What I Did for Love

time studying the arrangements and finally chose a mixed bouquet of iris, roses, and lilies. “Your treat.”

“I’ve always been a generous guy.”

“You’re going to bill me, aren’t you?”

“Sad, but true.”

Before they got to the register, his cell rang. He glanced at the display and flipped the phone shut without answering. He was on the phone a lot, she’d noticed, but seldom where she could overhear. She held out her hand before he could pocket the phone. “Lend it to me, will you? I need to make a call, and I forgot mine.”

He passed it over, but instead of punching in a number, she flicked through the display to the most recent entry. “Caitlin Carter. Now I know your lover’s last name.”

He snatched the phone back. “Stop snooping. And she’s not my lover.”

“Then why won’t you talk to her in front of me?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He headed for the counter with the bouquet. As he stopped near a florist’s cart filled with frilly pastel blooms, she was struck by the contrast between his confident masculinity and those lacy flowers. Once again, she felt that distracting sexual stirring. This morning she’d even made an excuse to work out with him just so she could watch the show.

It was pathetic, but understandable. She was even a little proud of herself. Despite the current chaos stirred up by the photos, she was experiencing lust at its most elemental, separate from even a minimal amount of affection. Basically, she’d turned into a guy.

Bram gave her the flowers to carry from the shop. They’d been lucky enough to find a rare parking space close by, but they still had to get through the crowd of noisy paps stalking the sidewalk in front.

“Bram! Georgie! Over here!”

“Have you two patched up your fight?”

“Make-up flowers, Bram?”

“Georgie! Right here!”

Bram pulled her against him. “Stand back, guys. Give us some room.”

“Georgie, I heard you saw a lawyer.”

Bram shoved the burly photographer who’d gotten too close. “I said to stay back!”

Out of nowhere, Mel Duffy emerged from the swarm and lifted his camera toward them. “Hey, Georgie. Any comment about Jade Gentry’s miscarriage?”

His shutter clicked away.

Georgie felt sick. Her envy had somehow poisoned that defenseless fetus. Duffy had told them the miscarriage had happened in Thailand nearly two weeks ago, only a few days after her Vegas wedding, when Lance and Jade had been about to join up with a U.N. task force. Their publicist had just released the news, saying the couple was devastated but that doctors had assured them there was no reason they couldn’t have another child. All those phone messages Lance had left her…

Bram didn’t say anything until they were nearly home. Then he turned down the radio and gazed over at her. “Tell me you’re not taking this to heart.”

What kind of woman resented an innocent, unborn child? She was nauseated by guilt. “Me? Of course not. It’s sad, that’s all. Of course, I’m sorry for them.”

His knowing expression made her look away. She needed a gigolo, not a shrink. She adjusted her sunglasses. “Nobody wants something like this to happen. Maybe I wish I hadn’t been quite so upset when I heard she was pregnant. That’s only natural.”

“This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know that.”

“Your brain knows it, but the rest of you is seriously screwed up when it comes to anything associated with the Loser.”

Her self-control snapped. “He just lost his baby! A baby I didn’t want to see born.”

“I knew it! I knew you’d decide you were somehow responsible. Toughen up, Georgie.”

“You think I’m not tough? I’m surviving this marriage, aren’t I?”

“This isn’t a marriage. It’s a chess game.”

He was right, and she was sick of the whole thing.

They drove the rest of the way to the house in silence, but after he’d parked the car in the garage, he didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he sat there, pulling off his sunglasses and messing with the stems. “Caitlin is the daughter of Sarah Carter.”

“The novelist?” She let go of the door handle.

“She died three years ago.”

“I remember.” Considering Bram’s past history, she’d been certain Caitlin was a bimbo, but that was unlikely, with an author of Sarah Carter’s caliber as her mother. Carter had written a number of literary thrillers, none of them successful. Several years after her death, a small press had brought out Tree House, a previously unpublished work. The novel had gradually caught fire with the public, and eventually became the darling of book clubs. Like everyone else, Georgie had loved it.

“Caitlin and I were dating when the book first came out,” Bram said. “Before it hit the best-seller lists. She mentioned that the last thing her mother had written before she died was a screenplay for Tree House, and she let me read it.”

“Sarah Carter turned the book into a screenplay herself?”

“A damn good one. I optioned it two hours after I finished it.”

Georgie nearly choked. “You hold the film option on Tree House? You? ”

“I was drunk and didn’t think about what I was getting into.” He climbed out of the car looking as gorgeous and worthless as ever.

She hurried across the garage after him. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you optioned it before the book became a best seller?”

He headed into the house. “I was drunk and lucky.”

“I’ll say. How lucky?”

“Very. Caitlin could sell a new option on that screenplay for twenty times what I paid her, something she never stops reminding me about.”

Georgie pressed her palm to her chest. “Give me a minute. I don’t know which is harder for me to visualize. You as a producer or the fact that you actually read an entire screenplay start to finish.”

He made his way to the kitchen. “I’ve matured since our Skip and Scooter days.”

“In your opinion.”

“I hardly had to look up any of the big words.” She didn’t expect him to say more and was surprised when he went on. “Unfortunately, I’m having a little trouble getting it financed.”

She stopped. “You’re actually trying to get the project made?”

“Nothing better to do.”

That explained all the mysterious phone calls, but it didn’t explain why Bram had kept this such a big secret. He tossed his car keys on the kitchen counter. “The bad news is that my option runs out in less than three weeks, and if I can’t get a package put together by then, Caitlin will have her rights back.”

“And be considerably richer.”

“She doesn’t give a damn about anything except the money. She hated her mother. She’d sell Tree House to a cartoon factory if they made the best offer.”

Georgie had never optioned a book or screenplay, but she knew how the process worked. The option holder-in this case Bram-had only a specific amount of time to get solid backing for his project before his option expired and the rights reverted to the original owner. Since all he’d have left when that happened would be a hole in his bank account, his suck-up attitude toward Rory Keene finally made sense.

“How close are you to getting someone to green-light Tree House?” she asked, even though she already had an inkling of the answer.

He grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. “Pretty close. Hank Peters loves the screenplay, and he’s interested in directing, so that’s caught a lot of attention. With the right casting, we can make the movie on a