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  “Midas must have been quite successful with the ladies in Wilmington.” Her comment surprised the hell out of him. Was that a hint of jealousy in her voice?

  Gavin relaxed a little, leaning a hip against the vegetable bin and crossing his arms over his chest. Maybe his aborted date wasn’t such a bad decision after all.

  “Midas didn’t go to Wilmington. You’re the only pretty woman he managed to take down today.”

  She gave him another one of those slight head shakes, trying to hide the blush in her cheeks by reading the package.

  “Yuck!” She tossed the bag back into the cart. “You don’t really care too much about your dog if you feed him that.”

  “What do you suggest? Real pepperoni?”

  She laughed at that, a pretty, tinkling sound that did strange things to Gavin’s body.

  “They have organic dog treats.”

  “You don’t say?” He silently prayed she’d take a step closer. Whatever magic had been brewing between them outside the inn earlier had rekindled itself in front of the cauliflower, and Gavin didn’t want it to end.

  “They didn’t have the brown-sugar ones so I just got a box of the frosted cherry.” Diesel Gold’s raspy voice sliced through the air as he walked up to Ginger’s cart and dropped a box of Pop-Tarts in. Horror flickered over Ginger’s face as the box narrowly missed the tomatoes.

  “Hey.” Diesel stopped short as he noticed Gavin. “Have you two met?”

  There was a moment of awkward silence before Ginger answered. “Yes, earlier today.”

  “Cool.” The producer shifted his glance between Ginger and Gavin. “That will save me from having to make a special trip to introduce her when she comes to do your makeup tomorrow.”

  “Huh?” It was Gavin’s turn to look from one to the other. “You’re a soap star and a makeup artist?”

  “No!” Ginger said.

  “Yes,” Diesel said at the same time. “Well, not exactly a soap star like Marissa Ryder’s Savannah Rich character. But she is great with makeup.”

  Gavin was still confused and a little leery of the chagrin on Ginger’s face. “Huh,” was all he could add.

  “In fact, there’s not much my Ginger can’t do.” Diesel wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in to kiss her check. “She’s pretty awesome. That’s why she’s my assistant. Right, babe?”

  Gavin was having a little problem with the possessiveness of Diesel’s statement. The producer was giving every indication Ginger was more than just his assistant, and she hadn’t refuted it. Was Gavin really that off his game tonight that he’d totally misread her signals?

  “We should be headed out. It’s a long day tomorrow.” Ginger’s face paled as Diesel dropped a bag of Snickers bars into the cart. “Before you hyperventilate, they’re bribes for the crew. See you in the morning, McAlister.” Diesel pulled the cart and Ginger toward the checkout.

  “You’re keeping those in your room,” Ginger hissed as the pair walked away.

  Not that it was any real comfort to the parts of his body protesting Ginger’s departure, but Gavin was glad that at least she and Diesel were sleeping in separate rooms.

  * * *

  The driving rain sounded like popcorn as it bounced off the leaded windows of the inn. The springtime weather of the day before was long gone as a nor’easter battered the Carolina coast. Fortunately, most of the filming for that week was to take place indoors as the construction crew began the interior renovations in earnest.

  Ginger sat on the plush carpet of the music room with her legs crossed and her laptop perched on top of her knees. A cozy fire crackled behind her as Diesel plucked away at the keys of the grand piano.

  “Everything looks good on the billing side, Diesel,” she said. “I don’t know what you were worried about. Your father’s minions will be happy you’re still well within budget. Not to mention you keep impeccable records.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m handing bookkeeping off to you now, Madame Assistant.” He tapped out the tune to “Rain, Rain, Go Away.” “I can’t afford to make any mistakes and you’re much more detail-oriented.”

  “Stop selling yourself short. You’ve got mad business management skills. What makes you think I can keep the books any better than you?”

  “Because, like I said last night, you’re good at everything you do.” He plunked out the melody to “Rainy Days and Mondays.” “Just promise me you won’t do the hottie contractor.”

  Ginger slammed the laptop shut in surprise. “What?” she sputtered. “That’s so not going to happen.”

  “Ha,” Diesel laughed. “The way you both were looking at each other last night, it very well could happen. Hell, the chemistry between you two was so hot, it was a good thing you weren’t in the frozen foods section.” He banged one of the higher keys, making the piano sound like a bell. “Clean up on aisle five!”

  “Very funny,” Ginger mumbled. Except Diesel was telling the truth. With one look, Gavin McAlister could turn her insides to putty. And it was more than just his amazing mouth and abundance of charm. Something else she couldn’t define simmered between them. She’d been involved with men before—even believing she was in love once upon a time. But she’d never felt a sexual attraction like the one pulling her in Gavin’s direction. It was a bit daunting.

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Her reassurance was for herself as much as Diesel.

  “Hmph.” He began playing the song “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”

  Ginger laughed as she stood and put the laptop in its case. “He’s charming, all right. But I get the feeling he’s only interested because I’m new and different. And convenient. He’s probably already burned through all the single women in town.” Ginger was saddened to think of Gavin as the lothario of Chances Inlet, but she had to diminish his appeal somehow. Or she wouldn’t be able to do what she’d just promised Diesel: take care of herself.

  Diesel looked at his watch. “The crew ought to have the generators up and the lighting all set within the next half hour. We should probably get our stuff together and head out.”

  “If there’s no plumbing and electricity in the mansion yet, how am I going to do the makeup?”

  “Funny you should ask.” Diesel’s use of that phrase always alerted Ginger to brace for impact, and her hand reflexively clutched a little tighter on the handle of the laptop bag. “McAlister Construction and Engineering is housed in an old torpedo factory building that’s been renovated for multiuse space. You’ll be happy to know there’s a dance studio located right beside their offices. Patricia knows the woman who owns the studio. She’s agreed to let you use the makeup room. It’s convenient and you should feel right at home.”

  Ginger sank down on the sofa in stunned silence. A dance studio? She hadn’t ventured onto the parquet floor of a ballet company in two long years. Not since the night that changed her life.

  Diesel moved from the piano to sit down beside her, grabbing her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You can do this, Ginger. Besides, you’re gonna have to start again somewhere. Once we have our own show, you’ll be spending most of your day in a dance studio.”

  She reached down to rub her ankle. The pins holding her shattered bone and shredded Achilles tendon together ached in the rainy weather. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be fine,” she whispered. Diesel was right. If she was going to make a go of it as a choreographer, it was inevitable that she’d have to venture back through the doors of a dance studio. It was just the part about being inside one knowing she’d never be able to perform again that spooked her.

  They were silent for a few minutes, the only sound the rain beating on the tin roof over the veranda.

  “Do you miss performing?” Diesel asked quietly, his gravelly voice tender.

  “I honestly didn’t think I would,” she admitted. “It was always my mom’s dream for me.”

  “But you were such an amazing ballerina.”

  Ginger smiled at his compliment. “I would have sp
ent my life dancing because I was good at it. But now I feel like I’m ricocheting from place to place trying to find who I am. All I ever knew was dance, and now, whether I wanted it or not, it’s gone.”

  Diesel squeezed her hand. “We’re going to make it in spite of everything.”

  She turned to look into his eyes, a lump forming in her throat. “Do you miss it? Singing, I mean. Do you miss being able to sing?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I miss it more than anything in the world.”

  The intensity in his eyes brought tears to Ginger’s. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “But you wouldn’t have been there it if wasn’t for me.”

  “If I hadn’t have been there, you might not be here right now.” Diesel leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. Ginger wondered why she could have such a strong sexual attraction to a virtual stranger like Gavin McAlister and not for Diesel, whom she loved dearly. Life would be so much less complicated that way.

  The theme from Rocky blared over Diesel’s iPhone. He glanced down at the text message. “They’re ready for us. Go up and get your gear and I’ll drive you over to the torpedo factory.”

  Ten minutes later, Diesel maneuvered the rented minivan beside the curb outside the two-story brick building. A large sign for McAlister Construction & Engineering dwarfed the much smaller one for Audra’s Tiny Dancers. The ballet studio was nondescript, but Ginger could picture it with her eyes closed: warped parquet floors, a perpetual draft, mixed with the aroma of liniment and musty clothes. Exactly like the hundreds of other studios she’d grown up in as her mother moved her ballet company across the Northeast and Midwest.

  “How will we get to the mansion once I’ve got Gavin made up?”

  “I hired an assistant to help Gavin out during the filming.” Diesel put the car in park. “A high school kid.”

  “A high school kid? It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t he be in school?”

  “It’s a she.” Diesel lifted Ginger’s bag off the floor behind him and handed it to her. “And she’s a senior in a work-study program. She only goes in for two classes a day and gets credit for working for Gavin and me the rest of the day.”

  “Wow. I’d wanna spend all day in high school if I got to go to one.” Because of the company’s travel schedule, she’d been homeschooled. Ginger had always dreamed of lockers, football games, and proms.

  “Yeah, well, I got the feeling Cassidy is somewhat of a misfit in high school. Brilliant, but not quite cool enough, if you know what I mean. You’ll see when you meet her. A word of advice,” Diesel warned. “She’s pretty attached to Gavin. When she meets you, she might want to use her powers for evil and not good. I have faith you’ll win her over with your endearing Pollyanna ways, though.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Ginger slid out of the van into the cold rain.

  “Don’t take too long to make McAlister beautiful. We need to get this scene in today. He has business up in Wilmington for the next few days. And remember—keep your hands to yourself!” Diesel teased as she slammed the door. Keeping her hands to herself was going to be hard to do, considering she was about to be caressing the man with a makeup sponge. She wasn’t sure what made her more nervous: being in close proximity to Mr. Amazing Mouth or stepping back into a ballet studio.

  Dodging the punishing raindrops, Ginger pulled open the glass door to the ballet studio and dashed inside. As she pushed back the hood of her rain jacket and took in the sight before her, all thoughts of Gavin McAlister and his sexy mouth vanished. The ballet studio was everything she’d imagined it would be—and yet, it was also very different. A steady rain beat against the arched windows located high above the mirrored walls, but, in spite of the dismal weather outside, the interior was . . . homey. Soft lamplight bathed the polished wood floor, creating a comforting warm glow. A trio of young girls dressed in pink tights and black leotards giggled as they leaped around the room making faces in the mirrors. They let out a collective squeal when a woman, unabashedly pregnant in a mauve leotard and flowing ballet wrap, entered the studio pushing a rack of costumes.

  “I want to be a butterfly!”

  “I want to be the wolf!” the girls shouted out.

  Watching their innocent glee, Ginger felt a warm rush of emotion seep into her damp body. Ballet had been fun. Once. All those years ago. Before the cutthroat competition, the nagging injuries, the crazy diets and opportunities lost. Laughter bounced off the high ceiling as the little girls pulled on various costumes, scattering feathers and glitter throughout the room. Ginger’s face eased into a smile as some of her angst ebbed from her body.

  “You can take a girl out of dance, but you can’t take the dance out of the girl.”

  Ginger turned to look over her shoulder where an elegant woman stood, dressed head to toe in black ballet clothes except for the metal knee brace encasing her left leg. Her silver hair was neatly piled up in a perfect chignon. Blue eyes twinkled as the woman gestured to Ginger’s feet. Looking down, she realized the heel of her right foot had slid against the arch of her left one, her feet unconsciously finding third position.

  “Your turnout isn’t bad considering it’s been years since you last performed,” the woman said with a smile as she extended her hand. “I’m Audra Greaves. I can only dream of having that kind of flexibility after my knee replacement heals.” She gestured to the brace on her leg. “You young women rebound much more quickly than us old broads.”

  “I’m Ginger Walsh,” Ginger said, shaking the dance instructor’s hand. “But I guess you already know that.”

  Audra nodded. “Even before you stepped onto that silly soap opera set with your perfect posture. I was actually lucky enough to see you perform Giselle while you were at Juilliard. You were amazing. I honestly thought that it wouldn’t be long before you played her on the stage at Lincoln Center. You have the heart and soul of a ballerina.”

  Ginger tried not to grimace at Audra’s kind words. She’d never had the heart and soul of a ballerina, just a driven ballet teacher for a mother who lived vicariously through her daughter. The injury that ended Ginger’s budding career hadn’t devastated her as much as it had her mom, Elena. Instead, the real pain came when Ginger was forced to live in the world outside the insular cocoon of the dance world where she’d been brought up. She’d always dreamed about having a “normal” life, until she actually got one and realized that real life was a lot harder than it looked. Ironically, now she dreamed of making her way back into the familiar world of dance.

  “Well,” Ginger said politely, “unfortunately, I no longer have the tendons for pointe work, so even if I had the heart and soul for it, I couldn’t dance anymore.”

  “Nonsense. There’s more to dance than just ballet on pointe.”

  Ginger glanced around the room. “Is my mother hiding somewhere around here?”

  Audra’s rich laugh filled the entry vestibule as she linked her arm through Ginger’s. “No, but neither she nor I would be doing our jobs as dance instructors if we didn’t encourage you to dance again. But today, you’re here to make our town’s most famous bachelor look gorgeous. It’s a thankless job, but somebody’s got to do it, right?” she asked with a wink, leading Ginger into a large dressing room that adjoined what was presumably Audra’s office. “The crew installed one of the television lights so you can achieve the same effect as when they’ll be filming at the mansion. The makeup arrived a few weeks ago. You’re welcome to use anything we’ve got laying around here, as well.”

  Ginger rummaged through the contents of the makeup box to be sure she had all that she needed. “It looks like everything is here,” she said, trying to sound as if she actually knew what she was doing. “Thank you—”

  Before she could finish, Gavin, followed by an entourage of women, crowded into the small room. The rain outside was apparently still heavy, leaving splotches of moisture on the shoulders of his jacket, his hair and even his eyelashes. The dampness in no w
ay diminished his virility and Ginger felt the anxiety crawl back into her stomach.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said, that amazing mouth sporting a devilish grin that should be required to come with its own warning label. Ginger pushed out a breath, resisting the temptation to wipe a lingering drop of rain off his neck. Or possibly lick it off.

  “I told you not to bother checking that foundation to Harry Franklin’s boathouse. The weather is too nasty out there,” said a blue-haired lady who’d entered with Gavin. Stylishly dressed in dark brown pants and an oversized sweater jacket with a leopard-patterned scarf smartly arranged around her neck, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of an ad for Chico’s. “It’s not like he’s going to pay you. Your father built that place six years ago, and Harry still has a balance due. If his foundation is cracked—and that’s a big if because McAlister Engineering and Construction does not do shoddy work—then I say it’s Harry’s just deserts for not paying what he owes us.”

  Gavin shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on a hook near the door. “Take a deep breath, Bernice,” he said before placing his hands on her shoulders. “Harry and my dad were good friends. If he had a problem with a foundation our company built, then I needed to take a look at it. I have meetings in Wilmington the next couple of days, so it had to be today. I didn’t melt, though. You’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. Unless you’re ready to take that retirement package I offered you?”

  The woman’s eyes welled up and her whole body seemed to crumple. “I don’t know why you keep throwing that in my face. I don’t want to retire, Gavin! Besides, you need me. I’ve been working in that office for twenty years. You’d never be able to find a single file or blueprint if I retired.” She spit out the last word as if it were poisonous.

  Gavin folded her up in his arms with a sigh. “I don’t mean to throw anything in your face, Bernice. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay on out of some sense of duty to my father. Not when you could be out enjoying those grandkids of yours.”

  “Pfff! Those kids don’t need me anymore. They’re all too grown-up to want to spend any time with their ol’ grandma. I need to keep working so my brain doesn’t turn to mush.”