Once More With Feeling by Nora Roberts Page A

then also.
    It had been Raven’s first Hollywood party, and she had been unashamedly overwhelmed. There had been people there whom she had known only as voices over the radio or faces on the screen. She had come alone then, too, but in that case it had been a mistake. She hadn’t yet learned how to dodge and twist.
    She remembered she had been cornered by an actor, though oddly she couldn’t recall his name or his face. She hadn’t had the experience to deal with him and was slowly being backed against the wall when her eyes had met Brand’s. Raven remembered how he had been watching her then, too, rather lazily, a half smile on his mouth. He must have seen the desperation in her eyes, because his smile had widened before he had started to weave his way through the crowd toward her. With perfect aplomb, Brand had slid between Raven and the actor, then had draped his arm over her shoulders.
    â€œMiss me?” he had asked, and he had kissed her lightly before she could respond. “There’re some people outside who want to meet you.” He had shot the actor an apologetic glance. “Excuse us.”
    Before another word could be exchanged, he had propelled Raven through the groups of people and out to a terrace. She could still remember the scent of orange blossoms that had drifted from an orchard nearby and the silver sprinkle of moonlight on the flagstone.
    Of course Raven had recognized him and had been flustered. She had managed to regain her poise by the time they were alone in the shadows on the terrace. She had brushed a hand through her hair and smiled at him. “Thanks.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.” It had been the first time he had studied her in his direct, quiet fashion. She could still remember the sensation of gentle intrusion. “You’re not quite what I expected.”
    â€œNo?” Raven hadn’t known exactly how to take that.
    â€œNo.” He’d smiled at her. “Would you like to go get some coffee?”
    â€œYes.” The agreement had sprung from her lips before she had given it a moment’s thought.
    â€œGood. Let’s go.” Brand had held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Raven had put hers into it. It had been as simple as that.
    â€œRaven . . . Raven.”
    She was tossed back into the present by the sound of Wayne’s voice and his hand on her arm.
    â€œYes . . . what?” Blandly Raven looked up at him.
    â€œYour thoughts are written all over your face,” he murmured. “Not a wise move in a room full of curious people.” Taking a fresh glass of champagne from a tray, he handed it to her. “Drink up.”
    She was grateful for something to do with her hands and took the glass. “I was just thinking,” she said inadequately, then made a sound of frustration at Wayne’s dry look. “So,” she tried another tactic, “it seems we’ll be working on the same project.”
    â€œOld home week?” he said with a crooked grin.
    She shot him a direct look. “We’re professionals,” she stated, aware that they both knew whom she was speaking of.
    â€œAnd friends?” he asked, touching a finger to her cheek.
    Raven inclined her head. “We might be; I’m a friendly sort of person.”
    â€œ
Hmm.
” Wayne glanced over her shoulder and watched Brand approach. “At least he knows how to dress,” he murmured, approving of Brand’s casual but perfectly cut slate-colored slacks and jacket. “But are you sure Cornwall’s necessary? Couldn’t you try Sausalito?”
    Raven laughed. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
    â€œI certainly hope not. Hello, Brand, nice to see you again.”
    Raven turned, smiling easily. The jolt of the memory had passed. “Hello, Brandon.”
    â€œRaven.” His eyes stayed on her face. “You haven’t met Lauren Chase.”
    With an