Microsoft Word - Rogers, Rosemary - The Crowd Pleasers Read Free Page B

center, and if he could ignore the curious glances and the whispers, then so could she.
    He was the type of man who had always made her feel uneasy. Far too sure of himself and his easy power over women. Now she was painfully aware of him, feeling the casual brush of his arm against hers, not able to see beyond his eyes, which close up were almost gold, with strange dark flecks in them. Eyes that coolly assessed her even while his mouth still wore that slightly mocking smile.
    "Hey, settle down. No one's going to bother you now. And it's warm in here, so why don't you take off that silly scarf? Here-hold still . . ."
    With a casual air of ownership he leaned toward her, long fingers untying the knot and slipping the scarf from her head; tossing it across her lap before he lifted a thick strand of her hair. "Comsilk hair-you ought to be a shampoo girl. You live here, Annie?"
    Studying her through narrowed eyes, Webb Carnahan caught the mixed emotions of her face. How old was she? Seventeen? Eighteen? Hard to tell, with her scrubbed, un-made-up face; the only color in her cheeks was put there by cold and embarrassment. Funny that less than an hour ago, he had been standing in the snow outside the same side door she'd crept in by-arguing with Tanya. And when Tanya had flounced back inside, slamming the door shut behind her, he'd looked back up the hill and seen a girl running down it, silver-blonde hair flying. She had the grace and slimness of a skier, even when she held her arms out unself-consciously to keep her balance. Symbol of openness and freedom. Girl-child out for a run in the first snow. With a feeling of regret, he'd returned to the musty, warm interior of the theater, Mike's grumbling, and Tanya's sullen glances. Annie. He'd recognized her at once from the silver swing of her hair, the dark blue of her jacket that almost matched her eyes. He noticed the slight swell of her breasts and the clean purity of her profile, and it amused him to pretend he'd invited her to watch their rehearsal. It had also been in his mind to teach Tanya a lesson. If there was one thing he couldn't take, it was a woman who acted possessive and started to make demands, just because he'd bedded her once or twice. Tanya was what the French would call un type, and he'd met her type all over the world-a sexy, well-endowed woman, only too aware of her attractiveness and sexuality. But now he found himself unwillingly intrigued by this girl-woman at his side. "Country gal," he'd teased her-but was she, in spite of her air of nervous naivete and an outfit she'd obviously worn more for warmth than with an eye for fashion? Funny to find her here, in a town of old people. He'd joined the other members of the cast in grumbling when Harris Phelps, who was producing Bad Blood, had picked this town of all towns for their tryouts. Thoughts flashed across the surface of his mind while he
    watched her face, the way she bit her lip, pulling her hair back from his exploring fingers with an unconsciously graceful toss of her head.
    "Please don't!" she said sharply. And then, in a lower voice, "Stop making fun of me. I should have known better than to come in here without permission. Only ..."
    "Only?" He repeated the word, his eyes looking intently into hers.
    "I saw the poster while I was walking down into town," she said as coldly as she could, wishing he would take his eyes from hers. "And the side door to the theater has never been locked, as long as I can remember. So I-it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I thought Carol would be here and I wanted to see her again, that's all. I suppose I should have called-"
    "Carol?" She had all his attention now, only she didn't quite like the way his eyes narrowed at her this time, reassessing her. Or the sarcastic note that crept into his voice.
    "Yes, Carol!" Anne repeated boldly, daring him to talk down to her again. "I went to school with Carol, for a year. We were friends, even if we haven't kept in touch." Why was