This Magic Moment Page 5

  for a couple of years,” he reminded her. “I’m giving you your chance. And,” he looked up then and met her eyes, “I’ll be watching you closely. If you mess it up, I’ll pull you.”

  “I’m not going to mess it up,” she retorted, barely controlling a new wave of fury. “It’ll be the best damn special Swan’s ever produced.”

  “Just see that it is,” he warned. “And that you don’t go over budget. Take care of the changes and send the new contracts to his agent. I want him signed before the end of the week.”

  “He will be.” Ryan scooped up the papers before she headed for the door.

  “Atkins said you two would work well together,” Swan added as she yanked the door open. “He said it was in the cards.”

  Ryan shot an infuriated glance over her shoulder before she marched out, slamming the door behind her.

  Swan grinned a little. She certainly did favor her mother, he thought, then pushed a button to summon his secretary. He had another appointment.

  If there was one thing Ryan detested, it was being manipulated. By the time her temper had cooled and she was back in her office, it dawned on her how smoothly both Pierce and her father had maneuvered her. She didn’t mind it as much from Swan—he had had years to learn that to suggest she might not be able to handle something was the certain way to see that she did. Pierce was a different matter. He didn’t know her at all, or shouldn’t have. Yet he had handled her, subtly, expertly, in the same the-hand-is-quicker-than-the-eye fashion he had handled the empty cylinders. He had what he wanted. Ryan drafted out the new contracts and brooded.

  She had gotten past that one little point, and she had what she wanted as well. She decided to look at the entire matter from a new angle. Swan Productions would have Pierce sewed up for three prime-time specials, and she would have her chance to produce.

  Ryan Swan, Executive Producer. She smiled. Yes, she liked the sound of it. She said it again to herself and felt the first stirring of excitement. Pulling out her date book, Ryan began to calculate how quickly she could tie up loose ends and devote herself to the production.

  Ryan had plowed through an hour’s paperwork when the phone interrupted her. “Ryan Swan,” she answered briskly, balancing the receiver on her shoulder as she continued to scribble.

  “Miss Swan, I’ve interrupted you.”

  No one else called her Miss Swan in just that way. Ryan broke off the sentence she had been composing and forgot it. “That’s all right, Mr. Atkins. What can I do for you?”

  He laughed, annoying her instantly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’ve a lovely business voice, Miss Swan,” he said with the trace of humor still lingering. “I thought, with your penchant for detail, you’d like to have the dates I’ll need you in Vegas.”

  “The contracts aren’t signed yet, Mr. Atkins,” Ryan began primly.

  “I open on the fifteenth,” he told her as if she hadn’t spoken. “But rehearsals begin on the twelfth. I’d like you there for them as well.” Ryan frowned, marking down the dates. She could almost see him sitting in his library, holding the cat in his lap. “I close on the twenty-first.” She noted idly that the twenty-first was her birthday.

  “All right. We could begin outlining the production of the special the following week.”

  “Good.” Pierce paused a moment. “I wonder if I could ask you for something, Miss Swan.”

  “You could ask,” Ryan said cautiously.

  Pierce grinned and scratched Circe’s ears. “I have an engagement in L.A. on the eleventh. Would you come with me?”

  “The eleventh?” Ryan shifted the phone and turned back the pages of her desk calendar. “What time?”

  “Two o’clock.”

  “Yes, all right.” She marked it down. “Where should I meet you?”

  “I’ll pick you up—one-thirty.”

  “One-thirty. Mr. Atkins . . .” She hesitated, then picked up the rose on her desk. “Thank you for the flower.”

  “You’re welcome, Ryan.”

  Pierce hung up, then sat for a moment, lost in thought. He imagined Ryan was holding the rose even now. Did she know that her skin was as soft as its petals? Her face, just at the jawline—he could still clearly feel its texture on his fingertips. He ran them down the cat’s back. “What did you think of her, Link?”

  The big man continued to push books back into place and didn’t turn. “She has a nice laugh.”

  “Yes, I thought so, too.” Pierce could remember the tone of it perfectly; it had been unexpected, a stark contrast to her serious expression of a moment before. Both her laugh and her passion had surprised him. He remembered the way her mouth had heated under his. He hadn’t been able to work at all that night, thinking of her upstairs in bed with only that swatch of silk covering her.

  He didn’t like having his concentration disturbed, yet he was pulling her back. Instinct, he reminded himself. He was still following his instinct.

  “She said she liked my music,” Link murmured, still shuffling books.

  Pierce glanced up, bringing his thoughts back. He knew how sensitive Link was about his music. “She did like it, very much. She thought the melody you’d left on the piano was beautiful.”

  Link nodded, knowing Pierce would tell him nothing but the truth. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Pierce answered absently as he stroked the cat. “Yes, I believe I do.”

  “I guess you must want to do this TV thing.”

  “It’s a challenge,” Pierce replied.

  Link turned then. “Pierce?”

  “Hmmm?”

  He hesitated to ask, afraid he already knew the answer. “Are you going to do the new escape in Las Vegas?”

  “No.” Pierce frowned, and Link felt a flood of relief. Pierce remembered that he’d been trying to work on that particular escape the night Ryan had stayed in his house in the room just down the hall from his own. “No, I haven’t worked it all out yet.” Link’s relief was short-lived. “I’ll use it for the special instead.”

  “I don’t like it.” It came out quickly, causing Pierce to look up again. “Too many things can go wrong.”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Link. It just needs some more work before I use it in the act.”

  “The timing’s too close,” Link insisted, taking an uncharacteristic step by arguing. “You could make some changes or just postpone it. I don’t like it, Pierce,” he said again, knowing it was useless.

  “You worry too much,” Pierce assured him. “It’s going to be fine. I just have a few more things to work out.”

  But he wasn’t thinking of the mechanics of his escape. He was thinking of Ryan.

  Chapter 5

  Ryan caught herself watching the clock. One-fifteen. The days before the eleventh had gone quickly. She had been up to her ears in paperwork, often working ten hours a day trying to clear her desk before the trip to Las Vegas. She wanted a clear road and no lingering contractual problems hanging over her head once she began work on the special. She would make up for lack of experience by giving the project all of her time and attention.

  She still had something to prove—to herself, to her father, and now, to Pierce. There was more to Ryan Swan than contracts and clauses.

  Yes, the days had gone quickly, she mused, but this last hour . . . one-seventeen. With a sound of annoyance, Ryan pulled out a file folder and opened it. She was watching the clock as if she were waiting for a date rather than a business appointment. That was ridiculous. Still, when the knock came, her head shot up and she forgot the neatly typed pages in the folder. Pushing away a surge of anticipation, Ryan answered calmly.

  “Yes, come in.”

  “Hi, Ryan.”

  She struggled with disappointment as Ned Ross strolled into the room. He gave her a polished smile.

  “Hello, Ned.”

  Ned Ross—thirty-two, blond and personable with casual California chic. He let his hair curl freely and
wore expensive designer slacks with quiet silk shirts. No tie, Ryan noted. It went against his image, just as the subtle whiff of breezy cologne suited it. Ned knew the effects of his charm, which he used purposefully.

  Ryan chided herself half-heartedly for being critical and returned his smile, though hers was a great deal cooler.

  Ned was her father’s second assistant. For several months, up to a few weeks ago, he had also been Ryan’s constant escort. He had wined and dined her, given her a few thrilling lessons in surfing, showed her the beauty of the beach at sunset and made her believe she was the most attractive, desirable woman he had ever met. It had been a painful disillusionment when she had discovered he was more interested in cultivating Bennett Swan’s daughter than Ryan herself.

  “The boss wanted me to check in with you, see how things were shaping up before you take off for Vegas.” He sat on the corner of her desk, then leaned over to give her a light kiss. He still had plans for his boss’s daughter. “And I wanted to say goodbye.”

  “All my work’s cleared up,” Ryan told him, casually shifting the file folder between them. It was still difficult to believe that the attractive, tanned face and amiable smile masked an ambitious liar. “I intended to bring my father up to date myself.”

  “He’s tied up,” Ned told her easily and picked up the folder to flip through it. “Just took off for New York. Something on a location shoot he wants to see to personally. He won’t be back until the end of the week.”

  “Oh.” Ryan looked down at her hands. He might have taken a moment to call her, she thought, then sighed. When had he ever? And when would she ever stop expecting him to? “Well, you can tell him everything’s taken care of.” She took the folder back from him and set it down again. “I’ve a report written out.”

  “Always efficient.” Ned smiled at her again but made no move to leave. He knew too well he had made a misstep with Ryan and had some lost ground to cover. “So, how do you feel about moving up to producer?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “This Atkins,” Ned continued, overlooking the coolness, “he’s kind of a strange guy, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to say,” Ryan said evasively. She found she didn’t want to discuss Pierce with Ned. The day she had spent with him was hers, personally. “I have an appointment in a few minutes, Ned,” she continued, rising. “So if you’d—”

  “Ryan.” Ned took her hands in his as he had habitually done when they had dated. The gesture had always made her smile. “I’ve really missed you these past weeks.”

  “We’ve seen each other several times, Ned.” Ryan allowed her hands to lie limply in his.

  “Ryan, you know what I mean.” He massaged her wrists gently but felt no increase in her pulse. His voice softened persuasively. “You’re still angry with me for making that stupid suggestion.”

  “About using my influence with my father to have you head the O’Mara production?” Ryan lifted a brow. “No, Ned,” she said evenly, “I’m not angry with you. I heard Bishop was given the job,” she added, unable to resist the small jibe. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

  “That’s not important,” he replied, masking his annoyance with a shrug. “Let me take you to dinner tonight.” Ned drew her a fraction closer, and Ryan didn’t resist. Just how far, she wondered, would he go? “That little French place you like so much. We could go for a drive up the coast and talk.”

  “Doesn’t it occur to you that I might have a date?”

  The question stopped him from lowering his mouth to hers. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would be seeing anyone else. He was certain that she was still crazy about him. He had spent a lot of time and effort leading her to that end. He concluded she wanted to be persuaded.

  “Break it,” he murmured and kissed her softly, never noticing that her eyes stayed open and cold.

  “No.”

  Ned hadn’t expected a flat, unemotional refusal. He knew from experience that Ryan’s emotions were easily tapped. He’d been prepared to disappoint a very friendly assistant director to be with Ryan again. Off guard, he raised his head to stare at her. “Come on, Ryan, don’t be—”

  “Excuse me.” Ryan whipped her hands from Ned’s and looked to the doorway. “Miss Swan,” Pierce said with a nod.

  “Mr. Atkins.” She was flushed and furious to have been caught in a compromising situation in her own office. Why hadn’t she told Ned to shut the door when he had come in? “Ned, this is Pierce Atkins. Ned Ross is my father’s assistant.”

  “Mr. Ross.” Pierce moved into the room but didn’t extend his hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Atkins.” Ned flashed a smile. “I’m a big fan.”

  “Are you?” Pierce gave him a polite smile that made Ned feel as though he had been thrust into a very cold, very dark room.

  His eyes faltered, then he turned back to Ryan. “Have a good time in Vegas, Ryan.” He was already heading to the door. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Atkins.”

  Ryan watched Ned’s hurried retreat with a frown. He had certainly lost his characteristic laid-back style. “What did you do to him?” she demanded when the door shut.

  Pierce lifted a brow as he crossed to her. “What do you think I did?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan muttered. “But whatever you did to him don’t ever do it to me.”

  “Your hands are cold, Ryan.” He took them in his. “Why didn’t you just tell him to go?”

  He unnerved her when he called her Ryan. He unnerved her when he called her Miss Swan in the lightly mocking tone he used. Ryan looked down at their joined hands. “I did—that is, I was . . .” She caught herself, amazed that she was stammering out an explanation. “We’d better go if you’re going to make your engagement, Mr. Atkins.”

  “Miss Swan.” Pierce’s eyes were full of humor as he lifted her hands to his lips. They were no longer cold. “I’ve missed that serious face and professional tone.” Leaving her with nothing to say, Pierce took her arm and led her from the room.

  Once they had settled in his car and joined the streaming traffic, Ryan tried for casual conversation. If they were going to be working closely together, she had to establish the correct relationship and quickly. Queen’s pawn to bishop two, she thought, remembering the chess game. “What sort of engagement do you have this afternoon?”

  Pierce stopped at a red light and glanced at her. His eyes met hers with brief but potent intensity. “A gig’s a gig,” he said enigmatically. “You’re not fond of your father’s assistant.”

  Ryan stiffened. He attacked, she defended. “He’s good at his job.”

  “Why did you lie to him?” Pierce asked mildly when the light turned. “You could have told him you didn’t want to have dinner with him instead of pretending you had a date.”

  “What makes you think I was pretending?” Ryan countered impulsively, hurt pride in her voice.

  Pierce downshifted into second to take a corner and maneuvered his way around the point. “I simply wondered why you felt you had to.”

  Ryan didn’t care for his calmness. “That’s my affair, Mr. Atkins.”

  “Do you think we could drop the ‘Mr. Atkins’ for the afternoon?” Pierce pulled off into a lot and guided the car into a parking space. Then, turning his head, he smiled at her. He was, Ryan decided, entirely too charming when he smiled in just that way.

  “Maybe,” she agreed when her lips curved in response. “For the afternoon. Is Pierce your real name?”

  “As far as I know.” With this, he slid from the car. When Ryan climbed out her side, she noted they were in the parking lot of Los Angeles General Hospital.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “I have a show to do.” Pierce took a black bag, not unlike one a doctor might use, from the trunk. “Tools of the trade,” he told Ryan as she gave it a curious study. “No hypos or scalpels,” he promised and held out a hand to her. His eyes were on hers, patient as she hesitated
. Ryan accepted his hand, and together they walked through the side door.

  Wherever Ryan had expected to spend the afternoon, it hadn’t been in the pediatric ward of L.A. General. Whatever she had expected of Pierce Atkins, it hadn’t been a communion with children. After the first five minutes, Ryan saw that he gave them much more than a show and a bagful of tricks. He gave himself.

  Why, he’s a beautiful man, she realized with something of a jolt. He plays in Vegas for thirty-five dollars a head, crams Covent Garden, but he comes here just to give a bunch of kids a good time. There were no reporters to note his humanitarianism and write it up in tomorrow’s columns. He was giving his time and his talent for nothing more than bringing happiness. Or perhaps more accurately, she thought, relieving unhappiness.