Temptation on His Terms. Robyn Grady

      “Oh dear. I am still new to town, aren’t I?”

      Smiling, too, she settled more into her seat. “Back to your story…”

      “My mother and father found each other at a Fox Theater event. Dad was taken with her Southern charm and beauty. He proposed the next month.”

      She grinned. “Your daddy’s a romantic.”

      “He sure did love my mom.” Dex’s thoughtful smile faded. “When she died a few years back, he married again.”

      “A nice woman?”

      “My father thinks so.”

      Heading down a less busy stretch of road, he stepped on the gas. With the engine growling and scenery slicing by, she waited for him to say more about his stepmom, but he didn’t, which seemed to say a lot.

      Soon they rolled into a wide private drive situated in an upmarket neighborhood. A dark-haired man around her height answered the towering wood-paneled door. When he noticed her, the glare behind his trendy spectacles said he wasn’t pleased.

      Shelby thought about turning on her heel and finding her own way back to her apartment. Instead she found the wherewithal to appear unaffected. She’d dealt with and survived those kinds of looks before.

      The moment passed, introductions were exchanged and Rance Loggins invited them both inside.

      Dex and Rance traded a few words as they moved down a glass-walled corridor that showcased the tropical gardens outside. In a room decorated in hardwood, gleaming steel and slate-gray leather, Shelby quietly took a seat on a cloud-soft sofa while Dex shucked off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

      As he began going over the problem scene with Rance, Dex lowered himself down beside her—too close, Shelby thought, yet strangely not close enough. Whether having him save her from hitting the pavement earlier or the simple fact the other person in the room wasn’t thrilled at his surprise company, she felt somehow safer knowing Dex was close. Safer and also hyperaware—of his scent. Of his heat.

      His thigh was only a reach away, obviously muscled, long and strong. Her focus shifted to his polished big black shoes. Those feet sure would thump around in a pair of cowboy boots.

      “So, what do you think?”

      With a start, Shelby brought herself back to the conversation. Dex had spoken to her, and both he and Rance were waiting for a reply.

      “What do I think about what?”

      Rance reiterated the scenario—Shelby was sure more for his and Dex’s benefit than hers.

      “The female lead was the groom’s girlfriend until he cheated on her. Broke her heart. Later he proposed to her friend. She’s at the wedding reception and has bumped into her ex. Now they’re standing face-to-face.”

      Dex thatched his fingers behind his head and stretched out those long trousered legs. “She needs to slap his face. Stomp his foot. Throw a drink in his face. We just need the words.”

      “I’m telling you,” Rance said, “there’s no surprise in that. The audience will expect it.”

      Shelby wet her lips, took a breath. She could see it all so clearly.

      “She needs to speak up. She needs to speak to everyone there.”

      Dex lowered his hands and studied her. “You mean confront him in front of the entire reception crowd about his cheating?”

      “She’s classier than that,” Shelby said. “She’d gather herself and, never feeling more alone, in her cucumber-soup-stained dress, with everyone knowing and pitying her, she’d ask for the microphone and say what a gorgeous couple the bride and groom make. How she wished them every happiness. When she hands back the mic, with tears glistening in her eyes, the audience won’t applaud. As she walks away, weaving between tables then out wide arched doors that let in the sunshine, every guest is quiet. They’ve heard the rumors. In their hearts they already know. Reese and Kurt’s relationship won’t last.”

      “You mean Jada and Pete’s relationship.”

      Shelby blinked across at Rance and gave a thin smile.

      “Sure,” she said. “That’s who I mean.”

      Dex sat mesmerized. What just happened? Shelby had no experience with scripts or storytelling as far as he knew, and yet she’d enthralled them both with her rendition of how this pivotal scene ought to play out. Except…who were Kurt and Reese? And an even bigger question now was…behind that homegirl front, who was Shelby Scott?

      Running a hand back through his shock of dark hair, Rance jumped up. “Let’s get that down.” He slipped in behind the laptop, pushing aside the hard copy, which was fanned out over the tabletop. “We’ll need more backstory.”

      Three hours passed, during which Shelby joined Rance at the table, Chinese was ordered in and the scene ended up in great shape. On his fifth cup of coffee, Rance turned at enough of an angle to sling an elbow over the back of his chair.

      “Do you write, Shelby?” he asked.

      “Not my strength.” Shaking back her mane of mahogany hair, she admitted, “But I watch a lot of movies.”

      Dex pushed away his empty box of chow mein. “Have an all-time favorite?”

      “You’ll laugh.”

      “Bet I won’t.”

      “I like silent movies,” she admitted. “I like Valentino.”

      “So do a lot of women in L.A.” Rance stood and stretched his back. “The haute couture kind.”

      She laughed, and Dex saw Rance’s face light in a way he’d never seen before. After a nasty bust-up, Rance hadn’t dated in over a year. Dex guessed that tonight his friend had decided the drought should end.

      “I don’t have much interest in high fashion,” she said.

      “You should.” Rance sauntered over to where she sat. “I’m sure high fashion would like you. The screen, too. I’m surprised Dex hasn’t offered you a read.”

      “Of a movie role?” She set down her chopsticks. “I don’t much like talking in front of people unless they’re kids.”

      While she explained her nanny background and how tonight’s meeting had come about, Dex mulled over her admission. He wasn’t sold. She had spoken in front of a crowd at least once in her life, and the mysterious Reese and Kurt had comprised the subject matter.

      As if she’d read his mind, her green gaze hooked over and caught his. Then she studied the time on her drugstore wristwatch and declared, “I need to get home.”

      “Beauty sleep?” Rance asked with a you’re beautiful enough shine in his eyes.

      “Shift starts at seven.” She found her feet. She’d already explained her work as a waitress on The Strip.

      “Shelby’s place serves the best cheeseburgers in town,” Dex said. “And the best coffee—when I can keep it in my cup.”

      He and Shelby shared a private smile before she began collecting empty boxes. “I’ll clean up.”

      “You’re my guest,” Rance insisted.

      “Neither of you would let me pay my share. This is my contribution.”

      “You’ve done enough with your help on that script,” Dex pointed out.

      “More than enough,” Rance added.

      But, her mind made up, Shelby had already gathered up the boxes.

      When she was out of earshot in the kitchen, Rance readjusted his glasses.

      “She’s not your regular flavor. At first