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making, inventing a new camera, new language, new world, who wouldn’t worship him?”
    She turned, and pressed her length against him, her grin wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. “I know your secret. You’re a softie.”
    “Me? No way.” Well, maybe with her, but who wouldn’t be?
    “Bet you cry whenever you watch Lauren Bacall get on the plane.”
    “No, but I cry when E.T. gets on the spaceship.” He faked a sob. “And little Drew Barrymore cries.” He curled into her shoulder, shoulders heaving in the best—okay, the sole—performance of his life.
    Patting his back, she crooned, “Such a liar. You can’t fool me.”
    He rose up on an elbow. “You’re right. But I did cry when Drew grew up and made Charlie’s Angels .” He shook his head.
    Something crossed her face, a mix of uncertainty and seriousness. “Females shouldn’t make movies?”
    “I never said that.” He smelled a trap. It called for evasive action. He rested back against the pillow, keeping a wary watch.
    Her brow arched. “But you think it.”
    He countered her challenging tone with decisiveness. “Absolutely not.” The truth must have been the right response, because she settled back on his arm.
    “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to try directing, and I plan to pursue that dream.”
    Aha . She was full of surprises, all of them good, so far. “As you should.”
    Another flicker of uncertainty, and surprise. “By the same token, I’d expect you to be one hundred percent honest about my work.”
    “I’d never be anything less. You’re welcome to use my equipment anytime.”
    She blinked. “That’s….”
    Right, then she’d have to see me again . “Unless, after this not-quite-scripted date, you plan on never repeating it.” Idiot, why jinx it?
    “I’m hoping to. Unless you’re not interested.”
    “Well….” He drew out the tease, a bad cover for his insecurities.
    She slapped his chest. “Men. Sack ’em and send ’em packing.”
    He stroked her hair, and searched her brown eyes for a reaction as he said softly, “I’m interested. It scares me how much I’m interested.” Definitely too much information. Now you’re scaring her.
    To his shock, she smiled. “Good. Me, too.” She toyed with his chest hair, suddenly shy. “So, you haven’t asked yet.”
    “Asked what?”
    “About my marriage. About Brett.” The way she winced, his very name seemed to taste terrible to her.
    Ah. Hell. Dredging up the ex already . “Was I supposed to?”
    A half-shrug, coupled with an unassertive nod of her head, contradicted her “No.”
    “Good. He’s the last person I want to talk about.”
    “Really?” She sounded as relieved as she looked.
    “Oh yeah, really. Unless you count my former wife, then he’s second to last.” Couldn’t he keep her full attention for one goddamn night? Did he do something to remind her of him? Christ, no wonder he avoided dating.
    “Sorry I brought it up.” Her cheery tone was thin. Nearly transparent.
    Crap . He scooted down, eye to eye and forehead to forehead. “Look, we’ve both been married before. Probably both made some mistakes and learned from them. Let’s leave it at that.”
    A deep sigh, and a beat, and she brightened. “Great.”
    An act, for my benefit . Not a good sign, but the acting ended when he touched his lips to hers, and she clung to him sweetly. Never an expert at giving the benefit of the doubt, he was still willing to give her whatever it took. If he didn’t manage to keep her there, he’d chalk it up to experience. It would take a little longer than usual to salvage his heart.

 
     
     
Chapter Five
     
     
    Feeling her way into his office, Susan misjudged the distance to the desk, and her toe suffered the brunt of the mistake. Pain stabbed her, and she hopped, rubbing the throbbing foot. The screech she tried so hard to hold in subsided, and she exhaled the smallest squeak.
    The computer. Find the power button . She did, and held her breath again