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“It does,” she said, and again, Toby was saying pretty much what she’d said to herself after leaving the meeting. “She says that with a bigger studio and professional crew—not to mention scriptwriters—we might make it big.”
“Might.”
“Well, she can’t guarantee it, of course,” Naomi admitted. “And I wouldn’t have believed her if she’d tried. But I never saw a problem with our studio in Royal.”
“Seems to work fine,” he agreed.
“And the crew are very professional. Even the interns from the college know what they’re doing.” She’d already made these arguments to Tamara. Gone over them time and time again by herself after the meeting, too. But it didn’t change anything.
“They do.”
“She said,” Naomi added after a long minute, “that at first, they’d want to do the taping here. In Hollywood.”
He went still. “So you’d have to live here.”
“That was part of it, yes.” She looked at him again and tried to read what he was thinking. But except for the flash in his eyes, his features were cool, blank. “They would, in theory, tape a short season all at once, so I’d have to be here in California for at least a few weeks.”
“Weeks.” He nodded thoughtfully but didn’t say anything else.
Seconds ticked past into minutes, and still the quiet between them grew. Naomi’s own mind was racing, going over the meeting again, what living in California for weeks at a time might mean to her. To Toby. The baby. There were too many questions and too few answers.
“This is Hollywood, Toby,” she said a little wistfully. “They’re the experts. And this chance, it’s what I’ve been aiming for.”
“Sounds like you got it.” No inflection to his voice, giving no clue to what he was thinking.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. What was more, she didn’t know if she wanted it anymore.
Yes, LA was exciting. Hollywood had such cachet, deserved or not. Even their hotel, the Chateau Marmont, was a legend in a town filled with them. Movie stars as far back as the ’20s had stayed in this hotel, and it was as if their spirits remained, because the hotel felt...out of time somehow. The stars still flocked here—movie stars, TV actors, singers all flocked to this place, this city.
Dreams were born, lived...or died, all in this one city.
And Naomi didn’t know anymore if she wanted what was offered here. “This all comes back to Maverick’s video,” she mused, shaking her head at the irony of having something she hated be at the base of what could be the realization of her dreams.
“Well,” she amended, “I guess it was more about how we handled the video than the video itself. That’s what caught her attention, really. Tamara said she liked how we turned it around, used that video to spark more changes on the show...”
“Not we, Naomi,” Toby said softly. “You. You did it. You faced Maverick down, took that ugly video of his and made it work for you.”
She smiled to herself and pulled a lock of windblown hair from across her eyes. “You know, I really did. But, Toby, without you I don’t think I could have. You’re the one who helped me see that hiding wasn’t the answer. You were right there. Standing with me. Helping me. You gave my baby a father.”
His eyes darkened, swirled with emotions that flashed past too quickly for her to read. And suddenly, she didn’t care what he was thinking, feeling. Right now all she knew was what she felt.
“Ever since we kissed,” she said softly, sliding her hand along the railing until she found his and covered it with her own. “I’ve been thinking about more.”
“Me too.” He looked down at their joined hands, then into her eyes.
“That no-sex line you talked about?” she said, despite the tightness in her throat, the galloping of her heart. “The one you said we shouldn’t cross?”
“Yeah?” His eyes darkened again. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I want to cross it.”
“Me too.” Toby reached for her, and she went to him eagerly. He pulled her in close, locked his arms around her and kissed her with a raging hunger that shattered every last thread of control she might have clung to.
Naomi lifted her arms to hook around his neck and held him to her as his mouth took hers. Their tongues tangled together in a silent dance of passion that sent tingles of expectation skittering through her veins. Better even than the kiss that had filled her dreams for days, this one promised more than just a few minutes of heat. This kiss promised an inferno to come, and Naomi readily jumped into the flames.
She lost herself in the wonder of the moment, of having him touch her, hold her, kiss her. For days she’d been hoping to feel this again. For days she’d watched him try to keep a safe distance between them. And now at last, the wall separating them was coming down in a rush.
His hands swept up and down her back, and Naomi wanted to peel out of her sleeveless sunshine-yellow dress. She wanted his hands on her skin—those strong, rough hands that showed such gentleness. She wanted all of him against her, inside her.
