Seducing Savannah Page 10

  “You keep saying that, but I don’t agree,” he murmured. “We got to know each other pretty well on that island.”

  She shot him a quick look of disbelief. “Hardly. I never told you I have twin teenagers. You never mentioned that you were a well-known writer. We didn’t even exchange last names.”

  He shook his head. “Details,” he said. “We got to know each other on a much more fundamental level.”

  With his free hand, he touched her lower lip, silently illustrating just how fundamental that level had been. He knew the taste of her, he was reminding her. The feel of her. He knew what it was like to have her trembling in his arms.

  And he couldn’t wait to have her there again, he told her with his eyes.

  Though he knew she’d heard every word of his unspoken message, she looked quickly away and tried to speak firmly. “We both like old movies, old music, picnics and dancing,” she said, her voice tight “That just about sums up everything we have in common.”

  He thought about it a moment, then nodded. “It’s a pretty good start.”

  “For what?” she asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

  Kit was exasperated. “What do you think, Savannah? That I’ve spent all this time thinking about you because I was curious? That I bullied an old friend for your last name and was prepared to call every McBride in Georgia just so I could stop by and say ‘hi’? That I came all this way just to have soup and a sandwich with you in some out-of-the-way diner before I head back to L.A.?”

  She twisted her fingers on the table in front of her. “I don’t see how there can be anything more.”

  “I think there can be a whole lot more,” Kit returned evenly. “We made a pretty special connection on Serendipity. Can you honestly tell me that you didn’t feel it, too?”

  She couldn’t seem to quite meet his eyes. “I—er—”

  He leaned closer to her, so that his lips almost touched her ear when he murmured, “Tell me you haven’t thought about me at all during the past two weeks, and I’ll accept that it was all one-sided. I’ll believe that I read something into it that just wasn’t there.”

  “It wasn’t all one-sided,” she conceded after a momentary hesitation. “I felt something, too. But I convinced myself that it was because of the surroundings. The romantic atmosphere. The unreality of it all.”

  The slow-moving waitress dropped a tray full of dishes on the other side of the diner. The resulting crash made the few patrons in the place jump, Kit and Savannah included.

  “Shit,” the young woman said loudly, and bent at the waist to clean up the mess, exposing more backside beneath her short skirt than she probably realized.

  Kit couldn’t help laughing. And then he grew abruptly serious as he looked down and found Savannah gazing up at him.

  “We’re hardly in the most romantic surroundings now,” he pointed out. “This place is definitely grounded in reality. But it doesn’t change the way I feel being with you.”

  He watched her as she swallowed. He saw the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his lips there.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she murmured.

  “Just tell me how you feel.”

  “Flattered,” she admitted. “Confused. A little skeptical. Very nervous.”

  He nodded, intrigued by her choice of words. “Well, that’s honest, anyway. What makes you most nervous—me, or my reputation?”

  “Your reputation,” she answered without hesitation. “I’m perfectly comfortable with Kit, the man I met on the island.”

  He smiled. “That’s exactly what I hoped—”

  “But,” she broke in firmly, “I’m not at all comfortable with Christopher Pace, the famous writer. You’re prime gossip material, and anyone who is seen with you gets caught in the backlash. I don’t want to find my photograph in some sleazy tabloid with all the details of my life spread out for any curious grocery shopper to read.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “You’ve had some experience with the tabloids?”

  “I’ve had all too much experience with gossip,” she answered wearily. “And I swore I’d never again put myself in the middle of it.”

  The waitress approached with a loaded tray. She set their lunches in front of them with only a minimum of soup-sloshing and dish-rattling, then drifted away without asking if they needed anything else.

  Kit glanced down at his food, found that he had no appetite, then looked back at Savannah, who seemed no more interested in the meal than he was.

  “Do you know why I went to that island alone?”

  She shook her head. “I assumed you needed a vacation.”

  “That’s an understatement. I wasn’t satisfied with my work, with the direction my career was taking, with the future I saw ahead for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt happy.” He reached out to cover her hand with his on the table. “But I was happy when I was with you.”

  He heard her breath catch in her throat. “Oh, Kit.”

  “You wanted to know why I came looking for you. That’s why.”

  She bit her lip.

  “You’re wondering what I want from you now, aren’t you?”

  She nodded a bit warily.

  He could certainly understand that. He wasn’t sure, himself, what he’d expected when he came in search of her.

  He looked down at their hands on the table. It seemed so natural to touch her. To be with her. He didn’t want to go back to L.A. and try to forget her again. For one thing, he knew he would be no more successful at doing so now than he had been before. Not with so many unresolved emotions between them.

  He looked into her eyes again, finding their expression troubled—but, he thought hopefully, receptive.

  “If I was an insurance salesman, and you and I had met at a church social, and I asked you out to dinner, maybe a movie—what would you say?” he asked impulsively.

  Savannah’s eyebrows lifted. “Now, how am I supposed to answer that?”

  “Honestly.”

  She shrugged. “I would probably say yes.”

  “Why?”

  She eyed him uncertainly. “Why?”

  “Why would you say yes? Because I would seem like a nice enough guy? One you wouldn’t mind getting to know a little better?”

  “Well…yes. But—”

  He nodded, finally satisfied that the biggest problem standing between them was his celebrity status. So all he had to do was convince her that he was just a regular guy who’d been knocked flat off his feet by a very desirable woman—her.

  It wasn’t going to be easy. For one thing, he wasn’t just a regular guy. The Academy Award sitting on the mantel in his apartment had interfered with that, at least until some other screenwriter became the flavor of the month.

  He scooted a few inches away from her, then stuck out his right hand, offering it in a classic handshake. “How do you do, Ms. McBride? I’m Kit Pace. I’d love to sell you some insurance, but how about dinner and a movie first?”

  He was delighted when she laughed, though it was little more than a reluctant chuckle.

  “You’re insane, you know,” she murmured.

  “Probably.” He doubted that he would be here now, otherwise. “But I’m relatively harmless. Will you give me a chance to prove that?”

  “I told you, Kit. It’s not you I’m worried about. It’ s everything that goes along with being seen with you.”

  “You’re going to let the gossips dictate your life? Are you really going to give them that much power over you?” He deliberately made his tone challenging.

  Savannah lifted her chin. “You don’t understand.”

  “Not entirely,” he agreed. “And I’d like you to tell me why you’re so skittish about the grapevine. But first I want you to tell me that you’ll give us a chance. Introduce me to the real Savannah McBride.”

  She tilted her head and regarded him consideringly for a long moment. And then she reac
hed out and placed her hand in his. “Hello, Kit Pace. I’m Savannah McBride.”

  His fingers closed firmly around hers. The challenge had been offered and accepted, he realized.

  Now it was up to him to make sure both of them won.

  WHEN THEY’D FINISHED eating their cold soup and warm turkey sandwich—she had chosen the diner more for its privacy than the quality of its food—Savannah told Kit that she had to get back to her office. He paid for their meal, then walked her to her car.

  “What time shall I pick you up tonight?” he asked.

  She started to give him a time, then suddenly slapped a hand against her forehead. “I can’t go out with you tonight.”

  He immediately looked suspicious, and she knew he thought she was running scared again. “Why not?”

  “My son has a baseball game. I had to miss his last one because I worked late. I really can’t miss again tonight.”

  He relaxed. “Then I’ll go with you to cheer him on.”

  Savannah almost groaned. She could already hear the talk that would cause. But she couldn’t think of any way to ask him not to go without being rude, or confirming his accusation that she allowed the town gossips to rule her actions.

  “It really won’t be much fun,” she assured him. “It’s hot at the park. Crowded. Loud. Dusty.”

  He nodded, and the corners of his mouth twitched with a smile he seemed to be repressing. “I’ve been in a few ballparks in my time. I know what to expect.”

  Kit Pace was a very stubborn man, Savannah realized with an inward sigh of defeat. He wasn’t going to back off unless she specifically asked him to go away and forget all about her. And, even though she knew that was exactly what she should do, she couldn’t make herself say the words.

  Kit’s smile widened. He touched her cheek with a gentle finger, his eyes sympathetic. “I’ll be good. I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

  “You won’t have to,” she answered glumly. “Everyone else will make certain of that.”

  He grew serious. “I wish I could promise there won’t be any gossip, Savannah. But there will be. It’s just an unpleasant part of life we have to learn to deal with— particularly my life. I don’t agree that a person who becomes successful in the entertainment industry should automatically forfeit the right to privacy, but that seems to be the way we operate in this country. I don’t like it, but I’ve learned to live with it.”

  Savannah told herself that it was only a ball game. Surely the gossips couldn’t make too much of that. Especially since Kit had put out the story that he was researching small-town life. What better place to begin than at the ballpark?

  She nodded. “I’ll see you later, then. Why don’t you just meet me at the park at six?”

  He nodded, listened carefully to the directions she gave him, then stepped back to allow her to open her car door.

  “Savannah,” he said as she slid beneath the wheel and prepared to drive away. “Thanks for giving me— giving us—a chance. You won’t be sorry.”

  “I hope not, Kit,” she murmured, turning her key. “I truly hope not.”

  “CHRISTOPHER PACE is coming to my ball game? Are you kidding?” Michael’s eyes were huge with excitement.

  “Cool,” Miranda breathed. “Maybe he’s going to write a book about futuristic terrorists taking over a Little League game or something.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, right. I’m sure that’s exactly what he’ll do.”

  “It could happen,” Miranda answered defensively. “Huh, Mom?”

  “I have no idea,” Savannah replied. “I don’t have a writer’s imagination.”

  “Man, I can’t believe he’s coming to watch,” Michael murmured, hitting his fist into his worn baseball mitt. Michael’s baseball record was not stellar, but he loved the game with a passion Savannah had never quite understood.

  “Reality check,” Miranda taunted. “He isn’t coming to watch you. He’s coming to check out the atmosphere. And maybe,” she added impishly, “to check out Mom. I saw the way he was looking at her last night.”

  Savannah flushed.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed speculatively.

  “So you guys aren’t, like, dating or anything, are you?” he asked his mother, looking as if he couldn’t decide whether he approved of that idea or not.

  “Of course they’re not dating,” Ernestine snapped, entering the kitchen just in time to hear her grandson’s question. “The man is here on business. Why would a man who dates fashion models and movie actresses be interested in your mother?”

  Michael’s expression cleared. “Uh, yeah. I guess you’re right.”

  Savannah frowned. “Thanks a lot, both of you.”

  Michael seemed to realize that his words hadn’t gone a long way toward endearing him to his mother. “I didn’t mean you aren’t pretty or anything. It’s just that Christopher Pace goes out with women who are…like, the glamorous type, you know? You…well, you’re a mom,” he explained earnestly.

  Savannah was feeling older and dowdier by the moment. “We’d better go,” she said, glancing pointedly at her watch. “Don’t forget your cap.”

  “Hold on. I want to get my purse,” Miranda said, dropping her empty cola can into the recycling bin with a clatter.

  Savannah lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to the game?”

  Miranda hated baseball. She had recently declared that she was never going to that “loud, dusty, tacky” ballpark again, not even to cheer for her brother’s team.

  “Well, yeah,” Miranda answered casually, not quite meeting Savannah’s eyes. “Michael’s playing tonight, and I think we should both be there for moral support, don’t you?”

  Her brother snorted loudly.

  Savannah looked at her mother, feeling resigned to the inevitable. “Would you like to join us, Mother?”

  “Not tonight, thank you. I’m rather tired. You won’t mind if I miss your game, will you, Michael?”

  He shook his head. “That’s okay, Grandma. You get some rest. Man, I can’t believe Christopher Pace is going to be there. Wait’ll the guys hear about this.”

  Ernestine turned away.

  Savannah suspected that Michael had just unwittingly hurt his grandmother’s feelings. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?” she asked again. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Thank you, dear, but I have some letters to write. You three run along and have a nice time.”

  Guilt. Ernestine wielded it so very well, Savannah thought ruefully.

  If Kit could cause this much uproar in her own family, Savannah mused with an apprehensive shake of her head, how much worse would it be at the ballpark?

  SAVANNAH SOON FOUND out exactly how awkward it could be to be seen with a celebrity in Campbellville, Georgia. Everyone at the field seemed to turn and stare when she walked in with Kit, who’d been waiting for her at the gate.

  Not that she could blame them, exactly. In his colorful knit pullover and close-fitting jeans, with his luxurious dark hair brushed into a casual, windblown style, he was probably the most gorgeous male who’d ever entered the ten-year-old Joe Don Blankenship Memorial Park.

  He was definitely the only Academy-Award winner who’d ever done so.

  Savannah hated it that she was suddenly reminded again of the time she’d spent with Vince Hankins. As the local golden boy, he’d always attracted attention whenever he and Savannah were seen about town.

  Everyone had watched them, everyone had talked about them—and for a while, everyone had wanted to be like them. And Vince had thrived on the adulation. Until, of course, Savannah had ruined it all. That was the way Vince had seen it. Savannah had screwed up. Not him, of course.

  Pushing those old, tired memories out of her mind, she held her chin high and looked for a seat. She heard the whispers as she and Kit and Miranda made their way up the crowded metal bleachers to a bench with enough room for them to sit together. Miranda made sure that Kit sat in the middle, so that she could be see
n next to him. She obviously took great pride in showing her friends that she was on easy terms with this famous man.

  “Are you really Christopher Pace?” a teenager with a bad haircut and a worse complexion asked only minutes after they sat down.

  Kit nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “Cool. So how come you killed off Mick O’Malley in the last book, huh? I really liked him. Couldn’t you, like, bring him back to life in the next one or something?”

  Savannah thought Kit did an admirable job of appearing to consider the suggestion. And then he shook his head.

  “I really can’t,” he said with just a touch of apology. “There was a body, you know. All his co-workers saw him go down. The guy’s dead. But I’ve got a few new characters in the wings that I hope you’ll like as well.”

  Somewhat appeased, the boy nodded.

  Joe Feeney, a thirtyish janitor at the local junior high school, made his way to their seats, blocking their view of the action just getting started on the field.

  “I want to talk to you after the game, okay?” he demanded of Kit. “Someplace private. See, I got this idea for a movie. You got the connections, I got the story. It’ll be a blockbuster, make us both a fortune.”

  Kit’s friendly smile didn’t waver. “Thank you for offering me the opportunity, but I’m already under contract for several more screenplays.”

  “Hey, man, I’m serious. You do not want to pass this up. Just look over my notes, okay?”

  “Thank you, but I’ll have to pass. Good luck marketing your idea on your own.”

  Joe seemed inclined to argue, but someone asked him loudly to move, since he was blocking the view of the game. With a grumble, he ambled away, shaking his head in exasperation that Kit had passed up such a fantastic opportunity.

  A woman with too much flesh stuffed into a tank top and stretch shorts slid onto the bench in front of them, her mostly bare back only an inch or so from Kit’s knees. She had a great deal of hair that had once been dyed yellow-blond, but now had three inches of darker roots showing. Blue eye shadow, false eyelashes, a heavy dose of rouge, and bright red lipstick completed her look.