Reforming Atlanta’s Rouge: The Trouble with Dating an Actor Read online

  “Me-ha,” she answered.

  His brows knit together.

  Cindy looked down at the puddle growing beneath her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered, though it wasn’t from the cold. Beau’s gaze was … intense.

  “Come on, I have towels inside.” Beau took her elbow and motioned for her to head into the house.

  She took two steps before remembering why she was there. “Wait!” She dove for the buffet table, moving plates and finally scrambling underneath. It had to be here somewhere. The envelope was over eleven inches long and couldn’t just disappear. On her hands and knees, she felt around in the dark.

  Beau lifted the tablecloth. He squatted on his haunches and looked all sorts of adorable with his mildly entertained air and half-smile. “Are you on a binge or something?”

  Cindy crawled to the far end near a half wall and lifted the white linen. “No, I threw my script over here and—Ha!” She pulled the envelope out from between the table leg and the low rock wall. Crawling out, she popped up and grinned.

  “Script?” Beau put his hands in his pockets like the last thing he wanted to do was touch her work. “Did you crash my party?”

  Technically … “I didn’t come for the party. I’m from Knight Studios.” She flipped the packet over to show him the seal.

  “Oh. Thanks.” He took the script and set it on the edge of the table next to a tray of sushi. “Should we get you that towel?”

  She stared at the script, and all the hours of work, the pressure to perform at a level that was worthy of her last name, and the risk she’d taken to bring it over—not to mention her twelve o’clock deadline—washed over her. There was no turning back. The only way to move forward was to go deep into the lion’s den. She glanced at Beau. He wasn’t a lion, more like a big grizzly bear—with less hair, thank goodness. “I’ll take that towel.” She picked up the script. “Is there someplace … safer you can put this?”

  He grinned like a wolf. “Sure, follow me.”

  For the second time that night, Cindy found herself picked up by a man. Although Beau wasn’t holding her in his arms or touching her backside—thank goodness!—he had just as much control over her with his raw magnetism and charisma.

  As she followed him through the plantation doors, she tried not to drip on the hardwood floors and expensive carpets, but her efforts were in vain. Beau continued through the house, knowing exactly where he was going, while Cindy’s eyes bounced from the five-foot-tall African masks on the far wall to the glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

  “Do you have a minute to look over the script now?” she asked, tripping into the sunken living room.

  Beau righted her. “My agent screens my scripts.”

  Of course. “Right. It’s just, I really felt like you were the one that needed to see it because I thought you’d get it. I—” Cindy bit off her spiel. Beau wouldn’t care about all the research or the fact that having her father’s studio produce her first full-length feature was important.

  They climbed a sweeping staircase to the second floor and made their way down a hall, but Cindy’s feet took root at the threshold to the master bedroom.

  Beau turned to her with his signature smolder. “I’ll have a few minutes to look at it while you’re getting out of those wet clothes.”

  “But I didn’t bring anything to change into.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  Cindy lifted the script and hit him in the shoulder as hard as she could. With all his muscles he probably didn’t even feel it, but it made her feel better.

  He laughed easily, his eyes telling her he’d been teasing.

  The rake. “Why don’t I stand out here and make sure no one bothers you while you read.”

  He brushed his hand up her arm, sending warm tendrils through her tummy. “If I promise to behave, will you sit with me? Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “This isn’t about fun—it’s work.”

  He slipped the envelope from her fingers, brushing her skin as he went. Cindy’s breath hitched. Rake.

  “If you don’t love what you’re doing—then you’re in the wrong business.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I used to love what I do.”

  “What happened?” His tone was low, inviting.

  She half-lifted a shoulder. “My daddy died.” The honesty of her statement added a layer of intimacy to their moment.

  Beau pulled her into the warmth of his massive chest, his arms enveloping her completely in their protective and comforting embrace.

  She pushed against his chest. “Excuse me. I don’t know you.”

  He relaxed his hold but didn’t let her go entirely. “It’s just a hug. Surely you’ve had a hug before.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Well, yeah. But I don’t need—”

  “If my dad died, I’d want a hug.” His words were a challenge as much as a truth. She got the impression Beau really would want a hug; need some physical contact to carry him through a tough time. Cindy hadn’t thought much about being held—she’d learned to stand on her own two feet, thank you very much. She arched away.

  “It works much better if both people participate.” Beau winked.

  “Fine. If it will get you to move on, I’ll give you a hug.” She laid her head on his shoulder, trying not to think about the embarrassingly shaped water stains she was leaving on his shirt.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She chuckled.

  “It’s not so bad, is it?” Beau rested his chin on her head.

  “I guess not.” Her arms went around his middle, taking in the glorious feel of his body pressed to hers. She’d never really considered all that could be offered in a hug. Yet Beau was handing her comfort and warmth and understanding without saying a word.

  “I like this,” she whispered.

  “Hmmm,” he responded. The sound thrummed through his chest and into hers, changing the mood from one of comfort and peace to one of awareness. A slow burn started in her lower belly and spread out to her fingertips, sparking in all the places their bodies touched. The current was almost too much, and she pulled back.

  Beau searched her eyes, diving deeper than Cindy had let anyone go in years. She was unable to stop him; he just splashed in and started swimming. Seeing into the corners of her heart and, in the process, opening his. He knew she was in there, and he didn’t try and stop her from seeing the wonderful parts as well as the broken ones. The conversations they had in those few moments revealed oceans about the two of them.

  Beau’s gaze dropped to her mouth. She moistened her lips in anticipation, wanting to feel his lips on hers for no other reason than it would feel so good—like thick-moist–chocolate-mousse-cake-with-whipped–cream-and-strawberries good.

  “Beau,” she whispered.

  His eyes closed off, and she realized he didn’t even know her name.

  And she’d almost kissed him!

  She stepped back, the cold air rushing through her wet clothes and chilling her to the bone. Or maybe that was the absence of the fire between them.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “That got real there for a minute. Totally unprofessional on my part.”

  Beau stared at his hands as if they had betrayed him in some way. “Yeah.”

  “I—have to go now.” She took two steps back.

  His gaze went to the envelope. “I—”

  “Just read it, okay?” She pointed to her manuscript. “We need to know before noon tomorrow.”

  He licked his lips and swallowed.

  Yeah. She did a total fan-girl sigh, complete with the dreamy eyes and melty knees. Beau’s gaze focused on her, and she knew she had to get out of there or she was going to do something really stupid. “Bye!” she chirped. Spinning, she jogged down the hall, down the staircase, and out the front door, not stopping until she securely fashioned her seat belt.

  Halfway to the city, Beau’s spell over her broke, and she flushed brigh
t red with embarrassment. She’d broken so many rules tonight.

  Never go into a strange man’s bedroom.

  Hello!! She’d followed him up there like a naïve freshman trailing after the varsity quarterback. Just because he had the charm of a prince didn’t mean he was Prince Charming.

  Never fall for a pretty face.

  Living with Patricia and her daughters had taught Cindy that beauty rarely ran deeper than laser treatments—even for men and especially for actors.

  Guys like Beau don’t fall for girls like me.

  Okay, so that was a new rule she thought up on the spot. She was going to write it on a sticky note and post it on her bathroom mirror where she could repeat it every day for the rest of her life. Because, there had been a moment back there when their eyes locked, and he saw inside her heart, and she’d seen inside his.

  He had every bit the broken heart she had, though his was more like a boxer who had lost a fight, and hers was like a mirror shattered into the pieces of her splintered family.

  There was more though. Not only had she seen into his heart, she’d seen herself through his eyes. Sure, she was a drowned rat on the outside thanks to tie guy, but the woman Beau had seen was strong and determined and attractive. He’d been attracted to her—immensely attracted. She knocked her forehead with her fist. Rule number three!

  She parked on the far side of the garage, where no one could see her car from the street, and made her way to the back door. Beau wasn’t in her plan. Her plan was to bring her father’s company back to its former glory before Stepmother parceled it off or moved the whole thing to California.

  Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she paused, not quite ready to enter her childhood home, where she’d been pushed to the attic room to make space for Drusilla’s elliptical machine and yoga mat.

  Here, in this house, she was a nuisance despite her efforts to blend in with the wallpaper. With Beau, she’d tried to be a nuisance and instead had found acceptance. In one night, he’d turned her world upside down. She checked her phone. Midnight. In twelve hours her big shot would elapse. Maybe it was better that way. If the project was pulled, she’d never see Beau again, and she’d be left alone with her memories of how, for one moment, she’d found her place in this world.

  Chapter 3

  Beau Mckay stared after the script girl as she left, stunned by the story her eyes had told, because it was honest and real and painful and yet filled to the brim with love. He drummed his fingers on the binder she’d left in his care.

  Trusted.

  She’d trusted him with the script, and it was important to her.

  He closed his eyes. How could one person hold so much love inside? Shaking off the spell she’d cast over him, he opened the script.

  I’ll read until I’m bored.

  Five minutes later he sat on the bed.

  Ten minutes later he kicked off his shoes and moved back to rest against the headboard.

  Twenty minutes in, he was on his stomach, crawling through a dusty tunnel beneath a pyramid, scraping spider webs off his cheeks and sweating in the heat and the dark.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight just as Beau read The End. He let the pages fall to his lap as he reveled in the fading image, the sense that right could triumph over evil. The main character, an Indiana Jones type, had overcome his personal demons in such a way that Beau believed even he could change.

  If he wanted to.

  He slipped the manuscript back into the envelope and found his cell phone. “Lori?” he asked as his agent answered the phone.

  There was a muffled reply and loud music.

  He sat up. “Where are you?”

  She laughed. “I’m in your basement.”

  “Great. Get up here and read this script.” He settled his hand protectively over the Knight Studios seal. The noon deadline had him scrambling off the bed.

  “Now?”

  He thought of the mystery woman’s intensity, the tenacity she displayed in marching into his home, the way she’d helped the server and sacrificed herself in the process, and the connection that left him stunned. He grinned. “Now.”

  “Come on down and enjoy your party, and I’ll have a look at it.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Pocketing his phone, he held the script in both hands, much like she had. Did she know what was in here—the drama, the character arcs, the brilliance? She’d clutched the envelope to her chest as if it were important—and not just important to Knight Studios, but important to her on a personal level. Even though she didn’t like her job, she took script delivery seriously.

  Maybe he was overthinking things.

  Maybe he was overthinking her. He had felt like she was in the room while he read, an essence of her lingering behind and not just in the puddle she left at his door.

  He couldn’t believe he’d almost kissed her. Not that he had anything against kissing a woman he’d just met—happened all the time in his line of work. The strange thing was how much he wanted to kiss her. Really kiss her. No cameras. No staging. No director telling him to amp it up or slow it down. Just him and her seeing where their lips and desires would take them.

  Every red shirt that passed by had his head turning, searching for her. He knew she wouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t stop himself from scanning every blonde’s face for the passion he’d experienced for that small moment in time.

  The party was still going strong. The security guys were bobbing heads, and a couple of them danced in the flash mob on the patio. He frowned. That was not acceptable. He’d have to find a new company before the next party.

  Lori met him in the sunken front room. She wore a little purple dress. Her chin-length hair was silky and smooth, and she carried a plate in one hand, her clutch tucked under her arm. She shoved a piece of sushi in her mouth and dusted off her fingers. “Let me see that.”

  Beau hesitated to hand over the only piece of his mystery girl. He hadn’t gotten her name. He’d been so stunned by his reaction to her that her number was the last thing on his mind. Not that he didn’t trust Lori; he just wasn’t ready to part with the feelings script girl stirred inside of him. There was attraction—yes, there was plenty of that. But for a moment, he’d seen inside her soul. Which was sappy and dumb and not at all something he ever thought was possible.

  His buddy and fellow actor, Mark DuBois, claimed that when his and Allie’s eyes met for the first time, he knew she was his soul mate. Beau had scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”

  Yet, he had this distinct impression that never seeing this woman again would be the biggest mistake of his life. After divorcing his second wife, Tanya, he’d sworn off any relationship longer than a week. If the two of them—who had lusted after one another from the second they met—couldn’t make it work, then he wouldn’t be able to make it with anyone. He’d believed Tanya was the love of his life, yet the passion they’d once shared morphed into angry fights and cold shoulders quickly enough that he questioned if anything he’d ever felt for her was real.

  Now, after holding his mystery girl in his arms, what he’d felt for Tanya paled by comparison.

  If he could feel a connection that went beyond attraction and lust with a woman he’d only met once, then everything he’d thought about love up to this point was off-point.

  Maybe Mark was right. Maybe there was a soul out there that was his perfect match. Maybe he’d held on to her tonight—and then let her flit away like a lightning bug on a summer’s evening.

  “Beau?” Lori shook his arm.

  “Here.” He thrust the script at her, needing to make the separation quickly. “I’m doing this movie—set it up first thing.”

  “Wait? You can’t just—” Lori’s bangs dropped over her eye as she stared down at the seal. “Knight? I thought they were into teenybopper junk now.”

  “This—” Beau reached out to take the envelope again and then pulled his hands back. “—is gold. It reminds me of Robert�
�s stuff.”

  Lori’s cheeks lifted. “Do you think it’s one of his scripts?”

  Beau shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s good. Knight good.”

  Lori’s eyes caught something behind him and darkened. Beau turned around to find two uniformed police officers coming through the front door.

  They pinned him in place with their stare.

  Beau blinked.

  “Beau Mckay?” asked the larger of the two. He was Hawaiian built and trimmed out.

  Beau wondered what protein he used. “Yeah?”

  “You’re under arrest for providing alcohol to minors.”

  Beau shook his head. “What?”

  Another officer came in with a girl who looked as green as the Spanish moss hanging from the trees in his back yard. She was in handcuffs. “Do you know this girl?” demanded the first officer.

  Beau leaned down to get a better look at the mouse of a girl. Her black hair was pulled in a messy knot at the top of her head, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. He could honestly say he’d never seen her before in his life. “Nope.”

  “We found her swimming in your fountain, blood alcohol level’s point-one.”

  Beau coughed. How was the girl still standing? Of course, she was so small that it wouldn’t take more than one drink to inebriate her.

  The cool sting of metal hit Beau’s wrists as the aloha officer cuffed him. “Wait—I didn’t buy this girl a drink.” He twisted his other hand out of the cop’s reach. They locked eyes, two gunslingers ready to go.

  Lori stepped forward. “Officer, I can assure you this girl was not on the guest list. If she’s here, she’s trespassing.”

  “Tell it to the guys downtown.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Beau turned his cuffed wrist.

  “No, sir.” The big guy twisted Beau’s hand behind his back, snagged his free hand, and clicked the cuffs in place.

  “Hey now.” Beau struggled against his hold.

  The cop lifted Beau’s hands, stretching his shoulders.

  “All right. All right.” Beau stopped wiggling and moved with the armed posse towards the door, his gut churning with anger. He had other things to do besides defend himself against false charges. There was the script, but more importantly, there was script girl.