Temptation's Kiss. Janice Sims

a considerate guy.”

      Patrice let her gaze roam over his face, admiring the strong, masculine shape of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. He smiled the whole while as though he were perfectly fine with her lusting after him with her eyes.

      No harm in looking, Patrice thought. The harm comes in acting on your desires. She didn’t plan to do that. She did not become romantically involved with actors she worked with. Work was work, and play was play.

      Rumor had it that T.K. didn’t share her opinion on the subject. He had been linked with a few women while they were working on a film together. He didn’t make it a habit like some actors she knew, but the fact that none of those relationships had worked out concerned her. At thirty-six, he had never been married. He could be gay. Nah, she immediately dismissed that. Back in the day it had been possible for Hollywood to hide the fact that some of its leading men—and women—were gay, but these days the tabloids uncovered anyone who was in the closet. She hated tabloid journalism, if you could call it journalism.

      She realized they had been looking into each other’s eyes the past five minutes without saying a word. She laughed. “I often thought that you were mesmerizing on the big screen, but I never suspected you might be in person.”

      T.K. smiled. “Does that mean you’ll be my Bella Donna?”

      “I’ll be Bass Reeves’s Bella Donna,” Patrice corrected him with a wry smile.

      T.K. took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. The feel of his warm mouth on her skin made her sigh involuntarily. He raised his head and looked her in the eyes. “Same difference,” he said. “Lucky for me, it’ll be Bass Reeves kissing you but my lips doing the deed.”

      “Just so you both know where not to put your hands,” joked Patrice. T.K. laughed.

      The waiter arrived at that moment and served their meals.

      Patrice wound up spending a quiet night at home. After phoning family and friends to tell them of her good fortune, she reread the script to Bass Reeves, Lawman. Blanca phoned to say she’d spoken with Mark Greenberg and that the lawyers were working on the contract. He promised that it would be in Blanca’s hands in a matter of days.

      Patrice was curled up on the sofa in the living room of her modest bungalow. She was wearing shorts and a tank top because it was warm tonight. The house had air-conditioning but she rarely turned it on unless the temperature rose to the nineties. She liked to sleep with her windows open. It was something she might not do if she lived in greater Los Angeles, but the Beverly Hills police boasted that they could be at your door within a minute of being summoned. She had not had the opportunity to test that boast.

      As she read, she found herself chuckling from time to time. The Western was an action/adventure, but it had funny moments, especially the exchanges between Bella and Bass who seemed to love arguing as much as they did making love.

      When she got to the love scene, she let out a groan. It was hot. She and T.K. would have to be practically naked. Of course, key parts of their bodies would be concealed from the eyes of those present on the set during the filming of it. But she knew that to the audience it would appear that she and T.K. had been completely nude during the filming. She had never done a nude scene. She panicked. What would her parents think? What would the people at the church she’d gone to when she was growing up say? Her family still attended that church!

      She got up, fanning herself with the script. How could she have missed that scene when she had read the script before? She blamed it on her habit of skimming over the directions in the script in favor of her character’s dialogue. There was no dialogue in the love scene. There was only direction: where T.K. would put his hands; where, when and how she was to moan as if in ecstasy.

      She looked over at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. It was 9:13 p.m. Blanca didn’t usually go to bed this early. Blanca had made a copy of the script for her personal use. She grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table and dialed her number.

      As soon as Blanca answered, she cried, “Did you read the love scene?”

      “Fabulous, isn’t it?” Blanca said sleepily. “I haven’t read anything that perfectly erotic in a long time. It’s a mature scene with two people who truly love each other. It’s tender because it’s goodbye for them, even though neither of them is aware of it. Bella gets killed the next day. It’s the kind of scene people are going to be talking about for a long time, especially women. Bella directs him. She shows him how to love her like she wants to be loved, and Bass is more than willing to oblige. I tell you, women are going to fast-forward to that scene when it comes out on DVD again and again and live vicariously through you.”

      “I don’t know if I want them to live vicariously through me!”

      “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet,” said Blanca with an indulgent laugh. “Do you know how many actresses would kill you to replace you in that scene?”

      “I’m sure there would be quite a few,” Patrice admitted. “I’m still leery about showing so much skin.”

      “No, you’re nervous about portraying a black woman as a sexual being,” Blanca lightly accused, her tone still humorous. “Patty, I understand your reticence, but think of the portrayals of black women in Oscar-winning roles. You’ve got a maid, a psychic who was the comic relief and a tortured soul who has an affair with the white man who was one of the guards on duty when her husband was executed. There is no example of a black woman loving a black man the way he should be loved. Sleep on that, and call me tomorrow. I’m your friend as well as your agent. If you really don’t want to do the role, then I’ll start looking for something better for you.”

      Patrice sat down hard on the couch. Blanca was right. There was so much negativity out there where black men and women were concerned. Moviegoers needed more positive examples of black men loving black women. Sex was a normal, healthy part of being in love with someone. The manner in which it was expressed in the script was not salacious or pornographic.

      She took a deep breath. “I don’t have to sleep on it. I want to do it. I just panicked for a moment, there. Sorry to wake you.”

      “I wasn’t asleep,” Blanca denied.

      “Blanca, I’ve been calling you and waking you up for a few years now. I know how you sound when you first wake up.”

      Blanca laughed. “All right, you got me. Good night, chica.”

      “Good night,” Patrice said softly, feeling a lot better about the script. She hung up the phone, picked up the script, sat down and continued reading. Bella was killed the next day. Good death scene, Patrice thought. She died bravely. Later in the script, Bass avenged Bella’s murder.

      Tears were in Patrice’s eyes when she finished reading. She wondered what T.K. was doing at that moment. Had his flirting been genuine? Or had he done it just because he knew women expected him to be charming and attentive when they were with him?