Free A Holiday Fling by Mary Jo Putney Page B

passion were real. How could he let this intimacy end? They fit together too well, understood and enjoyed each other too much....
    Even when they were both panting with sated exhaustion, he didn’t want to let her go. When had he ever known a woman who made him feel so alive, yet so at peace?
    She stirred in his arms, murmuring, "I’m never going to think of this car quite the same way again."
    "A vehicle fit for dragons." He lifted her from the car, dropping one last weightless kiss on her hair. As they headed indoors, arms around each other, he realized that he couldn’t leave without at least trying to see if they had a future.
    As they entered the cottage, Plato looked up from his seat on the sofa, gave a bored yawn, then tucked his nose under his tail again. As she peeled off her long coat, Jenny said, "Tomorrow will be time for cooking and shopping and wrapping presents, but first, ten hours’ sleep. Agreed?"
    Before he could reply, the phone began to ring. "I wonder who that could be at this hour? Perhaps Simon is calling to offer still more money." Jenny sank onto the sofa, avoiding Plato with the skill of long practice. "Upper Bassett 7533. Yes, this is Jenny Lyme. Yes? Oh! No, it’s not too late, I just came in, actually."
    Greg hung their coats and poured two glasses of merlot. Jenny was still on the phone, her posture vibrant but her end of the conversation unenlightening. "Yes, that’s possible. No need to apologize. You obviously have no time to waste." She accepted her glass of wine with a nod of thanks, but took only a sip. "Yes, of course."
    What the devil was going on? Greg sat in a chair at a right angle to Jenny, feeling a prickle of unease. The intimacy that had bound them dissipated now that normal life had intruded. He was no longer sure he had the courage to ask if she would visit him in Argentina. She had mentioned that she was between projects, and he’d been hoping she could come for a long stay. Maybe forever.
    "Very well, I’ll call back tomorrow and we’ll finalize the arrangements after you’ve talked to my manager. I look forward to this." Her voice was buoyant but professional, until she put down the phone.
    Then she whooped with excitement and catapulted into Greg’s arms. "I can’t believe it! That was Marcus Gordon, the Hollywood producer. You worked with him on The Centurion , didn’t you?"
    "Yes, he’s a great guy—an old-fashioned moviemaker who cares about quality and good stories." A sinking feeling in his midriff, Greg set her on the sofa beside him. "What did he have to say?"
    "He’s about to start shooting a movie that’s a loose remake of Auntie Mame , and he lost his leading lady to the Betty Ford Clinic." Jenny was positively bouncing. "Then someone suggested I was available. He says I would have been his first choice—he and his wife are huge fans of Still Talking —but the financial people wanted someone better known in America.
    "When their first choice crashed, Mr. Gordon showed some clips of my work to the numbers crunchers, and got their agreement to make an offer. Oh, Greg, this is wonderful . It’s what I’ve dreamed of—a great movie with a great moviemaker. I’ve always loved Mame, and now I’m going to be an updated version of her!"
    So the call Greg had made to Raine Marlowe had borne fruit. But he hadn’t expected anything on this scale. "I’ve read the script. Marcus asked me to be director of photography, but the schedule turned out to conflict with this job in Argentina, which I’d already agreed to. You’ll be fantastic as Mame—funny, madcap, and with a heart of gold. Anything from Marcus is first class, and the lead role is a real star maker."
    Jenny’s face fell. "To think we might have been working together! What’s worse, because they’re about ready to start shooting, Marcus wants me to fly to California day after tomorrow, on Christmas Eve."
    Greg felt a weird sense of déjà vu—an offer that was too good to pass up had