Genuine Lies

had been alone, he would have given himself the pleasure of taking a couple of gentle nips at it. “When you’re living in fantasyland, you should go with the flow.”
    There was no dignified way she could tell him to stop skimming those fingers over her back. There was certainly no safe way to admit what the sensation was doing to the inside ofher body. Like tiny electric currents, they set off a charge that had her blood sizzling.
    She knew what it was to want. And she didn’t choose to want again.
    “Why do you stay here?” she asked. “You could write anywhere.”
    “Habit.” He glanced over her shoulder toward their table. “Eve,” When she started to speak again, he shook his head. “More questions. I must not be doing this right, because you’re still thinking.” His solution was to draw her closer so that she was forced to turn her head to avoid his mouth. “You remind me of taking tea on the terrace of an estate in the English countryside. Devon, I think.”
    “Why?”
    “Your scent.” His lips teased her ear and sent out shock waves. “Erotic, ethereal, cunningly romantic.”
    “Imagination,” she murmured, but her eyes were drifting closed. “I’m none of those things.”
    “Right. A hardworking single parent with a practical bent. Why did you study poetry at Brown?”
    “Because I enjoyed it.” She caught herself before her fingers could tangle in the tips of his hair. “Poetry is very structured.”
    “Imagery, emotion, and romance.” He drew back far enough to look at her, close enough that she could see her reflection captured in his eyes. “You’re a fraud, Jules. A complex, fascinating fraud.”
    Before she could think of a response, Drake strolled up and tapped Paul’s shoulder. “You don’t mind sharing the wealth, do you?”
    “Yes, I do.” But he backed off.
    “How are you settling in?” Drake asked as he picked up the rhythm of the dance.
    “Fine.” She felt an immediate sense of relief and wondered that she could have forgotten how different one man’s arms could be from another.
    “Eve tells me you’re making considerable progress. She’s had an amazing life.”
    “Yes, putting it on paper will be a challenge.” He moved her gracefully across the floor, smiling and nodding at acquaintances. “What angle are you shooting for?” “Angle?”
    “Everyone has an angle.”
    She was sure he did, but merely tilted her head. “Biographies are pretty straightforward.”
    “The tone, then. Are you going for a year-by-year foray into the life a star?”
    “It’s early to say, but I think I’ll be taking the obvious approach, writing about the life of a woman who chose a demanding career and made herself a success, a lasting success. The fact that Eve is still a major force in the industry after nearly fifty years speaks for itself.”
    “So you’ll concentrate on the professional end.”
    “No.” He was digging, she realized, carefully but deep. “Her professional and personal lives are interlinked. Her relationships, marriage, family, are all vital to the whole. I’ll need not only Eve’s memories, but documented facts, opinions, anecdotes from people she was or is close to.”
    A different tact, he decided. “You see, Julia, I have a problem. If you could keep me abreast of the book, the content, as you went along, I’d be able to plan the press releases, the hype, and promotion.” He offered her a smile. “We all want the book to be a hit.”
    “Naturally. I’m afraid there’s little I can tell you.”
    “But you will cooperate as the book takes shape?”
    “As much as possible.”
    She dismissed the conversation as the night wore on. There was still enough starry-eyed girl inside Julia to be rattled when she was asked by Victor to dance, and by other of the flesh-and-blood counterparts to the shadows that flickered on movie screens.
    There were dozens of impressions and observations she wanted to write down before the evening faded to a dream. Sleepy, more relaxed than she’d thought possible, she slipped back into Paul’s car at two A.M.
    “You enjoyed yourself,” he commented.
    She lifted a shoulder. She wasn’t going to let that trace of amusement in his voice spoil her evening. “Yes, why not?”
    “That was a statement, not a criticism.” He glanced toward her and saw that her eyes were half closed and there was a slight smile on her lips. The questions he’d wanted to ask seemed inappropriate. There would be other