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head on Greg’s shoulder, pulling the blanket over them as she struggled for breath and composure. Never, even in her most heated dreams, had she imagined such a reunion. "It was good before, but not like this. Not so... so intense. Maybe because I was such a mess at the time."
    "You were miserable then, but never a mess." He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Did I tell you that I was entranced by your collarbones? When I shot that scene where you were half-naked, I couldn’t believe how lovely and subtle your shoulders were. At night I dreamed about them, sculpted by light and shadow."
    She laughed a little wryly. "Don’t look too closely. These shoulders are now thirty-five, not twenty-three."
    "Still beautiful, though." He exhaled warmly into the hollow above her collarbone.
    Her gaze went to the dancing flames. "You’re an artist of light, Greg. You see beauty where others don’t, and then you make them see it, too. It’s a great gift."
    "So is making people laugh and cry, the way you do. We’re both lucky to be able to do what we love, and share it with others."
    Yes, she’d been lucky, but not in all areas of life. "Have you achieved your dreams? Or have you reached them and now have others?"
    She admired his face in the firelight while he considered her question. When he’d been twenty-five and bearded, she hadn’t realized what a fine strong jaw he had. She liked his mouth, too. Not only the feel of his lips, but the humorous little quirk that made him always look on the verge of laughter.
    "My greatest dream, which seemed impossible when I was a kid in Ohio, was to make movies," he said slowly. "Not the writing or acting or directing—that was for other people. The essence of movie making is images, and that’s what I wanted to do: capture images that would delight and astonish and sometimes even terrify."
    "Then you’re successful."
    "Professionally, yes. But maybe I didn’t have enough different dreams." For a moment his eyes were shadowed. Shaking off the mood, he propped himself on one elbow and smiled down on her. "Have you achieved your greatest goals?"
    "I was like you—wanting to act, not thinking it was possible to reach such heights, working hard to make it happen. The dream was to make movies—be an international star, you know." She shrugged philosophically. "I didn’t achieve that and it’s too late now, but television suits me and I’ve done better than most. Enough to feel good about my abilities, not so much that success has made my life difficult. Even though I’m past my prime, I’m lucky to be English. There’s more room for aging actresses here. I should be able to grow old gracefully, moving between television and the theater, making enough money to live well and to spoil my nieces and nephews with Christmas presents."
    He stared at her. "Where do you get this ‘aging actress’ nonsense? You’re a beautiful, desirable woman, and you always will be. Like Katharine Hepburn and the other great beauties, you’re lovely in your bones, and in your spirit."
    Her throat tightened at his palpable sincerity. "For a man of images, not words, you say wonderful things."
    "Seeing is my business, and I see truth, Jenny."
    Uncomfortable with the intensity of his eyes, she asked, "You said you need different dreams. What is the biggest thing that you don’t have but would like?"
    His brows furrowed. "Probably a house. I’m still living in that same two-bedroom apartment I had when we made Almost Crazy . Remember it?"
    "I have fond memories of that apartment. In fact, your key is around here somewhere, since I forgot to give it back before I left." Actually, she’d kept it deliberately as a souvenir of their time together. "It was a nice apartment, but not the same as owning your own home."
    "It’s ironic. I’ve finally reached the point where I could afford a decent house, but when I come back from a location shoot I’m always too tired to call a real estate agent. The