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Hot Off the Press

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Chapter One

Two new movies opened this weekend: A Country Wedding and Boneblaster III. A Country Wedding is an intelligent, warm and visually entrancing film based on the nineteenth century novel. I highly recommend this sensitive portrayal of a woman caught between the restrictions of the class system and the desires of her heart.

If you prefer to watch steroid-enhanced, testosterone-pumped lunks chase silicone-puffed bimbos while blowing up a lot of stuff, you'll love Boneblaster III.

Excerpt from "Mike's Movie Picks" by Mike Grundel, The Pasqualie Star, February 10:

Boneblaster fans, the movie we've been waiting for blasted onto local screens this week, and wow! BBIII is the best yet. Hans Grosskopf annihilates outer space commandoes with awesome artillery, saving the world and bedding babes in black leather. When he stands over the smoking ruins of his warrior foes and says, "You had it coming, scumbags," you can feel that line going down in movie history. BBIII gets a big high-five from Mikey. Also new this weekend a real groaner of a snooze-fest, A Country Wedding. A bunch of snotty English folks spend three days getting married. I mean, come on. Nobody heard of a Reno quickie over there? A Comatose Wedding gets this week's Rotten Tomato.

Until next week: "You had it coming, scumbags!"

Mike Grundel sauntered into the movie theatre and the smell of popcorn hit him like a left hook to the gut.

Lunch had been an apple and a Babe Ruth bar on the fly while he'd tried to nail down a source - a source who didn't want to be nailed - on the Cadman story. Dinner - well, that would be popcorn. His stomach grumbled like a nagging mother reminding him he wasn't eating properly as he joined the concession line.

In front of him stood a hottie in snug jeans. He tried to take his mind off his growling hunger by admiring her splendidly rounded rear and long legs. He smiled to himself, some of his frustration evaporating as he edged nearer. He'd know that body anywhere.

Almost touching her elegant back, he eased close enough to distinguish the subtle color variations in the strands of her shoulder-length hair: gold, wheat, hints of platinum. Close enough to smell the citrusy aroma of her shampoo. She never smelled of perfume - he assumed she didn't use the stuff. Fine by him. He preferred the scent of woman.

As always, he resisted the urge to touch that glorious hair, though he indulged himself in one last whiff of citrus that overlaid the pungent smell of popping corn like a silk veil over gaudy fabric.

"Hey, babe," he said. "Come here often?"

Tess Elliot turned, her hair swinging, giving him another tantalizing hint of lemon. Gentle humor sparkled from clear gray eyes. "Don't you have any original lines?"

He shrugged, deliberately cocky. "Don't usually need them."

She choked on a laugh. "I'm amazed you can stagger around with an ego that size."

"You keep it trimmed," he told her, more truthfully than she could possibly realize. Or maybe she saw more than he'd intended for her gaze widened and the zing of attraction they both persistently ignored crackled through the air.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here tonight," she said softly.

"If it's a new movie, and it's opening in Pasqualie, I'll be here," he said, wishing it weren't the truth. Getting demoted from hard news to movie reviews had been a slap in the face that he'd taken for his own reasons. Still, it rankled.

Amusement flickered across her face. "I may be going out on a limb here, but I predict you'll hate tonight's film. It's a chick flick. Nothing gets blown up."

He moved deliberately nearer, chasing the amusement from her expression and turning it to wariness. At this range he saw that the pearly perfection of her skin had nothing to do with cosmetics. "The kisses will be blown up," he all but whispered, then watched, with his own lazy amusement, as a tinge of pink bloomed in her cheeks.

As always when he and Tess were together, the heat between them ran just below the surface. He toyed with it as a kid might toy with a kite string, pulling it closer, letting it out, but never reeling it all the way in. That would spoil the game.

Or would it? What would the very proper daughter of the very rich and important Walt Elliot do if a recently demoted reporter from a no-account family took it into his head to follow his instincts and kiss her?

Intriguing thought. So intriguing, Mike dropped his gaze to her plump pink lips, almost shockingly sensual in the patrician face. He wondered what her father would do if he found a guy from the wrong side of the tracks making time with his daughter. Mike pictured his cojones hanging from the rearview mirror of Walt Elliot's fancy car like a rich man's fuzzy dice and jerked his gaze back up.

No, thank you. The heat between him and Tess was simply the result of seeing a lot of each other. As soon as he got his real job back, he'd forget all about Tess and her big gray eyes, kiss-me-baby lips and body that begged to be explored.

They'd been staring at each other for a moment too long. Another second and he'd lose what little sense of self-preservation he had left. He'd drag her to him and kiss the breath out of her. Forget her powerful father, forget pulling the tatters of his career back together, forget everything but the feel of her hair running through his fingers, her scent surrounding him and the taste of her on his lips.

"Next?" snarled the impatient teen manning the concession.

Tess blinked and turned to the counter.

Mike released the breath he didn't remember holding. It was as though he'd let the kite out, but the string still stretched, taut with tension. What he ought to do was pull out a machete and cut Tess Elliot loose, out of his dreams. It was only because he was between women that he thought about her so much. As soon as he bagged Cadman, he'd get back in the game and Tess would fade into insignificance.

Her voice was as cool and softly musical as an alpine stream as she gave her order. "Club soda, please."

Club soda, he thought with a mild stab of irritation. He could have guessed. No greasy popcorn for Tess Elliot, no sugary cola. Didn't she ever get her hands messy or her diet unbalanced? "Most people think a movie without popcorn is like sex without an orgasm," he told her as she collected her colorless, calorie-less drink.

She turned and gazed at him with faintly raised brows, princess to peasant. "Rather like attempting an intelligent conversation with you." Drink in hand, she turned toward the theater.

She rarely let him get away with anything, which naturally drove him crazy. How could he help himself wanting her? She was smart, gorgeous, sexy and had a mouth on her that constantly challenged him. He watched her go, her back finishing-school straight, top-to-toe class.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Hot Off the Press by Nancy Warren Copyright © 2003 by Nancy Warren
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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