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  Deborah was aware. She stifled a sigh and refused to let the frown that wanted form on her face surface. "I know."

  "You're not getting any younger," Ms. Morganstein pressed.

  "I know." And Deborah really didn't appreciate having those facts rubbed in her carefully preserved face.

  She'd managed to avoid plastic surgery and the use of Botox to this point, but she wouldn't be considered for anything but character roles pretty soon. No matter how good her skin regime and how careful she was about the nutrients she put into her body.

  Ms. Morganstein's knowing eyes said Deborah's thoughts were transparent to her. "This is your chance to make a name for yourself, especially if you're hoping to make the shift to behind the camera. Art and I could do things for you beyond this film. Open doors."

  The classic stick with a carrot at the end. Deborah felt manipulated, just like Rock no doubt did. She'd spent enough years in the business to know the studio execs didn't just take off the kid gloves, they'd never worn any. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

  "All I have to do is convince one very stubborn and obviously extremely private man, who wants nothing to do with us, to change his mind about allowing us to use his home for a movie shoot." Piece of cake. Right.

  Completely ignoring the thick sarcasm in her tone, Art clapped his hands together and smiled a shark's grin. "Exactly."

  "I was being satirical."

  "I'm not. You need to do this, Deborah." There was no question the producer was extremely serious. As in make or break your career serious.

  "You can do it," Carey said persuasively. "My sister always has better luck with Rock than I do."

  And the obvious reason for that had never occurred to Carey? "Maybe because what she asks for isn't so far from something he wants to do."

  "He'll love having a movie made that saves the beauty of Jepsom Acres for posterity. It'll be great." Carey's eyes wide with sincerity and the enthusiasm in his tone said he really believed that.

  "Are you on something?" she demanded.

  Carey blushed and ducked his head. "No. Of course not. Rock might not know it yet, but he really will love the movie. It's in his blood as much as mine."

  "I think he wishes it wasn't in yours."

  "Nah. He says stuff, but that's just Rock. He was proud of Mom and Dad too. He's got a whole gallery wall dedicated to their achievements."

  "Does he really?" That was unexpected.

  "Yes."

  Maybe it wasn't as hopeless as it first appeared. "Okay, I'll try to talk to him."

  "Great! Look I'll take everyone on a tour of Cailkirn tomorrow, let them get to know the area. You go hang out with Rock."

  Right. She'd just go hang out with the man that made her panties wet just being in the same room.

  No room for disaster there. None at all.

  Deborah pressed the buzzer on the gate for Jepsom Acres, startled when the voice that answered was female. Then she realized it must be Mrs. Painter.

  "Hello, this is Deborah Banes, Carey's um..." Friend wasn't the right word but calling herself his costar right now would be pretentious. "Coworker."

  "Is Mr. Rock expecting you?"

  "No, I'd hoped he could give me a few minutes."

  A moment of silence ensued and then, the woman said, "Come up to the house. You can have a cup of coffee at least."

  "That would be lovely, thank you." Deborah didn't drink coffee, but she wasn't about to offer that little tidbit as a reason to go away.

  The gate slid back, allowing her to drive the rental car up the long, but well-maintained drive. Following her instincts, Deborah pulled around behind the house and parked next to a late model bright yellow compact four-wheel-drive. Deborah didn't see a large man like Rock driving such a small car, much less one in such a cheerful color. It must belong to the housekeeper.

  And he must pay his housekeeper better than most of Deborah's jobs paid her because that particular car didn't come cheap, despite its size.

  Mrs. Painter opened the back door on Deborah's knock, the older native Alaskan woman's smile welcoming even as she peered past Deborah. "Good morning. Mr. Carey isn't with you?"

  "He wanted to take some of the others on a tour of the town." Chilled in the morning Alaskan sunshine, Deborah was glad for the teal, double-breasted short trench coat she'd donned before leaving the hotel. The low seventies were winter temperatures for Southern California.

  "I see." Mrs. Painter waived Deborah inside. "I hope he had the sense to book it with the MacKinnon boys."

  "I'm not sure." But Carey hadn't said anything about having a guide.

  The kitchen was as impressive as the rest of the house. Immaculate stainless-steel appliances complimented beautiful beams and exposed wood.

  Mrs. Painter nodded toward a tall stool at the far side of the large island that held the range top. "Give me your coat and have a seat."

  Deborah laid her quilted Chanel knockoff on the counter, then slipped out of her coat before handing it to the housekeeper. "Thank you."

  "I'll just hang this in the mudroom." Mrs. Painter went back into the small annex to the kitchen they had just come through.

  Deborah was sitting on the stool the other woman had pointed out when Mrs. Painter returned to the immaculate kitchen seconds later. She smiled at the older woman. "Carey is very lucky to be able to call this place home."

  "That boy. He doesn't have the sense God gave a cat." Fondness along with a good dose of exasperation laced Mrs. Painter's tone.

  Deborah did her best to stifle the laugh that wanted to bubble up. "He's young."

  Not sure if it was Carey's apparent intention to guide the film crew around town on his own, or more likely his signing a contract turning his childhood home into a film location that had upset Mrs. Painter, Deborah forbore commenting any further.

  Mrs. Painter filled a silver coffee percolator with water. "Mr. Rock was taking care of him and their little sister when he was that age. It wasn't easy either. You think those flighty Jepsoms left their kids more than a barely improved lot of land and a tiny life insurance policy? If it hadn't been for the payout from the airline after the crash, they wouldn't have had more than a pot to piss in."

  "I didn't realize that." She'd thought Carey was wealthy and said so.

  "Oh, he had a decent inheritance by the time he reached the age of eighteen. But that was Mr. Rock's doing. He's a financial genius."

  And stubborn. And as sexy as any man Deborah had ever met.

  Deborah cleared her throat. "Um, I don't actually drink coffee."

  Mrs. Painter didn't stop what she was doing. "Oh, I remember, but Mr. Rock does. So, do I."

  "Oh, okay. I just didn't want you going to trouble for me that would be wasted."

  Mrs. Painter smiled. "Would you like water again today, or can I tempt you with ice tea?"

  "I don't actually do any kind of caffeine." All part of keeping youthful skin.

  "Not even chocolate?" Mrs. Painter demanded, sounding shocked at the idea.

  "Especially not chocolate." Which was usually laden with fat and sugar, two things on her carefully moderated list.

  "Mr. Rock would die. Chocolate is his weakness."

  The idea of the overwhelming man being a chocoholic made Deborah smile. "Maybe I should have brought a box of fudge as a peace offering on behalf of the film company."

  "Maybe Carey should have thought of it," Mrs. Painter said with a frown and a shake of her head. "He doesn't mean to be thoughtless. I know he doesn't."

  "He has a good heart." Deborah wasn't sure it was true, but it seemed like the thing to say.

  "He does," Mrs. Painter agreed with an expression that said she knew Deborah wasn't convinced of the fact. "Rock raised him right, even if he doesn't always show it."

  Deborah was impressed with the other woman's loyalty and the kind of sacrifice she alluded to on Rock's part. "He must care about his younger siblings a great deal."

  "Are you surprised?" the oth
er woman asked with a smile. "He practically raised them single-handedly a long time before they lost their parents."

  "I couldn’t have done it without you." Rock's deep tones rolled along Deborah's spine and settled right between her thighs. She squeezed them together in an involuntary movement.

  "Well, you wouldn't have eaten nearly as often or as well, that's for sure." Mrs. Painter grinned. "And I wasn't there in the early years. You didn't move to Cailkirn until you'd about raised yourself. Not that you ever taught yourself to cook."

  Rock's laugh was warm, and Deborah felt like she was lucky to be witnessing it. "They say charcoal is good for you."

  Mrs. Painter shook her head. "For soaking up poison maybe."

  "So, cooking is not your forte?" Deborah found herself smiling along with them, enjoying the proof that Mr. Amazing wasn't perfect after all.

  "Not even a little." He inhaled appreciatively. "Is that fresh coffee I smell?"

  Mrs. Painter patted his arm. "You know it is."

  "Just what I've been needing."

  "Well, it's about time for your midmorning coffee break."

  "You take good care of me, Mrs. Painter." What would it be like to be the recipient of that affectionate and clearly appreciative look?

  "Someone has to." Mrs. Painter gave Deborah a conspiratorial smile. "You don't want to know what he can do to a simple box of macaroni and cheese."

  Deborah laughed, charmed by the color that slashed along Rock's chiseled cheekbones. "I wouldn't have survived the early lean years if I couldn’t cook that."

  "So, you can boil water and read instructions?" Mrs. Painter teased, clearly implying Rock couldn't.

  "Yes, but I'm no gourmet." Considering the limitations of her diet to maintain her figure, learning to cook anything fancy would be a complete waste of her time. "I do make a mean smoothie though."

  When she had the money to support it, she practically lived on organic smoothies.

  "Too busy acting for normal meals." Rock made it sound like hers was the only job that interfered with regularly scheduled life and she knew it wasn't.

  She was a waitress at a health food café on the side. Talk about demanding hours and odd schedules. Working in the food industry was no picnic.

  She lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug. "Or working so I can keep trying to act."

  She might not eat eighty percent of what they offered on the catering tables during a job, but when she was acting, Deborah's meals were actually more regular and elaborate than when she was on her own.

  Rock nodded, his expression somber. "It's a hard life."

  "But worth it." The words came out more by habit than intent. She just wasn't sure anymore if it really was.

  There had been many more lean years than easy ones, starting with college, and Deborah missed having a family. She missed having friends who wouldn't stab her in the back for a chance at a role. Not that everyone in the industry was like that, but it was a cutthroat business with thousands of hopefuls for every success.

  Deborah had been burned enough she stayed away from the tempting flame of friendship with her coworkers now.

  Rock settled onto the stool next to her. "Did Carey send you here to talk to me?"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Yes." Deborah wasn't about to start this conversation with a lie. "I'm not sure if he convinced Art and Ms. Morganstein that it was a good idea, or the other way around, but they're all convinced you'll listen to me." Deborah had her doubts and she figured Rock could tell.

  "I told Carey I didn't want to talk about it until after I'd read the contract and had done some research on the film company as well as Gamble and Morganstein."

  Deborah would like to go back to the night before and smack Carey on the back of his head. Why hadn't he told their bosses that? Or had he taken Rock's words to mean more than they did?

  Communication was rarely about what was said, but what was heard. Even so, Carey should have realized his brother's words were a heck of a lot better than Rock's outright refusal the day before.

  "Maybe I could help," she offered.

  Rock measured her with his sherry brown gaze. "With what?"

  "The research. I did a fair amount before accepting the role they offered me and signing my own contract." She'd heard of Gamble and the film company, of course, but she'd required deeper and more specific information on both before signing a contract.

  "You didn't just jump at the chance? According to Carey, this movie is going to be the making of both your careers."

  So, Carey had gotten to say something and Rock had listened, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  "It certainly has the potential to be. But if I've learned anything over the years, it's that there are as many con artists out there as legitimate opportunities, maybe more. Some of them even work for the companies with the best reputations."

  "Have you been in the business since you were a child?" he asked.

  "No." Hadn't he looked her up on IMBD? She wasn't sure if she was relieved or offended at his apparent lack of interest in her particulars.

  His brows rose in question. "You said years."

  "How old do you think I am?" she asked with real curiosity.

  She didn't think this man would flatter her for the sake of trying to get her into bed.

  If she was honest with herself, she'd admit they both knew he didn't need to.

  "Same age as Carey. Your eyes say you're probably older though."

  "I'm twenty-nine."

  The surprised widening of his own eyes was flattering and better affirmation than her mirror that her skin regime was working.

  "Old enough to know that taking a part without knowing what I need to about the people making the offer would be a mistake," she added.

  "If that's true, you showed more caution than your bosses."

  She didn't take issue at his use of the word if. No matter how attracted to him she was, Deborah wouldn't just take Rock's word for anything either.

  "You mean how they believed your brother, that he owned this land?"

  Mrs. Painter made a scoffing sound, reminding Deborah she was there. "They believed a boy that age owned this spread?" Tsking, she shook her head, indicating how little she thought of Deborah's bosses' foresight.

  Rock gave the older woman a nod of agreement. "A rudimentary title search would have revealed he didn't have the authority to sign that contract."

  "But they didn't see the reason to run one," Deborah had to point out.

  Rock looked less than impressed by that argument. "They should have and their lack of foresight casts some real doubt on the potential success of this film altogether."

  Deborah squirmed on her stool, uncomfortable in the role of defending actions she would not have taken.

  But she had to convince Rock that those actions did not indicate a serious lack of business acumen. One thing she was sure of after their short acquaintance, was that this man did not involve himself, even peripherally, with ventures doomed to failure.

  She appealed to him with her eyes. "Both Mr. Gamble and Ms. Morganstein are savvy business people, but they're even better at making movies."

  Rock made a sound of obvious disagreement.

  "Give them the benefit of the doubt." Deborah sighed, hurt by his skepticism when she knew she shouldn't be. "They never would have anticipated a no-name actor like your brother risking his future in Hollywood to promise a location he couldn't deliver on."

  "And yet they gave that same no-name actor a lead role in their movie."

  "I said no-name, not no talent. Your brother is an extremely talented actor." Deborah had no problem admitting that. "His screen test was one of the reasons I accepted my role."

  Rock turned so his body faced her, his jean-clad legs stretched out on either side of her stool. "I got the impression yesterday that my brother annoyed you."

  "If I refused to work with every actor that annoyed me, I'd have no career." And didn't that make her sound like a crank who
'd been in the business maybe a year too long?

  But while there was no lack of professionalism in Hollywood, there was also a big dose of the artistic temperament.

  "Point taken."

  Mrs. Painter put a tray in front of Rock with a fragrant pot of coffee and a carafe of chilled water already forming condensation on the sides of the glass. "You two have things to talk about. Take this with you."

  Despite the fact she called him Mr. Rock, there was no question who ruled the man's house.

  Rock stood and grabbed the tray. "Good idea, Mrs. Painter. We'll get out of your hair."

  "If Miss Banes wants to stop by to visit on her way out, she's welcome."

  Deborah didn't make the mistake of assuming that, since the other woman was speaking to Rock and not her, she shouldn't reply. "I'll look forward to it and, please, call me Deborah."

  Mrs. Painter smiled. "Very well, but you will have to call me Lydia."

  Rock made a choking sound. "I've been asking you to call me Rock for years and you've always refused."

  "Deborah and I are going to be friends," Mrs. Painter, no Lydia, asserted.

  "What are we?" Rock demanded, his voice filled with sarcastic humor.

  "Family."

  Rock laughed. "Who call each other by a title?" he teased.

  "Just so. Don't be asking me to change my ways this late in the game."

  Rock shook his head, but he didn't argue. Just took the tray and headed out of the kitchen.

  When Deborah didn't follow him immediately, Lydia said, "You'd better go, dear. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  "Right." Deborah jumped off the stool. "I'll stop by and visit if he doesn't kick me off the property when I've had my say."

  "That's not going to happen," Lydia scoffed. "He's angry with his brother, but at his heart, Rock would do anything for Carey or Marilyn. He seems pretty taken with you, too."

  Deborah didn't reply to the latter, but she filed the first assertion away as an important element in the discussion to come and went after Rock.