Page 3 of Child of Mine

I don’t remember saying yes or no. He holds out a hand, I float into his arms, and we’re dancing. Waltzing. I can practically hear a Viennese orchestra. Adding to the magic of the moment: I’ve never been held like this. Respectfully.Gentlemanly. No grabbing or groping. Sure contact at my waist and a gentle palm guiding me through the small space.

It’s sexy as hell.

Before I can say a word, he stops, steps back, and bows. Like it’s 1782 instead of 1982. When he meets my gaze, his eyes are clear. “Thank you. For a perfect end to a perfect day.

I just stand there, muted by surprise. He’s almost to the door by the time I manage a “Wait!”

And then Quinn takes over. “Wanna fool around, big guy?”

* * *

HENRY

Hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I nod and let this gorgeous wisp of a woman grab my hand—hers small in mine but surprisingly strong—and tug me toward a door I hadn’t noticed before.

“Where are you taking me?”

Her eyebrows waggle, making her more Goldie Hawn than Cheryl Tiegs for a moment. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She presses a finger to my lips, setting off an electric buzz that zings directly south.

You’d think six months as a page giving tours of this iconic New York building would mean that I knew all her secrets, but Izzy—I still can’t believe that it’s her, the girl that literally gave me my first wet dream—leads me through hallways I didn’t know existed. We’re sparingly lit by the bare bulbs, so our shadows are long on the stained concrete. “How did you know about this back route?”

She slips me a secret smile. “I’ve worked here a long time.”

“Right out of school, huh?” If she’s my age, a long time can only be a couple years.

“Pretty much.” Her eyes shutter briefly, but she grips my hand more firmly. “Almost there.”

A metal door leads us to a loading bay, which opens into the scene shop. Now I know where we are. She picks up the pace as we cross the enormous space. When we reach the other side, she bites her lip and tries a door that I know leads to the costume shop. “Damn. I thought maybe we could cut through. We’ll have to go another way.”

“If you tell me where we’re headed, maybe I can help. I used to be a page.”

“You were?” She narrows her eyes at me. “I never saw you.”

“Where do you work, anyway?”

“Never mind.” Tugging on my hand again, she pulls me toward the door that leads back into the public realm. In the small reception area outside the shops, we run into a security guard. He flicks a questioning gaze at me. “Everything all right, miss?”

The smile she flashes the older man is respectful but familiar. “All good, Charlie. I’m just picking up a couple things.”

He purses his lips as he gives me another assessing look. “You take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“Always.”

He doesn’t say a word as she marches through the doorway to the dressing rooms—forbidden territory for tours. There’s a dummy dressing room that we’d show off, but I’ve never seen the real ones. Stars need their privacy.

“Are you on a show here?” I’m in the news division, and I rarely watch the other daytime or primetime fare the station churns out.

Her step falters, but she responds with a “Pfft. Just because I was onBoomfor a season? Nah, I’m a—Hang on.” She opens the door to an office and reaches under the cushion of a chair. “People are creatures of habit. This is where Nancy always hides her… Ah, got ’em.” She holds up a ring heavy with keys. “For a script supervisor who’s supposed to be on top of all the details, she’s super lax.”

“Are we breaking and entering?”

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the key, is it?”

Moments later, she’s unlocking a dressing room door that, unlike the others we passed, isn’t labelled with an actor’s name. She flicks on a lamp instead of the overhead lights, tosses the keys on the counter, pulls me all the way inside, reaches around me to lock the deadbolt, and then crowds me up against the door until there’s nothing between us but fabric.

“You are something,” I say with what little air is left in my lungs, her touch amplifying the feeling that anything is possible.

“Shhh.” When she presses her index finger to my lips, I can only lean in to her touch. “I happen to know that this actress is leaving,” she whispers with a conspiratorial grin. “She’s all packed up and out of here, so let’s take advantage of that. As much advantage as humanly possible.”

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