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Authors: Sorcha MacMurrough
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flamboyant gesture.
Zaira could see he had merely
ticked the first five or six pages, but had not scored out anything. With a sigh of relief, she went back to
the kitchen to bring out the rest of the things, and as she put them down on
the table as well, Brad said, “Here, help me.”
She picked up the glasses, and the
cork popped with that wonderfully unique sound. As the champagne fizzed out into the glasses and onto her
hand, Zaira felt a complete and utter joy which she had never experienced
before. Brad was here, he loved
her script, he was thoughtful, kind, breathtakingly handsome. And dangerous.
He raised his glass in one hand
and toasted, “To us!” but instead of drinking from his glass, he captured her
wet hand, and slowly began to lick the champagne off the back of it with a
silky caress that made her weak at the knees.
“Brad!” she gasped, but could not
manage to bring her hand away.
“Delicious,” he murmured, but then
almost as if he caught himself doing something which he shouldn’t have, he
stood up stiffly, and said huskily, ”Sorry, my dear, I got carried away, and
after all, it’s a terrible thing to waste champagne. Now drink up, while I finish reading the rest of this.”
Zaira sat down in the armchair
next to the sofa, and stared at Brad’s handsome profile. The tingling sensations had not
diminished, but rather grew stronger as she examined every inch of Brad
critically, in an effort to find some flaw in him which she could dislike him
for.
But no, Brad Clarke was infuriatingly
perfect. She couldn't help but
admire his wavy hair, with the mysterious red glints made her hand ache to
touch it. His neck was strong, and
his shoulders massively broad. His
chest muscles rippled with his every move, and he had a firm midriff, without
an ounce of spare flesh on him anywhere. His legs were strong and supple, and she remembered again the first time
she had met him, when his jeans had molded to his magnificent body..
She shook her head, trying to
remove the enticing picture of him from her mind. She gulped the champagne in
an effort to ease the lump that had formed in her throat.
“Wonderful, fantastic,” Brad said
again, as he finished reading the last sheet, and while he did ask her one or
two questions about the script, for the most part he seemed perfectly
satisfied.
“You’ve made terrific progress. I
must say I’m very impressed. In
any case, I'll still be tied up with one other project, a production of Hamlet I'm acting in, for the rest of
this week and next week, but after the performances at the drama festival, we
can get started on the film. So if
you don’t mind working at this pace, do you think you can be ready in about two
weeks?” Brad asked in a very businesslike manner.
Zaira tried not to feel hurt as
she replied, “Yes, I think so.” She had the feeling she was being brushed off, that he was not really
interested in her after all, though it had seemed so only a few minutes before.
“Great. Now there's just one more small problem,” Brad said.
Zaira looked at him inquiringly.
“Before you say anything, just
hear me out, Zaira,” Brad insisted. “My main problem has been trying to find an office convenient to here,
and now I've been told by my landlord that I have to leave my apartment by the
end of next week, because the man who let me have it had no right to sublet.”
Zaira knew what was coming, and
was surprised, but also in a way pleased. She was feeling reckless after all the gin, wine, and champagne, and
decided that she would appear reluctant, but let him talk her around.
“I was hoping that you might see
thing my way, that the perfect solution would be for me to move in here,” Brad
said quietly.
Zaira pretended she was going to
say something by opening her mouth, but Brad continued persuasively, “You have
a spare bedroom, the office is perfect, and we could work a great deal
Zaira could see he had merely
ticked the first five or six pages, but had not scored out anything. With a sigh of relief, she went back to
the kitchen to bring out the rest of the things, and as she put them down on
the table as well, Brad said, “Here, help me.”
She picked up the glasses, and the
cork popped with that wonderfully unique sound. As the champagne fizzed out into the glasses and onto her
hand, Zaira felt a complete and utter joy which she had never experienced
before. Brad was here, he loved
her script, he was thoughtful, kind, breathtakingly handsome. And dangerous.
He raised his glass in one hand
and toasted, “To us!” but instead of drinking from his glass, he captured her
wet hand, and slowly began to lick the champagne off the back of it with a
silky caress that made her weak at the knees.
“Brad!” she gasped, but could not
manage to bring her hand away.
“Delicious,” he murmured, but then
almost as if he caught himself doing something which he shouldn’t have, he
stood up stiffly, and said huskily, ”Sorry, my dear, I got carried away, and
after all, it’s a terrible thing to waste champagne. Now drink up, while I finish reading the rest of this.”
Zaira sat down in the armchair
next to the sofa, and stared at Brad’s handsome profile. The tingling sensations had not
diminished, but rather grew stronger as she examined every inch of Brad
critically, in an effort to find some flaw in him which she could dislike him
for.
But no, Brad Clarke was infuriatingly
perfect. She couldn't help but
admire his wavy hair, with the mysterious red glints made her hand ache to
touch it. His neck was strong, and
his shoulders massively broad. His
chest muscles rippled with his every move, and he had a firm midriff, without
an ounce of spare flesh on him anywhere. His legs were strong and supple, and she remembered again the first time
she had met him, when his jeans had molded to his magnificent body..
She shook her head, trying to
remove the enticing picture of him from her mind. She gulped the champagne in
an effort to ease the lump that had formed in her throat.
“Wonderful, fantastic,” Brad said
again, as he finished reading the last sheet, and while he did ask her one or
two questions about the script, for the most part he seemed perfectly
satisfied.
“You’ve made terrific progress. I
must say I’m very impressed. In
any case, I'll still be tied up with one other project, a production of Hamlet I'm acting in, for the rest of
this week and next week, but after the performances at the drama festival, we
can get started on the film. So if
you don’t mind working at this pace, do you think you can be ready in about two
weeks?” Brad asked in a very businesslike manner.
Zaira tried not to feel hurt as
she replied, “Yes, I think so.” She had the feeling she was being brushed off, that he was not really
interested in her after all, though it had seemed so only a few minutes before.
“Great. Now there's just one more small problem,” Brad said.
Zaira looked at him inquiringly.
“Before you say anything, just
hear me out, Zaira,” Brad insisted. “My main problem has been trying to find an office convenient to here,
and now I've been told by my landlord that I have to leave my apartment by the
end of next week, because the man who let me have it had no right to sublet.”
Zaira knew what was coming, and
was surprised, but also in a way pleased. She was feeling reckless after all the gin, wine, and champagne, and
decided that she would appear reluctant, but let him talk her around.
“I was hoping that you might see
thing my way, that the perfect solution would be for me to move in here,” Brad
said quietly.
Zaira pretended she was going to
say something by opening her mouth, but Brad continued persuasively, “You have
a spare bedroom, the office is perfect, and we could work a great deal
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