“How about I just pass the audition, huh?”
He spotted the women at the table and pasted on his most wicked
smile. His voice caught in his throat and a ripple of excitement ran
the length of his spine at the sight of his audience. The writer?
Was she really there? Or did she moonlight as a screenwriter? Maybe
a friend of the producers? Oh, my, my, my.
Nikita gestured to the table. “I’d like to introduce the heads of
this production. This is Maggie Bowles, our associate producer.” She
shrugged a shoulder to the woman on the right. “And this is the
writer, Cass Jensen.”
Logan forced a nod. Maggie had worked on Break and
co-directed Maia, both mega box office hits. She had a reputation
for fairness and impartiality with her actors and crew. But the
other woman—oh man. He blinked. Cass Jensen penned Wrong
Turn, Slingshot and toyed with his fantasies from the safety of a
black and white photo. Crossbeam Studios had translated three of her
earlier novels into box office hits. Now she sat across the room, in
living color and completely unaware of his innermost desires.
Had the heat just kicked on? He licked his lips. Something had
happened and not just between his legs.
It seemed as if everyone else in the cavernous conference room
had evaporated except him and Cass. She wasn’t his normal blonde
model-type, quite the opposite. She had curves and porcelain skin.
Her dark chocolate-colored hair glittered slightly under the harsh
glare of the fluorescent lighting, and she brushed the silky strands
off her face, revealing her lack of a wedding ring.
Her mouth curled into a faint smile, accompanying the sparkle in
her startling blue-gray eyes. Color rushed into her pale cheeks.
Logan’s eyes slipped greedily over her body. Would she flush
during sex? The light scent of her perfume muddled his brain. Lilac?
Rose? Whatever it was, it was enticing. Logan swallowed hard.
Tightness invaded his chest. Such a rapid reaction to a woman
knocked him for a complete loop. Cass was the kind of woman who
ended up being a cherished lover, not a plaything. He glanced at her
once more. His throat went dry. Damn, if she blushed too much
longer, he’d be in trouble. If he got time alone with her, he’d be a
goner. How would her hands feel gliding along his body? Heaven,