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By Root 1198 0

see why Charles had chosen Conroy for the romantic lead. He was an adequate actor, and he certainly looked the part. His bronze curly hair and tall muscular body, together with a rather dashing moustache, made him look as if he had just stepped out of a cigarette commercial. In all truth, he had done just that. He had been a popular and well-paid model before an enterprising theatrical agent convinced him that he was wasted in magazines, and his true métier was stage and screen. He must have been extremely easy to persuade for Brenna found him to be the most egotistical and smugly self-satisfied man she had ever met. Added to that, he was convinced that he was God's gift to women, and spent a good portion of every romantic scene attempting to fondle any available portion of her anatomy that came under his rather moist, fumbling hands.

Tonight was no exception, and when she had unobtrusively moved his hand from her buttocks to her waist for the third time, she was tempted to dig her nails into his well-manicured hand. With some difficulty, she managed to finish the scene and walked into the wings followed closely by Conroy.

When she was far enough from the stage to avoid disturbing the action, she whirled and faced Conroy. Her blazing eyes caused his smug smile to fade. “I've warned you before, Blake,” she said tightly. “I won't be handled by you. You either keep your hands to yourself or I'll put some marks on that pretty face of yours.” She curved her hand into a claw to demonstrate her sincerity.

A flicker of unease passed over Conroy's face, before his inherent conceit discounted her threat. “I like a girl with spirit,” he said smugly, reaching out a hand to cup her shoulder.

A line straight out of a John Wayne movie, she thought with exasperation, slapping his hand aside. “You'll see a violent demonstration of my ‘spirit’ if you don't listen to me, Blake,” she said grimly. “I mean what I say.”

“You don't have to pretend with me, Brenna,” he said confidently, taking a step closer. “I know what a hot little number like you needs. Why don't I drive you home after rehearsal? You live alone, don't you?”

“No, I don't live alone,” she said through her teeth. “I live with my son.”

“Oh, the kid.” Conroy shrugged. “We'll just tuck him into bed.” An intimate smile curved his mouth. “And then I'll tuck you into bed.”

“I'm afraid Miss Sloan will be too busy to accommodate you tonight, Conroy.”

Brenna froze with shock as she turned to see Michael Donovan strolling casually toward them. He was dressed in a navy blue shirt and slacks and should not have been impressive, but to Brenna's annoyance, he seemed to make his surroundings shrink, as if he were draining their identity from them. Certainly, Blake Conroy became insipid in comparison.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Donovan?” she asked bitterly. “Slumming?”

“We didn't finish our chat this morning, Miss Sloan,” Donovan said coolly. “I dislike leaving loose ends.”

“I thought we both made our positions quite clear,” Brenna replied. “I know I did.”

Conroy was listening to the exchange with increasing irritation. He never liked losing the limelight, particularly when he was smugly certain he was making headway. “Can't you see the lady isn't interested?” he drawled. “Why don't you go away?”

Donovan gave him a razor sharp glance that appraised and then dismissed him as though he didn't exist.

“Where can we go to talk?” he asked Brenna tersely. “Charles said you were through for the night. Why don't I take you out for a drink?”

“Now, see here,” Conroy protested, moving a step closer to Brenna and taking her arm. “Brenna and I were about to leave.”

“I heard,” Donovan said shortly. “Something about tucking her into bed, wasn't it?” He smiled mirthlessly. “Forget it, Conroy. In fact, it might be a good idea if you forget about Miss Sloan entirely. She won't have time for you anymore.”

“She'll be too busy with you, I suppose,” Conroy said sarcastically.

“Right.” Donovan nodded, his eyes amused. “You might say, I intend to fully occupy Miss Sloan from now on.”

Even Conroy