Too Close To Call. Barbara DunlopЧитать онлайн книгу.
for video and animation. Argonaut provided them in a central facility for the use of all employees, though the film and photography staff had dibs on them during the day.
The door opened and Ashley turned to see who had joined her. Though official office hours were eight to five, the television industry was a hotbed of last-minute deadlines and emerging crises. No matter what time it was, day or night, there were always a few people working in the main office building.
Her eyes focused on Jeffrey, as he let the door close behind him.
“How’s it going?” he asked, in a gravelly voice.
“Fine.” She quickly minimized the screen before he could get close enough to see the details.
“A few last-minute adjustments?” he asked, strolling across the dimly lit room.
“A few,” she admitted, although it was far more than a few, and she wouldn’t consider it last-minute until Thursday night.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Just keeping up with the Joneses.” He took the computer directly across from her, swiveling the chair to face her. He could have picked any of the other four workstations in the room. The ones farther away from her—out of spying and distracting distance.
“I hear you’re setting a high standard.” He slid a disk into the drive and began punching keys. “Thanks to you, I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Had he been spying on her? Asking around? Bribing employees? She wouldn’t put it past him.
“A gentleman never tells.” Jeffrey turned his attention to the computer screen, and she thought she caught a hint of a smile. “We happened to be having dinner on the deck at the Breakwater.”
“You just happened to be overlooking my shoot?” Ashley didn’t believe it for a second. They must have followed her there. The Breakwater deck would have given them a perfect view of last night’s filming.
“You were spying on me,” she accused.
Jeffrey glanced up. “What do I look like? James Bond?”
No. Actually, he looked more like Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. With shorter hair and darker eyes. And maybe his chin was stronger, too. Funny, she didn’t remember Jeffrey ever looking so rawly sensual.
Wait a minute. Her mind was wandering. What were they talking about?
Spying. Right. She’d lost it there for a moment. Must be sleep deprivation.
She realized his gaze was gaining intensity, and she shifted in her chair. “If you weren’t spying on me, what were you doing at the Breakwater?”
“Rob said they had good steaks.”
“Since when did you start eating steaks?”
“My third birthday.”
“Cute.” Maybe that’s what bulked up his muscles. Jeffrey had taken to eating red meat over the past year.
He hit a couple of keys on his computer, and a series of colors reflected off the planes and angles of his face.
“You have video clips?” So much for scooping the competition.
“These are stock tourist clips of Alaska. Rob’s working with the actors.”
Her surprise must have shown on her face.
“You thought I’d just throw in the towel?” he asked softly with a slight shake of his head. “I’ve got a lot at stake here.”
So did she. In fact, so much was at risk here, that even having this conversation was a mistake. She couldn’t afford to inadvertently give him any more ammunition against her. She turned her attention to the big monitor in front of her, and enlarged her presentation.
She opened up one of the text files which contained a synopsis on the series idea and started proofreading.
She could hear the clicking of the computer keys as Jeffrey began working.
The overall storyline synopsis looked good, so she moved on to the episode specific stories.
They’d only come up with two episodes so far. They needed at least six.
While she proofread the text in front of her, she let her mind wander to other story ideas.
Before she realized it, she’d stopped reading. As the story ideas rambled through her brain, her action hero sprinted down the beach and suddenly turned into Jeffrey. That made no sense, since Jeffrey was neither old and jaded nor was he gay.
Still, her mind insisted on picturing him tanned and toned against the white sand…with her…in her smallest bikini. She felt the waves tickle her feet and imagined his warm hands on her skin, pausing on the curve of her hip, toying with the ties on her bathing suit.
A shiver of arousal ran through her.
Then the daydream changed. They were in a big bed. White, gauzy curtains billowed in the ocean breeze through an open window.
She could hear the gulls calling, and the waves crashing. She was in his arms, and it was morning, so they must have made love.
But, darn it, she couldn’t remember making love. She stared down at his dark head against the crisp, white pillowcase. She wanted him to wake up so they could make love again.
“Ashley?” His voice was husky against her ear, the soft puff of air erotically tickling her sensitive skin.
He was awake. She turned her head and smiled into his dark, sexy eyes. They were going to make love again, and this time she was going to savor every second.
“You want me to take you home?” he asked.
Home? She shook her head. No way. Not before they made love again.
She tipped her chin, hoping he’d reach out with those big, strong hands and stroke her face.
“Coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe breakfast? It’s nearly six.”
“Are those my only choices?” she mumbled in the sexiest voice she could muster.
“What other choices do you want?” There was a hint of laughter in his tone.
Ashley was about to tell him in bald terms just exactly what choice she was looking for.
But, suddenly, the hotel room vanished, replaced by a computer screen. Jeffrey wasn’t in her arms in a fantasy bedroom on the oceanfront. He was leaning over her in the Argonaut computer lab.
Icy mortification washed through her. He was waking her up from a catnap and she was about to proposition him.
“Coffee sounds good,” she choked out. Coffee. Followed by a long cold shower, and a stern lecture about curbing her fantasy life.
“Want me to bring it here, or you want to go out and grab some breakfast together?”
“What time is it?” She straightened up in the padded chair.
“Nearly six,” he said.
She lifted her hand to her forehead, combing back the fine hairs which had worked their way loose from her braid. Checking her skirt and short-sleeved sweater she made sure everything was in the right place.
Two hours? She’d been asleep for two hours?
As the implication sunk in, her gaze flew to her computer screen. He could have done anything in two hours. He could have read her whole presentation. He could have erased it or sabotaged it.
“The answer is nothing,” he said dryly.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“It’s written all over your face.” He straightened. “I’m an honest man, Ashley. I want to win, but not