Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 by Maisey Yates (inspirational books .TXT) 📗

who tripped on her words when Julian and Nina entered. The manager, a jovial man named Cyril, took over her duties. Grinning from ear to ear, he led them to a private table in the back of the restaurant. They were stopped along the way by patrons leaping out of their chairs, requesting selfies or just a hug. Julian obliged them, doling out hugs and posing for photos without once letting go of Nina’s hand.

“Sorry about that,” Cyril said when they finally reached their table. “You’re Jamaica’s favorite son.”

Julian stood aside so Nina could slide into the booth. “I think Usain Bolt has that honor.”

“He’s never eaten here, and tonight you honor us.” He handed Nina a menu with a little bow. “Welcome to Ocra, miss.”

She smiled, looking amused at all the fuss. “Thank you.”

Cyril left them to study the menu. Julian slid to her side of the booth.

The white flared skirt barely reached her midthigh. He reached down and nudged it higher.

“Stop it,” she said, her eyes on the menu. “You’ll have us thrown out for indecency.”

“Impossible.” Julian lowered his head and tugged at her ear with his teeth. “I’m the island’s favorite son.”

“Second only to Usain Bolt.”

“I’ll take it,” Julian said. “What looks good?”

“Everything! I’d like to try this.”

She pointed to a cocktail on the beverage menu: the Smoke Show. It was a mix of mescal, agave and smoked bell pepper.

“Really? I would have pegged you for a cranberry vodka girl.”

“I told you, caution is out the window.”

“I love the sound of that.”

They kissed. It started light and deepened quickly. He pulled away, frustrated and out of breath. They were one click away from starring in another viral video. She reached for her water glass and took a gulp. He did the same.

Julian had missed her, having spent the day at Frank’s house, which was now, for all intents and purposes, ground zero. Frank’s contacts in the business surpassed Julian’s. By the end of the day, they were in talks with an independent production company, fleshing out a distribution deal. They’d discussed casting at length, which brought him to a pressing topic he wanted to discuss with Nina. He would have brought it up the minute he’d gotten back to Sand Castle, only he’d found Nina stretched out on the floor in cutoff denim shorts and a halter top. The printed manuscript was strewn out on the antique rug with notes in the margin.

“Don’t touch anything,” she said. “I gave it a closer read. I need to get into the characters’ heads.”

He walked over to her, sidestepping the pages like so many land mines. She rolled onto her back, a satisfied look on her face.

“I’d like to get in those shorts,” he said, kneeling low to rub her flat belly.

“Not until you feed me,” she said. “I’ve been snacking on granola bars all day.”

“Want to get out of here?”

“Sure,” she said. “But I’ve run out of fancy dresses. I only packed two, the one I drowned in and the one you made a mess of last night.”

There was a blotch of blue ink on her cheek. He rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb. “No fancy dress. No problem.”

By the time her cocktail was served, Julian had still not mustered the courage to share his news. He didn’t want anything to sour their evening.

“I’d like to try the jerk chicken, the jerk corn and maybe a side of peas and rice,” she said. “How about you?”

“The oxtail,” he said without consulting the menu. No self-respecting Jamaican joint would lack an oxtail dish.

“But you’re vegetarian!” she protested.

“Mostly vegetarian,” he said. “After the night I had, I could eat anything.”

She shut the menu and sent it sliding across the wood-plank table. “Really? My night was pretty tame.”

She was joking, he knew it, but his pride took a blow. “You’re younger than me by a few years, with way more stamina.”

“No,” she said with a crooked smile. “Your stamina is second only to Usain Bolt.”

“What do you know about Bolt’s stamina?”

“Only what I’ve seen on TV.”

The manager returned to take their orders and to present them with an assortment of appetizers—a sample of the house’s likkle plates. But as soon as he was gone, Nina pressed a kiss on Julian’s cheek and whispered, “You’re second to no one.” Julian could not be prouder if he won a gold medal.

“I have to tell you something,” he said.

“Yes?” she said, eyeing the platter of plantain bites, ackee rolls and salt-fish fritters. He thought he’d lost her, but after she bit into a fritter, moaned, rolled her eyes and broke into a happy dance, she reminded him that he had something to tell her.

“We had a discussion about casting today, Frank and I.”

“You’re still playing Luke, right?”

“Definitely.”

The role in question was the lead: heiress Amanda King. Years ago, he’d offered it to Bettina. When he mentioned it to Frank, he took to the idea and wouldn’t let it go. This left Julian the unenviable task of pushing back without coming off as a colossal jerk. “She won’t work with me.”

“Is it that bad between you two?”

It wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t good. “Picture working with any one of your ex-wives?”

Frank had ignored his question and enlisted an impartial arbitrator. He got Karen Butler of B Plus Casting on the phone.

Karen was known in the industry for an open approach to casting actors in parts. As an African American actor whose prospects had dried up soon after she hit forty, Karen had started her agency with an aim to keeping underrepresented actors employed. Julian felt sure she wouldn’t advocate for Bettina, but she did.

“I haven’t read the script, so I can’t say that she’s right for the part you have in mind,” Karen said. “But working together on a meaningful project would go a long way to shore up goodwill. You need that right now.”

“She’s not interested in helping me,” Julian said.

Karen had a different take. “She’d be helping herself. I know