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The one she’d found hiding in the storage room of her dorm, trying to avoid the two girls he was dating at the same time.
God, what a dog. And she’d been crazy about him. Crazy about him for a year, up until the day she’d realized being crazy about a bad boy was a much different thing from being inlovewith one.
Crazy was fun. Crazy was just fine for a college kid. But in love? Even worse, in love with Mick Winchester who hadn’t had a serious—or faithful—bone in his body? Insanity.
Exiting the plane, she got her bags and the rental car the studio had reserved. Then she hit the road to Derryville. By the time she arrived, it was full dark, a lovely September night with a sky full of stars and a huge watery moon. Too perfect a sky to be over a place Caro had begun thinking of as her personal hell.
All except the house. Inside the pretty house was a lovely in-law suite, waiting just for her. With antique furniture, a four-poster queen-size bed, an old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Plus, a huge window overlooking the kind of neighborhood aDawson’s Creekfamily would have lived in.
Not the trailer park where Caro had grown up. Not the high-rise where she paid a fortune for her own small apartment now.
All she could think about was arriving at the little oasis in Derryville. The lovely home with the nice, quiet old landlady on the nice, quiet old street. The house would be her home base, a place to escape from the frenzy that always erupted on a television show set.
Best of all, the landlady would give her a physical barrier. She’d be a perfect chaperone in case Caroline lapsed into momentary insanity and lusted for Mick Winchester.
No. No lust. No stroll down a mind-numbingly hot memory lane with a guy who’d always been able to fry her circuits with a smile or have her flat on her back with a touch of his hand.
Damn. No woman should ever be unlucky enough to have a Mick Winchester as her first lover. Starting out with the best meant everything else was downhill from there. And it had been, until it got to the point where she hardly found sex worth it anymore.
Another reason to hate the bastard. He’d ruined her sex life.
When she arrived at the house, she parked in the driveway, surprised to note there were five or six cars parked on the street in front of the house. “Sewing circle night,” she mused aloud. “Or maybe a bake sale meeting.”
Though she was tired, this would be a perfect time to meet some of the matriarchs of Derryville. With the production schedule set up by the studio, she had to get the cooperation of the townspeople as quickly as possible. The crew was arriving today and tomorrow, the cast at the end of the week. All the extras had to be screened and signed, the locations set, the schedule firmed. They needed the residents on board from day one.
Swinging her soft carry-on bag over her shoulder, she left her other luggage in the trunk of the car. She wanted to sit down and have a nice hot cup of tea. Maybe some cucumber sandwiches or whatever small-town ladies served at Ladies’ Guild-type meetings.
The front door was wide open, the screen propped as well, propped by a small refrigerator sitting on the porch. It was probably filled with lemonade, or raspberry iced tea. Buttermilk.
“Okay, this isn’tSeventh Heaven,” she muttered, forcing the images of small-town family dramas out of her mind.
This was real. Not TV.
She raised her hand to knock, then noticed something funny. The noises coming from inside the house didn’t sound like a Ladies’ Guild meeting. Another indication that she wasn’t going to be walking into a room full of nice gentle ladies was the smoke. Thick. Spicy. Obviously from a cigar. Or ten.
She froze, focused on the sounds. Male laughter. Deep. Raucous. Obviously from a man. Or ten.
Holding her breath, she entered the house, instinctively keeping on her toes to prevent her heels from striking the hardwood floors. She followed the noise, the laughter and a loud stereo playing some deafening music.
And suddenly found herself in a room full of testosterone.
Ten. Yep. That’s about what it looked like, though a quick count told her there were really only five.
Five men. Five big, laughing, smoking, drinking, scratching, snorting, belching, card-playing men. They were gathered around a card table that had been set up in the middle of what she remembered was the media room.
It looked wrecked, all right. Male paraphernalia covered every flat surface. Overflowing ashtrays. Empty beer bottles. A half-empty bottle of Jim Beam and a three-quarters empty one of Crown Royal. Smeary glasses. Chip bags. Remnants of pizza in some large boxes littering the floor. Cards. Gambling chips.
And right there in the middle of it, staring at her with a big ol’ shit-eating grin, sat a sexy-as-sin Mick Winchester.
MICK HAD KNOWN she was there the minute Caroline walked into the room. Even if he hadn’t been expecting her, he’d have noticed the change in the air. Female molecules, scents and energy stood out in this place. Especially when they were such attractive molecules, intoxicating scents and seductive energies.
He was the only one who saw her at first as she stood there, clad in another one of those power suits tailored to fit perfectly against her curvy little body. And another pair of wickedly high-heeled shoes that accentuated the perfect, soft legs he remembered.
Forcing his mind out of his crotch, he continued to wait, keeping a casual eye on his cards, the other on her.
Caroline looked shocked. Confused. Ready to faint. Then, ready to kill. She’d obviously seen him.
“Hey, Caroline!” he called, keeping his teeth clamped on the soggy end of a half-smoked cigar.
