her for months. But she had never expected to see him again. As she stood up and held out a hand, he smiled at her. He had wondered for so long if she would remember him.
“Welcome home, Lieutenant.”
He saluted smartly, as he had so long before, and did a little bow, the mischief slowly returning to his eyes. “Major, now, thank you.”
“I apologize.” She was relieved that he was still alive. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am.” He answered her so quickly that she wondered if indeed he was, but he looked well enough, in fact he looked fabulous as she looked up at him, and then she remembered where they were, and the movie that was about to begin, if her co-star ever arrived.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live in Los Angeles. Remember? I told you that …” He smiled. “I also told you I'd drop in on you at the studio one day.” She smiled in answer. “I usually keep my promises, Miss Price.” It was easy to believe that about him. He was better-looking than she remembered. And there was something very dashing about him, and yet restrained, like a magnificent stallion held in on a tight rein. She knew he would be twenty-eight by now, and he had lost his boyish look. He looked every inch a man. But she had other things on her mind … like the star who hadn't yet arrived. It was awkward seeing him here again for the first time.
“How on earth did you get in here, Ward?” She still remembered his name. She smiled gently at him as she asked the question.
Suddenly the mischief in his eyes came back again and he grinned happily. “I greased a few palms, told them I was an old friend of yours … the war … Purple Heart… medals … Guadalcanal … you know, the usual.” She was laughing at him now. He had bribed his way in, but why? “I told you I'd like to see you again.” But he didn't tell her how often he had thought of her in the past two years. A thousand times he had wanted to write to her, but he hadn't dared.
What if they threw her “fan mail” away, and where would he send the letter to anyway? Faye Price, Hollywood, U.S.A.? He had decided to wait until he came home, if he ever did, and there were times when he doubted that. Many, many times. And now here he was. It was like a dream, standing there, looking at her, listening to her talk to him. He had remembered her voice in all his dreams, that deep, sensual voice that had lingered in his head for two years.
“When did you get back?”
He grinned again. He decided to be honest with her. “Yesterday. I would have come by then, but I had a few things to take care of first.” His lawyers to see, papers to fill out, the house that still seemed too big to him. He was staying in a hotel.
“It's perfectly all right, I understand.” But suddenly she was glad he was here now, glad he had lived, glad he'd come home. He was like the one living example of all the men she had met on tour. He stood before her like someone in a distant dream, someone she had met in a jungle two years ago … and now here he was, smiling down at her, out of uniform, just like everyone else, except that there was something special about him, in a way she'd never run into before.
And then suddenly her co-star arrived and everything exploded on the set, and the director began roaring at everyone and she had to do her first scene with her leading man. “You'd better go, Ward. I've got to go to work.” She felt pulled suddenly, for the first time in her life, between work and a man.
“Can't I watch?” He looked like a disappointed child and she shook her head.
“Not this time. First day is kind of tough for all of us. In a few weeks, when we've all relaxed.” He liked the sound of that. They both did … “in a few weeks” … as though they had all the time in the world, and a future to share. Who was this man, she suddenly asked herself as he looked intently at her? He was only a stranger after all.
“Dinner tonight?” He whispered the words on the darkening set and she