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Excerpt
Grace Brewster couldn’t control her breathing. Alone with Gunther Quill. Little me with one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He leaned against the corner of his desk. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, the neck, unbuttoned. His light blue striped tie hung loose. Grace noticed his perfect haircut and the whitest smile she’d ever seen. Brown hair going gorgeously gray at the temples and broad shoulders drew her attention.
No wedding ring. No family pictures on his desk or credenza. He’s sex on wheels.
His dark brown eyes feasted on her body, not missing one curve or her dangerously low-cut top. Suddenly feeling naked, Grace leaned back a little in her chair, folding her arms across her breasts. Her rich brown curls fell loosely about her shoulders. She blinked at him with the same big, ocean blues as her sister, famous actress Cara Brewster.
“Tell me a little about your script, Ms. Brewster. Does it have a love scene?”
She gulped, her mouth dry as day-old bread. “Of course.”
“Tell me…no, no. Show me.” His eyes danced as he strolled closer to her.
“Show you?” Her palms began to sweat as she rose slowly from her chair. “How?”
“The best scriptwriters act out their scripts. Show me. Make me feel it.” His magnetic gaze held hers.
Before she could catch her breath, he was standing right in front of her, his chest almost touching hers. He reached out to her locks, rubbing some fine strands between his fingers. “You are just as beautiful as your sister,” he whispered.
Grace stepped back. “Thank you, Mr. Quill. That’s quite a compliment.”
“Gunther. Now show me, Grace. Does your heroine have passion for the hero?”
She nodded.
“How does she show it?”
“Well…she…uh…she…” She looked around the room, avoiding his face.
“Does he do this?” He leaned over and placed his lips on hers, snaking his arm around her waist. Grace’s pulse kicked into high gear. The warmth of his kiss aroused her, but fear fought with desire. He’s a producer. What are you doing? You don’t even know him. This is business. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed. But he was like steel and didn’t budge.
Bending down, he whispered in her ear, “Does he make love to her?” His mouth was on her neck while he pulled her closer.
“Mr. Quill…”
“Gunther…”
“Okay. Gunther…this is about my script, right? This is business.”
“Of course it is. We’re only acting out your script. Show me how she makes love to him. Make it real. I need to feel it for the audience to feel it.”
“Shouldn’t I be doing that with words?”
“Movies are pictures, Grace, my dear. Action, images, are more important than words.”
“But…” Her heart beat wildly.
“Show me,” he repeated, sliding his fingers up over her breast.
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Joachim Books 