Nancy Warren - British Bad Boys

George sat down and appeared a man at his ease, but she could see the tiny movement of his foot tapping. She picked up the rhythm and found her fingernails tapping her knee in synchronization.

God, would Simon never shut up? And did Janine have to encourage him to launch into his stories about his days shooting soap operas? Okay, they were funny stories, and she loved Simon, but not now.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. Then she’d slip away.

When she lowered her wrist, George was looking at her with slightly raised brows. She stretched out the fingers of both hands and he gave a tiny nod. He could wait that long. Well, he’d have to. He’d wait another five minutes or so for form’s sake, but she anticipated that within twenty minutes they’d be naked, in his bed, and everything else could be put away until morning.

Her body stirred as she tried to decide what she’d like to do to him first.

She made it to nine minutes. Close enough. She rose, putting aside the heavy crystal glass, and yawned. “Well, I think I’ll turn in. We’ve got a travel day tomorrow. I need my sleep.”

Simon, in a most un-Simonlike manner, suddenly rose, too. “Ya know, that’s an excellent idea,” he said. Then he blinked.

“And Max, before morning, I need to talk to you. Got a problem.”

Frustration boiled in her stomach. No, no, no. She did not have time for this. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

Simon shook his head violently. “Think we need to make a personnel change. Ted’s mother’s sick. He wants to go home.”

Even though lust was lapping at her nerve endings, she knew this couldn’t wait until morning. She’d have to make some calls and try and replace Ted. “I’m so sorry about his mother. Of course. We’ll work something out.”

“Ted?” George said. “The lighting man?”

“Yes. Crucial member of our team,” Simon informed him.

“Will Ted stay on until we find a replacement?”

“You know he will. But she had a heart attack. She’s okay, but he wants to get back.” Simon knew the guys, but she was the one who got stuck with problems like this. She felt sorry for Ted, sorry that his mother had suffered a heart attack, but also sorry for herself. The timing was bad in every way.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get onto it.”

She sat down, and Simon sat with her. They were deeply into a save-their-butts strategy session when George entered the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I’m off to bed now. Wanted to say good-bye.” Simon rose and the men shook hands.

When Max put out her hand to shake, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Pleasure,” he said, and gave her the ghost of a wink.

As he was leaving, and she was thinking she’d be better able to solve their problems in the morning, she heard Wiggins say, “Ah, I thought you were in, sir. There’s a small matter I think you should be aware of.”

With one panicked glance at her, George said, “I suppose it can’t wait until morning?”

“I think not, sir. If you’d step into the library.”

“Right. Okay.” And off he went.

Oh, great. Just great. Their last night and it was like a warped game of Clue. The earl was in the library with the butler. The producer in the sitting room with the cameraman and the scotch.

Finally, she got away from Simon and made her way up the stairs. The library door was closed, she noted, and the lights were on.

When she got to her room, she calculated that it was afternoon right now in L.A. Let them get started on the problem. It was weird to talk to Hank, her boss, and picture him at his desk so far away.

Suddenly, she felt very far from home, from her own life. He sounded delighted to hear from her. “How’s it going over there?”

“Well…”

“Listen, I’ve been thinking, what about expanding this series? Why don’t we go to Europe and do some castles? Same concept.”

Max rubbed her forehead. Lust was interfering with her ability to think. “Um, the title part would be a problem. Not many European nations still have titled families living in castles,” she reminded Hank.

“Right. But that’s what makes it work for us. Loads of those deposed royals and all live Stateside, right? We could have a whole subseries on kings without thrones. Talk to those guys who are royalty from Russia and places, but work as doormen in Manhattan and car salesmen in Cleveland. Go with them and tour the old estates. What do you think?”

“Honestly? I can’t think. It’s been a long day and all I can think about is bed.” And how.

“Right, sorry. I’m forgetting. So why are you calling so late?”

She explained the problem with Ted. Hank was a take-charge kind of guy, which she liked about him. And he immediately said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the ticket changed and get the kid home, and I’ll find somebody else. In two days you’ll have a new sound tech. I promise.”

She laughed softly. “You are the best.”

“Of course. That’s why you work for me. Now get some sleep.”

“I’m going to bed right now,” she promised him, and that wasn’t a lie, she thought as she clicked her phone off. Though there’d be little sleep involved.

She washed up and then slipped into the ridiculously sexy nightgown she’d bought at the lingerie shop in town. It was the color of antique gold and looked fantastic on her. She’d probably bought it because it reminded her of the décor.

Since she’d freeze on the way down that passage, she threw on her cotton robe.

Half an hour had passed since she’d come upstairs. She sure as hell hoped the Wiggins business was taken care of.

She turned the acorn knob with the ease of practice, and entered the dark passageway. She’d pushed the flashlight into her pocket, but she didn’t switch it on. She sort of liked the secrecy and the sense of adventure of going through a dark, secret passageway to meet her lover.

Of course, she’d checked it out pretty carefully the first couple of times she’d come through here, and there were no bugs or signs of rodents or anything disgusting. She even thought, with a sense of sadness, that it was cleaned periodically. There were no cobwebs as thick as carpet, no mysterious casks or strongboxes. The air was musty and a little dusty, the corridor was narrow and not very high, and there was no light. Otherwise, it could have been any corridor.

But even though she suspected Wiggins came through here once a quarter with the DustBuster-she was sure he wouldn’t let any of the staff in on the secret-she still got a thrill every time she came through here.

Naturally, knowing what was at the other end of the tunnel was part of the thrill. The tunnel of lust, the corridor of sexual power, the-Abruptly her clever musings were cut off when she bumped into a body.

Warm, solid, and breathing, but the man struck her so suddenly that she screamed and would have jumped a mile if shock hadn’t frozen her in place.

“Max, it’s me.”

“Oh, God, George. You scared me.”

“I thought you must be able to hear me. I could hear you coming down that tunnel like the three o’clock train from Croydon.”

“I was thinking.”

“Ah. Thinking about me, I hope.”

He reached for her and pulled her against him, so her robe fell open and she pressed against him in nothing but a tiny slip of silk and lace that had cost about ten British pounds per inch. He wasn’t wearing much more. His torso was bare, and he had on nothing but cotton pajama bottoms that were warm from his body.

“I like the feel of this,” he said, running his fingertips over the lace and silk scraps that crisscrossed her breasts.

“It’s new,” she whispered, feeling a little breathless as he teased her.