'Fine, let's do it again.' He gave Brooke the slow smile she'd learned not to trust before he walked toward the Rolls. Suspicious of his easy capitulation, Brooke turned back to stand beside E.J.
Parks gave her no more cause to complain, though they were more than two hours shooting the segment. Brooke found that she had more trouble with the professional actress-and a couple of fans who recognized Parks- than she had with him. It took three takes before she convinced Nina that she wasn't looking for glowing and adoring, but for sleek and aloof.
Brooke wanted the contrast and ran everyone through the twelve seconds until she was certain she had it. Then there was the matter of two fans who sneaked through the barricade to get Parks's autograph while the camera was still rolling. Parks obliged them, and though Brooke simmered at the interruption, she noted that he dispatched the fans with the charm of a seasoned diplomat. Grudgingly, she had to admit she couldn't have done better herself.
'That's a wrap,' Brooke announced, arching her back. She'd been on her feet for over eight hours, bolting down a half a sandwich between segments. She felt pleased with the day's work, satisfied with Parks's progress and ravenous. 'You can break down,' she told the crew. 'Good job. E.J., I've scheduled the editing and dubbing for tomorrow. If you want to see what we're going to do to your film, you can come in.'
'It's Saturday.'
'Yeah.' She pulled the bill of the fielder's cap over his face. 'We'll start working at ten. Nina…' Brooke took the actress's slim, smooth hand. 'You were lovely, thank you. Fred, make sure the Rolls gets back in one piece, or you'll have to face Claire. Bigelow, what's the new kid's name?' Brooke jerked her head at a young technician who was busily packing up lights.
'Silbey?'
With a nod, Brooke made a mental note of it. 'He's good,' she said briefly, then turned to Parks. 'Well, you made it through the first one. We'll dub in the voice-over tomorrow. Any scars?'
'None that show.'
'Maybe I shouldn't tell you that this one is the easiest on the schedule.'
He met the humor in her eyes blandly. ''Maybe you shouldn't.'
'Where's your car?'
'Out at the stadium.'
With a frown, Brooke checked her watch. 'I'll give you a lift back there.' She toyed with the idea of going by Thorton's first to take a quick look at the film, then discarded the idea. It would be better to look at it fresh in the morning. 'I have to call Claire… Well.' Brooke shrugged. 'That can wait.
Any problems'?' she asked to the crew in general.' 'Tomorrow's Saturday,' an aggrieved E.J. stated again as he packed up his equipment. 'Woman, you just don't give a man a break.'
'You don't have to come in,' she reminded him, knowing he would. 'Good night.' With Parks beside her, Brooke started down the street.
'Do you make a habit of working weekends?'
he asked, noting that after a long, hectic day she still moved as though she had urgent appointments to keep.
'When it's necessary. We're rushing this through to get it aired during the play-offs or, barring that, the series.' She shot him a look. 'You'd better be in it.' Still walking, she began to dig in the purse slung over her shoulder.
'I'll try to accommodate you. Want me to drive?' With the keys in one hand, Brooke looked up in surprise. 'Have you been talking to E.J.?'
His brows drew together. 'No. Why?'
'Nothing.' Dismissing the thought, Brooke paused beside her car. 'Why do you want to drive?'
'It occurs to me that I may have had to stand in front of that stupid camera off and on all day, but you haven't stopped for over eight hours. It's a tough job.'
'I'm a tough lady,' she responded with a trace of defensiveness in her voice.
'Yeah.' He grazed his knuckles over her cheek. 'Iron.'
'Just get in the car,' Brooke muttered. After rounding the hood, she climbed in, slamming the door only slightly. 'It'll take a little while to get across town in this traffic.'
'I'm not in a hurry.' Parks settled comfortably beside her. 'Can you cook?'
In the act of starting the car, Brooke frowned at him. 'Can I what?'
'Cook. You know.' Parks pantomimed the act of stirring a pan.
She laughed, shooting out of traffic with an exuberance that made Parks wince. 'Of course I can cook.'
''How about your place?''
Brooke zipped through a yellow light. ''What about my place?' she asked cautiously.
'For dinner.' Parks watched her shift into third as she scooted around a Porsche. 'It seems to me I'm entitled after feeding you a couple times myself.'
'You want me to cook for you?'
This time he laughed. She was going to fight him right down to the wire. 'Yeah. And then I'm going to make love to you.'
Brooke hit the brakes, stopping the car inches away from another bumper. 'Oh, really?'
'Oh, really,' he repeated, meeting her dagger-eyed stare equably. ' 'We both just punched out on the time clock. New game.' He fingered the end of her braid. 'New rules.'
''And if I have some objection?''
'Why don't we talk about it someplace quiet?' With his thumb, he traced her lips. 'Not afraid, are you?'
The taunt was enough. When the light changed, Brooke hit the accelerator, weaving through Los Angeles traffic with grim determination.
'Did you know that you drive like a maniac?' Parks observed.
'Yes.'
'Just a passing comment,' he murmured, then settled back against the seat.
Despite the infuriated woman beside him, Parks had the same sensation of tranquility when Brooke zoomed up in her driveway, braking with a teeth jarring jolt, that he had had the first time he had seen her house. There was a tang of fall in the air-that spicy, woodsy fragrance you never smelled in Los Angeles. Some of the leaves had turned so that splashes of red and amber and orange competed with the customary California green. The shadows of trees reflected in the glass of the windows as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Along the base of the house the flowers had been allowed to grow bushy and wild. Whether it had been by intent or lack of time, her unkempt garden was eye-catching and perfectly suited to the lonely mountain spot.
Without a word, Brooke slammed out of her side of the car. At a more leisurely pace, Parks followed suit. She was furious, Parks noted with a pleased grin. All the better. He didn't want an easy capitulation. From the first moment he had come into contact with her, he had looked forward to the struggle almost as much as he had looked forward to the outcome. He'd never had any doubt what that would be. When there was this much friction, and this much spark between a man and a woman, they became enemies or lovers. He had no intention of being Brooke's enemy.
Still keeping her stony silence, Brooke slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Walking inside, she left him to follow as he chose.
The fireplace caught his eye first. It was crafted from large stone, dominating one wall. The fire set was shiny brass, though dented and obviously old. Another wall was all glass, rising from either side of the door to the peak of the roof. Gazing at it, he felt not a loss of privacy but a basic sense of security. Rocking gently on his heels, he studied the rest of the main room.
A long armless sofa ranged in front of the fireplace, crowded with dozens of pillows. In lieu of a table a large, round hassock sat in front of it. Around this focal point a few chairs were scattered. All the colors were muted-ecrus, buffs, biscuits-set off by the surprising touches of huge, brilliant peacock feathers in a brass urn, a scarlet afghan tossed over the back of a chair, the vivid shades in the hooked rug on the planked floor.
A shelf had been built into the east wall. Ignoring Brooke's glare, Parks wandered to it. There was a small
