of the park; a hand holding hers as she stepped over a fallen log; a solicitous question about her comfort in the evening air.
This attentiveness was a welcome change to the cool distance of a few weeks earlier.
Yes, she could see many pleasing parallels. She only hoped there would be no comparable displeasing parallels.
Living within the confines of the estate, spending nearly every waking hour together, the cast and crew became a family. Evening meals were often raucous, convivial affairs. Seated at the enormous formal dining table, everyone joked and laughed over the day’s trip-ups, flubs, and bloopers. Sarah found herself enjoying everyone’s company, even Brooke’s on occasion. Tonight, however, she enjoyed herself at Brooke’s expense.
During the brief shoot for the scene with Amelia and Cat on horseback, Brooke’s horse became uncooperative. The videographer needed only a quick shot of Brooke mounting the horse, the rest of the scene being shot with a stunt woman, but every time Brooke tried to put her foot in the stirrup to mount, the mare took a step or two forward, causing her to hop after her on one foot.
This happened a few more times, until finally, in a fit, Brooke demanded a more submissive animal. Laughter rang out around the table with the account of the story, and despite her participation, Sarah detected Brooke’s annoyance at being the butt of the joke.
“And did you see Alex slip during the fencing scene? It looked like he’d stepped on a banana peel, arms flailing, foil wobbling in the air.” Mel, one of the more outgoing members of the crew, recounted the story, arms gesticulating wildly. “I was afraid he would lose his grip on the thing and skewer us all like a shish-kabob.”
Alex joined in, his eyes alight with mirth. “Yes, well, I was attempting to execute a picture perfect flèche, which failed on a monumental scale. Though you can’t say I didn’t warn you to give me a wide berth. Swordplay is not my forté. I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he said with a devastating grin, as his eyes caught Sarah’s across the table.
She sucked in her breath while her heart did a little quick-step. How did he do that, she wondered, how did he make her heart race with just a look?
The remainder of the meal carried on in the same vein, getting more boisterous as the wine flowed, and they were a thirsty bunch. Although it had been a long day, Sarah was inexplicably keyed up. She excused herself from the table, intending to find some quiet in the library.
She was scanning the titles on the shelves when the muffled sounds from the dining room suddenly grew louder. She looked up to see Alex closing the door behind him.
“I thought I might find you here.” He wanted to talk to her. To finally own up to the conspiracy that resulted in their reunion. “Am I disturbing you?”
“No. I was just looking for a book to take up to my room.”
“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked as he crossed the room to stand next to her. “I’ve become quite familiar with the library,” he replied to her unspoken question.
“Oh, I don’t know . . . something light.” Her pulse fluttered in response to his proximity.
“Well, let’s have a look. There’s the Brontë sisters—”
“That’s light?” she asked with a laugh.
“I guess you’re right. How about James Joyce?”
“Lighter.”
“Scott?”
“F. Scott or Sir Walter?”
“Sir Walter.”
“Lighter.”
“All right, Dr. Seuss?”
“They don’t have Dr. Seuss—” She rolled her eyes.
“It’s right here,” he said, reaching down to the bottom shelf.
“Okay,” she said with a laugh, “maybe not quite that light. How about Alcott?”
“Little Women? That’s light?”
“Light enough.”
“If that’s what you want . . . it’s here right above you.” He stepped onto the library ladder reaching for a volume one shelf up.
His cologne wafted past Sarah, bringing memories flooding back. She recalled his smoldering look across the table earlier and her heart skipped a beat.
He stepped off the ladder, holding the book out to her. “Frankly, I don’t know what’s wrong with a little Sir Walter Sco—”
She cut off his words with a kiss. She didn’t know what happened. One minute they were talking the classics, and the next she was grabbing his face and kissing him. She’d acted completely on impulse. And instinct.
At first, his arms remained unresponsive, but he quickly recovered from his shock at her inexplicable behavior, dropping the book to the floor with a thwack, and wrapping his arms around her waist.
He pulled her into