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became more puzzled than amused. “It’s against my contract, like skiing or racing.” He didn’t trust the light of humor in her eyes. “Should I know what game you’re playing?”
    â€œNo. Can we have dessert?” She flashed him a brilliant smile he trusted less.
    â€œSure.” Watching her, Parks signaled the waiter.
    Thirty minutes later, they walked across the parking lot to his car. “Do you always eat like that?” Parks demanded.
    â€œWhenever I get the chance.” Brooke dropped into the passenger seat then stretched her arms over her head in a lazy, unconsciously sensual movement. No one who hadn’t worked in a restaurant could fully appreciate eating in one. She’d enjoyed the food . . . and the evening. Perhaps, she mused, she’d enjoyed being with Parks because they’d spent three hours together and still didn’t know each other. The mystery added a touch of spice.
    In a few months, they would know each other well. A director had no choice but to get to the inside of an actor—which is what Parks would be, whether he liked it or not. For now, Brooke chose to enjoy the moment, the mystery and the brief companionship of an attractive man.
    When Parks sat beside her, he reached over to cup her chin in his hand. She met his eyes serenely and with that touch of humor that was beginning to frustrate him. “Are you going to let me know who you are?”
    Odd, Brooke mused, that he would have the same understanding of the evening she did. “I haven’t decided,” she said candidly.
    â€œI’m going to see you again.”
    She gave him an enigmatic smile. “Yes.”
    Wary of the smile, and her easy agreement, Parks started the engine.
    He didn’t like knowing that she was playing him . . . any more than he liked knowing he’d have to come back for more. He’d known a variety of women—from icy sophisticates to bubbly groupies. There were infinite shadings in between, but Brooke Gordon seemed to fit none of them. She had both a haughty sexuality and a soft vulnerability. Though his first instinct had been to get her to bed, he now discovered he wanted more. He wanted to peel off the layers of her character and study each one until he understood the full woman. Making love to her would only be part of the discovery.
    They drove in silence while an old, soft ballad crooned on the radio. Brooke had her head thrown back, face to the stars, knowing it was the first time in months she’d fully relaxed on a date and not wanting to analyze why. Parks didn’t find it necessary to break a comfortable silence with conversation, nor had he found it necessary to slip in those predictable hints about how he’d like to end the evening. She knew there wouldn’t be a wrestling match on the side of the road or an embarrassing, infuriating argument when they reached the front door. He was safe, Brooke decided, and closed her eyes. It seemed things were going to work very well after all. Her thoughts began to drift toward her schedule for the next day.
    The motion of the car woke her, or rather the lack of motion. Brooke opened her eyes to find the MG parked in her drive, the engine quiet. Turning her head, she saw Parks sprawled in his seat, watching her.
    â€œYou drive very well,” she murmured. “I don’t usually trust anyone enough to fall asleep in a car.”
    He’d enjoyed the moments of quiet while he’d watched her sleep. Her skin looked ethereal in the moonlight, ghostly pale with a hint of flush in her cheeks. The wind had tossed her hair so that Parks knew how it would look spread on a pillow after a wild night of loving. Sooner or later he’d see it that way, he determined. After his hands had tangled it.
    â€œThis time you’re staring,” Brooke pointed out.
    And he smiled—not the quick grin she’d come to expect, but a slow, unsettling