Barbara McMahon - Bella Rosa Proposals

Still eyeing the cannolo, she nodded. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Some habits are hard to break,” she said softly.

“Zeke?”

She set the cannolo on a napkin and glanced away. “You think it’s stupid that I let a man run my life to such a degree for so long.”

“Is that what I think? Or is that what you think?” he asked, reneging on his earlier promise to himself to stay out of her business. He’d also vowed to steer clear of her. As the woman said, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“It’s what I think.”

“So, how’d it happen?”

Her brow furrowed. “It wasn’t all at once. I thought I was free…”

“Free?”

She cleared her throat. “You know. Footloose and fancy free. God knows, I was all attitude when I first arrived in Hollywood. I didn’t look in the rearview mirror when I left rural Louisiana. I was happy to kiss my hick roots and…and everything else goodbye.”

The way she hesitated made him think there was more to it than that, but he commented on the obvious. “I thought you were born in Georgia?”

One side of her mouth rose. “That’s what you’re supposed to think. It was Zeke’s idea after he came up with my name. Atlanta is one of his favorite cities, very cosmopolitan but with a bit of edge. He said it suited me.”

“What is your given name?”

“Jane. Jane Marie Lutz.”

It was a nice enough name, but it didn’t fit her, Angelo decided as he took in the tumble of nearly white hair and the blue eyes that, even without the benefit of much makeup, were her face’s star feature.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look like a Jane.”

Her laughter held little humor. “Zeke’s words exactly. He wanted something exotic, something people would remember. A name that could be used all by itself and people would know who you meant.”

“Like Cher or Madonna.”

She nodded. “You got it. The idea of being that famous caught my attention, even if at first I wasn’t too excited about being called Atlanta. Still, I was willing to do whatever Zeke suggested. He was a Hollywood big shot who had managed the careers of some of the hottest names in the business, and I was a nobody who wanted to be a star. I was grateful to him, pathetically so, for believing that I could be.”

“I don’t think he had to overtax his imagination. He must have seen a spark of something that he knew would have broad appeal.”

“He saw my body,” she said dryly. “I was nineteen, wearing a G-string and pasties and performing onstage at a gentleman’s club. Not my finest hour and definitely not the career I envisioned when I traded in my Podunk Ville address for a cockroach-invested walkup in Tinsel Town.”

A G-string and pasties .

Angelo had too much testosterone not to hone in on those words and be turned on by the erotic image they evoked. Somehow, however, he managed to say in a remarkably normal tone, “It takes more than a hot body and pretty face to become a mainstay in Hollywood. Lots of actresses with only that to recommend them have come and gone, while you’ve remained a box-office draw. You’re selling yourself short again.”

He expected her to argue, but she didn’t. Neither did she agree. Instead, she tore open a white packet of sugar and added it to her beverage. Another act of defiance, he was sure.

“So what does all of this have to do with a couple of cannoli and caffeine laced with whole milk and now some sugar?” he asked.

“Zeke was strict about what I could eat.” She exhaled and shook her head. “And about what I could drink, wear…you name it.”

“Controlling?”

“He claimed that he was only looking out for my best interests.”

Of course he did.

“Controlling,” Angelo said again, this time not as a question but as a statement.

“He was right about a lot of things, though. He got me my first big break. I didn’t want the part of Daisy Maddox.” It was the role that had made her a bona fide star. “He insisted I take it and it wound up being my best-grossing movie.”

“Are you defending him?” Angelo asked.

“No.” She looked insulted. “I’m merely pointing out the hand he had in making my career.”

“So, you’re defending him.”

“No!”

“He could have had the same impact on your career without treating you like a lump of clay to be molded to his exact specifications.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“Do you?”

“He managed what has been a very successful career for me.”

“So, that meant he got to manage your life, too?”

“Of course not.”

“As for your career, is it all you envisioned for yourself?”

He wasn’t sure what made him ask the question, but he was glad he had when he saw her mouth drop open. “I…I have other ideas, other avenues I’d like to explore.”

“Let me guess. He didn’t want you to explore them.”

Her gaze slid away. “Let’s drop it.”

“Sure.”

Atlanta grew quiet. He considered apologizing, but he wasn’t really sorry. She’d been under the guy’s thumb for way too long. Angelo didn’t want to see her slip beneath it again, even for a moment. No one deserved that kind of treatment.

She dipped the tip of her index finger into the custard that oozed from the end of the cannolo and licked it off. All thoughts of Zeke vanished. In fact, thoughts of every variety except the lustful kind vanished. It was all he could do not to groan.

“That’s a good start. But you can do better.”

When she looked at him in question, he nodded to the cannolo.

She dipped her finger in a second time for another nibble. He snagged her wrist before she could and brought it to his mouth instead, taking his time licking off the last of the rich filling. The quick intake of her breath was all of the encouragement he needed.

“I know all about indulgence, Atlanta. You might say I’m an expert.”

She pulled her fingers free and reached for her cappuccino. The hands holding the cup weren’t completely steady. He knew the feeling.

“Seduced in Italy.”

“Excuse me?” She gaped at him and his ego needed to believe she looked every bit as guilty as she had over the cannoli.

“The name of the movie you learned Italian for.”

“Oh. Right.” She smiled. “That was the one. It was shot on location in Venice. I loved it there.”

“Was Zeke with you?”

“Only for the first couple days, then he had to fly back to LA for business.”

“Perhaps that’s why you enjoyed Venice so much. It’s a city known for indulgence.”

She shrugged, non-committal, and took another sip of her cappuccino. “I’m guessing you were on a date when you saw the movie.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s a chick flick. I can’t see you going with a couple of guys from the team.”

“You’re right.” His expression was unrepentant when he said, “I don’t remember the woman I was with, but I remember the scene where you danced in the fountain in that really sheer top.”

“What a surprise,” Atlanta replied dryly.

Angelo was flirting with her again, although at times it seemed as if he was testing himself as much as her. Either way, flirting was harmless, she decided. Come to that, even though she’d had precious little practice at it away from the big screen, it was all but required when two healthy and unattached adults got together in an idyllic setting. In Angelo’s case, it was second nature and indicative of nothing more than his interest in a romp in the sack. The man had a one-track mind.

He needn’t bother. She was the polar opposite of her celluloid twin, the recent stirrings of her libido notwithstanding. With a crew looking on and a camera recording her every move and emotion, she’d enticed and seduced her leading man or fallen victim to his charms. In real life, however, she’d always been careful not to send out signals or offer come-hither glances and coy smiles. She considered that to be too close to her mother’s method of operation when it came to men. Too close to what her stepfather had accused Atlanta of doing to assuage his conscience for the petting and pawing that had begun even before she’d hit puberty.