Just the Sexiest Man Alive

Fourteen

THINGS HAPPENED SO quickly the moment she and Jason landed, Taylor barely had a chance to catch her breath. A car met them at the jet, where a driver and two security guards whisked them off to the Strip. Jason still refused to give her any clue as to their plans for the evening.

They pulled up at what appeared to be the back entrance of a hotel—a large hotel, but that was all Taylor could gather. The two guards escorted them through an elaborate maze of hallways and corridors, until they somehow popped out into the casino and were quickly shuffled over to the VIP room.

When Jason and Taylor were safely ensconced behind the red-velvet ropes of the private VIP area, Jason gave the security guards a nod of dismissal. As Taylor watched them walk away, trying to process everything that had just happened, the casino’s director approached to shake Jason’s hand. It was then that she finally learned where they were.

“Welcome back to the Bellagio, Mr. Andrews,” the director welcomed them with a warm smile. As he led the two of them to a table, Taylor pulled Jason closer.

“You’re taking me gambling?” she asked in a low whisper. She’d never been gambling before. Frankly, she didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“Not just gambling,” Jason said with an excited catch in his voice. They came to an energetic high-rollers table and he gestured grandly.

“Craps,” he said reverently.

Taylor checked out the game. From what she could tell, something happened when somebody rolled the dice and everybody started yelling. The guy holding the stick at the center of the table suddenly screamed “Yo!” and chips began flying everywhere.

She nodded. “Oh, craps, sure.”

After watching for another moment, she leaned over toward Jason.

“Um . . . where are the cards?”

With a smile, he grabbed her hand and pulled them up to the table.

“OKAY, LET’S REVIEW what you’ve learned.”

Clearly enjoying his position of authority far too much, Jason ran through their lessons. Things had been improving since her first debacle, when it was her turn to roll and she’d unknowingly switched hands before throwing the dice. From the way everyone screamed, Taylor had thought someone had been shot. When she realized they were yelling at her, she had gotten so nervous that she dropped the dice on the floor. And that’s when everyone really started fussing.

But now, under Jason’s alleged tutelage, Taylor knew a thing or two about this game called craps. Raring to go, she nodded along impatiently as he rolled through his lecture.

“First, you’ve got your pass line—always take full odds on your pass line bet,” he said. “Then, if you want to step it up a notch, make a come bet, and take odds on that as well. After that, you have your place bets—the six and eight will be your most common payoffs there. And, if you’re feeling really lucky, you could always try for the yo, the hardways, or the any crap.”

Taylor took a sip of her vodka tonic. The waitress kept bringing drinks around, and by now she and Jason had each had a few.

“And then there’s the field,” she said, pointing to the middle section of the table with the big “2, 3, 4, 9, 10, 11, 12” written across the green felt.

“I told you, you don’t want to bet the field,” Jason lectured her. “That’s a rookie’s bet.”

Taylor waved this off. “But I like the field. You get seven chances to win.”

“Do you want to look like you know what you’re doing, or do you want to look like a girl?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“It pretty much slipped out before I could think about it.”

Taylor smiled. Perhaps the warm glow of vodka was beginning to set in. “Not as smooth when you’re not working off a script, are you?” she teased.

Jason cocked his head. “Oh, I don’t know, I seem to do all right.”

Taylor suddenly realized how close they were standing. She hadn’t meant to sound so . . . flirtatious. It had just kind of come out like that. Stupid vodka. She was cutting off the gravy train of free drinks right then and there.

“Excuse me, miss?” she heard a voice say.

Tearing her gaze away from Jason, she looked over and saw the stickman tapping the dice on the table in front of her.

“Are you in?” he asked. “Because you’re up.”

Taylor could still feel Jason’s eyes on her. With a nod, she took a long sip of her drink, needing a moment to clear her head. Then she picked up the dice.

“All right, boys . . .” she said confidently. “Let me show you how this game is played.”

At this, Jason pointed to the small bank of chips in front of her.

“Easy there, hotshot—don’t get all crazy with those five-dollar chips.” He nodded appreciatively to the pit boss for waiving their usual five-hundred-dollar minimum. “Thanks again for that.”

“No problem, Mr. Andrews,” said the pit boss.

Taylor turned back to Jason, annoyed.

“Will you please stop pointing that out to everyone?”

AT THE NEXT table over, Rob couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jason Andrews and the Mystery Woman stood just a few feet away, right before his very eyes.

Scott had indeed been correct about one thing—the girl was hot.

Earlier that evening, he had finished filming his small but pivotal Ocean’s scene and (thanks to a call from Soderberg) had headed down to the casino’s VIP room. More than anything, Rob had come just to make an appearance. Someone on set had mentioned that there were tons of paparazzi outside, and it was a great opportunity for him to be seen. Of course, if the tables turned cold, he’d have to make a quick exit—cuddly character actors on CW shows couldn’t exactly hang long on $500 minimum tables.

He hadn’t noticed them when he had first walked in, but now Rob thoroughly scrutinized Jason and the Mystery Woman’s every interaction, like a spy who had snuck behind enemy lines. From what he could tell so far, it appeared Scott may have been right about one other thing: while it bordered on ludicrous to think that the biggest movie star of the twenty-first century wasn’t fucking a girl who looked like that senseless, Rob got the distinct impression that they were not, in fact, together. Not yet, at least.

But the one thing he was certain of, beyond any doubt, was that Jason Andrews liked this Mystery Woman. A lot. Whether it was the way he looked at her with all his attention, or the way she made him laugh, or the way he was clearly trying to make her laugh, Rob couldn’t quite say. But as someone whose cuddly and chubby stature went back to his high school class-clown days, he could tell when a guy was pulling out all the stops to make a good impression on a girl. Even if that guy was Jason Andrews.

The woman, on the other hand, was harder to read. A “mystery” indeed. She wasn’t hanging all over Jason like most girls would; in fact, she seemed to avoid getting too close to him. Rob wished he could hear what they were saying, but that was impossible from across the room. Still, what he could see was enough for him get his cell phone out for a surreptitious call. He lowered his voice when his friend answered, relying on the raucous noise of the casino to drown out his words.

“Scott—dude, you are not going to believe who I’m looking at right now.”

LATER THAT EVENING, after Jason watched as Taylor proudly cashed in her little stack of three-hundred-dollars worth of chips—how cute—he took her outside to a private terrace on the second floor. From there, they would have a view of the hotel’s spectacular lake and fountains.

As they pulled up to the balcony railing, Jason noticed that the evening air had turned cool. Seeing Taylor hug her arms to her chest, he offered her the corduroy blazer he wore. She surprised him by actually accepting it.

Jason had a plan for the remainder of the night, and that plan had one key element: that he absolutely not kiss Taylor. He suspected she suspected he would try just that, and he wanted to keep her guessing. Besides, they would have plenty of time for such things later. Of that, he was quite confident.

He watched as Taylor stood against the railing, admiring the fountain show. Clair de Lune played through the terrace speakers as the water danced before them. The desert breeze swept through her hair, and she had never looked more beautiful to Jason than she did right then. He realized why.

“You’re smiling,” he said, unused to seeing her so relaxed and content.

Taylor turned to him. “I was just thinking about what my family would say, if they could see me right now. My brothers would never let me live down this evening if they knew about it.”

Jason realized then that she hadn’t told her family about him. He doubted there were many people in the world who would keep such a connection secret.

“How many brothers do you have?” he asked, seizing on the rare opportunity to learn more about her.

“Three. All older.”

“Are they lawyers, too?”

She shook her head. “No. Police officers, like my dad. Except for Michael, the youngest, who rebelled and became a fireman.”

Jason moved next to her at the railing. “And then came you,” he said teasingly.

Taylor smiled. “And then came me.”

“Do they have any idea what to do with you?”

She laughed at the truth of this. “Not really, no.”

“What would they think of me?”

At first, she seemed surprised that he would ask such a thing. “They would think you’re a little . . . fancy,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, offended.

Taylor paused and looked him over. Then she gave him an answer with more substance.

“They would think you’re everything they expected, and yet not anything they expected, all at the same time.”

Jason liked the sound of that much better. He moved closer to Taylor. “I think that’s what you think.”

She looked away and changed the subject. “So how’s the movie coming?”

“We began filming last week.”

Jason saw her look of surprise. “We shoot out of order,” he explained, “so we’ll work around the scenes you and I still have to fix.”

Looking her over, he casually added, “You should come visit the set sometime.”

The words had slipped out before he even thought about them. He had never, ever before invited a woman to watch him during filming.

But Taylor shook her head. “Unfortunately, my days are taken for the foreseeable future with this trial.”

Jason stared at her in amazement. He didn’t know anyone who would turn down such an offer.

“You’re the perfect model, you know,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

Seeing her confusion, he explained. “The character I’m playing in the film is this driven, workaholic lawyer who has never lost a case. When I’m playing him . . .” He paused, his voice softening. Somehow they were now standing just inches apart. “I think of you.”

When their eyes met, Jason grinned and added, “With a penis.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Penises?”

Taylor laughed. “I meant, you needing a model for your character. Is that why you . . .” She trailed off, as if uncertain how to finish her sentence.

“Is that why I . . . what?”

Jason realized then that despite the fact that Taylor was trapped between him and the railing, she seemed to be making no attempt to move away.

Her eyes searched his. “Why you keep . . . pestering me,” she said softly.

“Is that what I’m doing?” Jason murmured, stepping closer.

Drawn in, Taylor’s eyes lowered seductively as she raised her face to his. “Yes,” she whispered, “you’re definitely very pesty.”

And suddenly, Jason couldn’t help himself.

Despite all his best-laid plans, he was lost . . . his hand reached up to the nape of her neck and he gently pulled her in to him . . . she wasn’t stopping him, in fact her hand slid up his chest and her lips parted invitingly as she pulled him closer and his lips came down to hers and—

“Oh my god, it’s Jason Andrews!”

The scream came from the terrace below.

Jason watched as it happened—the dreamy fog dissolved from Taylor’s eyes, like a method actor who’d been deeply into character when the director suddenly yelled “Cut!” Reality set in.

She immediately stepped away from him as if caught. He looked down and saw that a crowd had formed on the terrace below them. Several women shouted frantically, pointing, crying out his name. Paparazzi appeared out of nowhere. Cameras began to flash as everyone scrambled to get photographs. Suddenly, it was pure bedlam. Jason took a step back from the balcony and reached for Taylor—

But she was gone. Inside.

With a look of disappointment, Jason waved to the crowd, then turned and headed to the terrace doors.

The screams of his fans were upon his back all the way inside.

AS JASON WALKED Taylor up the brick path to her apartment, she was quietly relieved that the evening was coming to an end. She’d been internally berating herself over the Terrace Snafu (as she’d come to think of it) and externally had been doing her best to let Jason know that whatever he thought was about to happen back in Vegas was not, in fact, what had been about to happen.

Of course, she knew full well what had been about to happen.

God only knows what she’d been thinking, but she had, in fact, been about to kiss Jason. Such a move would have been unprofessional and unethical, not to mention overwhelmingly stupid. She blamed the vodka and the heat for getting to her. Never mind the fact that it had been only sixty-five degrees on the terrace and she’d gone instantly sober the minute the crowd had begun screaming.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” It was the fourth time Jason had asked her that since they’d landed.

She nodded. “Yes.”

For once, conversation seemed to elude them. Luckily, they arrived at her front door. Taylor was careful to keep a good distance between her and Jason as they said good-bye.

“So, thank you, again, for the gambling lesson and, you know, everything else,” she said lamely.

Jason, too, seemed to be struggling for something to say.

“So . . . okay, then.” He shifted uneasily.

When another awkward moment passed, Taylor nodded efficiently. “Good-bye, Jason.” She turned and unlocked her door and was just about to step inside her apartment when—

“I’m having a party next Saturday.”

Taylor glanced back over her shoulder. Jason stood there, on her doorstep, wearing the same lost-but-adorable expression he’d had that first evening when she’d left him alone with the paparazzi outside her office building.

“You should come,” he said, shrugging with a boyish grin. “If you don’t have other plans, that is.”

“Next Saturday?” Taylor quickly tried to think of an excuse.

Jason nodded. “June twenty-first. Mark it in that little BlackBerry you carry everywhere.”

The words hit Taylor with a shock, like a bucket of icy water that had been dumped over her head.

“June twenty-first?” she repeated.

Her wedding day.

Or rather, her former wedding day, before she called it off after finding Daniel in flagrante doggie-stylo with his assistant. With everything going on, the date had completely slipped her mind.

Jason saw the expression on her face. “Do you have other plans that day?”

Taylor shook her head slowly. “No. Um, not anymore.”

Jason smiled, the matter having been settled in his mind. “Great. Then I’ll see you there.”

HE HAD MADE up the whole thing about the party, of course.

Jason had been struggling, trying to think of anything to say to get a second nonwork date/meeting/whatever with Taylor, and he’d just blurted the words out. He hadn’t hosted a party in years (he hated having people in his house), but it had been the first thing that had come to mind that wouldn’t so obviously convey to her exactly what he was trying to do.

“A party?” Marty was surprised the next morning when Jason stopped by his office on the way to the set to pass along the news.

Jason nodded. “I’ll let you handle the list.” He relaxed on the couch that fronted the wall of windows in Marty’s office.

“Is there anyone special I’m supposed to put on this list?” Marty asked.

“Whoever. The usual people.” Jason’s tone was casual. “And Taylor Donovan.”

Marty paused at this. Then he nodded. “Sure, sure, Ms. Donovan—of course. But I also think we should invite some of the other actors from In the Dark,” he said, referring to the legal thriller Jason was shooting. “Like Naomi Cross.”

Jason shot Marty a knowing look. His publicist had been pushing Naomi Cross on him since the day she’d been cast. It would create great buzz for the film, Marty had urged repeatedly. One of the favorite strategies of any Hollywood publicist was to leak a web of hints, suggestions, innuendos, and whispers that two costars were hooking up on set. All of which, of course, would then in turn be vehemently denied by said publicist when asked.

“I’ve talked to Naomi’s publicist, and we agree it would be great for the two of you to be seen together,” Marty continued. “Her publicist is probably having the same conversation with her right at this very moment.”

Jason sighed. Normally, he didn’t mind this part of the business. In fact, typically he didn’t have to be asked by his publicist to be “seen” with his costars because he was already sleeping with them anyway. But something didn’t feel right this time. He didn’t like the thought of Taylor reading about him and another woman in the press. He already needed to handle things delicately with her. He didn’t see any reason to add more obstacles to the mix.

“Feel free to put Naomi or anyone else you want on the list,” Jason told Marty. “But for now, this party is the only thing you should focus on.”

TRUTH BE TOLD, Marty had been a bit perturbed by Jason’s flat-out refusal to discuss the Naomi issue any further. They were costars, they both were single—of course there had to be rumors spread about them. It was the Hollywood way of things. He didn’t understand why Jason was being so damn stubborn about the whole thing.

Luckily, within twenty-four hours, Marty’s annoyance with his number one client dissipated as word spread around town that Jason Andrews was having a party that weekend. All of Los Angeles seemed to be talking about it. Funny, even Scott Casey mentioned it to Marty when the two of them met for lunch at Ago a few days later to discuss the possibility of Marty becoming his new publicist. Over their steak salads, Scott casually mentioned that he had always been curious to see Jason Andrews’s famous mansion.

Of course, since Scott was now a potential client, Marty was more than happy to put his name on the invite list.