Part 4 (1/2)
”No, my girlfriend,” he mumbled, examining his feet.
Wife and girlfriend? This guy really was a playa.
”Let's get out of here.” Mo slapped Ross on the back. ”This is going to get ugly.”
”Really?” Ross replied with heavy sarcasm. ”How do you know?”
”I'm a professional.”
As Mo ran toward the exit, she called over her shoulder, ”Better get ready to use the defibrillator.”
She pushed through the revolving door and out into the Savannah night.
”This isn't over, Ms. Tuttle.” Mo heard Ross shout from behind her.
Chapter Three.
”Infuriating woman,” Ross muttered, as he swiped the key card in the lock and threw open the door to the hotel penthouse. Walking across the suite, he ignored the luxurious ultramodern decor and Savannah's panoramic skyline view. He drew off his jacket to toss it onto the sofa.
Mo. What a name. He had an instant fantasy about Mo's legs. Too bad those magnificent legs were attached, via some other very fine equipment, to a head with a rapier tongue.
”Aaaaagh.” He shouted to the ceiling.
”What is it, sweetie pie? What's wrong?” The voice came from behind him.
Ross pivoted. His erstwhile girlfriend, Heather Davies, posed at the door of the bedroom in a silky red robe so transparent that it showed the contours of her naked body underneath.
”What are you doing here?” Ross asked.
Heather, a twenty-five-year-old model turned actress, had gloriously long blonde hair, which naturally fell over her shoulders in ringlets. Her green eyes needed no enhancement with contact lenses, and no photographer had ever had to Photoshop her porcelain skin.
”How did you know what hotel I was in?”
”You told me, silly man,” she chirped as she prowled in his direction.
”No. No I didn't.” He didn't even bother asking her how she'd gotten in. No hotel concierge in the world could stand up to Heather's charms.
When she got closer, she stopped to strike another provocative pose. ”What were you doing tonight, sweetie?”
”I was having a run in with one of the Three Stooges,” he joked.
”Who are the Three Stooges?” Her brows knit in confusion.
”It wasn't actually the Three Stooges or even one Stooge.” Ross shook his head. ”It was a woman named Mo.”
Heather's expression remained blank.
”Moe Howard was one of the Three Stooges comedy group,” he explained.
The vacant staring continued from Heather for a few moments before she shrugged and smiled.
”Actually, Mo looks more like Audrey Hepburn,” Ross murmured and couldn't help but smile at the image in his mind.
”Who?” Heather asked.
”Never mind,” he said, forcing his thoughts away from Mo. ”You haven't told me why you're here.”
”You're here, so I'm here,” she replied in her baby doll voice.
Brilliant. Just what he needed. More illogical logic.
A year ago, Ross had thought he wanted Heather. His connections and image traded for her beauty and s.e.x. Fair exchange. Heather had done well. She managed to work his connections to become one of six stars in a hit television comedy. But Ross had reached the saturation point with Heather's ”stupid” act prior to leaving her behind in L.A.
”I grew up not far from here.” Heather reached his side and then rubbed her body against his. ”Besides, the president of my fan club lives in Savannah. I thought I'd give the club a treat.”
”If you will recall, we ended our relations.h.i.+p before I left.” Ross stepped back, forcing some distance between them.
”No-o.” The way she said the word sounded like two musical notes strung together. High and then low. She stepped forward, pressing herself against him again before running her hands up his arms.
”You don't recall?”
”We didn't break-up.” Her arms came up around his neck.
”Yes we did.” His arms hung at his sides as he resisted the urge to giver her an ungentlemanly shove.
”No-o.” Sing song again. ”I don't accept it. We're the perfect couple. You're going to cast me in your movie. Remember?”
”You aren't going to be in my film.” He carefully broke away from her grip to step back. ”I've told you that repeatedly. You aren't right for the part of the brilliant chemist murder suspect.” He exhaled in exasperation. ”And apart from that, you can't act.”
”So? I know you're really doing a sequel to SpyMatrix. I could play Francesca, Stephen Dagger's partner.”
”I'm not filming a sequel.” He strode to the window and glanced at the skyline before turning back to her. ”Why won't you believe me?”
”There are people-a lot of people-who think I would be perfect for the part of Francesca.” She straightened and thrust her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s forward. ”I could play the h.e.l.l out of Francesca. Buddies With Benefits' success made me America's sweetheart.”
”It's not going to happen.”
”Why not?” Her bottom lip turned pouty. ”I think you're being cruel. I bet the rumors are true and you're doing that sequel. You just don't want to tell me because you don't want me to be a movie star.”
”I'm certain you'll be cast in any number of films without being in mine.”
”Yes, but they all want me to play a dumb blonde. I want to play an action heroine like Francesca.” She gave a little stomp.