Turn Me On

Only now, he could see that it hadn’t. One look at those deep-set sherry-brown eyes, that cap of sable curls, and it was clear the bloom had only intensified. Like wine distilled into fine cognac, Sabrina’s younger self had deepened into something far more intoxicating. When she’d been nineteen, she could stop traffic; now, he guessed, she could stop hearts.

Not his, though. Not any more.

Stef slid down into a chair along the wall and watched her stalk to a filing cabinet and rummage around in a drawer, yanking out a file. She slapped it down on her desk and sat, leaning forward to read it. Practicality had probably driven her to set her desk facing the door, so that she could easily talk to her assistant. It was just coincidence that he was sitting where it also gave him a direct view of her. He wondered if she realized just how plunging the neckline of her top was, revealing the slight cleft of her cleavage.

Outside, the late summer sun shone from a sky of deadened blue. Inside, the radio played softly, a man singing plaintively about going crazy while he looked into his ex-lover’s eyes.

THE FIGURES ON THE SHEET in front of her didn’t tell Sabrina anything she didn’t already know. She’d stashed some extra money here and there to cover the inevitable overruns. If things broke just right, she probably could pay her current cameraman his release fee and still squeak in on budget. But film projects were like unruly children, always running off in unanticipated directions. If Stef Costas wanted his personal cameraman, he was going to have to pay for it himself.

She was going to enjoy telling him that.

Sabrina glanced up and saw him sitting in one of the row of cheap office chairs next to the outer door—one elbow propped up on the backs, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He leaned his head back and watched her through slitted eyes. What he was thinking, she couldn’t say; she’d never been able to.

Except, perhaps, in bed.

She snapped the folder shut to drive the thought from her mind. There was certainly going to be none of that here. This project was her best shot at establishing herself in the business, of being taken seriously as a filmmaker. And that meant Stef would have to take her seriously as well. Scooping up the folder, she stood and walked back out to where he sat.

“Well, boss?” Stef asked mildly, as if he already knew her response.

Sabrina stifled the urge to throw the folder. It would only amuse him. “I’ll let you have your cameraman. But you’ll need to come up with the kill fee for the one I’ve got.”

Stef’s smile faded. “Really? And how do you expect me to do that?”

Now it was Sabrina’s turn to smile. “Well, there’s your hefty salary….”

“Nonnegotiable,” he said flatly.

Sabrina again sat on the edge of Laeticia’s desk, a study in affability. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“You’re the producer. Isn’t that your job?”

Do what’s necessary for the production, she told herself and let out her breath slowly. “Yes, it’s my job, but we’re on a shoestring budget and since you’ve created a problem by demanding your choice of cameraman, I’m expecting you to be a professional and help find a solution.”

Stef’s eyes sparked with annoyance, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. He tapped his fingers restlessly and stared out the window, obviously in thought. “Do you have a gaffer yet?” he asked, finally.

“No, I’m still working to find someone.”

“Kev’s assistant usually acts as our gaffer, camera assistant and best boy, all in one.”

“I hadn’t budgeted for a best boy. I didn’t figure we’d need to do dolly work.”

“You did plan to have a gaffer, though, right? You do know that to film you’ve got to have someone manage the lights?”

“Yes, Stef, I know that much.”

“Well, Mike can rig lights and do any dolly work we need, plus be Kev’s camera assistant. The money you save there should be enough to cover the other cameraman.”

Much as she hated to admit it, he was probably right. She’d been hoping to make him squirm a little longer. “Fine. Send me the information and I’ll check the numbers. If you’re right, all we have to do then is start filming and come up with a pilot that sells.”

“Doesn’t sound too hard.”

“Not as long as we deliver what Royce Schuyler expects.”

“Gus said it’s about sex,” Stef said, unperturbed. “How hard can it be? What’s your angle? The sexual revolution revisited? Sexual empowerment for women? The new chastity?”

Sabrina moved to Laeticia’s chair and permitted herself a small smile. She was going to enjoy this. “Footage of exhibitionist couples in the act? A sex toy factory? Men who do origami with their cocks?” She would have savored watching his jaw drop more if he hadn’t looked so damned gorgeous. “Don’t tell me I’ve shocked you, Stef. You used to be made of sterner stuff.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t put that kind of stuff on TV,” he said positively.

“Who said anything about TV? Cable,” she enunciated as though for a child. “It’s for late-night cable. Have you seen what they run these days? Trust me, this footage will be tame by comparison. It’ll just be more interesting because it’s the real thing.” She pulled a list of topics from the folder and handed it to Stef. “The first shoot is an ex-stripper who has house parties teaching women to lap dance and take it all off for their husbands.”

“No way.”

“Royce Schuyler was drooling over the idea,” she said with relish.

“He couldn’t have been drooling too much or you’d have come away with a contract.”

“Come on,” she snapped. “No one gets a contract for a doc series sight unseen. He liked the concept, though. Bring the wild side to Middle America. It’ll be sexy. It’ll be fun.”

“No. Not just no, but hell no.” Stef walked up to brace his hands on the desk and lean in toward her. “You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to have anything to do with this kind of project. I’ve got backers who would never return my phone calls if they knew about it.”

Sabrina leaned back in her chair and reminded herself to keep her cool. “No problem. Walk out. I’ll just tell Gus that you’re not interested,” she said airily. He had to be pretty desperate, she figured, or he wouldn’t be in the same room with her. “Of course, he might be a little disappointed to find out you’re not going through with your side of the deal.”

“It’s not a deal, it’s a favor.”

Sabrina’s smile widened. “In Hollywood, it’s the same thing, Stef. Of course, I realize that you’ve always been above…commercial ventures. Cheer up, sugar. It won’t sting so much after a while.” She rose and leaned toward him to give him a careless, dismissive kiss on the forehead.

It was a mistake.

IT WAS MORE INSTINCT than intention. Without thinking, Stef angled his head to find Sabrina’s mouth. To teach her a lesson…to test them both…to show himself that the past was done. He could have given himself any of those reasons. Any of them would have been easier to accept than the possibility that he just wanted to find out if she felt the same.

Then the heat flared through him and he didn’t have to wonder any more why he’d done it.

The taste of her flooded him with delight, like the flavor of some decadent, long-denied dessert. It sucked him back through the years to their first kiss, their last kiss and everything in between. Cool and smooth, her lips were slightly parted at first in shock. He heard her soft, smothered sound of surprise and faint protest; then her mouth was avid and hot against his. Sensations blurred, the sultry scent of her rising around him, the silky strands of her hair spilling over his fingers as he framed her face with his hands.

He wanted more, wanted to have her body naked and quaking under his, to see if she still moved the same way, made the same noises. To see if the same things still turned her on. Then he heard her sigh and felt her surrender herself to the moment.

Small sounds were deafening in the tiny room: the stroke of skin, soft exhale of breath. On the radio, a silky guitar line twined over the voice of a man singing about conquering a lover. Sun spilled across them where it came in the window.

And two people stood, caught in a moment that telescoped the years into nothingness.

SABRINA LIFTED A HAND to Stef’s hair, running her fingers through it. She struggled to keep a sense of self, but the sensation overwhelmed her. It was as though she’d spent the past eight years trying chair after chair, finding each uncomfortable, and suddenly the words in her mind were oh, this fits, as she sank back into it.

Into him.

It had been so long since the touch of a man had felt so right. And such small touches, only the tantalizing brush of lips, the erotic intimacy of a tongue, and featherlight slip of fingertips over her cheek. Smooth, liquid and slow, the pleasure flowed through her. Time and thought receded. There was only the now, with its endless resonances of before.

Then the door slammed back and someone hurtled into the office with a joyous cry.

“It’s a boy!” Laeticia stood in the doorway holding out a bottle of champagne, her triumphant expression morphing into shock as she saw Sabrina and Stef jerk apart. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, come in. We were just…” Sabrina willed her pulse to steady. It hadn’t meant anything, she told herself, just a kiss like any other. The important thing was not to react. She moved swiftly around the desk to pull Laeticia into a hug. “Congratulations, Auntie.”

“Yeah, well, I should get out of here.”

“Not at all,” Sabrina said with a hint of panic, drawing Laeticia into a chair. It gave her time to think, time to remember how absolutely done with Stef she was, had been for years. “I want to hear all about it.” And she did, too. “Mr. Costas was just leaving.”

“Not quite yet,” Stef countered, looking irritatingly unruffled. “We still need to finish that preproduction meeting.”

“I thought it was finished. You clearly don’t want to make the pilot that I’ve already pitched to the cable chief. I’ve got to deliver what he verbally committed to. Guess that means I have to get a different director.”

“I’m your director,” he said flatly.

“Not if you don’t want to make the documentary I’m selling.”

“Don’t forget the contract.” He nodded toward the fax machine where Laeticia was unobtrusively changing the paper.

“The contract just says we work together on a pilot. Period.”

Stef looked at her, amused. “Excuse us,” he said to Laeticia, and pulled Sabrina into her office, closing the door.

“Don’t manhandle me,” she spat.

“I’m not. I’m just trying to get some privacy. We have a contract to work on this project together,” he said calmly.

“Fine.” An edge entered Sabrina’s voice. “Then we do it my way.”

“No,” Stef shook his head, “we do it our way.”

“And what way is that? You were never much good at compromises, Stef.”

“Neither were you,” he said, looking at her stubborn jaw. “Looks like this will be a learning experience for both of us.”

Sabrina took a step closer to him, eyes defiant. “The first thing you should learn is not to assume that anything you once knew still applies. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“No,” he agreed, running his gaze over her, “you’re all grown-up.”

“And I’ve grown out of a lot of things. I’ve found my focus.”

“And that is?”

“Making provocative entertainment.”

“It didn’t take growing up to teach you how to be provocative,” he said, lifting a hand toward her cheek. “I think you had that from the day you were born.”

Sabrina took a sudden, quick breath and backed away from him. “I grew out of something else in the last eight years, Stef.”

“What?”

“You.” She opened the door to the reception room and looked at him impassively. “First shoot is in Glendale. A stripper who teaches lap dancing to housewives at lunch.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“Give it a chance. This isn’t your kind of documentary, Stef. It’s mine.”

“Your kind would change topics every five minutes.”

Sabrina’s gaze chilled. “Leave your card with Laeticia. I’ll e-mail you the details. And Stef?” She paused. “Don’t think you know me just because I made the mistake of sleeping with you a long time ago.”

4

“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK, the green or the cream?” Kelly asked, nibbling on her thumb as she stared at the couches arrayed across the showroom at Civilization.

Sabrina sat on the cream couch experimentally, running her hand over the woven cotton fabric. “You know me, I’d probably go for the leopard one. You should ask Paige. Or better yet, get her to take you to the Pacific Design Center.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Kelly dropped down beside her. “Paige would blow my budget on a single coffee table, then tell me the way to decorate was to invest in one signature piece at a time. And five years later, I’d actually have a completed living room.”

Sabrina fought a smile. “Well, it’s not going to be perfect overnight.”

“I don’t want perfect. I just want a room that’s not furnished in Early American Garage Sale. You know Cilla offered to let me pick what I wanted from the Danforth home shop at cost,” she asked with a grin.

“Why didn’t you take her up on it?”

“Uh, right. Like I could even afford that at cost.”

Sabrina turned and looked across the room at the array of couches. “What color are you doing the walls in again?”

“Sage.” Kelly handed over the paint chip. “Cream trim. The coffee table’s blond wood.”

Sabrina rose and began stalking between the couches, glancing at the chip in her hand.

Kelly trailed her anxiously. “Just don’t do a Paige on me. Nothing in the back three rows.”

“I should get myself some furniture one of these days,” Sabrina muttered.

“Why don’t you? What I don’t understand is why you live in Venice when you could live anywhere.”

Sabrina shrugged and leaned over to inspect the fabric of a floral couch. “What’s wrong with Venice?”

“Why not Brentwood? Or the Westwood Corridor?”

“It’s not like it’s a wreck. I like Venice. I like the canals. It feels right to me.”

“But you’ve got all of L.A. at your fingertips,” Kelly protested.

“I suppose,” Sabrina said absently. “But I’m happy where I am.”

“I wish I could say that.”

“But you’ve got a great little flat,” Sabrina protested, thinking of Kelly’s little 1940s courtyard apartment.

“Sure, if you don’t count the triple-X movie theater on the main boulevard.”

“At least you’ve got entertainment nearby.”

“Sorry, I’ll take my porn at home like everyone else, thanks. Anyway, it’s not the flat. I just wish the neighborhood were better. Next promotion, I’m moving.” She smiled faintly.

“What about a roommate?”

Kelly shook her head again, more definitely. “No way. I like living alone. I mean, it was one thing to share a house with all you guys when we were in college, but it’s different now. I like my privacy.”

“Are you sure? You could move in with me.”

Kelly nodded. “Naw, I like being able to come home and have wild sex on the kitchen counter if I feel like it. But if you move to Brentwood sometime, you can ask me again.”

“Okay.” Sabrina slowed, then walked purposefully to a couch set up next to a distressed armoire. “That one.”

It was an overstuffed sofa in a deep plum, with a slight deco flare to the arms.

“You’re out of your mind. It’s a green room. Why would I want to go with purple?”

“It’ll look ravishing, trust me.” Sabrina’s tone was brisk. “Green is too matchy matchy, cream is boring, slate is predictable. This will be just the bit of shock that you need.”

Kelly frowned. “This isn’t one of your bizarre design statements, is it? I don’t want bohemian chic, I want something that looks stylish.”

“Trust me,” Sabrina said simply and held out the paint chip.

“OKAY, A GLASS OF the ten-year tawny and one cosmopolitan,” said the waitress. “I’ll be right back with your cheese plate.”

They sat at a patio table at Morels in the Grove, watching people walk by. A cross between Disney’s Main Street USA and the Mall of America, spiced with a snip of Paris, the Grove had sprung up next to the L.A. Farmers’ Market and had quickly become a place to be. Kids loved it for the old-fashioned streetcar that ran down pavement untouched by a car. Parents liked it because it was safe and contained, and full of goodies to buy.

Sabrina liked it because it held Morels, the only restaurant in town that boasted a cheese list as long as its wine list.

Sabrina raised her glass of port. “To your new furniture.”

“To you, for helping me choose,” Kelly countered, clicking her glass against Sabrina’s.

“The living room’s going to look great.”

“I’m actually excited about the kitchen table. I’m just trying not to think about the fact that I just killed my savings account. How in the hell do people make themselves buy houses,” she muttered, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh, come on, remember your promotion. You should be rolling in it now.”

“I don’t know about that, although certainly senior writers make better money than associate editors.”

“There, see? How’s the new job going, anyway?”

Kelly grinned. “Pretty well. I’ve been getting out on interviews a lot. I just got to report from the set of Matt Ramsay’s new film,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “Hey, how come you never invite him to any of our parties, anyway? You never even invited him to the drama productions back when we were all at UCLA.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to get anywhere near my cousin.”

“What, is he a jerk? You’ve always talked about him like he’s a nice guy.”

“Oh, the nicest. Totally sincere. Fatally.” Their waiter set their cheese plate at the table. Sabrina shook her head and reached out to spread Gorgonzola on a slice of brioche. “That’s the problem, he’s fatally sincere. A woman catches his eye and suddenly he’s nuts for her. He’s telling everyone who’ll listen that she’s the one. And the woman, whoever she is, eventually falls for it, because he believes it himself. Then he sees that she’s only human and the infatuation wears off. After that, it just gets ugly. He’s an incredibly creative and interesting guy in every other way, but I’d never in a million years let anyone I actually liked date him.”

“Sabrina, how long have you known me?”

Sabrina counted in her head. “Nine years. God, has it really been that long?”

“Probably. And in all that time, have I ever said anything about looking for true love?”

“No, but—”

“Have I?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think I’d go all doe-eyed over your cousin?”

“It’s this mind control thing he gets going. You wouldn’t mean to, but you wouldn’t be able to help it.”

“Trust me, I’d help it.” Kelly waved the waiter over and ordered another drink. “Anyway, never mind. I’m not interested in any guy who’s going to go all gaga over me anyway. I want a good time, good sex and a hot career. I’d rather stick with the ones who know how the game’s played.” She waved her hand. “Speaking of games, how’s the great American documentary going?”

“Okay,” Sabrina said noncommittally, nibbling on an almond. “So are you going to the premiere?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Last time I saw you, you were dancing on air over this thing. What, are you having problems now?”

“No, everything’s fine, great.”

Kelly’s eyes narrowed fractionally; then she relaxed, glancing over at the dancing water fountain next to the restaurant. “You know, we have known each other a long time,” she said, leaning back in her chair and looking at Sabrina. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but did you know that every time you lie, there’s this little muscle by the corner of your eye that starts to twitch?”

Sabrina choked on her drink.

“What’s going on, Pantolini? Something’s up.”

“Nothing’s up.”

“Boy, look at that thing go,” Kelly said with enjoyment, and began digging in her purse. “I know I’ve got a mirror in here somewhere. You oughtta take a look. It’s really something.”

Sabrina scowled at her. “I get the idea.”

“So?”

“I just had some problems lining up a director. Mine bolted for another project before we had him locked in.”

“Are you going to be able to find someone else in time?”

Sabrina chewed on her lip. “That’s where the problem comes in. My uncle Gus came up with someone, which was a good thing since I’d scoured the town and couldn’t find anybody.”

“Why do I want to say uh-oh?”

“It’s Stef Costas.”

Kelly blinked at her. “Stef?”

“Stef.”

“The Greek god? Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s okay, Kelly.”

“Rina, there has to be someone else around. You can’t work with this guy. You talk about not letting your friends go near your cousin with a ten-foot pole, what about this?”

“It’s history, Kelly, eight years ago. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Sabrina muttered.

“Are you sure of that? Don’t forget what he put you through. I haven’t. I was the shoulder you cried on.”

And Sabrina would never stop being grateful for it. “I was nineteen then. I’ve gotten smarter. I can work with the guy without letting old news get in the way.”

Kelly gave her a level look. “I hope you’re right.”

“It’s business, that’s all. If I’ve learned nothing else since working for Uncle Gus it’s that you get the job done, no matter what.” Sabrina’s voice was shaded with intensity. “You don’t let anything get in the way of the job, especially nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal? He broke your heart.”

“Look,” Sabrina’s voice softened. “I appreciate your being concerned, but it’s okay, really. We set some ground rules. He knows I’m in charge.”

“You sure about that? Because it would be a really bad idea to be going into this thinking that you’re going to rewrite history or something. Sexual politics never got anyone anywhere.”

“Trust me, the only thing I’m thinking about is getting this pilot done the best way I know how. As far as I’m concerned, Stef Costas is just another person on the set.”

Kelly shook her head. “Sure. And denial is a river in Egypt.”

5

“SO WHAT GOT YOU interested in teaching lap dancing?” Sabrina sat on a couch next to a ripe redhead named Cherry Devine, ignoring the lights and the microphone dangling overhead. “I mean, if you teach wives and girlfriends to do this for their significant others, isn’t that ultimately going to cut into your clientele?”

The lush stripper threw her head back and laughed. “Honey, the guys who come to see me are looking for a pro, not someone they really have to deal with.” Her red silk robe gaped open with a studied carelessness to display the lingerie—and the soft skin—beneath. The camera angle worked, Sabrina decided, giving a nod to Stef. It made Cherry the sole focus, so that they could edit down to just comments rather than Q and A in postproduction.

Stef gave a quick hand signal to the cameraman to zoom in just slightly. Black-eyed and intense, his dark hair curling onto the collar of his denim shirt, Stef looked calm and in command. He also looked outrageously sexy, Sabrina thought. Which was something she had to stop noticing, and pronto.

“How did you wind up in lap dancing?”

Cherry dangled a cigarette from her fingers with innate theatricality. “I like showing off my body. Being a stripper is one way to make a living at it.”

“It doesn’t bother you to be on stage naked with a room full of men watching you?” The question wasn’t part of the script, but Sabrina followed her instincts.

Cherry’s laugh was husky and confident. “When I’m up on that stage, I own the room. Every man with a pulse wants me. I’m the one in control.” She blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling and glanced appraisingly at Stef. “Being able to get a man hot is the most powerful feeling in the world.”