hang me on her wall.'
'Really?' She gave him an innocent blink. 'I'd think that pretty typical in your profession.' 'Maybe.' He took his eyes off the road long enough to meet hers. 'But then you're not typical, are you?'
Brooke lifted a brow. Did he know he'd given her what she considered the highest compliment? 'Perhaps not,' she murmured. 'Why don't you think so?'
'Because, Brooke Gordon, I'm not typical either.'
He burst out of the woods and onto the highway. Brooke decided that she'd better tread carefully.
The restaurant was Greek, with pungent foods, spicy scents and violins. While Parks poured her a second glass of ouzo, Brooke listened to a waiter in a grease-splattered apron sing lustily as he served souvlaki. As always, atmosphere pulled at her. Caught up, she watched and absorbed while managing to put away a healthy meal.
'What are you thinking?' Parks demanded. Her eyes shifted to his, disconcerting in their directness, seducing in their softness.
'That this is a happy place,' she told him. 'The sort you imagine a big family running. Momma and Poppa in the kitchen fussing over sauces, a pregnant daughter chopping vegetables while her husband tends bar. Uncle Stefos waits tables.'
The image made him smile. 'Do you come from a large family?'
Immediately the light went out of her eyes. 'No.' Sensing a boundary, Parks skirted around it. 'What happens when the daughter has her baby?''
'She pops it in a cradle in the corner and chops more vegetables.' Brooke broke a hunk of bread in half and nibbled.
'Very efficient.'
'A successful woman has to be.'
Leaning back, Parks swirled his drink. ' 'Are you a successful woman?' 'Yes.'
He tilted his head, watching the candlelight play on her skin. 'At what?'
Brooke sipped, enjoying the game. ' 'At what I do. Are you a successful man?''
'At the moment.' Parks flashed a grin-the one that gave his face a young, rather affable charm. 'Baseball's a fickle profession. A ball takes a bad hop-a pitcher blows a few by you…You can't predict when a slump will start or stop-or worse, why.'
It seemed a bit like life to her. ' 'And do you have many?''
'One's too many.' With a shrug, he set his drink back on the table. 'I've had more than one.'
With her first genuine curiosity, Brooke leaned forward. 'What do you do to get out of one?'
'Change bats, change batting stances.' He shrugged again. 'Change your diet, pray. Try celibacy.' She laughed, a warm, liquid sound. 'What works best?'
'A good pitch.' He, too, leaned forward. 'Wanna hear one?''
When her brow rose again, he lifted a finger to trace it. Brooke felt the jolt shiver down to her toes. 'I think I'll pass.'
'Where do you come from?' he murmured. His fingertip drifted down her cheek, then traced her jawline. He'd known her skin would feel like that. Milkmaid soft.
'No place in particular.' Brooke reached for her glass, but his hand closed over hers. 'Everyone comes from somewhere.'
'No,' she disagreed. His palm was harder than she had imagined, his fingers stronger. And his touch was gentler. 'Not everyone.'
From her tone, Parks realized she was speaking the truth as she saw it. He brushed a thumb over her wrist, finding her pulse fast but steady. ' 'Tell me about yourself.' 'What do you want to know?'
'Everything.'
Brooke laughed but spoke with perfect truth. 'I don't tell anyone everything.'
'What do you do?' 'About what?'
He should have been exasperated, but found himself grinning. 'About a job, for starters.'
'Oh, I make commercials,' she said lightly, knowing he would conclude she worked in front of the cameras. The game had a certain mischievous appeal for her.
'I'll be doing that myself soon,' he said with a quick grimace. 'Do you like it?'
'I wouldn't do it if I didn't.'
He sent her a narrowed look, then nodded. 'No, you wouldn't.'
'You don't sound as though you're looking forward to trying it,' Brooke commented, slipping her hand from his. Prolonged contact with him, she discovered, made it difficult to concentrate, and concentration was vital to her.
'Not when I have to spout some silly lines and wear somebody else's clothes.' Idly, he toyed with a lock of her hair, wrapping it around his finger while his eyes remained on hers. 'You've a fascinating face; more alluring than beautiful. When I saw you in the stands, I thought you looked like a woman out of the eighteenth century. The sort who had a string of anxious lovers.'
With a low sound of humor, Brooke leaned closer. 'Was that the first pitch, Mr. Jones?'
Her scent seemed intensified by the warmth of the candle. He wondered that every man in the room wasn't aware of it, and of her. 'No.' His fingers tightened briefly, almost warningly, on her hair. 'When I make my first one, you won't have to ask.' Instinctively, Brooke retreated, but her eyes remained calm, her voice smooth. 'Fair enough.' She would definitely put him on film with women, she decided. Sultry brunettes for contrast. ' 'Do you ride?'' she asked abruptly.
'Ride?'
'Horses.'
'Yeah,' he answered with a curious laugh. 'Why?'
'Just wondered. What about hang gliding?'
Parks's expression became more puzzled than amused. 'It's against my contract, like skiing or racing.' He didn't trust the light of humor in her eyes.
'Should I know what game you're playing?'
'No. Can we have dessert?' She flashed him a brilliant smile he trusted less.
'Sure.' Watching her, Parks signaled the waiter. Thirty minutes later, they walked across the parking lot to his car. 'Do you always eat like that?' Parks demanded.
'Whenever I get the chance.' Brooke dropped into the passenger seat then stretched her arms over her head in a lazy, unconsciously sensual movement. No one who hadn't worked in a restaurant could fully appreciate eating in one. She'd enjoyed the food…and the evening. Perhaps, she mused, she'd enjoyed being with Parks because they'd spent three hours together and still didn't know each other. The mystery added a touch of spice.
In a few months, they would know each other well. A director had no choice but to get to the inside of an actor-which is what Parks would be, whether he liked it or not. For now, Brooke chose to enjoy the moment, the mystery and the brief companionship of an attractive man.
When Parks sat beside her, he reached over to cup her chin in his hand. She met his eyes serenely and with that touch of humor that was beginning to frustrate him. 'Are you going to let me know who you are?'
Odd, Brooke mused, that he would have the same understanding of the evening she did. ' 'I haven't decided,' she said candidly.
'I'm going to see you again.'
She gave him an enigmatic smile. 'Yes.'
Wary of the smile, and her easy agreement, Parks started the engine.
He didn't like knowing that she was playing him…any more than he liked knowing he'd have to come back for more. He'd known a variety of women-from icy sophisticates to bubbly groupies. There were infinite shadings in between, but Brooke Gordon seemed to fit none of them. She had both a haughty sexuality and a soft vulnerability. Though his first instinct had been to get her to bed, he now discovered he wanted more. He wanted to peel off the layers of her character and study each one until he understood the full woman. Making love to her would only be part of the discovery.
They drove in silence while an old, soft ballad crooned on the radio. Brooke had her head thrown back, face
