Bordering on Obsession Page 2

  Tonight, she could be that woman. Boy-oh-boy, she had the incentive. Just thinking about Quinn’s magnificent body made her toes curl and heat seep between her thighs.

  Even without her conversation with Kimberly, even without her need to find out if Quinn was as good as her obsession, Maggie couldn’t seriously consider not going through with her plan. Quinn had too much raw sex appeal for her to resist, too much intensity in those eyes she wanted on her. This was her moment to grab, her time, and if she didn’t, she’d regret the lack of courage for the rest of her life. Maggie would rather live with a mistake than a regret. She’d rather lament what she’d done than what she hadn’t done. Besides, while she admired Quinn’s intellect and creativity and appreciated how he wielded his power, Quinn was still far from infallible. And although he was rarely alone, she knew he was lonely—a trait that Maggie found almost as devastatingly irresistible as his bold brilliance.

  But, mainly, Maggie was done denying her attraction to him. Last week, she’d celebrated her thirty-second birthday, and all those candles on the cake seemed to be telling her that if she didn’t make a major change in her life, next year she’d again be out celebrating with the girls and then returning home once more to an empty bed.

  And as if she’d needed more encouragement, the morning following her birthday party, she’d cleaned out her medicine chest and found that her unused tube of diaphragm jelly had expired a year ago. So she’d decided enough was enough—she had to do more than dream and hope and fantasize. She was stoking up her love life before it extinguished permanently from disuse.

  Maggie considered other major turning points in her life. Losing her virginity to her high school sweetheart at seventeen. Moving to California after college. Meeting and becoming friends with Kimberly. She didn’t regret one of those decisions. It was likely she wouldn’t regret taking Quinn to bed.

  She was going to take advantage of this opportunity.

  She enjoyed her life and her friends, but she wanted more than working toward a goal of opening her own casting agency. She wanted romance. And while she’d had two long-term relationships, nothing interesting had occurred in the sex department for the past two years.

  Still, taking her boss to bed was rather drastic, one of her more outrageous ideas.

  “As long as Quinn doesn’t object to my wearing the mask in bed I should be fine.”

  “Why should he mind?” Kimberly asked.

  After months of sexual frustration, Maggie was up for a little kink in her sex life. She’d spent too many nights fantasizing about Quinn to back out now. But no matter how many times she told herself that Quinn was just as arrogant and egotistical as he was creative and charming, she couldn’t talk herself out of her fascination with the guy.

  She wanted to taste those lips. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted his hands on her breasts. She’d tortured herself long enough. Of course she’d tried to shove him out of her dreams, but had failed miserably. She’d had enough of fantasizing. To get over him, she needed the real thing.

  Sensing Maggie’s decision to go through with the plan, Kimberly’s eyes sparkled with vicarious pleasure and her tone teased. “Are you sure you’re ready for hot, sweaty sex with Quinn?”

  Oh, yeah. She was more than ready. Just thinking about him made intimate flesh thrum, and her blood simmer. Maggie carefully placed the jewelry on loan into her purse before answering Kimberly. “This scheme is insane, you know that?”

  “Several mind-blowing orgasms are all you need to work him out of your system. Going on like you have been, that’s insane. You want the guy. Go after him, girlfriend. Or you’ll spend your old age regretting you let life pass you by.”

  Maggie sighed, knowing Kimberly was right, teetering on the edge of going forward. “Sex for the sake of an orgasm has never before been enough for me. Yet, Quinn doesn’t do long-term relationships. So, this is solely for one night.”

  Kimberly rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Since you know that fact going in, you won’t even get your heart nicked. But why are you convinced that he’s so wrong for you?”

  Maggie stood from behind her desk and began pacing. “He’s a maverick. I’m pragmatic. He’s a movie-making genius. I’m just his assistant. He spends his nights with legendary movie stars and I practice abstinence—”

  “Not anymore.”

  “—and he’s a lover boy.”

  “You ever heard the saying that opposites attract?”

  “He’s twenty-eight. I’m thirty-two.”

  “You’re not yet ready for the old-age home.”

  Maggie bit her bottom lip. “I’ve told myself a hundred times that we don’t fit together. It does no good.”

  “Exactly.” Kimberly beamed. “The only way you’re going to shake your infatuation is to have him naked in your bed for one night.”

  “And what about after he treats me like all the other women in his life?”

  “After a delicious one-night stand, you’ll be over the guy.”

  Kimberly was probably right. Hooking up with Quinn would be Maggie’s right of passage, would allow her to move on into the more mature and stable relationship that she really wanted. The logic was outrageous—and irresistible, just like Quinn himself.

  Maggie’s pacing ended at the office door, and she turned back to Kimberly. “Suppose he doesn’t want to go to bed with me?”

  “What man can resist Laine Lamonde? Besides Quinn needs to please Laine if he wants to sign her for his next project. Somehow I don’t think he’s going to have a problem with taking her to bed. She’s the sexiest woman to come out of France since Catherine Deneuve.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Are you saying you can’t do sexy?” Kimberly challenged her.

  Knowing her eyes flashed with annoyance and sexual frustration, Maggie frowned. She felt wound up so tight, she shouldn’t have any trouble at all acting the way she felt. Hot. Bothered. Sexy as hell. “I’m saying I’m taking a huge risk.”

  “Laine’s never been to the United States. People here don’t know her at all.”

  Maggie picked up the mask and placed it over her face. Immediately she felt bolder. Brazen. Kimberly was right. She’d stewed for long enough about the possibilities. It was time to act. She could do this. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  2

  HOTEL VENDAZ PERCHED on the top of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the lavish grounds a sparkling setting for hosting a masquerade party. The impressive staff greeted repeat customers by name. The waiters were familiar with their wealthy and famous guests’ favorite foods. And the bartender had to be the most discreet in L.A.

  The bar, polished and dark, where patrons could drink and sample complimentary hors d’oeuvres, did a brisk business, not much different than twenty years ago. The first time Quinn had come here with Jason, his famous father, Quinn’s head hadn’t reached the bar stool, yet the bartender had smiled kindly at him and handed him a ginger ale with three cherries. And he’d thought the place a marvel. He’d sensed the power in the men and sipped the aura of the deal with his soda.

  As one of Hollywood’s leading action stars, his father was known by everyone. Thanks to plastic surgery, a strict diet and three hours a day with his personal trainer, his father looked as good as ever and commanded upward of twenty million dollars a picture. Men and women alike fawned over Jason, as if he were as precious a commodity as a box-office hit. The air of glamour had affected Jason’s son. From an early age, Quinn appreciated the women who smelled like expensive perfume, liked watching the men’s ritual of clipping cigar tips and enjoyed hearing the industry gossip before it made the next day’s papers.

  And he’d quickly learned that the real power in film wasn’t in the stars or the writers or the directors, but in the money men who put the deals together. By age ten, Quinn had decided to follow in Steven Spielberg’s footsteps. He wanted to do it all—write, direct and produce movies so he could control the project fro
m beginning to end. From the conversations of his father’s associates the business side of the film industry had seeped into Quinn’s pores.

  And Quinn had learned about life and love by watching his father’s abundant affairs and his mother’s four marriages and divorces, concluding that love was erratic and capricious. But the work, the creation of a movie, had always been the stable part of his parents’ lives.

  Jason Scott may have shown his son the power brokers behind the action, but it was Quinn’s mother, a famous director, who taught him about angles and lenses long before Quinn had ever attended UCLA’s prestigious film school. But even his mother accepted that the real deals were made on the golf courses, over linen dinner napkins in gourmet restaurants and in the Hotel Vendaz bar.

  “Why are you drinking all by yourself?”

  From his favorite seat at the end of the polished bar, Quinn looked down and frowned at Dan O’Donnel. At no more than five-foot two, Dan had to crane his neck to look him in the eye. He wore a cowboy hat, jeans, boots and a flannel shirt, his costume for the party.

  Quinn nodded a short greeting over his bourbon. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  “Aren’t we all.” Dan slid onto the stool beside him, his feet dangling. He accepted a beer from the bartender and raised his glass.

  Short in stature, but long on guts, Dan had come up through the ranks, first writing, then directing and now producing—which might have been admirable if he weren’t Quinn’s foremost competitor in obtaining funds to green-light his movies. While the men had a social relationship, Quinn wouldn’t qualify it as friendly, partly because Dan’s personality grated on his nerves. Right now the two men who were employed by Simitar Studios were competing for the ear of Derek Parker, the CEO. But Quinn felt he had the edge. He knew Derek Parker had a thing about Laine Lamonde. If Quinn could sign her to his next project, he would practically assure himself of the funds needed to green-light his picture. However, a rival like Dan could never be discounted and Quinn remained wary. Dan had a reputation for stepping on toes and for a mind like a steel trap. But as they shared the same profession, they also shared similar problems.

  A big problem was heading their way, making a beeline for the bar. Lynn Parker, a C-grade actress, currently married to Derek Parker, thought she should be cast as a leading lady in someone’s, anyone’s, film. Although her looks were good enough, put the woman in front of a camera and she had as much animation as a dead fish. Handling Lynn’s ambition was always tricky since, one wrong move, and Derek could refuse to fund any of Quinn’s many projects. While Quinn had aimed high and succeeded in his goal to emulate Spielberg in the writing, directing and producing of movies, he had yet to go out and start his own studio. Therefore, he must avoid offending Lynn Parker at all costs, but at least she wasn’t one of those women who pretended to be fascinated with Quinn on a personal level when she wanted a part. Lynn was more straightforward.

  Lynn placed a kiss on Quinn’s cheek. “Found me a great part, yet?”

  “Not one good enough to showcase your talents.”

  Behind Lynn’s back, Dan rolled his eyes. He regained a stoic look as she turned and stooped to kiss him, too. “What about you? I’ve heard the part in Lady Luck might be right for me.”

  “Sorry, you’re much too young.”

  Lynn bought the lie, preened and walked away, pleased by Dan’s compliment.

  Aspiring and established actors and actresses regularly accosted producers for jobs. So did writers, directors, musicians and people in advertising. Quinn rarely met anyone who wasn’t trying to sell him something or who didn’t want a favor, like finding work for a family member or friend. While he enjoyed his work, and his power and his stature in the industry, the limelight had drawbacks—such as having to turn down unqualified people. Someday, somewhere, he’d like to find a woman who wanted to be with him strictly for himself, not what he could do for her career.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can keep making up flattering excuses,” Dan muttered into his beer.

  “You might not have to for much longer,” Quinn replied. “She’s taken a fancy to the pool boy.”

  “When Derek finds out, he won’t be pleased.”

  Derek Parker kept his pretty wife as a cover for his long-term male lover, a closely guarded secret. Actors might get away with dabbling in alternative sex lives, but the money men were conservative. It was okay to have a mistress young enough to be their granddaughter, but a long-term love affair with a same-sex partner was frowned upon. And with Derek’s power to green-light a film, neither producer said a word to the other about the latest gossip that Derek and his lover were quarreling.

  Since Quinn and Dan were currently going head-to-head for funding at Simitar Studios and Derek’s backing was necessary, talking in a crowded bar where their conversation could be overheard would have been foolish. However, Quinn’s thoughts didn’t stay on Derek or Dan but wandered to the lovely Laine Lamonde. With luck, tonight he’d sign Laine and solve his problem. Quinn hoped Laine’s English was good enough to have a conversation. However, he’d once signed a French actress who couldn’t speak a word—some things didn’t need a translation.

  Like tonight’s date, most of his evenings spent with actresses were for publicity or to conduct business. If Quinn had cared to disabuse people of the notion, and he didn’t, his dates usually ended after a little business, some picture taking for the magazines and sound bites for the publicity department. Then he and the woman would go their separate ways.

  He expected this evening to follow the same path. And then, the writer, director and cast, along with the all important financing would fall into place.

  Dan peered over his beer at Quinn. “Where’s your costume?”

  Quinn pointed to a black mask in his pocket, a cape tied over his shoulders and his sword leaning against the bar. “Don’t you recognize Zorro when you see him?”

  “I don’t recognize anyone in these damn masks. It makes working the room…difficult.”

  “Then I suggest you just enjoy yourself tonight. That’s what I plan to do.”

  “I heard you have a hot date with Laine Lamonde.” Dan cocked his brow. “If you’re planning on signing her as your next leading lady, you might think again.”

  “Really?” By not so much as a blink of an eyelash did Quinn reveal his surprise and irritation that Dan knew of his plans. But he still damned the Hollywood grapevine that was faster than the Internet. Of course, if he signed Laine, the press would work in his favor. And if not… He didn’t consider failure. She would sign because the part was perfect for her talent.

  Recovering without changing expression, Quinn let the minor annoyance of his competition knowing his business slide off his shoulders. By the end of the evening, most of the people there would have recognized Laine and the speculation would start. Were the French star and the producer sleeping together? Getting married? Having a baby? If they left together, the paparazzi would have their pictures in their weekly rag under some ridiculous headline.

  “Laine’s a real pain in the ass,” Dan told him with a devilish grin. “On her last shoot, she demanded that all the cameramen wear black shirts, black slacks and shoes, even black socks. She didn’t want their clothing to distract her.” Dan’s eyes narrowed as he took in Quinn’s black tie and shirt that matched his black tuxedo and mask. “But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I’ll keep your warning in mind.” Quinn didn’t reveal that he’d already heard the rumors, didn’t want to admit that he’d chosen his attire with the lady’s preferences in mind. After all, he fully intended to give Laine whatever she wanted—as long as she agreed to his terms.

  Quinn’s beeper went off, signaling to him that the studio’s limo carrying Laine had arrived. He finished his bourbon and left a healthy tip.

  “Duty calls.” Quinn picked up his sword and went to meet the lady, his mask still dangling from his fingers.

  Laine Lamonde was a sensation
all over Europe and could go nowhere without being mobbed by legions of fans. More important, she oozed sex appeal and had a face that could convince consumers to buy perfume, diamonds and Jaguars. Quinn suspected Derek Parker’s instincts for another blockbuster hit were right on target this time. Although Quinn and Laine had never met in person, he’d studied her face, a face that made love to a camera lens with effortless ease. And she had a sexy voice that he’d never heard speak English, but the sound of her French put a jaunt in his step.

  Quinn wanted to watch her grand entrance. So much could be learned from the way a woman walked into a room. Some danced, others skipped, some dragged their heels or staggered from partying too hard before they arrived.

  After exiting the bar, Quinn strode across the marble floor of the hotel lobby. Celebrities flowed back and forth from the ballroom to the lobby and socialized in groups large and small among huge potted flower arrangements. More business deals happened at these kinds of fund-raisers than back in the offices, and he spent most evenings in places like this or at parties in Beverly Hills.

  “Quinn, darling.” Hanna Owens, one of television’s greatest writing talents had bumped into him. “I have a script—”

  “Hanna, I’m always pleased to look at anything you write. Have your agent messenger it over.”

  “It’ll be on your desk tomorrow morning.”

  Quinn’s request to peruse her work was sincere. And one of his greatest pleasures was buying work from writers he genuinely liked. All too often after agreeing to read someone’s efforts, Quinn had to pass on their project. That’s why he still hadn’t read his production assistant Kimberly’s screenplay. It was one thing to reject a stranger’s work, another to have to reject the work of someone who worked for him, someone he liked and respected as much as he did Kimberly.

  Several actresses tried to stop Quinn. While he nodded hello, he kept moving.