He took a step closer, backing her against the wooden framework of the set for the police station. She found it was surprisingly sturdy and unyielding.
“Why, Callie Smith, I had no idea you were that kind of woman,” he taunted.
Her eyes widened. “What kind of woman?” she asked weakly.
“The kind who could be bought for a few pretty frocks.”
If he hadn’t been right smack in her face, his warm breath fanning over her cheek, she might have laughed. Frocks, indeed! But he was too delightfully close to inspire laughter. Instead, her breath snagged in her throat. Her gaze locked with eyes that gleamed silver in the shadowy light. Once again, she was reminded of danger, but in an odd way she found the thought exhilarating.
She dared a step forward, closing the already infinitesimal distance between them. Her breasts brushed against his chest. Her hips and thighs were close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
With a sense of inevitability she turned her face up just as he slowly lowered his. Their lips brushed lightly, then clung in a kiss that was by turns fierce and gentle, desperate and relieved. The aroma of his aftershave was late-in-the-day subtle and very provocative, like a lover’s scent lingering on a pillowcase.
Somewhere deep inside, Callie recognized that just as walking in front of that camera for the first time a few hours earlier had been a turning point in her professional life, walking into Jason’s arms was a pivotal moment for her emotions. The jury was still out on whether, in both instances, she was heading for disaster.
10
The fictional town of Glen River Falls had a population of about forty, most of whom were incestuously interconnected, as far as Callie could determine. There had been a minor baby boom a few seasons before, but those children were apparently locked away in the attic because they never appeared on-screen. No doubt they’d return as teenagers in time for steamy summer episodes filled with adolescent lovers.
At any rate, ever since Callie had been cast, the previously quiet town had been plunged into the middle of a crime wave of metropolitan proportions to keep her character on-screen as much as possible. By soap opera standards, her romance with Terry’s character was racing faster than a runaway train.
By the end of her second week, fan mail was already pouring in. Only a handful of the letters expressed much regret over the departure of her predecessor, Penelope Frontier. Apparently a lot of women thought a relationship between Terry and the promiscuous character of Lauren Fox was a bad idea.
Surprised by how all of the praise was affecting her, Callie plucked a handful of the best letters from the growing pile and tucked them into her purse to share with Jason and her mother. She’d never dreamed how much fun it would be to get all this admiring mail. It beat the occasional grudging memo from her supervisor at the brokerage firm all to heck.
Total strangers actually liked her. Well, they liked her character, but that was close enough to suit her. To her chagrin, she was beginning to understand why Terry was so addicted to his fan mail, even though it was directed toward his fictional persona. The whole experience was very seductive.
As if she’d conjured him up, she glanced up to find Terry’s amused reflection staring back at her in her dressing table mirror.
“It’s a kick, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is, indeed,” she confessed. “What do I do with all these?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you want the public to love you or to think you’re an ungrateful snob.” He grinned wickedly. “Since we both know you’re an approval junkie, you might as well get a zillion copies of your best publicity shot made, autograph them and start popping them in the return mail. If someone sounds particularly intelligent, you could always make them president of your fan club and turn the job over to them.”
Callie stared from the pile of envelopes on the dressing table to the half-full mailbag on the floor. “I’m supposed to answer all these myself? I never even wrote home.” She couldn’t recall ever seeing Terry carting a load of mail to the post office. “Do you answer every letter?”
“Every one.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “Personally? Or do you have a fan club that handles it?”
“Actually, I just hired a personal assistant to take care of it.”
Given the speed with which the mail was accumulating, Terry’s solution held tremendous appeal. “Maybe that’s what I should do. Is it expensive?”
“Minimum wage by the hour.”
“Do you think this person could take me on, too?”
“You’d have to ask, but I don’t see why not.”
Something in his expression struck her as awfully smug. “Okay, why that look? Do I already know this person?”
“Sure. Your mom.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open. “You hired my mother to answer your fan mail?”
“Actually, Neil hired her. He said she was looking for something to do to keep occupied. He was getting tired of my mail cluttering up our apartment until I got around to hiring some kid in the neighborhood to answer it for me. Presto, the deal was struck.”
“Since when are Neil and my mom so tight?” she inquired, an unmistakable edge in her voice.
“Whoa,” Terry warned, promptly beginning to massage away the tension in her neck. “Don’t go getting your drawers in a knot, sweetheart. It’s only been since you and I have been taping late every night. They’ve shared a few dinners, a little conversation. Besides, what difference does it make?”
None, she supposed, except it was yet another indication of just how wide that gap was between herself and her mother. They were living under the same roof and she still didn’t know how her mother was spending her time, much less what was going on in her head. What kind of a daughter did that make her?
“I should have known, that’s all,” she said wearily.
“Uh-oh, here goes the
