'I know!'

'Lucky shot!' Marty exclaimed, as several balls zoomed into various pockets.

'Thought you were gonna come visit me on location,' Linc remarked, preparing for his next shot.

'Everyone knows I hate flying.'

'You're my agent, Marty,' Linc chided, leaning over the table. 'You're supposed to service the client.'

'Talkin' of getting serviced,' Marty said, 'how was the pussy over there?'

'Same as here,' Linc said, taking another successful shot. 'The difference is - three hours later you're hot for more.'

Both men laughed.

'S' good to have you back,' Marty said warmly. 'This town's not the same without you.'

'Thanks,' Linc said, taking another long look at the girl with Pete. 'Believe me,' he added, 'it'sgreat to be back.'

He blew his next shot, and Marty took his turn.

'How come I've never seen her before?' Linc asked.

'Because you do not go to other people's movies,' Marty said, squinting at his options. 'And she doesn't frequent your favourite hang-outs.'

'Does she have a name?'

'Shelby Cheney. She's an English actress, starred in a couple of independents.

Word is she's up for the lead in the new Tom Cruise.'

'Fuck Tom Cruise,' Linc said forcefully. 'How about my next movie?'

'Jesus!' Marty groaned, stepping back from the table and leaning on his cue.

'Aren't you listening to me. She's taken. T-A-K-E-N.'

'You said Pete's not fucking her.'

'Linc,' Marty said gravely, 'do me a personal favour. Leave this one alone.'

'Sure.'

But of course he didn't, even though Pete, one of the top stuntmen in town, was a close friend.

The next morning he had his manager find out all about Shelby Cheney. She was a fairly successful English actress who'd moved to Hollywood eight months earlier.

Her career was definitely on the rise, and she was definitely not a girl, about town.

Linc liked the sound of her, and he already knew he liked the look, so a couple of days later he arranged to have her come in for a meeting with his director, casting people and himself.

The moment Shelby entered the office he knew she was different. Coolly beautiful with a mane of raven hair, intelligent hazel eyes, and a body she could not conceal beneath a simple cashmere sweater and knee-length beige skirt.

She sat on a chair in front of them, crossed her spectacular legs, and did not lose her composure. Most actresses with an opportunity to star in a Linc Blackwood movie would be selling themselves like crazy. Shelby didn't do that; she was thoughtful, serious and quite charming.

Linc leaned back and let the others do the talking.

'You're English, is that right?' asked the casting woman.

'Guilty,' Shelby replied with a soft smile. 'However, if you're at all worried about my accent, I can assure you that I do a perfect American.'

'Lucky guy!' Linc joked.

'Excuse me?' Shelby said, throwing him a cool look.

'Just a dumb joke,' he said, wondering what she would look like naked in his bed.

'Would you mind reading a scene?' asked the director, already smitten.

'Not at all,' she answered politely in her melodious voice, 'although I think I should warn you that I'm not sure I'm right for this role.' She smiled another dazzling smile. 'I'm not exactly the athletic type. And I find the topless scene somewhat gratuitous. I would not be prepared to shoot that scene as written.'

The room was silent. An actress talking herself out of a leading role?

Unheard-of.

'Uh... Millie will read with you,' said the director, indicating the casting woman's assistant.

'That's not necessary,' Linc said, standing up. 'If it's okay with Miz Cheney, I'll read the scene with her.'

He gave her the look. The irresistible rugged-macho-movie-star look that had worked with every woman he'd ever encountered. They all wanted a piece of Linc Blackwood. He had it going and then some.

'Whatever you like,' Shelby said, as if it was no big deal.

Hmm... she wasn't falling all over him. Unusual but intriguing. Surely she couldn't be in love with Pete? Pete was a major womanizer who'd get her into bed and then dump her.

It did not occur to Linc that when it came to women he followed exactly the same pattern.

Shelby scored the role in his movie. Three weeks later the cast and crew left for a two-month location shoot in New Zealand. Pete was furious that she was heading out on location with Linc, but there was nothing he could do about it since he was working on a movie in town and was unable to leave. He called Linc and threatened that if he so much as touched her there would be some reckoning.

'I love this girl,' Pete informed him, 'so lay off.' Linc laughed and assured Pete that she wasn't his type.

But of course she was, and a week after their movie wrapped, Linc Blackwood and Shelby Cheney were married on a Hawaiian beach in a romantic ceremony attended by Shelby's family, whom Linc flew over from London, and a few close friends.

Pete was not among them.

Linc was ecstatic. For the first time he finally understood what caring for a woman was all about. He loved Shelby, she was it. And as far as he was concerned, his drinking, drugging and womanizing days were over.

The honeymoon period lasted a year, and then he was back to his bad old ways.

Linc simply couldn't help himself. There were too many temptations out there and he had no willpower.

Playing around did not mean that he wasn't still crazy about his wife. Shelby was the best. An angel. And one of these days he really would settle down. Maybe he'd even give her the baby she wanted so badly.

Maybe.

One of these days.

'Love you,' Linc said, pulling Shelby down on to the bed beside him. 'Love you so much, babe. You're the best.'

He was drunk, but at least he wasn't in one of his mean and nasty moods, and she'd got him back to the hotel without any embarrassing incidents. Thank God for that.

'C'mere, baby,' he mumbled, pawing at her gown. 'Take it off an' come't' bed.'

She could smell the booze coming off him in waves. It made her quite nauseous.

She loved him deeply, yet there were times like this when she couldn't stand to be near him.

'Wanna make love't' you,' he mumbled. 'Cause you're my wife. My wunnerful booful lil' wife... My...' His hands dropped off her and his eyes closed.

He was out. Gone. And he wouldn't surface again until noon the next day.

Unfortunately she knew the routine only too well: she'd experienced it many times.

Feeling let-down and abandoned on a night when she should've been feeling nothing but triumphant, she wearily pulled off his shoes and loosened his belt.

She had neither the inclination nor the energy to undress him further. Let him sleep in his clothes - she didn't care how uncomfortable he was when he awoke, because by that time she'd be long gone. She had a morning of interviews and photographs, lunch with a journalist from USA Today, and another mass press conference in the afternoon with her co-star and the director of Rapture. Sleep was imperative, otherwise she would look a wreck.

Damn Linc! He was impossible. Why couldn't he think of her for once? After all, she thought of him all the time.

Chapter Six.

Cat had never been a patient girl, and waiting around for Merrill Zandack to decide when he was ready to return to the yacht was pissing her off.

Finally, after Lola Sanchez and her husband left, she jumped to her feet, exclaiming, 'Man, I'm exhausted!'

'The night is only just beginning, Kitten,' Merrill said, puffing on his cigar.

'Next we go to Regine's?

'Not me,' Cat said firmly, 'I'm heading back to the boat. So if you're not coming, please tell Jonas to arrange for me to get there.'

'Headstrong,' Merrill muttered.

'What?' she said sharply. He wasn't her fucking father, for Crissakes, and he was speaking to her as if he was. Not that her father was any kind of disciplinarian, quite the contrary in fact.

'Okay, okay,' Merrill said, snapping his fingers at Jonas, who jumped to attention. 'Call for the tender. Now!'

Cat shot Jonas a triumphant look.

He went out of his way to pretend not to notice.

'Did you sleep with Merrill Zandack?' Matt demanded the moment he and Lola reached their luxurious suite.

'You're not serious? she replied, removing her borrowed diamond Chopard earrings which she was hoping they'd allow her to keep as a gift. 'Me and that fat old man? Is that what you think of me?'

'I heard Merrill Zandack has a reputation around the actresses he works with,'

Matt said, pressing on. 'There's a rumour that he makes them give him head.'

'Like I would do something like that with him!' she said in disgust.

'The two of you seemed pretty cosy tonight,' Matt said accusingly, not realizing that if he was smart he would drop the subject.

'Cosy, huh?' Lola said, her expressive brown eyes flashing major danger signals.

'Doing tequila shots. Sucking limes,' Matt continued sulkily. 'While I sat there like an idiot.'

'You said it.'

'Huh?'

'That you're an idiot.'

Matt's face flushed a dull red. They'd only been married five months, so why was she treating him like he was nothing more than an accessory to have on her arm?

'I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that,' he responded.

'You said it,' she repeated, stepping out of her dress and standing before him in all her glory - naked except for a thin diamond chain around her waist, a rhinestone encrusted thong and Jimmy Choo stilettos.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Lola Sanchez was magnificent and he was her husband.

His eyes lingered on her nipples, so big and brown and tempting.

He started getting hard.

His nagging went out the window as he reached for her.

She backed off. 'I have to make a call,' she said evasively, and walked into the bathroom.

Matt attempted to follow her. Anticipating his move, she slammed the door in his face with a succinct, 'I don't appreciate being accused of things.'

Safely locked in the bathroom she stared at her reflection in the mirror above the marble sink. She knew she looked good, no false modesty there. And so she should: she broke her back to look her best. Not to mention spending a fortune on her own personal trainer with whom she spent two hours a day six days a week, whether she was working or not. Plus she had a waxer who came to her house every two weeks; a manicurist every five days; a hairdresser, stylist, and makeup artist on permanent call.