Temptation's Kiss. Janice Sims

and T.K. were alone on the elevator ride downstairs. “Where’s your entourage?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

      “I don’t have one,” T.K. said, smiling at her. “Where’s yours?”

      “You’re looking at her,” joked Patrice.

      He gave her an intimate perusal, his eyes sweeping over her face. It felt like a caress to her, and she blushed. She also lowered her eyes.

      T.K. laughed softly. “You’re not still nervous around me, are you?”

      She looked up. “Who said I was nervous around you?”

      “I can usually tell when I make someone nervous,” said T.K., the smile never leaving his face. “You look very pretty when you blush.”

      Patrice started to ask him how he knew she was blushing when, to her knowledge, her cheeks didn’t change color when she felt embarrassed. However, the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, and there were several people waiting to get on.

      A small commotion ensued when T.K. was recognized, and soon he was being asked to sign his name on everything from a laptop to a woman’s smooth, flat belly. Patrice tried not to laugh. It was amazing how shame flew out the window when T. K. McKenna showed up in a lobby of unsuspecting females. T.K. declined to sign the woman’s belly but complimented her on its tone. “You must work out a lot,” he said kindly.

      “Every day,” the woman said, producing a piece of paper from her portfolio for T.K. to sign.

      After that, T.K. made his apologies, and taking Patrice by the hand, they hurried from the building.

      “You can’t go anywhere without that happening, can you?” Patrice asked as they racewalked across the street to the parking garage where T.K. had left his SUV.

      “It’s not so bad,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s not a high price to pay for fame and fortune. After all, they’re the ones who go to see my movies. I owe them a certain amount of consideration. But I know where to draw the line. I don’t let the fame control my actions.”

      Patrice smiled up at him. The sunlight made his brown eyes appear honey-colored.

      She liked his attitude. It’s how she looked at celebrity, too. She didn’t mind meeting the fans; in fact, she loved it. However, there were times when she fiercely guarded her privacy. For example, when she was being interviewed, reporters were free to try to pick her apart, but her family was a forbidden subject.

      T.K. still held her hand as they crossed the street. He liked holding her hand. He didn’t know what that meant at this point except that she was very pleasant to be around. He was completely comfortable in her presence, even if he still made her a little nervous.

      At the late-model Range Rover, he unlocked the doors and handed Patrice in. When he was behind the wheel and had relocked the doors, he turned to her and asked, “What are you doing for lunch?”

      “Lunch?” asked Patrice, sounding startled by his question.

      He laughed softly. “Yes, the meal that comes a few hours after breakfast, which I skipped this morning except for a cup of coffee and a swallow of orange juice. Have you been to The Grill? They make great food, really fresh. Good fish if you’re not a red-meat eater. Vegetarian dishes, too.”

      “No, I’ve never been there,” Patrice told him. She breathed deeply and slowly released her breath. “Are you sure you don’t have to be anywhere else?”

      “Nah, I’m on vacation until we start filming.” He started the SUV, and soon they were turning onto the street and heading toward the San Diego Freeway where he would exit onto Santa Monica Boulevard. From there, it was only three miles to Beverly Hills.

      “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly as he wound his way through traffic. “I didn’t even ask if you were free. If you have plans for the afternoon, I can take you directly home.”

      “I’m free,” Patrice assured him. She had decided to go with the flow.

      He turned and smiled at her before returning his attention to the road. “Good.”

      Patrice relaxed against the car’s seat. “You said your parents live in Beverly Hills?”

      He must have been fond of his parents because his eyes lit up at the mention of them. “Yes, I finally talked them into moving here about five years ago. We’re from Brooklyn.

      “My parents have deep roots there. Both were born there. Both were teachers for nearly thirty years. Most of their friends and family still live in Brooklyn.”

      “What did you say to convince them to move here?” she asked, very curious. She couldn’t imagine her parents living in Beverly Hills. It would be a worse situation than that old sitcom The Beverly Hillbillies. Her folks were ranchers, through and through.

      “I told them that I didn’t care when the desire to go back to Brooklyn hit them. I would make sure they got on the next plane flying in that direction,” he said with a laugh.

      “You’re a good son,” Patrice complimented him.

      “I try to be,” T.K. said sincerely.

      Chapter 3

      At The Grill on the Alley, commonly called The Grill, T.K. gave his key to the valet and then helped Patrice out of the car. He enjoyed the sight of her long, shapely legs but was careful not to ogle. Patrice noticed anyway and felt a tingle of excitement.

      Inside, they were immediately shown to a secluded table in the back of the packed dining room. T.K. didn’t let the maître d’ have the pleasure of pulling Patrice’s chair out for her. He did it himself and then sat down across from her.

      The maître d’ snapped his fingers at a passing waiter. “See to Mr. McKenna at once.”

      He smiled at T.K. and Patrice in turn. “Please call on me if I can be of any further service.”

      When he had gone, T.K. laughed softly. “Every time I see him I’m reminded of the butler in that remake of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.”

      “He does look like John Turturro. He’s one of my favorite actors,” Patrice said enthusiastically. “In everything I’ve ever seen him in, he’s done a good job.”

      T.K. nodded in agreement. “He’s a fine character actor.” He looked at her intently. “What did you think of the remake?”

      “Adam Sandler makes me laugh, and it had some touching moments, but to be honest, I don’t believe any remake can compare with the Frank Capra original. The script’s fabulous, and Gary Cooper is wonderful as Mr. Deeds. Good try to Adam Sandler, though.”

      T.K. smiled at her assessment. He liked the original a lot better than the remake, too.

      “You like Capra, huh?”

      “It’s a Wonderful Life, You Can’t Take it With You, and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town are my favorite Capra films,” she told him, her eyes shining with excitement. “The scripts were excellent, and the leads and supporting casts were, too. Plus, I liked the dignity Capra imbued his black characters with. Yes, they were servants, but they were treated with respect and got actual lines to say instead of standing around rolling their eyes and grinning.”

      “You have a problem with the way blacks have been portrayed in films?” T.K. was curious. He wanted to know if she had a fire in her belly to see her people portrayed accurately on film, as he had.

      The waiter arrived and introduced himself. They promptly ordered and sent him on his way, eager to continue their conversation.

      “You were saying,” T.K. prompted Patrice after the waiter had gone.

      “What black actor wouldn’t have a problem with the way we’ve been portrayed by some filmmakers?” she asked. “But I’m not going the route of blaming the performers of the past. They had to play the buffoon