His cynical face had the wicked fascination of a fallen angel and he had the strange olive-green eyes of a sorcerer capable of conjuring both white and black magic.

As Kendra's gaze met his across the crowded room, she felt a queer breathless shock and her hand tightened involuntarily on the stem of her cocktail glass. There was a mesmerizing intensity about those deep-set eyes; she felt as though she was wrapped in a shimmering force field of power. And suddenly she felt weak and ineffectual. Then one of the men in the little coterie surrounding Damon spoke to him and he glanced away, releasing her.

Releasing? Good heavens, she was being fanciful tonight! She made a conscious effort to relax her death grip on her glass.

She must be more tired than she realized. Joel Damon might be known for being something of a miracle worker as a director, but there was nothing in the least supernatural about him personally. His reputation with women was scandalous, even in the permissive culture of Tinsel Town. That narrowed, searing glance he had directed at her had merely been the appraisal of a virile predator seeking new prey. She surely should be used to that by now.

Her hand absently rubbed at the nagging little pain in the small of her back. The moment she became aware of what she was doing, she quickly jerked her hand away. This must be her night for being stupid. There were too many people here who would recognize and correctly interpret that little sign of weakness for exactly what it was. That had to be avoided at all costs. All she had to do was hold on until the painkiller she'd taken fifteen minutes earlier had time to take effect; then she'd be fine.

The gag today had been rough and she was tired-that's why the ache seemed so unbearable at the moment.

"God, you look gorgeous, Ken," Dave Balding's voice was lazily admiring her as he appeared at her side.

He looked more like an ebullient genie than ever, she thought. Oh, dear, yet another mythical simile. Her lips turned up in a rueful smile. "So do you, Dave," she said lightly. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tuxedo. You look quite dashing."

He made a face. "Come on, Ken, cut the bull. We've known each other too long for me to swallow that." His blue eyes were twinkling as he patted his slightly rotund stomach. "Even Sheila said I looked like a pregnant penguin in all this sartorial glory. She should know; she's due herself next month."

"Is Shelia here?" Kendra's gaze eagerly searched the room, but Dave was shaking his head.

"Nope." He lifted his glass to his lips. "She didn't feel up to this kind of bash tonight. You know how she is when she's pregnant. She gets positively claustrophobic in crowds." He frowned. "I didn't like leaving her alone, but I couldn't risk offending the great man." He gestured mockingly toward Joel Damon across the room. "I may be assistant producer, but that doesn't mean I don't jump when Damon whistles. I have instructions from Michael Donovan that he's to have everything he wants for Desert Venture."

Kendra's brows lifted in surprise. Michael Donovan of Donovan, Ltd. Productions didn't have the reputation of relinquishing one iota of his power as executive producer in the blockbuster hits his company produced. Though he gave his directors complete artistic license, his iron hand was always visible behind the scenes. "That's rather unusual, isn't it?"

Dave nodded. "I'll say it is." He took a sip of his drink. "But then, so is Joel Damon. He can write his own ticket with any film studio in Hollywood these days. He picked up his second Oscar last year, you know."

"How could I help it?" With an odd sense...

 

Iris Johansen is the New York Times bestselling author of Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, No One to Trust and more. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia.


From the Paperback edition.

 

Capture the Rainbow by Iris Johansen
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