Unzipping the bag, he flipped open the lid on a seen-better-days notebook computer and pressed a b.u.t.ton. The screen sprang to life, and Rat Man flicked them both a look of antic.i.p.ation before hitting the touch pad.

Leandro met Claudia's sideways glance and correctly interpreted the dismay in her guarded expression. Whatever was on the original tape, it had already been converted to digital. Which meant it was just a few mouse clicks away from finding its way, via the Internet, into every teen boy's hard drive across the country.

The screen started out black, then a naked body walked in front of the camera and Leandro recognized Wes, naked and sporting a very respectable hard-on. A second body entered the frame, moving in a blur of motion, launching herself at Wes so that he fell backward onto the bed, the woman on top. Leandro recognized her as Alicia Morrison only because he knew it was supposed to be her-the woman on the screen could not have been further removed from the "pure as the driven snow" character she played on Boulevard, or the sweet girl next door she presented as in real life. Naked, full-breasted, and sporting a tattoo of a miniature devil with a pitchfork on her left b.u.t.t cheek, she was very much in charge. Straddling Wes's body, she wriggled her hips until she had him placed just right, then she glanced over her shoulder toward the camera.

The look on her face was pure naughtiness as she slid down onto Wes's erection. She licked her lips, closed her eyes and mouthed the word "Yum" to the camera. Then she started to work her hips like a seasoned pole dancer, and Rat Man clicked the screen to blackness.

"I want five hundred thousand," he said.

Leandro didn't bother checking with Claudia.

"What do you think we are, Bank of America? You think we've got that kind of money lying around?"

"I don't give a s.h.i.t," Rat Man said, supremely c.o.c.ky now. "You get me the money by Friday, or this goes public. She's pretty hot stuff, that little blond girl, isn't she? I reckon I'll be able to spin a few bucks out of folks watching her shaking her tail feather."

"Spare us the yap, Sparky," Claudia snapped. "How are we going to make this exchange? And how do we know you won't take the money and release the footage anyway?"

"You'll just have to trust me, won't you? I'm the one calling the shots. Which means we'll meet back here, this booth, this time on Friday. No cops, no smart stuff, nothing-or my partner smears this across the world," Rat Man said, patting the computer confidently.

"I'll be here," Leandro said. There was nothing else to be done at this stage, of course. They had to keep stringing the guy along, no matter what they decided afterward.

"Not you-her. Just her," Rat Man said. "I like her."

He smiled, showcasing his yellowed and prominent canines. Leandro opened his mouth to protest, but Claudia's hand clamped down on his thigh beneath the table.

"Done. I'll see you on Friday," she said.

She didn't look at Rat Man again as she slid from the booth and strode for the door. Leandro wanted very badly to wrap his hand around the skinny guy's throat and shake him until the videotape and all the copies the little creep had no doubt already made came tumbling out.

But he knew that wasn't the smart way to play it, so he followed Claudia out the door and up the street.

He could tell by the way she walked that she was angry. Amazing how quickly a person could learn to read another person. He'd only ever seen Claudia at a handful of organizing committee meetings prior to the actual convention, but he could read her like a book. And right now she was steaming.

"What a sleazy loser," she vented once she'd reached a silver Porsche Cayenne SUV. "Exactly how dumb does he think we are? The moment we give him his five hundred grand, that footage is going to every downloadable p.o.r.n site on the Net. Even if only a small percentage of people actually pay to see it, he'll still make a fortune."

"Yep," Leandro said, digging his hands into his jeans pockets as Claudia paced back and forth in front of him, her high-heeled boots clicking on the pavement. She was wearing tight black jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin, and even though most of his brain was busy trying to find a way out of the mess their two stars had landed them in, a small, primitive part of his mind was noticing that she had the pertest, perkiest d.a.m.n b.u.t.t he'd ever seen.

"No wonder Alicia was crying. That tape will ruin her career," Claudia fretted, running a hand through her silky bob. "All because that...rat got his hands on something private and personal."

She'd been right about the footage, about Alicia's part in the taping. Alicia had been knowing, aggressive, a real vixen. And if it went public, she was going to be labelled a p.o.r.n s.l.u.t by the media no matter what spin was put on it. Rob Lowe might have lived his escapades down, but the only way Alicia could recover anything from this situation would be if she went the Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton route. He didn't have to know Alicia to guess it wasn't exactly the career trajectory she'd had planned.

"What do you think?" Claudia asked, stopping in front of him and tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

The action thrust her b.r.e.a.s.t.s out, and he allowed himself one lingering, appreciative look before responding.

"We don't have a choice. We have to bring the police in," he said.

"I agree. Then we have to hope they can wrap this thing up nice and tight. Poor Alicia and Wes."

Leandro checked his watch. It was just past ten.

"Want to head over to the nearest station now and get the ball rolling?" he suggested.

She nodded and fished in her pocket for her car keys.

"My car's just around the corner," he said. "Might as well go together."

She clicked the b.u.t.ton on her remote locking and the SUV behind her beeped to life.

"My ride's here. Hop in," she said.

Leandro frowned. "I'll follow you over."

She eyed him wryly. "Don't tell me-you hate women drivers?" she asked.

"No, I hate this neighborhood. I figure my car will be safer outside the police station than in a dark street off the Strip," he said.

She took a step closer, head c.o.c.ked to one side.

"Liar. You can't stand someone else having the last word. Like last night when you kissed me and walked away."

He snorted his exasperation.

"You really think that's why I kissed you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Why else? I kicked you in the shin, I won the award. You had to score somewhere. You figured walking away made you a winner."

"Did I? Wouldn't hanging around have made me an even bigger winner?" he said.

Her dark eyes glittered dangerously and she stepped closer again. She had her pointing finger extended and ready to jab at his chest again-but this time he was ready for her.

"You weren't about to score, if that's what you're thinking. You were minutes away from a knee in your privates, buddy," she said.

He caught her finger as it moved toward his chest, his hand enveloping her much smaller one.

"Hey," she protested.

"Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to point?" he asked mockingly.

She tugged on her hand, trying to pull it from his grip.

"Give me my hand back," she growled.

"If that's what you want," Leandro said, but not before he'd pulled her closer. Only a foot separated them as he placed her palm flat on his chest.

He held her eye, very aware of how hot her hand felt, even through the shirt he was wearing.

A beat of taut silence, then the side of her mouth quirked up into a quick smile.

"You think you're so smart," she said, then she fisted her hand into the fabric of his shirt and jerked his body toward hers.

Her other hand snaked up and around his neck, guiding his head down, and then his lips were on hers again. She tasted like coffee and chocolate and desire, and he invaded her mouth the way he wanted to invade her body. His hands found her back, sliding down to cup her great little b.u.t.t and hauling her close. She gyrated her hips against his hard-on and made a needy sound in the back of her throat.

She was liquid fire, and he wanted to be inside her. Angling her head back, he deepened their kiss, wanting to own all of her. His right hand slid around her torso and up her rib cage until he found the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They were soft yet firm, and he could feel how hard her nipples were through the fabric of her top.

She gasped and pressed herself closer as he gently pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger. He gave a groan of satisfaction as her hand slid between their bodies to find the aching length of his erection. She smoothed her palm flat along the length of him, again and again, and the one remaining functional brain cell in his head remembered that he'd seen a motel just a few minutes up the road. Sure, it wasn't ideal, but neither was dropping to the sidewalk on the very public Strip and taking her the way he wanted to right now.

"There's a place up the road," he said, breaking their kiss and staring down into her dark brown eyes. Her cheekbones were flushed and her mouth wet and swollen from his kisses. His b.o.n.e.r throbbed. He wanted this woman like nothing on the planet right now.

She nodded her head. "Yes. It's called the police station," she said. Then her lips curled into a triumphant little smile as she stepped away from him.

Her gaze dropped to his crotch, and she raised an eyebrow.

"You might want to wait a few minutes before you walk into the station," she said.

Then she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel of her expensive SUV.

He spread his hands wide as she lowered the driver's window.

"Come on, Claudia-t.i.t for tat? Aren't we a little too old for these kind of games?" he said.

"Don't be too long," she said, giving him a cheeky finger wave goodbye.

He was still standing there looking-and feeling-like a d.i.c.k when she pulled away from the curb and out into the traffic.

Running a hand through his hair, he let out a pent-up sigh of frustration and glanced down at the significant bulge in his jeans.

She was a minx, a conniving seductress, a master tactician.

And now he wanted her more than ever. Compet.i.tor be d.a.m.ned. Wife hunt be d.a.m.ned.

Grinning, he turned toward the street where his car was parked. He'd always enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

3.

CLAUDIA HAD BEEN waiting at the police station for a full ten minutes before Leandro strolled in. In a perfect world, she would have been well and truly ensconced with detectives from the Major Crimes Unit by the time he'd arrived, but a woman couldn't have everything. Leaving him with a giant b.o.n.e.r on the Strip had just about made up for any embarra.s.sment she'd felt after he'd left her floundering like a landed fish at the awards ceremony last night. Just about.

If only her own pulse wasn't still pounding in her ears. Closing her eyes, she smoothed her palm down her thigh as she remembered how big and hard he'd felt beneath her hand. It definitely hadn't been easy to walk away from all that throbbing masculinity. But it had been worth it, even if her own frustration levels were at an all-time high. He needed to be taught a lesson, cut down to size. And since no one else was volunteering for the job, it looked like the task had fallen to her.

When she opened her eyes again, Leandro was walking through the automatic doors into the foyer of the West Hollywood police station. She was powerless to control the kick in her belly as she caught sight of his tall, strong body. She wasn't the kind of woman who lied to herself about what she wanted, and it was becoming pretty d.a.m.ned obvious that, sensible or not, she wanted Leandro Mandalor.

She liked the way he challenged her. And she'd have to be dead from the waist down not to want to go to bed with him. He had an amazing body, and she'd just had a sneak preview of the highlight, albeit through the fabric of his jeans. She couldn't stop her gaze from dropping to his crotch as he walked toward her now. What if she'd taken him up on his offer and gone to that motel up the road...?

"What's happening?" he asked as he dropped into the seat beside her.

As usual, he was too broad for the s.p.a.ce allocated for ordinary mortals, and she felt the warm press of his body against hers.

It should have been annoying, but it wasn't.

"They're calling in two detectives from the Major Crimes Unit. They were on a dinner break," she said.

Leandro raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch. "Nice life. Maybe being a producer isn't so bad after all," he said.

She stared at him. "Being a producer is the best job in the world," she said.

He looked amused. "Maybe you ought to meet my boss. And my cast. And my writing team, for that matter. Bet they'd change your mind in a pinch."

She frowned. Was he serious? Sometimes she couldn't tell with him. Okay-most of the time she couldn't tell with him. It was one of his most intriguing and annoying aspects.

"You hate your job. Are you serious?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I've been doing it for five years now, so obviously I don't hate it. Let's just say the challenge has faded. Until recently."

He gave her a significant look. She sat up a little straighter.

"I get it," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You were bored-until we started giving you a run for your money."

He shrugged. "I love a challenge, what can I say?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Glad to be of service. When you're consistently running second in the ratings, you'll feel even more challenged, no doubt," she said.

"You're not going to steal our viewers, Claudia. Just like we're not going to win over yours. Our core fans are loyal, obsessive even. But I'm going to fight you for the floaters, tooth and nail."

She realized she was grinning. "Give it your best shot, big boy."

"Big boy? I'm going to take that as a compliment," he said, matching her grin.

"Size isn't everything," she said archly.

"You'll have to let me know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

She glared at him. "That's it-you are officially the most arrogant man I know."

"Yeah? I'm going to take that as a compliment, too," he said.

"It wasn't meant as one," she said repressively.

He leaned close so that only she could hear him.