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Daphne. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, but I have to run,” Meghan said, unable to resist the temptation to scatter Daphne’s thoughts once more.
    “It was my pleasure, Meghan. We’ll talk again soon,” replied Daphne, none the worse for wear.
    Meghan could only shake her head disbelievingly as she hung up the phone. Then she settled her attention firmly on the task at hand. Reassured that her good judgment was intact, she set out to complete phase one.

Two
    M ICHAEL WAS NEARLY finished with his drink, which was now more melted ice than scotch. Why he was still sitting there sipping warm scotch-flavored water, he didn’t know. He was so tired that he was contemplating taking a cab up to his room. At least the movie was over. He heaved a long sigh of relief.
    Or was it? There she was again, coming from the direction of the lobby this time. Whoa! The film had been tampered with. It was her vamp scene—hair down, no glasses, sexy clothes, the seductive sway in excellent form.
    His lips parted in a silent gasp. He took in her every nuance as she came to a standstill at his elbow. So beautiful, so real looking.
    “Is that offer for a drink still good?” she asked in a low, soft, sultry voice.
    He could only nod dumbly. She circled behind him and took the seat near his left arm. She gracefully crossed her long legs, her skirt rising up temptingly. There was a small inviting smile on her lips and an age-old glint in her eyes.
    Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he’d fallen asleep in a cocktail lounge, but all he could do was pray that the barmaid didn’t wake him up.
    Michael had heard of sexual fantasies such as this. Dreams that seemed so real, you woke up sweating and breathless and exhausted. He wasn’t complaining. This one had far more electricity and excitement in it than the one he had as a teenager, in which a half-naked woman rode across his grandfather’s range on an Appaloosa horse. He supposed it was his turn to say something. Without a script, he improvised with the first thing that came to mind.
    “You … are … stunning,” he said, his drawl thick, his gaze caressing every inch of her.
    “As are you,” she said softly, sincerely.
    “No more questions?” he asked.
    “You know what they say about all work and no play making Jill a dull girl,” she returned, intimating that it was definitely time to play.
    “Your name’s Jill?” He seized the information hopefully.
    “Jill will do if you need a name.” She smiled and watched him through the thick fringe of her lashes.
    “Jill,” he repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. New subtitle: The Red-Headed Woman Named Jill. “I like it,” he said aloud, too tired and stunned to question her response.
    “You don’t look well. Are you going to be able to get to your room?” she asked solicitously, knowing the time was now or never. He would slip into a coma, or she would lose her nerve soon. If she was going to get impregnated, she needed to get things rolling.
    She had never seen a man look so devastatingly handsome and virile and so vulnerable at the same time. Spending one night with him would be like taking candy from a baby—and she loved babies.
    Michael’s thoughts were on a parallel course to the same destination. He was enjoying the smooth cleverness of his sophisticated fantasy. The playwright was very good.
    “Actually, I was thinking of calling a cab,” he said truthfully. “But if I could impose on your kindness for a little help, I could probably use some of the fresh air between here and the elevators.”
    “It’s no imposition. Besides, I owe you one for answering all those ridiculous questions.”
    Skillful, yet subtle. Michael mentally applauded her.
    And this is how I’m going to repay him, Meghan thought, her reserve faltering for a second.
    “Are you ready?” she asked, as he just slouched there gazing at her, naked desire in his eyes.
    “What about your drink?” he asked.
    Glad he wasn’t