Her moan was loud in the quiet of the room
Trish couldnât help herself. She was feeling totally free, wanton for the first time. And with Ty of all peopleâgorgeous, smart, sensitive, built. Totally built.
She let out a shuddering breath. His hands paused at her bare waist and their eyes locked. The moment was intoxicating. Like a drug, she didnât want it to end and thought sheâd never get enough.
âI donât think this is smart,â Trish managed.
His eyes were very green up close. His rough hands started to move again, stroking, touching one breast, then the other. âWeâre long past smart.â
âI shouldnât be doing this.â Her words were barely audible.
âYou want it anyway,â he whispered back.
And his mouth claimed hers in a deep, deep kiss.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to book two of SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB. To tell Trishâs story, I interviewed screenwriters and producers to find out what life in the movie industry is really like. I never dreamed that the filmmaking process would strike so close to home. I would never have guessed that while I was in the middle of spinning the tale of Trishâs screenwriting success, Iâd find out that one of my own books had been made into a film by the Oxygen Network. My Sexiest Mistake, my debut book for the Harlequin Blaze line, was only the first. Word is, more of your favorite Blaze novels will follow, so keep your eyes peeled.
Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy Trishâs story. Trish leads a quiet lifeâat least until her book startsâbut what happens to her proves that thereâs a little bit of Blaze out there in all of us. Write me at [email protected] and tell me what you think. Or visit my Web site at www.kristinhardy.com for contests, recipes and updates on my recent and upcoming releases, including the next SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB story, Nothing but the Best, coming in December 2004.
Have fun,
Kristin Hardy
Los Angeles, 1995
âCOME ON, everyone, sit down, please.â Trish Dawson glanced around the room at the managers for the universityâs spring play. Why the producer had asked Trish to run the meeting in her absence, Trish had no idea. Maybe she had a head for details, but she was much happier acting as script doctor than ringmaster. Thanks very much.
Trish took a deep breath. âAnitaâs sick so sheâs asked me to get things going. Now, weâve got two weeks until opening night. We just need to do a status check before we start rehearsal. Martin, you first,â she ordered, trying to avoid looking at the director with his razor-sharp cheekbones and spill of dark hair. He was too good-looking to trust, in Trishâs book. She might have learned that lesson about men the hard way, but sheâd learned it well.
âWeâre in pretty good shape,â Martin allowed, flashing his careless smile. âRight now weâre still running about ten minutes long. Where are you at on the cuts, Trish?â
âYouâll have the revisions by noon tomorrow,â she answered, mentally cursing the flush she could feel moving over her face.
âIn that case, Iâd like to plan for a dress rehearsal in a week,â Martin said. âHow are we doing with the battle scene?â he asked the dark-haired choreographer, Thea Masterson.
âSame as we were when you asked me an hour ago.â Humor glinted in Theaâs hazel eyes. âIâve been running the cast through the sequences and theyâre coming along nicely.â
âHow about costumes?â Trish turned to her best friend, Cilla Danforth, wardrobe mistress. âAre we on target for dress rehearsal?â
âThe outfits for the leads should be done,â Cilla said, rolling up the cuff of her Marc Jacobs couture grunge shirt. âA couple of the bit players might have to play it in street clothes, but their costumes arenât that important.â
âHistorically accurate?â Martin asked.
Cilla stared at him blandly. âYou worry about the actors, Martin, sugar. Iâll worry about the clothes.â
Cilla never took anything from anybody, Trish thought admiringly, wishing she could be the same way. âHow about sets?â she asked, turning to the design manager, Paige Wheeler.
Paige consulted her tidy stack of notes. âEverythingâs ready,â she supplied. âTouch-ups on the interior set for act three should be finished by tomorrow. Otherwise, everythingâs done.â
The day Paige missed a deadline was the day the planets stopped moving in their orbits, Trish reflected. She looked at a blonde in a Pearl Jam T-shirt. âDelaney, where are we at on marketing?â
âSignage is up and Kellyâs been running her âBehind the Scenesâ series in the school paper,â Delaney responded, nodding toward Kelly Vandervere, staff reporter.
âAnd thereâs Sabrina,â Kelly reminded her.