Glitter Baby (Wynette, Texas #3)(105)

“Tear up our contract.”

She swatted the basketball from his hand. “Stop being such a crybaby.”

Easygoing, wisecracking Jake Koranda disappeared, leaving her face-to-face with Bird Dog. “Get out. This isn’t any of your goddamned business.”

She didn’t move. “Make up your mind. First you say I’m the one who blocked you, and now you tell me it’s none of my business. You can’t have it both ways.”

His feet dropped to the ground. “Out.” He grasped her arm and steered her toward the door.

She was suddenly angry, not because he was manhandling her and not even because he was threatening the future of her business, but because he was wasting his talent. “Big hotshot playwright.” She jerked away. “That typewriter has an inch of dust on it.”

“I’m not ready yet!” He stalked across the room and grabbed his jacket from a chair.

“I don’t see what’s so hard about it.” She made her way to his desk and ripped the wrapper off a ream of paper. “Anybody can put a piece of paper in a typewriter. See how I’m doing it. Nothing could be easier.”

He shoved his arms into the sleeves.

She dropped into the desk chair and flicked on the switch. The machine hummed to life. “Watch this. Act One, Scene One.” She picked out the letters on the keyboard. “Where are we, Jake? What does the stage set look like?”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“Don’t…be…a…bitch.” She typed out the words. “Typical Koranda dialogue—tough and anti-female. What comes next?”

“Stop it, Fleur!”

“Stop…it…Fleur. Bad name choice. Too close to this amazing woman you already know.”

“Stop it!” He shot across the room. His hand came down on top of hers, jamming the keys. “This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?”

Bird Dog had slipped away, and she saw the pain beneath his anger. “It’s not a joke,” she said softly. “It’s something you have to do.”

He didn’t move. And then he lifted his hand and brushed her hair. She closed her eyes. He pulled away and headed into the kitchen. She heard him pour a cup of coffee. Her fingers shook as she tugged the paper from the typewriter. Jake came toward her, mug in hand. She slipped in a fresh sheet of paper.

“What are you doing?” He sounded tired, a little hoarse.

She took an unsteady breath. “You’re going to write today. I’m not letting you put it off any longer. This is it.”

“Our deal’s off.” He sounded defeated. “I’m moving out of the attic.”

She hardened herself against his sadness. “I don’t care where you move. But we have an agreement, and we’re sticking to it.”

“Is that all you care about? Your two-bit agency.”

His anger was phony, and she wouldn’t let him bait her. “You’re writing today.”

He stepped behind her, set down his coffee mug, and settled his hands lightly on her shoulders. “I don’t think so.”

He lifted her hair and pressed his mouth into the softness just beneath her ear. His breath felt warm on her skin, and the soft touch of his lips made all her senses come alive. For a moment, she let herself give in to the sensations he was arousing. Just for a moment…

His hands slipped under her sweater and slid up over her bare skin to the lacy cups of her bra. He toyed with her nipples through the silk. His touch felt so good. Ripples of pleasure scuttled through her body. He unfastened the center clasp of her bra and pushed aside the cups. As he slipped up her sweater and bared her breasts, the ripples turned into waves of heat rushing through her veins. He pushed her shoulders back against the chair so her breasts tilted upward and began teasing the nipples with his thumbs. His lips caught her earlobe, then trailed along her neck. He was a master seducer playing with her body, going from one erogenous point to another as if he were following a chart in a sex manual.

Right then, she knew she was being bought.

She shoved his hands away from their carefully calculated seduction and jerked down her sweater. “You’re a real bastard.” She rose from the chair. “This was the easiest way to close me out, wasn’t it?”

He stared at a point just past her head. Doors slammed shut, shades pulled down, shutters locked tight. “Don’t push me.”

She was furious with herself for giving in so easily, furious with him, and unbearably sad. “The circle’s complete now,” she said. “You’ve played Bird Dog for so long that he’s finally taken over. He’s eating up what was left of your decency.”

He stalked across the room and pulled the door open.

She gripped the edge of the desk. “Making those crappy movies is easier than doing your real work.”

“Get out.”

“Mr. Tough Guy has a yellow streak a mile wide.” She dropped back down in the chair. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely push the typewriter keys. “Act One, Scene One, damn you…”

“You’re crazy.”

“Act One, Scene One. What’s the first line?”

“You’re out of your frigging mind!”

“Come on, you know exactly what this play’s about.”