Hot for Him. Sarah Mayberry

I figure our stay-at-home moms deserve a bit of eye candy every now and then.”

      That scored her a laugh. She sat back in her chair, waiting for the next question. When it was directed to the producer of the Kelly Larson talk show, on her right, she risked a glance at her watch. Ten more minutes and her official obligations for the convention were over. Hallelujah.

      “Beefcake. I wonder how they’d react if I said I cast for tits and ass?”

      Leandro had leaned close to her ear to deliver his sotto voce comment, and she could feel his breath against her cheek.

      “You should try it, see how they like it,” she suggested sweetly.

      He grinned, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. She wondered if he had them whitened, or if he visited a tanning salon, or both. Surely Mother Nature hadn’t bestowed all that height and breadth on him as well as great teeth and a year-round tan?

      “Would you promise to tend my wounds after they tear me to shreds?” he asked.

      “I’ve got a large container of salt out the back, ready and waiting,” she said.

      He laughed, a full-throated sound that drew the eyes of their interested audience.

      Suddenly realizing how it must look, the two of them whispering with each other and grinning like schoolkids, she concentrated on her notes. The problem was, she wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face so badly, she leaped at any opportunity to lock horns with him.

      But then she’d always been stubborn. From a young age she’d learned to look out for herself, and it had been good preparation for her career. She’d had to fight many prejudices in her battle to be taken seriously in the world of network television. Now, fighting was so much a part of her life it was second nature.

      “Well, folks, that’s all we’ve got time for today. Let’s join together in thanking our special guests from the industry for their time and expertise in answering our questions today,” their chairperson, Bonnie Randall, said.

      Claudia acknowledged the round of polite applause with a small smile. The truth was, of the five-hundred-or-so hopefuls crowded into this session, only a handful would achieve their dream to become part of the entertainment industry. It made her sad to see all the expectant faces sometimes.

      Pushing back her chair, she stood for the first time in two hours and winced at how tight her back and butt were. She really had to think about adding some stretching to her work-out routine—Pilates or yoga or something. She was turning into an old lady with all the hours she was clocking behind her desk.

      “This way,” Leandro said from behind her, and she felt a large hand land on her back as he steered her toward the closest exit.

      Instinctively she dug her heels in, not liking how small she felt standing next to him. On a good day she was the shortest person in the room at five foot one, but she felt positively childlike next to Leandro’s towering height.

      “I can find the door on my own,” she said coolly.

      His mouth quirked. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said.

      “Trying being the operative word. Why don’t you quit pretending you’re anything other than what you are—a pirate,” she said.

      “A pirate? Why am I not getting Johnny Depp vibes when you say that?” he said wryly.

      “You know why.”

      He cocked his head to one side as he looked down at her. “You’re not still upset about the wedding episode?” he asked incredulously, as though she’d brought up a spat they’d had on the playground in elementary school.

      “Yeah, I am. And I will continue to be as long as originality and reward for effort remain important to me,” she said stiffly.

      He shook his head, clearly amused. She hated that she amused him. It made her want to kick him in the shin, or any other part of his body she had ready access to.

      “Claudia, when are you going to let it rest?” he asked mockingly. His hand landed in the middle of her back again and she found herself being steered toward the exit once more.

      She was so busy being irritated by his condescending attitude that she went without protest.

      “It’s really not the conspiracy that you’re imagining, you know. I heard through a reliable source—who came to me, by the way, and not the other way around—that my biggest rival was running a feature-length special. What would you have done if the same opportunity fell into your lap?”

      “Let me think for a moment… Come up with my own bright idea? Decide to be original?” she suggested.

      “Sure you would have. And then you would have decided to fight fire with fire. You’re a beat ’em at their own game kind of woman. You wouldn’t be where you are today if you weren’t,” Leandro said.

      They were out in the foyer of the Universal Hilton by now, and somehow they’d managed to find a quiet, secluded corner to stand in. Claudia was oblivious to everyone and everything else as she glared at the man looming over her.

      “Don’t put me in the same grubby little basket as you, bucko,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest. He was standing so close she actually hit him, her finger driving home into firm, resilient muscle.

      To her consternation, he threw back his head and laughed.

      “Don’t laugh at me,” she warned him through gritted teeth.

      “Then stop being so cute,” he said. “Did you know that your nostrils flare when you get really angry?”

      It was too much. It had been a long day, and an even longer convention, and Leandro Mandalor had been a dark, disturbing presence throughout the whole damned thing. Giving in to base impulse, she hauled back her foot and kicked him, hard, in the shin.

      “Yow!” he howled, skipping backward and bending to clutch at his calf.

      “Cute my ass. And my nostrils are none of your business, flaring or otherwise,” she said before spinning on her heel and making for the elevator bank.

      The sound of his laughter followed her across the marbled foyer.

      She ground her teeth together and called him four-letter words all the way up to her floor. He thought she was a joke. A Kewpie doll he could poke a stick at and get some laughs out of. Her stride morphing into a stalk, she made her way to her hotel suite and swiped her key card.

      Sadie and Grace looked up from where they were lounging in the living room when she entered.

      “Uh-oh. Mandalor alert,” Sadie said as she saw Claudia’s face.

      “The man is an arrogant ass. A patronizing pig. A…a…” Claudia spluttered, running out of appropriately vitriolic insults.

      “Slippery snake? Jittery jerk? How about leprotic loser?” Grace suggested, poker-faced.

      “It’s not funny,” Claudia wailed, throwing herself into an armchair and toeing her high heels off with a relieved sigh.

      Sadie grimaced apologetically. “It is kind of funny. Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “Every day you’ve left the convention fuming at him. Even you have to admit that it’s a teensy, weensy bit amusing.”

      Jumping to her feet again, Claudia crossed to the minibar and grabbed herself a bottle of mineral water.

      “Have I been that bad?” she asked as she cracked the seal on the bottle.

      Grace and Sadie made eye contact with each other, then nodded in unison.

      “Yup.”

      Taking a slug of mineral water, Claudia pushed her shoulder-length straight black hair away from her face.

      “He reminds me of my brothers,” she admitted. “It’s not just that he’s Greek,