One of the Boys Page 4

  With her coffee and pineapple pastry in hand, Pet wandered over to an empty area below center stage. Andy joined her there. Soon after Lon and Charlie came and a few of the other crew, to talk shop. Pet listened, but spent most of her time eating to quiet the hunger pains in her stomach. When it was gone, she licked the sticky frosting from her fingers.

  Tired of standing, but intrigued by a technical explanation Andy was making, Pet set her cup of coffee on top of the stage. With her hands to lever her, she vaulted onto the stage, swinging around to sit on the edge, her long legs dangling. Between sips of her coffee she listened to Andy and asked questions when she wanted something clarified.

  She reached for the pack of cigarettes that she usually carried man-fashion in the breast pocket of her blouse. Too late, she remembered they had fallen out when she was assembling the camera.

  "Can I bum a cigarette from somebody?" she asked. “I left mine on the platform."

  "Here." Lon lighted one of his and handed it to her, the filtered end first.

  "Thanks. Coffee without a cigarette is as incomplete as a steak without salt," Pet declared.

  "Or a bed without a woman it!" someone suggested, and everyone laughed in agreement, although Pet just smiled.

  "Pet doesn't think so." Lon noticed her silence and began to tease.

  "Nope. I have a teddy bear to snuggle up to at night," she joked. "It doesn't complain if I have a headache."

  "Do you have headaches often?" Charlie asked with a laughing smile.

  "Working with you guys, I have them all the time!" she declared with mock seriousness, and drained the Styrofoam cup of its contents.

  "Want another cup, Pet?" Andy offered.

  "I'd love one," she admitted. "But I can get it."

  "I was just going to refill mine. There's no sense in both of us walking over there," he reasoned, and reached for her cup, which she surrendered to him.

  "If the queen is through holding court —" Dane appeared at the fringe of the small group, withering Pet with a dry look "— let's get back to work."

  A few of the men murmured "Sure," and "You bet," as glances were darted at Pet sitting rigidly on the edge of the stage. Over the heads of her fellow workers her gaze was locked with Dane's. Holding court indeed, she thought angrily. Up until a few minutes ago she had been listening to an impromptu lecture by Andy. And Dane had made it sound as though all the guys had been dancing attendance on her! She was furious, but she held her tongue.

  As the group around her began to disperse, it seemed a pathway was being cleared between her and Dane. When he moved to approach her, Pet stayed where she was. The stage gave her a height advantage. She would enjoy looking down on him for a change. No matter what he said to her, she was determined not to lose her temper.

  Stopping in front of her, Dane peered at her through spiky male lashes as dark as his eyes. The powerful line of his jaw was hard and unyielding. An awesome mingling of danger and excitement danced along her nerves and she found that she couldn't maintain the silence.

  "I wasn't 'holding court,'" she insisted stiffly.

  In one smooth motion he came a step closer and spanned her slender waist with his large hands. Instinctively Pet clasped his bare forearms with the intention of repelling his hands, but he was already lifting her off the stage and setting her feet on the few inches of floor left in front of him.

  His hands stayed on her waist, as if he knew that the minute he took them away she would move out of his reach. She was forced to stay where she was, their tall bodies almost, but not quite, touching. His nearness was suffocating.

  "Don't deny you were the center of attention," Dane stated, a muscle working in his hard jaw.

  "Maybe when you walked up, but not before." Her gaze moved restlessly over his shirtfront, looking anywhere but into his implacable male features.

  She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, noticed the curling, golden brown hairs peeping out through the V opening made by an unbuttoned collar, and saw the brawny muscles beneath the shirt sleeves over his upper arms. It was a disturbing observation of his utter masculinity.

  "They were clustered around you like bees around honey." His voice was low, but that didn't lessen its cutting edge.

  "That isn't true," Pet denied. "They'd gathered around the stage because it gave them something to lean against."

  "They leaned against the stage rather than sit in those seats out there," Dane mocked. "In case you haven't noticed, there are several rows of them out there."

  "Why don't you quit making mountains out of molehills?" she hissed. "Why do you keep looking for lusting motivations behind a perfectly innocent gathering?"

  "Will you listen to me, you long-limbed Nordic witch?" His fingers dug into her waist, inflicting pain. If his intention had been to make Pet finally look at him, he succeeded. "I have a much clearer understanding of the fantasies a man could weave in his head when he looks at you."

  "Such as?" Pet challenged, goaded by his superior attitude.

  An eyebrow flicked upward in aloof amusement. "Such as wondering whether all your skin would be as marble-smooth and white as your neck if those clothes were taken off you." His downward glance seemed to strip away her blouse and heat her flesh before it finally returned to her whitened face and wide green eyes. "Such as wondering what you'd look like with all that long blond hair flowing freely over your naked breasts." Dane paused. "Do you want me to continue? Because I can, very easily."

  "No." Her voice was all choked. She had to swallow to ease the strangling sensation. He had made it sound as if that really was what he thought when he looked at her. For a few seconds she had allowed herself to be carried away by the possibility that he was attracted to her. "Some men might fantasize like that, but not Andy, Charlie or the others. They know me."

  "They work with you, but that doesn't mean it never crosses their mind to wonder what you'd be like as a lover. Men tend to think along those lines," he said. "Women probably do, too, but they're reluctant to admit it even to themselves."

  "I don't think very many women think like that," she replied huskily.

  "No? You've never wondered what it would be like if — for example — I made love to you?" Dane queried, tilting his head to one side.

  "No." Pet rejected such a notion with a rushed answer and pushed at his forearms. "Now let me go. I have to get to work. I can't keep standing around here talking to you."

  "Or the boys might start to think I was in your room last night for a reason other than the one you told them?" he suggested complacently.

  "They wouldn't." But she turned to look toward the middle platform where Charlie and the others had gone to finish assembling the camera. As she watched them, Andy glanced over his shoulder toward the stage. The object of his attention was obviously her and Dane.

  "They would enjoy thinking it," Dane insisted dryly.

  "Well, I wouldn't!" Angered that he had placed her in another awkward situation, Pet wrenched out of his hands with a violent twist. "So just stay away from me from now on!" With a quick pivot she whirled away from him, her long braid flying out behind her and nearly slapping his face.

  Anger gave her a surplus of energy. She burned a portion of it walking up the aisle to the platform and hopping onto the planks. The rest she immediately put to use helping the others, aware of their speculative glances and telling silence.

  Finally Andy teased, "Did you quarrel?"

  She turned on him with a vengeance. "If you think for one minute that I'm interested in that muscle-bound know-it-all tyrant, then you aren't any friend of mine. If he'd been anyone other than Dane Kingston — my boss — I would have told him where to get off! He accused me of holding court. And all because you offered to get my coffee!"

  "Are you saying it's my fault?" His look was incredulous. "Only a woman could reason like that."

  "Yes, yours! And his —" she waved a hand toward the stage where Dane was talking with the lighting director "— overactive imagin
ation!"

  "Do you want us to help you find it?" Lon asked.

  Pet turned to glare at him. "Find what?" she demanded.

  "You've obviously lost your temper. I thought you might want us to help you look for it," he suggested. The other three were wise enough not to smile in front of her.

  "No, thank you. I'll find it myself," she said tightly, realizing that she was unjustly venting her anger on them. “I just need to cool down a little bit."

  "Let's speed up the process." Charlie picked up the piece of white cardboard and began fanning her with it.

  "Very funny." But there wasn't any amusement in her expression.

  She never fully recovered her sense of humor. By the time they broke for lunch, Pet had succeeded in pushing the disturbing incident to the back of her mind. The others had either forgotten or were careful not to bring it up.

  In the afternoon, the impression of chaos was increased when the cast of entertainers arrived to practice their songs and dance routines. To an outsider, it had to look as though no one knew what was going on, but it was all very well organized.

  Wearing her headset to communicate with the control booth in the semi trailer, Pet was checking out her camera to make certain it was functioning properly and transmitting a clear picture to the monitors in the control booth. Invariably when a sophisticated and sensitive piece of equipment such as this television camera was transported any distance, something needed adjustment. Although generally the adjustments were minor, they could be time-consuming, which was why a day was set aside more or less for the sole purpose of assembling and checking out the equipment, including the spare camera. Barnes was the name of the technician in the control booth with whom Pet and her co-cameramen were working.

  "She's here. She just walked in the door." It was Lon's voice that came over Pet's headset. "Wow! She's sexier in person, if that's possible."

  "You mean Ruby Gale? Where is she?" Charlie questioned.

  Pet had the feeling she was listening in on a party line as the headset hummed with the intercommunication of the cameramen. The star of the television special had arrived and all thought of the technical checklist to be completed had been temporarily forgotten. Admittedly Pet was a little curious to see what Ruby Gale actually looked like in the flesh after having heard and seen her perform so often in the past.

  "She's coming down the center aisle," Lon answered Charlie's question.

  Turning her head, Pet saw the titian-haired woman skirting the camera platform. Her first thought was how small the star looked, then she realized she was guilty of carrying the larger-than-life screen image in her head. Instead of being as tall as she was, Ruby Gale was probably two inches shorter, but her long shapely legs provided that illusion of extra height.

  Glimpses of those famous legs dad in tights were offered by the side splits in her skirt each time she took a step. She had a flaming mass of red hair that cascaded in thick glowing curls around her shoulders. Unfortunately, Pet's only view was of the star's backside as she walked down the aisle toward the stage, so she wasn't able to see if Ruby Gale was as naturally beautiful in the face as She appeared on screen and in photographs. Soon even that view was blocked by the two people who followed closely behind the star, no doubt part of her personal entourage.

  Then Pet noticed Dane coming at right angles to intercept the star. A wide lazy smile added a potent charm to a man she regarded as being already too ruggedly appealing. Irritation pressed her lips into a thin line as she watched him greet the redhead with a kiss. In the entertainment business, kissing was as much a part of greeting as a handshake.

  "Do you see the way she's cuddling up to Dane?" Charlie murmured. His voice coming over her earphones was an unneeded verification of the scene Pet was witnessing.

  "I wish she'd press against me like that," said Lon, and imitated the sound of a growling tiger.

  "Dane's certainly enjoying it," Andy observed dryly.

  "There would have to be something drastically wrong with him if he didn't," Lon retorted. "Hey, you're awfully quiet, Pet. Isn't there any comment you want to make?"

  It took her a second to find her voice. "About what?" With the pencil-thin microphone directly in front of her lips, it didn't take much above a whisper to make herself heard. "She's an absolutely gorgeous woman, but you can't expect me to be turned on about her the way you guys are."

  Ruby Gale was very beautiful. Pet could see that now as the redhead half turned toward the audience seats. Her features were sultry and exotic. Her dark eyebrows were perfectly arched, winging to her temple. Full, sensuous lips appeared always silently inviting some forbidden pleasure. Although Pet was too far away actually to see the color of her eyes, she remembered from the photographs of Ruby Gale that they were a startling peacock blue.

  "A word of warning, fellas," Andy inserted. "She has a temper to match the color of her hair."

  "I don't care," Lon declared. "All I know is that these next few days it's going to be a treat having to look at her all the time. I'd be willing to pay for the privilege."

  "Better not let the union hear you say that," Charlie suggested.

  Barnes from the control booth spoke up. "Don't you think we'd better get back to the job at hand, fellas?"

  "Joy killer!" Lon grumbled.

  Fortunately Ruby Gale disappeared behind stage with Dane and the distraction was eliminated. Not for long, however. Fifteen minutes later she was on stage to rehearse some numbers with the dancers. The skirt and blouse had been discarded in favor of a dancer's leotard and a skintight body shirt that revealed every curve and contour of her breasts. Pet had to suffer through more profuse compliments on the redhead's beauty and well-endowed figure. She was heartily sick of the entire subject when a halt was finally called for the day.

  Back at the hotel, Pet showered away her mild irritation and the day's tiredness. The khaki outfit was cast aside in favor of a pair of biscuit-colored slacks and a forest-green blazer over a tan sleeveless top.

  She walked alone to the dining room, certain there would be somebody from the crew with whom she could share dinner. There were three tables' worth, with an empty place setting at each table. Pet avoided the one at which Lon and Charlie were sitting since they had been so vocal in their praise of Ruby Gale, and she had already had her fill of that subject.

  She proved to be a minority of one. All through dinner every other sentence contained some reference to the star of the television special. It seemed everyone had some anecdote to relate or gossip to add. At the conclusion of her meal, Pet stayed at the table to have coffee with the guys.

  When the exodus began toward the lounge, she decided that she couldn't endure another minute of Ruby Gale and opted to return to her room. No one seemed to notice that she wasn't coming with them, which was rather bruising to her ego.

  Perhaps that was why she didn't notice Dane Kingston standing near the exit of the restaurant until she was almost level with him. Her steps faltered for a brief instant.

  "Good evening," she murmured, and would have walked on.

  "Aren't you going into the lounge with the others?" His dark eyes moved over her with lazy knowledge.

  "Not tonight. It's been a long day and I'm tired," she explained because she didn't want him to think her decision had been based on his admonition not to socialize with the men in the crew.

  "It never crossed my mind that you were heeding my advice," Dane assured her. "But I can't say that you look tired, either."

  Pet took a deep breath and released it in an exasperated sigh. "The truth is, Mr. Kingston, that I've become bored with the subject of Ruby Gale. It's all I've heard for the last several hours."

  "You don't like playing second fiddle, is that it?" he mocked.

  "Think what you like." She refused to argue about it. "You may find her to be a scintillating topic of conversation, but I don't. Good night."

  "Good night," he returned. Before she had taken a step past him, he asked, "Is Pet a nickname?"
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  She was surprised by the personal question, or perhaps by the genuine interest in his voice. "In a way, it is. It's a shortened version of Petra, my given name." She tipped her head curiously to one side and frowned. "Why?"

  "No special reason. I just wondered," he shrugged. "There's a meeting at seven o'clock in the morning."

  "Yes, I know," Pet nodded, and glanced over her shoulder toward the restaurant. "Were you just going in for dinner?"

  "No. As a matter of fact, I was just on my way out of the hotel." The glint in his eye seemed a little bit wicked, although his expression was impassively bland. "I'm dining with Miss Gale this evening."

  His announcement seemed almost the last straw. First the crew, many of whom she had numbered as her friends, had talked of nothing but Ruby Gale. Now Dane Kingston was having dinner with her. The defection of a man Pet really didn't like was the hardest to take.

  Her gaze swept over him, noting that he hadn't changed out of the brushed denims and plaid shirt. "You're going in that?" she questioned icily.

  "It's informal." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth without really showing itself. "We're just having some sandwiches in her suite."

  "What? No champagne and caviar?" There was a certain acidity to her murmured taunt.

  "That's being saved to celebrate the completion of the special," Dane responded easily.

  "How nice. Enjoy your evening," she said, and hurried on her way before he could stop her again.

  It was too early to go to bed. After twenty minutes in the small hotel room the walls began to close in on her. Jamming her writing pad and paperback book in her large shoulder bag, Pet left the room and went out of the hotel through a side door leading to the pool area.

  There were two families with children swimming in the pool, but few of the deck chairs were occupied. Pet chose one with a small wrought-iron table beside it. It was nearly a full hour before sundown on this warm summer evening — not that it mattered, since the pool area was lighted.

  Shedding her blazer, Pet settled into the deck chair and got out her writing pad. She had barely written "Dear Rudy" when a shadow was cast across the paper. She looked up to find Joe Wiles's wide bulk standing beside her chair.