paused, flashing that smile as she signed a few autographs. "The

producers arranged it with your superiors this afternoon." She slanted a

lo(yk at him under her lashes, then strolled off to her trailer where

she was immediately surrounded by a bevy of a.s.sistants.

Michael stood where he was.

"Kesselring."

Michael blinked, then focused on the wide, red face of Sergeant Cohen.

"Sergeant?"

"You're to escort Miss Parks home. Until your orders change, you're to

pick her up every morning, drive her to the studio, then accompany her

back to her residence." Cohen didn't like the arrangement. It was

obvious from the way he bit off the words. Michael thought if the man

hadn't been in uniform, he would have spat on the street.

"Yes, sir."

"I expect you to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner."

"Yes, sir." Michael was careful to keep the grin off his face until

Cohen turned away.

She came out of the trailer thirty minutes later wearing a loose red

jumpsuit cinched at the waist with a studded leather belt. Her scent

flowed with her-a hot, heady fragrance designed to make a man's mouth

water. Her hair was attractively tousled, her eyes hidden behind

oversized sungla.s.ses. She tipped them down to take another long look at

Michael, then waited beside the patrol car until he opened the door for

her.

She gave him the address, then closed her eyes and remained chillingly

silent along the drive. Long before they had reached the gates to her

estate, Michael had decided he'd mistaken her intentions. He felt both

relieved and foolish. Hadn't he heard that she was having a screaming

affair with her co-star? Of course, a lot of that gossip was just

speculation and publicity, but it certainly made more sense for her to

be attracted to an up-and-corner like Matt Holden than a lowly uniformed

cop.

She signaled the guard at the gate so that theornately worked

wrought-iron swung majestically open. Michael remembered driving to the

house before, Emma beside him in the old Chevelle, their surfboards

strapped to the roof. It made him smile a little. And regret. She

wasn't going to be a part of his life except in his own fantasies.

Conscious of his duty, he got out, rounded the hood, and opened the

pa.s.senger door.

"Come in, Officer."

"Ma'am, I-"

"Come in," she repeated, then moved up the steps in her patented style.

She left the door wide for him to close, then walked through the foyer

without a backward glance. Angie didn't doubt he would follow. Men

always followed. After tossing her sungla.s.ses aside she turned into

what she liked to call the drawing room. She opened a Louis Quinze

cabinet and removed two gla.s.ses.

"Scotch or bourbon?" She knew he was in the doorway, hesitating.

"I'm on duty," he murmured. His eyes were drawn, and she had known they

would be, to the full-length portrait over the fireplace. He'd seen it