have to be that hard,” Cilla pointed out. “He might have been a really funny guy and all you’d have had to do was sit there and laugh.” She leaned in toward Trish. “Who knows, you might even have had fun. Look, do me a favor.”
“What?” Trish gave her a suspicious look.
“Forget about all that stuff. Come to the party and just relax. The gang will be there so you don’t have to worry about talking to guys all alone. Besides, I’ll get you fixed up so they’ll talk to you no matter what. Consider it an experiment.” She rose, slender and leggy in her short skirt. “You might even have a good time.”
Trish eyed Cilla skeptically and followed her as she headed down the hall. “You’re not going to turn into my sister and start telling me it’s all about appearance, are you?”
“That’s just Amber’s excuse for making you do all the grunt work while she stays in the office filing her nails.”
“It’s her company,” Trish said simply. “Besides, she’s better at the sales end. Amber likes dressing up every day, I’m happy in jeans. Someone’s got to show the right image to the outside world.”
