“Then it's an illusion.”

“No, it's not. You are exactly who I sensed you were. You are smart and realistic and practical. You are modest and warm and funny and beautiful. You don't give a damn who the press agents say you are. As far as you're concerned, you like what you do, you work hard. You are the most decent woman I've ever met, and what's more you're good at what you do, because of all of the above … and if I don't drag you out of here and kiss you in the next five minutes, I'm going to go nuts, Faye Price, so just shut up, or I'll kiss you right here!”

Her eyes were worried, but she couldn't help smiling at him. “What if you figure out that you hate me in six months?”

“Why should I?”

“I probably have habits you'd detest. Ward, I'm telling you, you don't know who I am. And I don't know you.”

“Fine. Then we'll get to know each other.” But he had already tipped his hand to her and he didn't care. “But I'm going to glue myself to you and drive you nuts till you say yes.” He looked completely satisfied with what he had just said, and drained his glass of champagne with a contented look, and then set it down and looked at her. “All right with you?”

“Would it make a difference if I said no?”

“Not a bit.” It was the grin she had already come to love, the mischievous spark in the deep blue eyes. He was difficult to resist, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. She just wanted them both to be sensible. She had had romances with other men before, though admittedly none were quite like him. But she didn't want to be one of those women the press wrote about constantly, in love with this one, engaged to that one, and in the end it all amounted to their being used up, like tired old Hollywood whores. She still cared about things like that, which was another thing he liked about her. In fact, he was convinced that he liked everything, and she suspected the same about him, but she wasn't about to give in, certainly not after three days.

“You're impossible.”

“I know.” He looked pleased with himself, and then suddenly concerned as he leaned toward her. “Does it bother you that I don't work?” Maybe that was it, the work ethic was bothering her.

“Not if you can afford not to, I suppose. But don't you get bored, Ward?” She was intrigued with what he did with his spare time. She worked so hard, and had for years, it was difficult to imagine just playing tennis and going out to lunch. It sounded deadly to her, but he certainly didn't seem unhappy with it.

“Faye.” He sat back and looked at her. “I love my life. I've had a good time ever since I was a kid. And when my father died, I told myself that I would never work myself into the ground like he did. He was forty-six when he died, of a heart attack. My mother was forty-three. I think she just worried herself to death about him. They never took a minute to do what they wanted to, to have a good time, hell, they never even spent any time with me. And I swore to myself that when I had kids one day, and even long before that, I wouldn't live like that. There's no reason to. I couldn't spend all that money if I tried, to be vulgar about it,” which he seldom was, as Faye knew, but he was being honest with her and she valued that. It gave her good insight into him. “My grandfather did the same damn thing, died at fifty-six of overwork. So what? Who cares how hard you worked when you die. I want to enjoy life while I'm here and I am enjoying it. Let them say what they want to. Let them call me what they want. I'm not going to drop dead from a heart attack at forty-five, or be a stranger to my wife and kids. I'm going to be right there, enjoying life with them, knowing who they are, and letting them know me. I never even knew who my father was, Faye. He was a stranger to me. Like you, I see life divided in two roads. The life they lived that I don't ever want to live, and the one I'm living now, and this one suits me just fine. And I hope to hell it doesn't bother you.” He looked deep into her eyes and took a deep breath. “Of course, if you want me to, I could always get a job.”

She looked at him in shock before she answered. He was serious about all this. But how could he be after just three days? “You don't have to get a job for me, Ward. What right could I possibly have to ask you to do that?” And if he could afford his lifestyle, why should he do anything differently?

He wasn't hurting anyone with the way he lived. She looked at him and spoke softly. “I can't believe you're serious about all this.” Their eyes held for a long time as he nodded, and then silently he led her to the floor and they danced for a long time, without saying a word. And when he led her back to the table, he watched her, wondering if he had upset her and praying that he hadn't.

“Are you all right, Faye?” She was suddenly very pensive, and he was concerned that he had frightened her by telling her what was on his mind.

“I don't know.” She looked at him honestly. “I think you've taken my breath away with all that.”

“Good.” He put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders, admiring again the navy satin backless dress she wore. She had a flair for dressing with subtle sensuality in a way that pleased him immensely, and he was dying to buy her clothes and jewelry and furs.

For the rest of the evening, they kept to lighter subjects, Faye trying to pretend to herself that he hadn't bared his heart already, and he seemed even happier than before, to know that she knew what he felt for her. After dinner, he drove her back to her place, and this time she invited him for a glass of cognac, although she was almost afraid to. She knew his thoughts now, and she wondered if it was dangerous to let him inside. And then as she poured his drink, she laughed at herself. Hell, he wasn't going to rape her. She handed him the glass and he wondered at her smile.

“You're so lovely, Faye … even more beautiful than I remembered.”

“You need to have your eyes checked.” His praise embarrassed her at times, it was so lavish, and his adoration of her was so clearly written in his eyes. He was a carefree, happy man, with few disappointments and no current worries, and he was clearly very much in love. “What are you doing tomorrow?” She said it just to have something to say and he laughed.

“I'll tell you one thing I'm not doing. I'm not working.” In some ways, he was shameless about it and it amused her. He had certainly told her all he felt on the subject at dinner, but it was almost as if he were proud of not working. He didn't even mind being called “the playboy millionaire.” “I wish you weren't working on a movie just now, Faye. We could go out and play.” She could just imagine the trouble they would get into. Lazy afternoons on the beach, days of expensive shopping, maybe a trip or two. She had to admit, the prospect was almost appealing, but she wouldn't even let herself dream about that yet. “I'd like to take you to the Casino at Avalon Bay one of these nights, but we'd have to spend the night on Catalina Island. I don't suppose you'll have a weekend off, will you?”

Sadly, she shook her head. “Not till the film is over.” She smiled at him over their cognac, smelling the heady aroma, and thinking of all the fun things they had in store.

“There are a lot of places I'd like to take you … Paris … Venice … Cannes…. Now that the war is over, we can go anywhere we want.”

She laughed, at his words and shook her head as she set down her glass. “You really are spoiled, my friend, aren't you? One of us has to work at least. I can't just go off halfway around the world.”

“Why not?”

“The studio wouldn't let me. After this movie, my agent is going to renew my contract, and I'm sure they'll keep me pretty busy for a long, long time.”

Ward's eyes lit up like Christmas and he stared at Faye. “You mean after this movie, your contract is over?” She nodded her head, amused at his reaction. “Hallelujah, baby! Why don't you take a year off?”

“Are you crazy? I might as well give it up for good, Ward. I can't just do that.”

“I don't know why not. You're one of the biggest stars they've got, for heaven's sake. You don't think you could take a year off and pick up exactly where you left off?”

“I doubt it.”

“Don't believe that for a second, Faye Price. You could walk out and come back anytime you want.”

“That's quite a risk, Ward. I wouldn't play games like that with my career.”

He watched her with serious eyes. Things were happening much faster than either of them had expected. “It's the fork in the road again, isn't it, Faye? … Which road do you really want to follow? The old one? Or the other one we talked about … marriage and babies … stability … and a real life….” She walked away from him and stared out into her garden, saying nothing, and when she turned around, he saw that there were tears in her eyes. But more than anything she looked angry, and he was startled.

“I want you to stop that, Ward.”

“Stop what?” He hadn't intended to upset her and he was shocked at her reaction.

“Stop torturing me with this nonsense. We hardly know each other. We're strangers. For all I know, by next week, you'll be involved with some little starlet, or Rita Hayworth, or someone else. I've worked like a dog to get where I am, and I'm not ready to give it up yet. Maybe I never will be. But I'm sure not going to do it for some half-crazy ex-GI fresh off the boat from the war, who thinks he's been in love with me for two years because he talked to me for a while when I was on tour. You don't throw your whole life away for that, Ward Thayer. And I don't give a damn how rich you are, or how carefree, or if you've never worked a day in your life. I have. I've worked every day of my life since I turned eighteen, and I don't intend to stop now. I got here, and I'm staying here, until I know it's safe to walk away from it.” He was interested in the word she had chosen … “safe” … and she was right. She had worked hard to get where she wanted, and now that she was there, she would have been crazy to throw it all away. But in time he would show her that he meant everything he was saying … if she would listen. “I don't want to hear that stuff anymore.” The tears were spilling down her cheeks now. “If you want to see me, fine. Take me to dinner. Dance with me. Make me laugh. But don't ask me to throw away my career for a stranger, however much I might like him, however much I may care …” and with that a sob broke from her, and she turned her back to him again, her shoulders shaking in the exquisite evening dress by Trigère. He went quickly toward her and put his arms around her, holding her close to him, her back against his chest, his face nestled in her silky hair.

“You'll always be safe with me, babe … always … I promise. But I understand what you're saying. I didn't mean to scare you. I just got so excited … I couldn't help it.” He turned her slowly to face him, and his heart tore when he saw her face wet with tears. “Oh Faye …” He crushed her to him, and then crushed his lips on hers, and instead of pulling back, every inch of her reached toward him. She needed the comfort he had to offer, needed something she saw in him, wanted him more than she had ever wanted any man before.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, his hands caressing her back, his lips seeking her mouth, her face, her eyes, her hands on his neck, and then touching his face as she kissed him, feeling relief from the fear and anger she had felt only moments before. She was crazy about this man, and she was not yet sure why. Except that perhaps she believed what he told her, that she would be safe with him … always … he offered her a protection she had never had. Not with her parents during the Depression, or on her own, or with the other men she had known. And it wasn't just the money. It was his outlook, his lifestyle, his certainty that he lived in a perfect, carefree world. And it was obvious that he adored her. They had to tear themselves from each other an hour later, in order to avoid an incident that neither of them wanted yet. He knew that Faye was not yet ready, and would always have regretted succumbing to him so soon. And he had to leave her, for fear that he might lose control. He wanted to take her on the floor of her study, in front of the fire, or upstairs in the silky white bedroom, or in her bathtub … or on the stairs … anywhere … his whole body keened for hers, but he knew he couldn't have her so soon. And when they met the next night, the agony was even sweeter, as their lips met instantly, and they spent an hour in his Duesenberg, beyond her gates, kissing like two children, and then laughing as he drove her to the Biltmore Bowl.