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“Gem after she nixed my idea of base-jumping in Norway.”
“Good call,” Chaney said. “Previews of you in your knight costume will bring in viewers and increase ratings a lot more than you doing a crazy stunt.”
He raised a brow. “You sound confident.”
“It’s my job to understand viewers and translate ratings into advertising revenue,” she explained. “All you have to do is take a look at yourself in any one of the gilded mirrors around here. The knight look will be huge with female viewers. You may span a whole new following with Sir Dragon Knight.”
He laughed. “And I thought women were only after my bank account.”
“I’m sure there are those, too, but all women are susceptible to the archetype of a knight. Even if they’d never admit it.”
“Do you admit it?” he asked.
“Well, I definitely had a thing for knights when I was younger. Galahad was my favorite, but the whole fairy-tale thing seems a bit…outdated. I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can do it myself.”
Even if she still might dream of a happily ever after of her own someday.
“Very modern. Very practical.”
“I am practical.” She’d had to be. “Anything wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all.” The devilish look in his brown eyes matched the grin on his face. “I’m curious how your practicality has affected your current investment strategy philosophy. Do you prefer short-term, long-term or day trading?”
“None of the above.” She raised her chin and met his inquisitive gaze. “I’m currently on hiatus from…investing.”
Talk about a marathon session tonight. Drake had almost been grateful when the clock struck midnight and the chimes interrupted the taping.
Of course he was the executive producer as well as the host, or talent as the crew called it. He could have shut down production at any time except he had a helicopter to catch on Sunday afternoon so he could make a flight at Heathrow. He didn’t want to cause any delays.
Hot lights shone on him. Sweat dripped down his armor-clad body. Even though he was wearing a costume, the armor was metal not plastic. Drake was going to need a shower, and maybe a massage, when they were finished. He knew exactly who he wanted to help him with both.
Drake couldn’t see Chaney Sullivan. He surveyed the drawing room looking for a peek of her caramel-colored hair, but couldn’t see her with the two cameras in front of him and the crew milling about behind them. Maybe she was hidden in the back.
The antique one-of-a-kind clock continued to chime. Ten, eleven, twelve…
Quiet. Finally.
“Okay, people.” Milt, the director and producer, clapped his hands. “Let’s get this final scene wrapped up so we can call it a night.”
Drake was all for that.
“One sec.” The hair-and-makeup stylist, a woman named Liz who preferred soda to wine and pretzels to caviar, ran up to him. She fluffed, finger curled and sprayed his hair, making him feel like a fancy show dog. She smiled, satisfaction filling her eyes. “That’s better.”
For her maybe. At least the wardrobe stylist, a guy named Russell, wasn’t trying to spit shine the armor. Just buff it with a soft, white cloth.
“We only need the last line,” Milt said.
Drake stretched his neck. “No problem.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Milt’s eyes narrowed. “I only want you to do one thing differently this time. When you smile at the camera, make it really count. Make the female viewers wet between the legs.”
“I’m a businessman, not an actor.”
“You’re neither of those things tonight.” As Milt patted Drake’s shoulder, his ring clanged against the armor. “You’re Lancelot, knight and lover extraordinaire. Guinevere, your queen, is alone in the castle, naked in her bed, and watching you. Make her wish you were there with her.”
Drake fought the urge to roll his eyes. And laugh.
This part of show business was something he would never understand. Still, doing the show was good publicity and PR for the channel and his company. He trusted his gut, and his instinct said do what Milt wanted. That was what Drake had done for the past two seasons and saw no need to change now. “You’re in charge, but let’s hope Guin’s covered herself with a blanket. Castles can be drafty this time of year.”
The crew laughed. Even Milt cracked a smile.
Liz came after Drake with the eyelash curler. “I forgot something.”
“Is that really necessary again?” he asked.
She winked. “Absolutely, Sir Lashalot.”
Drake grimaced, allowed the deed to be done and readied himself for the scene.
Holding a gold goblet precariously with his gauntlet-covered hand, he stood in front of an elaborately carved fireplace complete with an ornate coat of arms being held by two lion-faced cherubim.
“Ready, Sir Lancelot?” Milt asked.
Drake nodded once.
Milt looked at Tony, one of the two cameramen on the crew. “Let me know when you have speed.”
“Are the mikes working?” Tony asked the audio person, who gave him the thumbs-up. “Speed.”
A few seconds later, Drake saw his cue.
Show time.
Once he nailed this line, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. And he knew what—make that who—he wanted.
Forget Guinevere.
The adulterous queen had nothing on his new associate producer. An image of Chaney wearing her sexy, smart-girl glasses flashed in his mind.
He raised the goblet and smiled at the camera. “And that’s why Abbotsford Castle is one of this billionaire’s favorite playgrounds.”
Luxurious and romantic, this castle would be the perfect place to play with Chaney. Five years hadn’t changed the smart, pretty American’s appeal.
Drake still wanted to taste those full, pink lips of hers that had tempted him during her internship. He wanted to see if the adorable dimple on her left cheek went as deep as it looked. He wanted to lend a hand as she wiggled out of those well-fitted jeans, cupping her bottom like a glove, so he could see if she wore a thong, boy short or other type of panty underneath.
Most of all, he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d turned him down.
Sorry Mr. Llewelyn. You’re targeting the wrong girl.
He’d been sorry all right especially since he’d stopped dating a woman, a supermodel if he remembered correctly, to pursue Chaney. But she hadn’t wanted him.
Drake had thought about that, about her, over the years. Now that he’d seen her again, and found out she wasn’t married as he’d believed, he wanted another chance.
Before the weekend was over, Drake wanted to hear the word “yes” fall from Chaney’s lips. A “please take me now” wouldn’t be so bad, either. He wanted to prove to himself and her that he hadn’t targeted the wrong girl. Far from it. Given the antics and partying that accompanied the production crew during their two and a half months on the road, he had high hopes.
His smile widened.
Milt counted down with his fingers. Five-four-three-two-one.
“Cut! That’s a wrap people.” Milt adjusted his LA Dodgers baseball cap. “Perfect, Drake. Keep smiling like that, and you’ll be a lock making this year’s Sexiest Man Alive list.”
Drake handed the goblet to Jesse, an intern working on the show, and took a bottle of water from her. “Thanks, but I’d rather top the Richest Man Alive list.”
As he downed the water, the crew, including a few locals hired to help due to the size of the castle and amount of work involved in this particular episode, moved gear in preparation for tomorrow’s shoot. The show had exclusive use of the castle for the next two days so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in the way. The castle staff had experience with film crews so would be no trouble.
He handed his empty bottle to Jesse, who scurried away to who knew where. Funny, but Drake couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to find a garbage can himself. Years ago, he’d dug through trash cans out of necessity for him and his dad. How times had changed.
As he made his way past the lights and cameras, he searched for Chaney. He found her standing in the doorway with her clipboard in hand and talking to the production coordinator. As he crossed the drawing room in her direction, desire rocketed through him.
He’d appreciated Chaney’s athletic all-American girl figure before, but now her clothes accentuated fuller curves. Her long hair worn in braids or a ponytail had always looked charming on the college co-ed, but the new sophisticated shoulder-length cut suited her face better. The biggest and most intriguing change, though, was to her eyes. Not the glasses, but the maturity he saw in the hazel-green depths.
Chaney Sullivan was no longer a girl. She’d become a woman. A woman who was hardworking, confident and, most important, smart. Her intelligence had always been the draw for him, Drake realized, even if he liked the package it came in, too.
He slowed his approach until the production coordinator walked away. By then most of the crew had left. “Hello, there.”
“Hi.” Chaney held her clipboard in front of her like a barrier between them. A barrier he had every intention of breaking down. “Great job tonight.”
“Thank you.”
She stifled a yawn.
Chaney should be in bed. His bed, if Drake had his choice. “Join me for a drink?”
“I thought you didn’t date employees.”
“I don’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
She was considered an independent contractor, and her paycheck would be coming from the cable channel as Gemma’s did, not the corporate office. So Chaney was, in effect, fair game. “You don’t work for me.”
“Not officially, but I’m—”
“Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“I’ll have to let you go, then. But could you do a little something for me first, please?”
She readied her pen over her clipboard. “Sure, what do you need?”
Staring into her eyes, he smiled. “I need your help getting out of this costume.”
CHAPTER TWO
UNDRESS him? Chaney’s heart pounded in her ears. Surely she had misunderstood. “You want me to…”
“Help me out of this armor,” Drake finished for her. “I don’t know where Russell ran off to, and you’re the only one left.”
She glanced around the drawing room, now deserted. Where had everyone gone? The room had been bustling with activity a few minutes ago.
He stared at her, an expectant look in his brown eyes.
Face it, Gemma wouldn’t think twice about helping him. Neither should Chaney. He’d made a reasonable request, and she was acting as if he’d asked her to his room for a night of hot sex. Sure, the man oozed sensuality, but just because he’d wanted her once didn’t mean he wanted her now.
Time to stop overreacting and do her job.
Chaney straightened. “What do you want me to do first?”
“Come with me.”
She fell in step with Drake, noticing he shortened his stride to match hers. He’d always had lovely, rather Old World manners. She remembered the handkerchief he’d once offered her. Of course, that had been right before he propositioned her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To my room.”
Her heart bumped. Okay, he was inviting her to his room, but sex was not on the agenda. Hers or, she hoped, his.
No worries, Chaney told herself. She’d heard he was staying in the king’s bedchamber and knew only a staircase led to the suite, not an elevator. He probably didn’t feel like stripping out of the armor and carrying it up to his room. She wouldn’t, either.
No big deal going up there with Drake. She would help him out of the costume then head to her room for some much-needed and wellearned sleep.
She yawned. The jet lag had finally caught up with her. “Will this take long?”
“It shouldn’t,” he said.
Relieved, Chaney stepped through an arched doorway into a hallway of stone. Stone walls, floor and ceiling surrounded her. Electric torches illuminated a circular staircase in front of her. She shivered. Those stone steps led to one place—Drake’s room.
Stop being melodramatic. No big deal, remember. It wasn’t as if she were going to be locked away in a tower cell with him. She was just going up there to help him undress. Chaney gulped.
Drake gestured up the narrow staircase. “After you.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know the way,” she demurred. “My flight was delayed so I missed the taping of the guest rooms this morning. Is it true Henry VIII slept in the king’s bedchamber?”
“That’s what they say.” As Drake ascended, his armor and chain mail clanked. The sound echoed through the stairwell. “He seems to have slept his way across England.”
She followed Drake up. “He did have six wives.”
