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She ignored the question. “Speaking of which, why are you here, anyway?”
“Ah, see, the tardy people miss the explanations.”
She glowered at him, but Marcus only chuckled.
“I’m in town for the music and film festival. It starts tomorrow.”
She nodded, remembering. “I did read something about that.”
He clutched his chest. “I’m wounded. You mean you didn’t circle the date of my arrival in your planner and count down the days?”
She sniffed. “Hardly. And you haven’t answered my question, Mr. Ambrose.”
He steered a hand behind her as they passed through the front doors. “Call me Marcus.”
She’d do no such thing. Was it her imagination or could she really feel the heat of his palm right through a jacket, a blouse and a camisole?
“And which question was that?” he added.
“About being on the panel.”
He nodded. “We got in a day early. The TV station thought it would be a good tease to their coverage of the festival.”
“Tease?”
“It’s just a term they use regarding promotion. You see it all the time.” He held a hand to his ear as if reporting live from a scene. “‘Coming at ten, details on today’s bad news.’”
“Hmm,” was all Kara said for a moment, but a slight smile tilted her mouth. “My sister is one of your biggest fans.”
“Ouch.”
She glanced over at him. He stood there pantomiming pulling an arrow from his heart. “Is there a problem?”
“The omission pierces me.”
She shook her head. “I must have fallen down the rabbit hole this morning. What are you talking about?”
“You said your sister is a big fan. Since you left out yourself, I take it you aren’t counted in that number.”
“My tastes run toward gospel, jazz and classical music.”
He stroked his goatee. “But you knew the lyrics to one of my early hits.”
“Only because my sister drove me to distraction singing it when I lived at home and we shared a room.”
“So, you’re the local feminist with a Freudian bent.”
Kara stepped back, hands on hips. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s not a slam. I happen to like intense, independent women. Strong ones, too.”
“I. Am. Not. Intense.”
He just chuckled.
“Marcus. Over here.” They both turned toward a woman near a white late-model stretch limousine. She wore an orange miniskirt suit, had a clipboard in her hands and a headset phone on her head.
“A little ostentatious for tiny Wayside, Oregon, don’t you think?”
He didn’t respond to that dig. Kara had been talking about the car, but now wondered if he thought she’d meant the woman. Great.
“That problem with the hotel,” the woman said, clearly picking up an earlier conversation. “It takes almost an hour to get out here from Portland. Given the drive-time traffic, we’re going to have a very early start every day.”
“Early like what?”
“Leaving the city no later than eight-thirty or nine.”
Marcus frowned. Kara rolled her eyes. Most working people were already on the way to their jobs if not already at their places of employment by the time nine rolled around.
“I checked out the places here in town,” the aide said. She shook her head with a tiny grimace. “There’s nothing suitable.”
Kara narrowed her eyes at the woman. “We have several innkeepers who operate charming bed-and-breakfasts. And the Dew Drop Inn is right off the highway. The dew is pretty in the morning.”
“The Dew Drop Inn?” The woman said the words as if Kara had suggested Marcus bunk down in a homeless shelter.
“Which bed-and-breakfast do you recommend?”
“Marcus.”
“The Wayside Inn is lovely,” Kara said. “So is Cherry Tree House, though it’s much smaller.”
Marcus nodded toward the headset woman. “Get the Wayside Inn for me, you, Carlton and Teddy. Put the rest of the crew and staff up in the Dew Drop. Rent a floor so they don’t disturb the other guests.”
“But Marcus…”
He turned to Kara. “Can I give you a lift to your car?”
Kara stared at him. “Surely you’re not planning to stay at the inn? For a month?”
“Why not? You just said it’s lovely.”
“But…” But it’s right here, she wanted to wail. In Wayside. In her town. In her space. He couldn’t stay here. “I’m sure you’ll find Portland more suited to your needs. The Benson and Riverplace in the city are four-star hotels.”
“She’s right,” the aide said.
Marcus never took his gaze off Kara. “I want to be able to explore all the charms in Wayside. We’ll stay here.”
The aide nodded.
Kara willed her heart to start beating again. She was sure it had stopped the moment he met her gaze and stared deep into her eyes declaring his questionable intentions.
With a shake of her head she scolded herself for falling into his smooth trap, a trap baited with smoky seduction eyes and an easy smile.
She could barely breathe with him this close. Having him underfoot for a month would be unbearable.
“Enjoy your stay.” She bit out the words. “Goodbye.”
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she turned on her heel and started moving along the pathway toward the lot where she’d parked her car.
“I’m not really such a bad guy.”
Kara jumped. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized he’d followed her. “What are you doing?”
“I told you, I’m walking you to your car.”
Behind them, down on the street, Kara saw the limo slowly trailing them. “That’s not necessary.”
“I know.”
Kara stared at the limo. “Do you have a normal car?”
He chuckled. “Yes. It’s in L.A. Why?”
“You might want to get a rental while you’re here. Wayside is a small town. That,” she said with a thumb jerk toward the long limo, “is a little much.”
“Wayside’s not that small,” he said.
Kara snorted. “Right. A big celebrity like you wouldn’t waste his time in too small a place.”
“I happen to be from a small town.”
“And I’d wager you don’t get back there often.”
He leaned close. “Are you a betting woman, Dr. Kara?”
“Certainly not.”
“But you challenged me tonight. That was a bet.”
“It was nothing of the sort. And there is no challenge between us. I don’t know why you kept intimating to those reporters that there was.”
He grinned. “I’m going to enjoy my stay here.”
He stepped in front of her and took her arm. “The panel discussion is over, Dr. Kara. You don’t have to maintain this fierce psychologist role.”
She yanked her arm from his grip. “I’m always fierce, Mr. Ambrose.”
“But not intense, of course?”
She glared at him, then stalked to her car, the only one in the deserted parking lot. She fumbled with the automatic unlock and ended up jamming the key into the driver’s-side door. From where he stood, Marcus Ambrose grinned. She slid in, started the car, then gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking area, passing the limo that idled nearby.
“And I thought my time here was going to be boring.”
Kara’s phone rang exactly eight minutes after the late news started. She knew because she’d been expecting the telephone to ring as soon as the TV anchor announced the story right after the break. She didn’t have to check Caller ID to know who it was, either.
“Yes, Patrice. That was really him.”
“Oh, my gosh! Oh, my goodness. Kara!” Patrice screamed in her ear. Kara held the receiver out a bit, giving Patrice time to get herself calmed.
“Ooh. Just look at him. And you, oh, my goodness. Kara, he has his arm around your waist. Was that heaven?”
Kara just shook her head as she, too, watched the image of that evening unfold in a spot on the late news. A moment later Belinda Barbara smiled a bright on-camera smile and told all her viewers to tune in for details about Marcus Ambrose’s visit and the Wayside Music and Film Festival.
“I am too jealous,” Patrice said. “Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be there?”
“I didn’t know until I arrived. He didn’t contribute much to the panel discussion.”
“Who cares? He could just sit there and I’d be enthralled.”
It stung that even her sister dismissed her work in favor of celebrity. Never mind that Marcus Ambrose had been Patrice’s hero and favorite heartthrob for years.
Kara shook her head. “Yeah, you would.”
“So what’s this challenge business? And when’d you start calling yourself Dr. Kara? You’re going all Hollywood now, huh, sis? Today Wayside, tomorrow Oprah.”
“Hardly. And I don’t know why she called me that. As for the so-called challenge, he said something that set me off and apparently the lughead took my reaction as some sort of personal affront.”
“Well, Belinda Barbara said…”
Kara gritted her teeth. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Something else? Marcus Ambrose is in town for a month. You’re cozied up next to him on my TV. What else is there to talk about?”
Kara sighed.
“Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on his CDs and in movies?” Before Kara could answer, Patrice let out another squeal of delight when footage from one of his concerts rolled.
She was eventually able to get Patrice off the line. But no sooner had she replaced the receiver than the phone rang. Again. And again. And again.
The next morning it was still ringing. Had everybody in Wayside been watching the news last night?
Kara fielded no less than a dozen calls from relatives, co-workers and the curious. Then the reporters started knocking on her front door.
Chapter Three
A rapidly growing crowd spilled off the porch of the Wayside Inn and along the sidewalk and street in front of the house. TV trucks and giggling girls holding posters of Marcus Ambrose caused even more disruption on the normally quiet street.
“Coming through, folks. Coming through.” A small path opened for the television crew headed for the porch. Right behind them came a woman balancing a large tray of pastries.
