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  Organized chaos ensued as the crew moved out. Rafe walked up to Emma.

  “Some fantasy, huh?” she said softly, running her hands down her leather pants. “I’ve never worn anything like it.” She let out a startlingly alluring smile tinged with shyness. “I liked it.”

  God, she was something. Beautiful. Sexy. Adorable. And he wanted, quite badly, to haul her into his arms and tell her what he liked, which was her naked, in bed, panting his name.

  “Want to continue the fantasy?”

  She looked startled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, let’s take the bike out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He lifted the keys from his pocket. “It’s a friend’s. Come on.” He had no idea why he was coaxing her into this. Maybe to drive himself a little more crazy.

  Or maybe to see if she was just as crazy.

  Either way, she waited for him, waited while the crew finished cleaning up, waited until they were alone on top of the world.

  He got on the bike and handed her the helmet. The engine roared to life as she climbed on behind him. She plastered her long, willowy body to his, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her lush breasts into his back.

  He drove her into the night, with the wind in their faces, with the stars and the moon for light, with nothing for music but the wild beating of his heart—and hers, which he could feel palpitating against his back.

  The dark, curvy roads were perfect for his mood and he leaned into each turn, loving how her arms felt surrounding him, loving how she settled her chin on his shoulder to see. He could turn his head, look into her smiling eyes and know she was enjoying this every bit as much as he was.

  Eventually they landed back at the same spot on the top of Mulholland Drive. He braced the bike upright with one leg, feeling her body lean into his trustingly, warm and pliant.

  “So,” she said softly.

  “So.”

  “Only three shots left.”

  “Yep.”

  “Had any luck enjoying your impending retirement?” she asked.

  He stared down into the city lights and let out a small laugh. “I bought a plant.”

  “A plant.”

  “A houseplant. I’ll actually be around to water it.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “That sounds…domestic.”

  “One houseplant sounds domestic?”

  “I don’t have any plants,” she said quietly. “I work too much and forget to water them.”

  “That’s you.”

  She was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.” She sighed. “So what else? There’s Puddles, right?”

  “I wanted a puppy,” he said. “And I ended up with a crotchety cat.”

  She was quiet for so long that he craned his neck to look at her. “What?”

  “I’d forget to feed a cat, too.” She shook her head. “I hate that about myself.” In a gesture that was as slight as it was telling, she pulled away from him. “I’d better get home. I have a long day at work tomorrow.”

  He’d been hoping for something else from her entirely, but he wasn’t sure what. Another long, incredibly sensual night? How could he want that when she wasn’t what he wanted at all?

  He didn’t know, but he did.

  But he still just drove her home.

  18

  EMMA ENDED UP SPENDING much of the week at the studio, as they were working up storyboards for the next six months’ worth of plots. Normally she didn’t have much planning control, but in the past few weeks she’d really delivered in the wild-and-sexy department, and the “suits” were feeling generous.

  And, quite frankly, they were curious as well, wanting to see what she could come up with next. She had lots of scenarios planned in her head, using such props as a pool or a Harley-Davidson, and maybe even a trip to the islands. Just thinking about it made her grin.

  And ache.

  Because she doubted she’d ever forget how she’d gotten such ideas or the man who’d given them to her. She hadn’t heard from him and she knew that was her own fault. She’d pushed him away.

  Funny thing, though—during the long hours, surrounded by suits and the director and the other writers, all of whom lived and breathed this soap opera world, suddenly she couldn’t remember why she did.

  Why did she work around the clock for a television show? Was it the respect and love of her peers? No. Was it the money? A resounding no.

  So why?

  She had the terrible feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was because she had nothing else in her life, so she relied on work.

  On Monday, there was a crisis. One of their favorite female leads wanted out of her contract to take a movie deal, and everyone was up in arms. Emma took it in stride. No biggie, they could kill her off.

  On Tuesday, one of their teen males fell off his bike and broke both legs. Again everyone fell apart. Emma offered to write him into a coma.

  On Wednesday, the union grumbled about a strike. On Thursday, an hour of film was lost. By Friday, the place was just about crisis-overloaded.

  And yet she felt nothing but the oddest sense of detachment.

  On Friday afternoon, it occurred to her that she hadn’t heard about any more photo shoots, specifically October and November, which she knew were to take place over the weekend. Thinking that was strange since she usually knew by Thursday what was expected, she wrote herself a note to call Amber that night.

  And she refused to let herself dwell on the fact that the reason she felt so curious was that she knew she had only three excuses left to see Rafe.

  Just as she thought that, Amber entered her office wearing a hot-pink sundress and a grin. “Hey, sis.”

  “Hey. I was just thinking about you, wondering if you’ve heard anything about this weekend’s photo shoot.”

  “Yep.” She plopped into the chair, tossed back her mane of hair and revealed a hickey on her neck.

  “New boyfriend?”

  Amber laughed. “Stone.”

  “I thought he was a one-time thing.”

  “Make that a two-time thing—Nope, scratch that, it’s been three times now.” Amber waggled her eyebrows. “And talented as he is, I’m thinking of make it four, just for fun.”

  “The shoot,” Emma said, not wanting to hear details about her sister and Stone. “What have you heard about the shoot?”

  “It went fabulously.”

  Emma blinked. “Went? As in past tense?”

  “They called the other day, and I couldn’t reach you. For October we did a bubble bath scene, and then we shot November right afterward. I had a choice this time of costume. Can you believe that Stone let me pick? A red or black negligee on this cool bedroom set. I chose the black because it sets off my tan so nicely. And Rafe finished in less than hour, so I must be getting even better than I thought. There’s only one shot left now, tonight in Malibu. Anyway—” she hopped up “—just wanted to tell you the good news.”

  Emma couldn’t think past the fact that she’d just lost two of three chances to be with Rafe. “Good news?”

  Amber tried to look cool but couldn’t contain her grin. “I got a part on a pilot for the fall schedule. It’s a comedy.” She let out a little scream of joy. “Can you believe it?”

  “Amber, that’s…amazing.” Emma laughed and hugged her sister tight. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I know, I am, too. And given how generous I’m feeling, I think Stone just might get lucky for that fourth time soon. Maybe even tonight.” She danced toward the door. “I think I’ll just go out to Frederick’s of Hollywood and find something suitably outrageous to wear under my dress. Come with?”

  Emma thought of the work she had left to do and shook her head.

  “You know, I’ll never understand why you do what you do when it takes all of your time. Look at me—I make a lot more money than you do, and I have at least twice the spare time. You work too hard, Emma.”

  “Yes,