TUESDAY

Russell gave her a count of five for dinner; Mark and Lourene--his girlfriend and Russell's trainer--and three security people from Australia. Had the break in filming been longer, he apologized, they'd have gone back to Oz, but there was no time. Stevie hushed him; it was no trouble and she didn't mind at all, as long as he didn't care if her family descended on them in the evening for dessert.

He was sitting on the side of the bed tying his track shoes and looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if perplexed. It was 5:00 a.m.; he was getting ready to go out the door for the day's filming.

"Who, me? Care if your rellies come here? Why would I care? Nobody's appreciates family more than I do, hon….family is the best thing going." He stood, hitching his jeans up and bending slightly at the knees to adjust his "bits" as he called them. "Besides, I want to meet your olds, and your sister Mike. She still doesn't believe you when you tell her we're together?"

Stevie chuckled. "Nope. Says I'm a 'fucking liar'. She's been badgering Fergie too, says we're in cahoots together to drive her mental." Her wide grin and the devil in her eyes said it all. Stevie enjoyed getting over on her sister in this joke that really wasn't a joke. "I'm telling you, Russ, if she lived closer and didn't have that job and the kids, she'd be here, hanging around to just to prove me wrong. I can't wait until she walks in the door Thursday night."

Russ laughed. "You're liking this, you devil." He came around to her side of the bed and bent to kiss her. "You're having your poor sis on in the worst way, aren't you? It's exactly what I'd do with Terry---I knew you were a brat, just like me…."

His lips descended, took hers in a long good-morning-good bye kiss. "Home by six tonight, love. Are we going to the soomahket or what?"

"Tsk, tsk. So domestic!" Stevie clucked. "We are not going tonight…I'm going today. I'll fight the crowds of geriatrics all by myself, so we can just hang out tonight. Unless you want to do something else?"

"Why don't you let me take you out for dinner, since you're going to be doing all this cooking? There's a place up near the Trimont looks nice….what's it called, LeMont?"

"Oh, LeMont is very nice," agreed Stevie, remembering the one time she'd had dinner at the elegant restaurant. "We could do that."

He seemed surprised. "Really? You'll finally let me take you someplace? That's a switch."

Something in his tone troubled her. "Russ? Have I been keeping you from something you want to do?"

His hands went to his hair and stroked it back, something she'd learned he did when he was excited or troubled or emotional.

"No, no love," he said, his eyes warm on hers. "You have to know I love hiding out here with you-you've given me a home life---something I don't ever have unless I'm in Oz, and a refuge from the press and the bullshit-all the fuckin' pressure I feel when I'm working. But I feel a right cheap bastard too, never taking you anywhere, letting you do all this cooking. Christ, Stevie…I'm living in your house, you've neglected your business because I asked you to…." He shook his head. "Fuck, when I lay it all out like that, it sounds like I'm some bloody damned gigolo or something." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, took a wad of bills from it and held them out to her. "Here's the money for the shopping, love. Don't even try to say no."

He obviously felt strongly about this, but Stevie did too. Hesitant, she took the money from his hand. "Russ---honey, I know you want to do this, but I invited all of you. It's my dinner and I can pay for it, you know. I'm not poor or anything."

"I know you can, baby-that's not the point, is it then?" He reached out and took her chin between his fingers. "This dinner---it's my gig, too, love. It's for my people, invited to the place I'm calling home these days."

'The place I'm calling home…' She wavered, he saw it and pressed home his advantage.

"Stevie---Jesus, you're a proud one---how do I make you understand? Listen, I don't want you to let money come between us-ya gotta know I've got more than I'll ever need and I love doing stuff like this with it. That's what money's for, doing things for your family…" his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her chin, "…and making people you love happy. Don't forget, I'm a working class bloke m'self, baby---and I'll never forget my background. I know how you feel---all that 'pay your own way' shit---but let's do this my way, please love? Take the money, buy everything you need---hell, buy more than you need. We'll stack it on proper, make it a grand party, a great day for the Aussies to kick back and do it like the Yanks do."

He grinned and pinched her cheek teasingly. "Think of this as a cultural exchange."

She smiled up at him. He was right-why fight about money? Most people she knew argued because there wasn't enough of it and here she was, ready to argue with him because there was plenty.

"So you want a big shindig, do you? Well then, you'll get it. And you'll pay for it; I'll give you your way. But oh, baby---you are going to owe me for this," Stevie threatened.

Russ felt relief wash over him; another potential hurdle leapt with hardly a break in stride. He bent to kiss her and whispered against her lips, "I already owe you, darling. I'm in hock to you up to my neck, but I like it." He kissed her again. "Oh yeah, I do."

w

He watched her buzz efficiently around her kitchen on Wednesday evening, rolling dough, mixing the filling for pumpkin pies. The air was aromatic, redolent of spices and sugar-a good smell, one that had his mouth watering, even though they'd eaten a huge dinner at a local Mexican restaurant that brought back memories of the filming of his last movie. Stevie began stirring a chocolate pudding that bubbled fragrantly on the stove, something she was making especially for him because he'd told her his favorite dessert was a chocolate pie heaped with whipped cream and smothered in dark chocolate curls. He'd said it to tease her, never thought she'd take him seriously, and fuck if she hadn't gone and gotten the makings for it. Now the aroma of warm chocolate wafted across to him, and he sniffed contentedly. He couldn't remember being happier during a shoot. Never once during all the years of his career. In fact, he couldn't remember being happier, more contented, for a very long time.

He cocked his head, smiled indulgently at her. Sweet Stevie, always so ready to please him. She said that it came from her upbringing---she was raised to be an old fashioned girl and she'd become a woman who believed in making her man happy. What she didn't say, but what Russ understood, was that she'd learned from losing Eric that happiness was fleeting and it was best to make the most of every moment. That's what she'd been doing with him, making the most of every moment, making him happier than he'd been in yonks. Sometimes he thought he'd gone to heaven---he'd never run into a sheila like her before. All the women he'd been involved with in the past were career women with a 'me too' or a 'me first' attitude. Stevie was more a 'let me do this for you' woman, a nurturer; warm-hearted, loving, home-oriented. Not that she was a doormat; he couldn't have stood that. 'Nothing more boring than a woman who has no mind of her own, no opinions, no gumption,' he thought. But no worries there; Stevie was smart; she was educated, she ran her own business and she was well-read-much more so than he was, and he considered himself a voracious reader. He'd learned straight away that the books jamming her shelves were not there for ornamentation; she could discuss the contents of each and the two of them had spent several pleasant hours comparing opinions on the titles they'd both read.

She had strong views regarding politics, and defended her just-to-the-left-of-center position with fire and eloquence. He'd teased her into a political discussion the night before while they'd watched the late news, tucked up cozily in bed. Tom Brokaw reported on the state of the welfare system in America and Russ had made a disparaging comment on the necessity of such a system. He was a firm believer in making one's own way in the world and while Stevie had agreed with him that it demeaned those who accepted it as a way of life, she'd been adamant about it being necessary as a safety net for those down on their luck. Russ had been impressed with the strength of her argument, though she hadn't convinced him. Her words, earnest and intelligently expressed, had prompted him to begin talking about his ever-evolving philosophy on the point of life. They'd ended up in a discussion that had lasted until 3:00 a.m.---not a good idea for a man who had to be on the set by sparrow fart. Good thing the character he portrayed in this film was a man struggling against extreme adversity. He was supposed to look harassed and weary and on that particular day, he had.

Bloody oath, Stevie Butler was a woman any bloke would be proud of, and he was proud of her, intrigued by the workings of her mind, delighted with her serene yet amusing personality, entranced by her beauty. The night he had taken her to LeMont for dinner, she had absolutely stunned him. She'd dressed with a simple elegance that rivaled the best that Hollywood could produce: a black dress bare of ornamentation, relying on line and the perfect contours of Stevie's body to lend it chic, and pale stockings and high heeled shoes that made her legs look so sleek and sexy, all he could think of was having them wrapped around him. Her face was beautiful, her eyes breath-taking, her hair he loved, so soft and silky and long enough to wrap around his fists. He often did that, using her hair to pull her in for kisses, holding her immobile while he all but devoured her sweet mouth.

At the LeMont, they'd had a delicately prepared and elegantly served meal accompanied by a bottle of Shiraz, a wine produced in the vineyards of Oz. Russ believed in promoting his adopted country, and preferred Australian brands to any other, importing them to the States at great personal cost. He had reserved a table in the corner near the window and had requested a privacy screen; they'd sat in isolated splendor looking out over the sparkling Pittsburgh skyline. It had been very nice, but all he could think of was taking her home and making love to her, fucking her until she screamed for him. After dinner they'd gone to see his flat at the Trimont. He watched as she walked slowly though the place, admiring its professionally designed elegance and the stunning view of the city, glittering across an expanse of dark river. Stevie admired the view, but Russ admired her, and while she stood at the window, he came up behind her and ran his hands up and down her arms. And then he turned her, kissed her with all the pent desire he'd labored under all evening. He licked at her skin, nipping, sucking, biting her gently. She knew him by now, had known what would happen and planned a surprise for him, for when he'd lifted the skirt of her dress, he'd found her all but naked beneath it. She wore nothing but a strip of a black lace belt that held up her stockings with dangling satin suspenders. God, the thought of that night made his cock quiver. Once he'd seen that, those long lovely legs in their sheer stockings, he'd been like a wild man. He'd stripped her of all but them, pushed her down on the polished granite dining table, his mouth moving over her as if she were a feast prepared by the gods especially for him. He made her come on his tongue and again on his fingers, and finally on his cock while he pounded almost brutally into her, thrilling to her cries of passion, those lovely legs wrapped tight around him, her voice hoarsely urging him on. And in the background, the city sparkled and glittered outside the plate glass window, stars and a full silver moon hung in a black velvet sky while the lights shimmered on the dark waters of the rivers that bound the Point---the whole of it like a scene out of a romantic film, a private showing just for them.

That night had been beyond extraordinary, even though Russell had long since learned that making love to Stevie was always a heady experience, soul stirring and deeply moving. The way her eyes spoke to him, telling him what she had not yet dared to say, warmed his heart. The way she wanted him, the way she came for him! God, it made him feel omnipotent, more of a man than he ever had. Not that he'd ever had any problems with virility, but this was a different situation altogether. He admitted it to himself; this was love. Love after little more than a week. Russ lit another cigarette and took a deep drag. Oh, he had fallen hard, mate, but he was sure it was an extraordinary piece of good fortune, sent his way only Christ knew why or how.

A wry smile flitted over his face as he thought how remarkable it was that he, a man who regularly traveled all over the world meeting more sophisticated and glamorous women than most could imagine, had found a soulmate in a little Pittsburgh publican with values and a working class background just like his own. He'd been comfortable with her from the beginning, had grown to trust her completely in a ridiculously short span of time because he understood her. He knew where she was coming from because he'd been there himself.

It was a great concession for a man who had learned to be as wary of people as he was. Yet he was entirely confident of her, saw that she put him above everyone else in her life and was positive that this was one woman who wasn't going to blow him off for a career or a move up some pretentious bullshit social ladder. She'd proved that already by giving up nursing, a job she'd loved, for her first husband---the poor bastard---and done it again when she shut down her pub because he'd asked her to. To him, that was commitment, and as good a sign as any that she'd be willing to follow him, to stay with him. He needed that, craved the assurance, the devotion. He needed his woman close to him all the time, had learned that he didn't have the temperament to accommodate his partner's career. Certainly it was insensitive and self-serving of him, a character flaw by today's standards, but that was the truth of it, that was the way he was, and no use trying to deny it or change things at this late date.

He had other things to offer though, things certain women---women like Stevie---appreciated. Despite public appearances, his was a loving heart, a tender heart; he wanted his woman with him wherever he was, to comfort him, to support him, to give him what Stevie offered so lavishly. He needed to give it back, to protect and love and nurture and cherish. To do that, he had to have his partner by his side. Maybe at heart, where it counted most, he was old fashioned himself. He'd said it many times--and though he knew some looked at him with open skepticism when he did, it was the truth. When he finally took the step, he wanted his marriage to be like his mum and dad's---solid, trusting, partners through thick and thin, and above all, devotedly and passionately loving.

Another deep drag, the satisfying smoke filling his lungs while his thoughts ranged farther.

As each day passed, as he spent precious hours with her, he was becoming more and more sure that in Stevie, he'd found the woman who would be willing to dedicate herself to him. The signs were right, all his instincts told him that this one was the one. He wanted her to meet his mum and dad and Terry, had a pretty good idea that they'd see that same placid sweetness in her that he did, the perfect compliment to his fiery and forthright personality. He could be overwhelming, even fearsome at times; he knew that. But Stevie could handle him; she'd know it was a tempest in a teacup, nothing more than a brief squall that, dealt with properly, would soon blow over. In someone he loved, he could forgive anything---anything but disloyalty. And Stevie---well, Stevie Butler didn't have it in her to be disloyal.

His mind ran on, and while he watched her work, he made the decision to take Stevie home for Christmas in Oz. The local filming would be over by then and Ron had promised them a break long enough to span Christmas and New Year's. Plenty of time to fly home and relax a bit before beginning the second phase of shooting in the soundstages of Hollywood. He'd throw his usual New Year's bash at the farm; Stevie would love that. He could introduce her to all of his mates; no worries about her getting on with the rellies and his band mates and all the folks who were invited every year. She'd like them, they'd like her---no wuckin' furries---because she was down to earth and easy going and just plain fuckin' nice. He made a mental note to call Lia, his Oz personal assistant, and see how far along the arrangements were-and maybe, just maybe, he would, well, they would, have a special announcement to make after the clock struck twelve on New Year's. It was only a little more than a month away-he'd be positive by then. He crushed out his cigarette and went to her, taking her into his arms to kiss her reverently, tenderly, with all the love he was feeling plain in his eyes, his kiss, his touch.

THURSDAY

The day was going well. Lourene, the only other female in the house, had come into the kitchen to lend a hand and talk while the male Aussie contingent settled themselves in the living room to watch the Steelers play the Cleveland Browns---or, as they were called in Pittsburgh, the Cleve Brownies. On their trips from the kitchen to the dining room, Stevie and Lourene heard them making fun of American football, saying it was hardly worth the playing, the way the blokes were padded up and wearing those big gawky helmets. While she set her Aunt Ruth's good silver flatware at each place and admired the spectacular autumn centerpiece Russ had sent yesterday (complete with a pair of stuffed pheasants) she heard him say to Mark, and especially loudly for her benefit, "This is not fuckin' football, mate….it's a game for poofs. These Yanks are full of shit, there's nothing like Aussie Rules for making tough players."

"Hey, don't think you're going to make me mad, saying that," she told him smugly, "because I know one of our linemen could take out one of yours in two seconds flat. Look at the size of them, for chrissakes! They're loaded with more steroids than beef cattle
"He could take him out if he could catch him, love. But he never could, not one of those big hulking lummoxes. Couldn't run worth a shit, not even with every bastard and his dog after him. God, they must weight over twenty stone!"

She slapped his hand as he came into the dining room to steal a kiss and another homemade dinner roll from the basket. "And so will you, if you don't knock it off, buddy."

He grabbed at her bum and gave it a good squeeze. "Yeah, so? Would that matter to you or not?" It had started as a teasing rejoinder but now he watched her avidly for every nuance of expression. Physical attraction was one thing, but love should go deeper than looks.

She stilled under his hands and gave him a tiny, licking kiss. "I don't think it would," she said, cocking her head to the side and considering. "Nope, it definitely would not." Stevie deposited another kiss on his rough cheek as she hugged him, hard. He hadn't bothered to shave that day, and the shadow of his beard was dark on his face. "I'd like you fat, skinny, or in the middle, the way you are now."

"Mmmm. Very good answer. Here's your prize," he said, popping a plump olive into her mouth and following it with his lips.

"Thanks loads, mate. Now let me go, I have things to do in the kitchen," said Stevie, chewing. She slipped from his hands and went into the kitchen to face a grinning Lourene. Stevie smiled sheepishly. "Oh, hell! I can't help it," she insisted. "He's just so fuckin' cute. You've known him for a long time, right? Is he always this way?"

Lourene answered cautiously. "Rusty's good to those who are good to him. If you're fair with him, if he likes you, you've got no worries. Just don't put the shits up him or do him nasty. God help you, then."

"Put the shits up him? I swear, I never knew I'd have to learn a new language to talk to Australians," laughed Stevie.

"It means piss him off, make him furious. He's got a temper, you know."

Stevie looked blankly at Lourene. "I didn't know. He's been entirely sweet with me. No sign of a temper at all."

Lourene shrugged. "He's happy. Rusty's always sweet when he's happy, when he's comfortable and relaxed. Most times, especially when he's working, he's so intense it's almost scary. And he hates the Hollywood scene, you know. He can't abide the climbers, the star fuckers, the users. He can play the game with the best of them, but it's not him and I doubt it ever will be. He's a working class boy at heart."

"So he's said," murmured Stevie, thoughtful. "Lourene..." she began, ready to ask questions about this man, this sweet yet enigmatic man she had fallen so hard for, and then thought better of it. That way smacked of dishonesty; it wasn't how Stevie liked to do things. Besides, why put his friends in an uncomfortable position? If she needed to know anything, she would ask him herself.

Lourene looked at her, a guarded expression on her face. "Yes?" she said.

"I wonder how their beer is holding out in there; want to check?" said Stevie.

"Sure," agreed Lourene, her relief obvious, and her respect for this very kind, very straightforward American rose. "It's time I gave my bloke a kiss or two anyway."

She took several stubbies of VB from the fridge and left the kitchen. Stevie opened the oven to check the turkey-it was browning nicely and sending out great wafting drafts of the most delicious aroma---and was bending to give it another baste when her hips were suddenly grasped firmly by two strong hands. She felt him behind her, rubbing his groin sensuously against her buttocks, then humping her while drawing her hips tight against him. Stevie giggled and looked over her shoulder.

"Hey, I'm basting, here! Are you gonna dry hump me right into the oven?"

What had started as a bit of teasing escalated rapidly as he rubbed against her. His cock was stiffening in his jeans, the friction was more than pleasurable.

"Not a bad idea," Russ admitted. His voice dropped an octave, his tone going silky and teasing as his hands smoothed over her body, sliding up to her shoulders. "Come upstairs with me for a tick, love."

"Oh, no way. I know you, buster. A tick, my ass."

"Mmmmm yeah," Russ growled, rubbing harder. "Your arse. I love your arse, sweetheart. So sexy…. C'mon, love…I'm getting into a fix here."

"And you expect me to get you out of it?" She stood and turned in his arms, the turkey baster held like an accusing finger, but before she could say another word his mouth swooped down to capture hers. The longing, the latent sexual force of it melted her and the protest she was going to make flew straight out of her mind.

He murmured, "Don't slag me off, love. I need you again, I can't help it."

God that voice; so husky and persuasive. He licked along her jaw to her ear and sucked the lobe into his mouth, his tongue warm and wet against her skin. Stevie stilled under his hands and gasped at the frisson of pleasure that flew along her spine to her scalp and knew she was going to oblige him, right now, in the middle of cooking this enormous holiday dinner. She couldn't tell him no, not when she knew how fleeting happiness like this could be. She couldn't say no when he was already lighting the fire in her that was hotter than any oven. What did it matter if dinner was a few minutes later than she'd planned; or if his friends got those knowing, grinning leers on their faces? She would never say no to him, to that blaze of heat in his ocean eyes, so beautifully shuttered by long thick lashes and all but glowing with intensity. She leaned forward and licked along his lips, thrilled at his quick intake of breath. There was no feeling in the world to compare with this, no deeper happiness than knowing the man you loved wanted you so much.

Her eyes went languid and smoky, got that seductive look in them that drove him wild. The breath caught in Russell's chest and he tightened his arms around her.

"Just a quickie, then?" she murmured low, dropping a hand to his crotch to caress him through his jeans. His eyes closed, he arched into her hand. "Maybe I'll just taste you---would that do, baby?" she whispered, her breath warm in his ear. "You need a little kissing to take the ache away?"

He shivered and whispered, "God, yes. C'mon, Stevie. Please, baby."

She pushed him gently away, bent to shut the oven door, and turned for the stairs. Russ followed directly behind, his eyes hot on her denim-clad bottom with its tempting, delicious sway. The living room contingent looked after them with smug knowing glances, then grinned at each other. Mark picked up the remote and thumbed the volume up several notches until he was sure the telly would drown out any sounds from above. He looked at Lourene and said, "I know just how he feels, love. Wish we had a place to go for a bit."

"For a bit of what?" she grinned, before she leaned in and kissed him.

w

Russ took Stevie in his arms and held her, his eyes locked on hers for a moment before his lips descended. He took her top lip before her bottom, then sucked them both into his mouth. She sighed against him, shivering, his kisses stoking the fire in her just as they always did. His hands went to the fastenings of her jeans and opened them while she fumbled with the button and zipper at his fly. Naked from the waist down, he pushed her onto the bed and lay beside her, his face to her sex, his hands spreading her thighs, draping one leg over his shoulder. Stevie nestled her face between his legs and licked lightly at his cock, holding it with both hands, stroking along its length until at last she took him fully into her mouth and sucked. His tongue danced over her clitoris, wet and warm, and the sensation drove her to bob on his shaft, drawing hard. Russ moaned his appreciation and began thrusting unconsciously. She wrapped the fingers of one hand close to his base to keep him from choking her and, fearing he would come too soon, went back to licking along the underside of his cock, flattening her tongue and drawing it along his length until she took him fully into her mouth again to suck him hard. He grunted as he lapped at her, the heat and suction of her nursing drove him wild. Stevie snaked a hand over his hip and grasped the cheek of his ass, squeezing, pushing him closer to her worshipping mouth. She undulated her hips against his face---she was so close!---and when he sucked lightly on her clitoris she burst into a boiling orgasm, moaning, mewling, panting out her release. Russ felt the vibration of those moans around his cock and it was all he needed. With a thrust of his hips, he buried himself deep in her throat and came, pumping his seed into her in hot sweet waves of ecstasy. He felt her throat constrict as she swallowed, and that drew another contraction from him, another tiny burst of release. He lay drained and weak, his face still against her sex. He felt her tongue on his cock, licking, cleaning, kissing. Completely content and at peace, so unutterably happy, that briefly, tears came to his eyes. He blinked them away and shifted to take her into his arms, to lie contentedly with her for just a little while.

w

It was 7:30 and dinner was long over. The Australian contingent had left an hour ago, Lourene and Mark to spend the night at Russ's Trimont apartment, the security men to their hotel rooms. Stevie and Russ had spent the hour companionably straightening the kitchen and arranging desserts for the expected influx of relatives. Russ, teasing, called it the second coming of the day. Stevie wasn't about to let that pass by; she told him smartly that he'd already scored his second coming.

The doorbell rang. "Get that, will you Russ?" asked Stevie, trying hard and failing to stifle the grin that threatened to split her face. She'd been surreptitiously watching from the window and had seen the car pull up in the drive.

Russ rose from the sofa where he'd been sprawled, drinking a Shiner and disinterestedly watching yet another American football game. To his mind, American footy wasn't a patch on the ass of Rugby League or Aussie Rules, but there was no other game on the cable. "Who is it?" he asked, going to the door. "Your sis, at last?"

"Yep. It's Mike and Fergie with the kids. I'm going to stand right here, so make sure you don't get in the way. I want to watch her face when she sees you." She took up a position near the door and shooed him toward it.

"Ready love?" Russ grinned, his hand on the knob. At Stevie's nod, he pulled it open and said pleasantly to the tall brunette who stood there, "G'day, Mike. Stevie said it'd be you, love."

Behind him, he heard Stevie splutter with laughter, and his amazing giggle burst from his throat. He drew a stunned and wide-eyed Mike into the house and slipped an arm about her, kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear, "I hear you're a major fan, love. Know everything about me but my dick size."

Mike swiveled her head and stared at him. "I'll bet I know that too, once I get a chance to talk to Stevie," she cracked, then flushed crimson and clapped her hand over her mouth, appalled at what she'd said.

Russ threw his head back and snorted with laughter. "Crikey! She says what she means, doesn't she, then?" He winked at Stevie, his eyes full of fun, a wide grin splitting his face.

Fergus ushered his son and daughter into the house and said, "Watch it now, Mikey. The kids are right here!" He extended a hand to Russ and said, "How ya doin'? Fergus McGuire. These are our kids, Jack and Lily."

"Hey mate, nice to meet you. And you too, Jack, Lily." Russ shook Fergus' hand and ruffled Jack's hair. With half an ear, he listened to Stevie and Mike, whispering furiously behind him.

"I did tell you. Several times! You wouldn't believe me."

"That's because you said it in such a smart ass way. Of course I didn't believe you! Who would believe such thing, when it's said like that? Just you wait, Stevie Lee. I'll get you for this!" hissed Mike, but she was grinning.

"Oh, shut up! What are you whining about? Didn't you just get a kiss from your idol?" Stevie offered a bribe. "If you're nice, I'll even let you serve him dessert."

The impetuous Mike had opened her mouth to retort when her husband wagged an admonishing finger. "I know what you're thinkin' Mikey, and don't you dare. Don't you dare!"

w

Later, after even more of her family had come to the house, a busy Stevie caught sight of Russell sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by her nieces and nephews. She paused to watch, her heart warming at the sight of Lily and her brother's daughter Miranda, who sat facing him, fans of Old Maid cards in their hands. Russ was holding out his own cards so that Lily could choose. One card jutted temptingly above the others---it was the Old Maid---while Jack and her other two nephews Brian and JJ climbed on his back. Every once in a while, Russ shrugged his broad shoulders or reached behind him with a burly arm and flung them carefully off, whereupon they would scramble up and jump on him again. The boys were sweating and red-faced, grunting with excitement and exertion, while Fergus called out the commentary from the couch.

"And now McGuire is on the mat, and Crowe has him pinned. It's a two count---Crowe can't finish him off as McGuire kicks out of the hold. Here comes the tag team the Dynamic Dillon Boys… Oh! And they've got Crowe down! He's trapped, the Dillons have his arms on the mat! The cards go flying and Old Maid Crowe is on the verge of losing the match and the card game. Ding, ding! There goes the bell, and the ankle biters are victorious over the famous movie star here in Butler Coliseum!"

Russell sat up laughing, boys tumbled from his shoulders and arms. "Okay, mates, okay! Ya got me! Enough! It's time this old man had a piece of pie and a cuppa."

"Let him go, boys!" grinned Fergus, hooking his own son by the belt loops and lifting him bodily off Russell. "You've had him long enough. Let Grandma look at him for a while." He winked, and Stevie's mother blushed and said, "Fergus!" in her best 'don't be silly' tone. Russ slipped away from the children who obviously did not want to let their new playmate go, and went to the kitchen. Stevie was arranging slices of turkey on a plate, had gotten mayonnaise and lettuce from the refrigerator and put them on the table.

"Hey you," she smiled at him. "Had enough of WWE wrestling yet?"

"Jesus, I'll say. Those boys are tough. They beat the shit out of me, love, no joke." He pulled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt so she could see his forearm. There was a slight bluish discoloration just below his elbow. "Have a look at the bruises they put on me, the little wankers," he said plaintively.

"Poor baby!" she clucked. "Come here and I'll kiss them better."

He gave her his arm, then bent to let her kiss his cheeks and eyelids. "Mmm. That's what I needed. Feels good."

"All better now?"

"Yep. What are you doing, love?"

She took a knife and began slicing bread. "Some of the folks are hungry; they want sandwiches. After all, it's been three whole hours since we had dinner," she said, grinning facetiously.

"I could go for a sammie," Russ admitted. "Ya gonna wait on me while I go flirt with your Mum, or do I have to make it myself?"

Stevie rolled her eyes. "Go on, Maximus, unleash hell on another one of my family's females. Make another conquest. You won't be happy until you have us all swooning at our feet, will you?"

"Nope," he agreed, grinning. "Not that it's been all that hard to do, either. You lot are easy marks, love."

He chuckled at her exaggerated sigh and skipped to the side when she swiped at him with a rolled up dishtowel. There was a bit of a swagger in his step as went into the dining room and sat next to Stevie's mother at the table full of aunts and cousins. "Hullo there, dear." He widened his eyes, gave her an admiring glance. "Crikey, it's not hard to see where Stevie gets her looks, is it then?" he asked the company at large, smiling at their delightedly proud faces. Here was their own Mary Ann, with a famous movie star complimenting her and dating her daughter! Russ leaned in confidentially; and they all leaned with him, determined not to miss anything he said.

A grinning Stevie watched as Russ, winked at her Aunt Bess and went to work on her Mum.

"So how are you then, love?" he rumbled. "Did you work hard all day, cooking for the masses? You don't look it…ya look more like Stevie's sis than her mum. Did you know that my own mum and dad were caterers? My mum's one hell of a good cook…"

With just a few words he charmed and disarmed Stevie's relatives out of their edgy apprehension to delighted, if reserved, flirtation.

"No we're not easy marks," Stevie thought to herself as she made his sandwich. She kept an ear cocked to his rumbling voice as Russ launched into an abbreviated version of his childhood story, telling them all about his family and what it was like to grow up in Australia and New Zealand. "It's you, you're just…what? What are you anyhow, Russell?" She cast about in her mind for a moment, trying to think of the right word for Russell Crowe at his most charming. At last it came.

"You're devastating….just absolutely devastating. And what woman can resist that? What woman would want to?"

w

That night they lay in bed together, her feet on top of his, rubbing lazily up and down his legs, their arms folded loosely around each other, and talked about the day. "Did you really like my family?" Stevie asked him, her eyes glittering in the dim light.

"Fair dinkum, I did. Especially the kids," Russ said. "Had a great time today, love. Thanks again for having my mates here."

"You don't need to thank me; I wanted to do it…besides, it was a good time. I'm glad they were here; it was great to be with them, 'specially Mark and Lourene." She squeezed him tight. "And it was wonderful to be with you all day." Stevie snuggled closer, her face tucked into his throat. He felt her breath on his neck as she murmured, "God, I'm so glad nobody embarrassed you. I was worried about Mike…."

He chuckled, said, "No worries, sweetheart. She's a character though, isn't she, then? Lots of fun." He kissed her forehead. "You're tired, baby. Go to sleep."

"'kay. 'Night Russ."

" Sweet dreams, darlin'."

"Of you," she breathed. "Always of you."

He kissed her forehead again, waited until her breathing was deep and even, then pressed his lips to her hair. "I love you, Stevie," he whispered, and drifted off to sleep holding her close to his heart.

w

Filming resumed on Friday, bright and early. Stevie was taking Mike to the set; they had a lunch date with Russ. It was 8:00, he was long gone to work, and Mike had called three times already when the phone rang again. Stevie snatched it up and barked into the receiver.

"Mikey, you're driving me fuckin' nuts! I don't give a shit what you wear and I doubt Russ does either."

A deep voice growled, "You bet your sweet arse I don't care what your sister wears. But you---well, that's a different kettle of fish. What do you have on, baby? Hmm? Nothing, I hope….or maybe that sexy black lace job. You haven't worn that for me in a while."

"That's because nothing stays on around you, mate. What's the point?"

Russ flicked his eyebrows rapidly up and down. What could he say to that? It was true.
She heard him drag on his cigarette and exhale the smoke. "So---are you naked now?" he rumbled, his voice going deeper, quieter, enclosing them both in a web of sensuousness.

Stevie purred into the phone. "Mmm hmm. Just got out of the shower, I'm still dripping."

He paused for a delicious moment, closing his eyes to picture Stevie wet, naked, and ready. If he were there, he'd lick every drop of that water from her; she'd have no need of a towel.

Stevie heard the catch in his breath and chuckled silently. "Do you wish you were here?" she teased throatily. "You didn't have your nightcap yesterday."

"Because you were knackered, baby…and I'm a considerate lover. But when you come today, we can take care of things."

Stevie laughed. "How do you think we'll manage that, with Mike sticking to you like a burr in a dog's tail?"

Another drag on his cigarette. "Don't worry, it'll be apples. I'll slag her off on one of the PAs and Bob's your uncle.

"Oh yeah? And then what? You'll shag me senseless in your RV?"

He snorted. "Right you are, love. You'll be walking bandy-legged when I get done with you."

w

Russ was friendly and attentive to Mike through lunch, though he seemed to be hurrying through it. She ate her chicken salad faster to keep up with him, but couldn't. She'd never seen anyone eat so quickly; he was all but inhaling his steak sandwich. Even Stevie was rushing, pushed her lunch away before it was half done. As Mike sipped her iced tea, Russell waved to a nice looking young girl with a dark ponytail and glasses who seemed to be waiting. She bounded over, eager and anxious to please.

"Yes, Mr. Crowe?"

"I want you to take my friend here on a tour of the set. Show her all the points of interest---take her to make-up and costume and let her see how it's done. I'll meet you both back here in----say an hour? I need to go over some lines and this lady," he indicated Stevie, "is going to give me a hand."

Give him a hand. Stevie almost burst into giggles, but restrained herself to a grin. Mike gave her the fisheye and cocked her head at them both.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm being gotten rid of?" she asked suspiciously.

"Go with the nice young lady, Mike---do what you're told for once," urged Stevie. "Russ really does need a hand."

"I'm going, I'm going," groused Mike, glancing back to the PA who stood off at a discreet distance, waiting. "But if one hair on your head is out of place when I come back, your ass is grass! I'll never let you live it down."

Russ leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Fuck off for a bit, Mikey….there's a love."

Mike grinned. "I'll fuck off, all right. But you owe me, buddy---you promised me a personal tour. And deals like that don't come around every day."

"Get moving, or I'll tell Fergus you grabbed my arse," Russ threatened.

Mikey grinned. "Hey! That's it! That's what you owe me! A chance to feel up your bum-with both hands!" She jumped up from the table as he mock-lunged for her. "I'll collect later," she called over her shoulder. "Bye you two!"

w

He was on her the moment the door closed behind them, his hands plunged into her hair and dragged her mouth to his. He made muted, throaty moans that were half grunt and half groan, an almost pleading sound. Stevie leaned into him and took his tongue into her mouth, sucking it gently, rhythmically, while she ran her hands over the width of his back, her fingers digging, kneading the muscles of his shoulders. His hands left her hair and cupped her buttocks, pulling her into him, matching the thrust of his hips to the thrusting of her tongue.

"I'm going to fuck you into the middle of next week," he promised, his breath coming ragged and fast. "I can't stand going without you for this long."

"Honey, it's been less than 24 hours….it hasn't been long," Stevie protested.

His face was in her hair, his lips plucking at her lobe and kissing the shell of her ear. He whispered, "It's been too long for me. I need you, Stevie. I need you to fuck me, baby."

She shoved at him and he dropped down into the easy chair. "No fucking," she said. "You said you needed a hand, and that's what you're going to get."

She ran her hands over his chest, under the Depression era jacket he wore, and down onto his thighs, stroking with a light, teasing touch. She made short work of his belt buckle and the button and zip of his pants, tugging at them, indicating she wanted him to lift his hips so that she could pull them off. She took his cock into his hands and began tugging on it gently, pulling and milking. A drop of liquid appeared in the slit and she thumbed over it, working it into his skin.

While he loved having her hands on him, it wasn't enough. "Stevie, hon…. I want to be in you," Russ insisted, reaching for her. She eluded him.

"No. I want to do this," she breathed. "It'll be good for you baby. I promise."

His cock was already rock hard, standing proudly up from the thatch of hair in his groin. Stevie leaned over to breathe on it and Russ hissed in anticipation, but she didn't take him into her mouth. Instead, she kissed it lightly then began to slowly unbutton the white cotton shirt she wore, making a show of it, teasing him. His eyes never left her fingers until the last button was open; he reached out and drew the shirt from her shoulders. Her bra had a front hook; he made short work of that and then her breasts were in his hands. He kneaded them gently, his thumbs gliding over the nipples until they hardened.

"God, I love your tits," he murmured, admiring the way they filled his hands. "Come up here, baby, let me taste."

Stevie climbed into his lap, a knee on both sides of his thighs, and leaned back so that he could reach her breasts with his mouth.

"Sit on my cock," he implored in a husky whisper.

"No."

He drove upward with his hips, but she avoided him. He groaned, "Stevie, Christ! You're driving me mad!"

She put a hand under each breast and offered them to him, leaning closer until her nipple brushed his lips. "Suck them, baby. Make me feel good," she begged him.

"Oh Christ, yes!" Russ panted, and took her nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and then nipping gently with his teeth.

"Mmmm…. More," Stevie sighed, snaking a hand into his hair and holding his head to her. She caught her breath as lowered his hand to her crotch and stroked her. "Ah! Feels good, baby."

He licked at each nipple and then nursed hard, drawing them to stand as proudly upright as his cock. Stevie dropped her head and kissed him, her tongue drove into his mouth to lick at his teeth and lips. She slid down to the floor and nudged his legs apart. Russ slouched in the chair, his buttocks over the edge, his bolt waving eagerly. Stevie leaned forward and licked it until it was glistening wet, then captured it between her breasts. She moved up and down slowly, squeezing her breasts around him.

Russ arched his neck as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Ah Jesus, Jesus!" he cursed, gasping. "Stevie, baby! Yeah, mmmm. So good, love." He began rocking his hips, the motion instinctive and primal. "Harder, wank me harder."

She let her breasts go and took him into her hands, one grasping his shaft and one cupping his tightly drawn scrotum. She began stroking evenly, rounding over his cockhead.

He put his large hand over her small one and tightened his fist, squeezing himself. Together they stroked him until Russ was grunting softly, his hips driving, straining upward. His eyes closed, his breath slammed through his nostrils as he strove toward orgasm. When she knew he was close, Stevie pulled her hand away and dropped her mouth over him, her hands moving up to pull at his nipples. He moaned at the blast of sensation as she drew hard on his cock, her tongue warm and wet against the underside. It was too much. He exploded into her mouth, his orgasm coming hard as he cried out his pleasure and pumped her full.

He lay against the back of the chair, his heavy lidded eyes on her as she licked at him, cleaning him, worshipping him. He slid a gentle hand into her hair and caressed her head, then gathered her hair into his hand and tugged at it.

"Come up here to me."

Stevie slid up his body, her eyes locked on his, blazing with heat. He captured her mouth and kissed her hard, driving his tongue between her lips as his hand crept into her open jeans and cupped her. One finger slid into her sex and began stroking, at first gently, and then harder as she bucked her hips and pressed herself into his hand. Now it was Stevie's turn to writhe uncontrollably, to moan and pant and strive for release. When it came she clutched his hand and stilled it: as sensitized as she was, the pleasure was so intense it was almost painful.

He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good?"

She sighed and leaned against him. "Good," she agreed. "It's always good."

He nuzzled into her neck. "Bloody oath. Better than it's ever been, for me."

She pulled back and looked at him, astonishment written plain on her face.

His smile was crooked, almost shy. "What, you think I'm just saying that?"

Stevie shrugged. "It's not that I think you'd lie to me, it's just that…." She hesitated, unsure of how to go on.

"You think I've had so many women that you can't compare?"

She gave him a self-conscious half-smile and admitted, "Yes."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes burning with an intensity she couldn't read.

"I didn't love them," he said at last and waited, watching her face.

Under a rush of warmth and rejoicing she could hardly contain, Stevie felt the tears come. She closed her eyes and lowered her head.

"Russ…"

He slid his fingers under her chin and raised it. "No, don't hide your face. Look at me. Love me," he whispered, a pleading note in his voice that she had not heard before. "Say you love me, or I'll…."

"Shhh," she hushed him, leaning in until her lips brushed against his. "I love you. My God, how I love you..."

Blessed relief washed over him; he tightened his hold on her. "Are you sure? It hasn't been very long for us, but it's been intense…"

"I'm sure. I knew almost at once. But I was afraid to tell you, afraid you'd think I was just another…."

He rubbed his thumb over her mouth, said, "Don't ever be afraid to tell me anything, Stevie. Not you. The only thing I never want to hear from you is 'goodbye'." He buried his face in her hair, moved his lips to her ear. "You know I'd do anything for you, don't you, baby? Nobody else in this world can say that but you. And you know why I would? Because I trust you. You're so good, Stevie, so honest. You'll never hurt me, you'll never leave me. I love you, sweetheart. I love you."

The need, the longing in his voice and words tore at her, and she marveled at how different the man was from the perception. He wanted assurances from her, he wanted a promise, and she saw that he was almost afraid to ask for it. But he didn't need to ask; she was willing to give her life to him with no conditions, no hesitation.

"I will never leave you, Russ," she whispered, her cheek against his. "I'll always love you. My heart is yours."

w

Nick's Fat City was packed with people waiting to see The Clarks. They were a local band and immensely popular; the show had sold out the morning the tickets were put on sale, but Russell, remembering the night he'd met Stevie and how she'd urged him to go and see them, told Mark to call the manager of the club. By noon, four tickets for the evening's performance were waiting at the box office for Mr. Crowe. Russ sent Mark to pick them up and that night, as a surprise present for her, he and Stevie, with Mark and Lourene, went to the club.

Russ drank his beer and looked around, interested in everything. Nick's was much like the venues he played with his own band, smaller houses that held 600 to 1000 people at the most. There were several bars, a dance floor, and a ring of tables on the perimeter, and upstairs, another bar with tables in the balcony overlooking the stage. Russell was wearing his 'everyman disguise' that night---a pair of shades, NYPD ball cap pulled low on his forehead, flannel shirt and jeans. He no more looked like a film star than any of the guys there at Nick's, and he kept a low profile, sitting at a table in a dark corner with his chair pulled close to Stevie's, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. When the server came, he used an American accent to order another round of beers. Stevie winked and grinned at him. This was fun, like playing a joke on the entire crowd of people at Nick's.

They made it through the first set without him being recognized and then their luck ran out. He was mobbed during the break by a crowd of women begging autographs---Russ obliged them---and kisses---they were told to piss off. The atmosphere of the club was electric and edgy, and after a while, the mood of the crowd changed subtly, grew darker, more frenetic, and Stevie began to get nervous. The women waiting for autographs were getting more excited by the minute and the buzz around him rose louder and louder. Stevie, backing away to escape the press of bodies had gotten separated from Russ and now she could hardly see him over the mass of energized females that surrounded him. Russell felt their mood too and became wary; he'd been in similar situations where things had gotten out of hand in the blink of an eye. He decided he'd had enough and signaled to Mark to clear a way out. The women closed around him, a ripple ran through the crowd when they saw he was leaving, everyone tried to hold him there for one more autograph, one more brief moment of contact.

Russ yelled to Mark, "Where the fuck is Stevie?" and Mark muscled his way to her and grabbed her by the arm. With him in front and Lourene bringing up the rear, they made it out of the club, leaving just as the band was taking the stage for the second set. Mark slipped them out of a back door to be hustled into a waiting SUV, driven by one of the guards who had come to Thanksgiving dinner. Stevie was more relieved than she was willing to admit when the car door closed and locked behind her. She clutched Russell's hand; he felt her tremble.

"Well, that was fun while it lasted, mates. Where to now?" asked Mark, looking over his shoulder into the back seat where Stevie sat between Russell and Lourene. Apparently, the incident had no effect on him. If anything, he looked exhilarated and ready for more.

Russ bent and peered into Stevie's face. Was she that upset over what happened? He wondered why, because on a scale of 1 to 10, this incident had been less than 1, nothing to get worried about. The crowd had been polite and easy going until right at the end; there had been no problems at all, really. Russ frowned. He didn't want to see her upset, but she was going to have to get used to this sort of thing. It happened all the time. He kept his eyes on hers, said, "I dunno…Stevie? Babe, you want to go somewhere else?"

"Up to you," Stevie said, looking up at him. "You're the one who's being mobbed…." She let the sentence trail off and waited, hoping Russ would say he was done for the night. She squeezed her eyes closed in relief when he told the driver to take them home, to Rolling Hills Drive.

She invited everyone in for coffee and leftover pie, but at some subtle signal from Russ, Mark and Lourene begged off and took the security man with them. Russ wanted to be alone with her tonight; he wanted to talk about their future and especially to make plans for the upcoming holidays. Because of this show tonight, they'd barely had a moment alone since afternoon, when they'd opened up and admitted what each of them had already known. So now, instead of dragging her off to bed like he wanted to, instead of holding her and telling her he loved her again, he asked for a cup of tea and they sat at the kitchen table while they waited for the water to boil.

"So. You were scared tonight?" He took a deep drag from his cigarette and fiddled restlessly with his lighter. Flick. On. Off. Flick. On. Off.

It was obvious to Stevie that he was nervous, apprehensive about what she was going to say. Her eyes stayed on his fingers and the flame. On. Off. On. Off. She replied quietly, "Not scared so much as…appalled. I was just starting to be frightened when we left." She tore her eyes away from his lighter and looked at him. "This happens to you all the time, doesn't it?"

He made a face of resignation. "Yeah."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

Russ shrugged; what could he do about it except take the precautions he was already taking? He said, "Right after all the kidnapping shit, yeah, it worried me a bit. Never knew who was in the crowd, if somebody was just mixing in with the fans to get close enough to make the snatch, you know? I rarely let people get that close now without more security, but tonight was supposed to be low key---sneak in, watch the show, sneak out. If that sheila hadn't recognized me and started the whole shivoo, things would have been apples."

Her eyes seemed to pin him. "When you say 'more security,' what are you talking about, Russ?"

He ran a hand through his hair and dragged heavily on the cigarette. She wasn't going to like his answer; he knew that, but he couldn't lie or try to make it sound less intrusive than it was. They'd been living an almost normal life together since they'd met; nobody had picked up on where he was staying or with who until tonight. But the 'normal' stuff was over now. The press would sniff him out and worse yet, probe and dig until they found out about Stevie. He hated to tell her; he knew it was going to be a problem, but he wanted nothing but truth between them at all times.

Smoke streamed from his nostrils as he replied, "I mean more of my cavalry. Maybe four guys, with local coppers to help out. Back when the kidnappers were after me, I had some FBI guys with me all the time."

She blinked in astonishment and her voice went up a notch. "So that means you have what? Six men around you whenever you go any place? Where have they been? The only ones I've ever seen with you are Mark and a driver."

He saw that she was disturbed and tried to soothe her. "Don't get upset, hon…most times, Mark is all I need. It's only the high profile appearances that warrant all those people. Unless the shit hits the fan in the media, we'll be fine with just Mark and another bloke. I'll get you your own guy, someone to stay with you all the time, and that'll be it for the most part."

Stevie swallowed hard. "Someone to stay with me all the time? You mean stay here, go everywhere I go?"

Russell nodded. "Yeah. For now, that's what I want. I don't want anyone getting close to you." He reached across the table and took her hand. "I know it's a big change for you, but it's necessary. You don't know, you have no idea what a pain in the arse these media types can be. I'm trying to protect you from all that…"

She sighed tiredly. "No, I didn't know---don't know." She sounded defeated, angry, distressed, and Russ felt a chill of apprehension. Eyes on his, she tried a feeble joke. "Seems to me the guards would be as much of a pain as the media….can't I just go without them?"

Russ shook his head slowly. "Stevie…honey. I'm sorry. I know it's hard."

Stevie pulled her hand back; it was a tiny sign of rejection that cut him cruelly. Russ felt sick at the thought of her leaving him over this; it had happened to him before, his lover deciding she couldn't adjust to life in a fishbowl. Pain bloomed in his head and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. "Well," Stevie was saying, "if I have to, I have to. What else don't I know about going out with a celebrity?"

Apprehension made him petulant and irritable. "Going out with me? Don't you mean loving me?" Russ snapped angrily. "Do you think I go to all this fucking trouble for every sheila I date?"

There it was, the temper Lourene had warned her about. Stevie's face closed down as soon as he spoke. Behind them on the stove, the kettle whistled. She didn't answer his question, but got up to make their tea.

An unreasonable flare of fury made his eyes go flat and hard, his voice cold.

"Goddammit! Answer me! Don't turn away like I didn't fucking talk to you!"

She looked over her shoulder at him in astonishment. "I didn't turn away from you; I'm making us a cup of tea, like you asked me to." Her brows drew together in a scowl as irritation took over. "And you just take it easy, buster!" Stevie reacted hotly. "I'm thinking about all this. I'm dealing with something new to me. Give me a minute, will you?"

"What's there to think about? I told you; it's necessary. For your protection as well as mine."

Stevie rounded on him, her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean? Don't you trust me? Do you want to keep those reporters away because you're afraid I might tell them something about you?" She tossed the teaspoon she was holding into the sink; it clattered against the stainless steel.

He shifted in his seat, seemed ready to jump out of his skin. "Bloody fucking hell! I didn't say that, did I?"

"But that's what you meant!"

"I did not mean it that way," he ground out, almost shouting 'not'.

She turned back to the mugs of tea and took a deep calming breath. "Fine. Whatever. Let's drop it, Russ. We're both getting really pissed here."

He spoke with derision and sarcasm in his tone. "Fuck yeah, I'm getting pissed! You'd think I was asking you do something ridiculous. We're talking about being safe, here. We're talkin' about protection."

Stevie replied through gritted teeth. "Okay! I heard you! I understand."

Russell's temper was getting away from him and he didn't care. He let it loose to rampage, stared at her, his eyes sparking fury. "I don't think you do, love," he countered furiously. "I don't think you understand a bloody thing about what it's like to be surrounded by a raft of strangers, never knowing if one of them is out to snatch you away or take a fuckin' shot at you to get their name in the papers…. Fuck's sake, do you think I like living my life this way?"

"No, I do not! No sane person would. Here's your tea." She set it down in front of him harder than she'd intended to, and the tea leapt in the cup, sloshing onto the table. Russ slid the chair back to keep it from dripping onto his legs.

"F'Chrissakes, Stevie!" he barked. "Watch out, that's hot!"

She gave him a withering stare, then tossed him a napkin. Was he going to make an issue out of everything now that he was pissed off? His superior, niggling attitude was making her furious; she was growing hotter by the minute.

"Why don't you over-react a little, movie star?" she sneered sarcastically.

He stared at her; his eyes, normally so warm and full of love, now cold and hard. Stevie felt a twinge of remorse at her cutting remark, but was too proud and angry to take it back. She stalked out of the kitchen and grabbed her jacket and purse from the chair. Russ leapt up from his chair and, as she was shrugging into her coat, took her by the arm and swung her to face him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, all but pulsing with anger.

"Let go! I'm going for a ride to cool off. This conversation is going nowhere I want it to go---I need a little time to get my head together."

"If you leave now, in the middle of this discussion, don't count on me being here when you get back," he said furiously, then immediately regretted making the ultimatum. Throwing down the gauntlet was never a good idea…was he crazy? Was he stupid? What if she said 'go'?

Stevie jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Don't touch me just now, Russ. I'm not afraid of you hurting me, but I can't stand feeling such anger in you. Let me alone." She went to the door and jerked it open, then gasped and froze.

The street in front of the house was full of cars and news vans, some with satellite equipment on their roofs. As soon as she'd opened the door, a battery of high-powered lights came on that almost blinded her.

"Holy Mother of God!" breathed Stevie, rigid with shock.

Russ came to her side and looked out too. More lights flashed, the cameras were rolling. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he roared. He slammed the door closed and dragged Stevie away, exploding into profane rage.

"Fucking bloodsucking bastards!"

Though dazed and shocked by the presence of the reporters outside, she still had sense enough to see that his face was a dull mottled red, and his eyes! They were slitted half closed and fairly snapped with ferocity.

Russell jabbed a finger toward the door and spat furiously, "There! Do you see now? Do you fucking see why minders are necessary? Nothing is sacred to these bastards. Nothing! They'd come into the loo and crawl up your arse to get a goddamn picture."

Shaken, she stared silently at him until the phone began ringing, a shrill interruption of the tension between them. Walking like an automaton, Stevie went to answer but Russ stayed her hand and barked, "Wait! Check the ID first."

Stevie glanced at the phone. "It's my neighbor. Okay?" At his nod, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Stevie? It's Karen, hon. Is everything all right over there? My God, the street's full of news vans….did something happen?"

She turned her back to Russ and spoke quietly into the phone. "Everything's fine, Karen. Really. Just ignore it if you can." Though her words were soothing, the nervous tremor in her voice gave her away.

Karen said incredulously, "Ignore it? Are you nuts? Listen, do you need me? Are you sure you're okay? I'm coming over!"

Stevie drew a calming breath and said quietly, "I'm fine, I really am, and I'm not alone. Don't worry, and don't come over. I'll explain when I can, but it's truly nothing. I'm not in danger, I'm not sick, I'm not crazy. Okay?"

Karen sounded unsure. "If you say so," she conceded, "but let me know if you need me, hon. In the meantime, I'm calling the police to see if we can get rid of these people. For God's sake, it's one in the morning! Don't they know we're all trying to sleep?"

"I doubt they care," replied Stevie, rubbing her forehead wearily. She was suddenly exhausted. "But you go ahead and call the police, and I will too. Maybe they can get rid of them. Good night, Karen. And thanks for calling, thanks for caring."

Stevie turned from the phone to face Russ. He was watching her like a cat at a mouse hole, his eyes both wary and wounded. She saw that his hands were clenched into fists; he seemed almost to vibrate with nervous intensity, and suddenly she understood. He was afraid---not of the reporters, not of the notoriety for himself. He was afraid of what it would do to her, to them. He thought it would drive her away from him, and she had to admit, he was right to worry. She hated this attention, hated the thought of living her life under constant scrutiny because she loved a famous man.

But that was her dilemma, because she did love him. Loved him madly, completely, far too much to walk away, no matter how many reporters camped on her lawn or kidnappers threatened her. Looking at him now, standing there radiating tension and uncertainty, her heart ached for him and she saw what she needed to do to get them both past this hideous night with its strain and resentment and argument. Stevie stepped closer to Russell and into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder, a deliberate act of submission intended to comfort and assure him. His response was immediate; his arms tightened almost painfully around her and he buried his face in her hair. Stevie felt his breath as he sighed, felt his arms tremble with suppressed tension. She raised her face and his lips were there, waiting for hers. He kissed her almost brutally, his desperation and relief plain in the pressure of his mouth on hers.

"Stevie," he murmured into her hair. "Baby, I'm sorry. Say it doesn't make a difference. Tell me you won't leave me, say you still love me…"

Her fingers, intertwined at his waist, tightened and she pulled him closer. "Shhh, baby. I love you, Russ. I'm not going to leave you. It will take more than this to drive me away."

He sank against her. "Thank Christ," he whispered, his lips at her ear. "Thank Christ; you scared bloody hell out of me…"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so difficult, but don't worry. I won't leave you, baby. I swear I won't."

"That's my girl," he said softly. He drew a deep calming breath that shuddered in his chest. "It's okay, we'll be okay," he murmured, and she wondered if he was talking to himself. "As long as we're cool, I'll put up with the bullshit." He rested against her for a long moment then lifted his head. "Speaking of bullshit, it's time for damage control. Let me call Mark. We'll need him to come over."

"Go right ahead, call Mark, but I'm calling the police too!" insisted Stevie. "They can't do this to my neighbors; there are ordinances against public nuisance in Whitehall!" She sounded so righteously indignant, it broke his tension and made him smile.

"Okie dokie love, you call the cops and I'll get Mark. Maybe between them, they can clear that lot out of here and then we'll pack up and leave, go to the Trimont and set up camp there. The fuckers haven't found out about that place yet, or Mark would have sussed them."

Stevie opened her mouth to protest against leaving her home, then decided against it. If that's what he felt they had to do, then she'd go along quietly. She couldn't face another argument tonight.

w

They lay together in his huge bed in the apartment at the Trimont, Russ spooned up behind Stevie, arms around her, face in her hair, feet tucked under hers. His body was in contact with hers in every place he could touch her; he felt like he wanted to absorb Stevie, take her inside himself. He went back over their argument tonight, thought how near she'd been to walking out of the house. Thank Christ the sight of those reporters had stopped her, because he'd been angry enough to leave, too-and then who knows what would have happened? Bad shit, that's what. Maybe the end? He didn't think so; he never wanted his relationship with Stevie to end. Somehow, he would have fixed things, apologized, done or said something to make it up to her. Christ, he believed he would have kidnapped her himself if nothing else worked. Kidnapped her and kept her prisoner until she forgave him.

He rubbed his cheek against the silk of her hair and whispered, "Stevie?"

"Hmmm?" she sounded sleepy and he regretted disturbing her. It was, after all, very late-almost morning, in fact, but he wanted to talk.

He said without preface, "I want you to come home to Oz with me."

After a slight pause she turned to face him and he saw her eyes glitter in the dim light. "Really? When?"

"As soon as shooting wraps here," he said, brushing her hair back from her face. "Ron promised us a decent break---long enough to span Christmas and New Year's. I want to go home and see my family, and I want you to come with me. I want them to meet you-know you." He kissed her forehead. "Will you come?"

Stevie nodded. "Yes."

Russ had been holding his breath; he was no longer as sure of her as he had been. But her answer relieved him, he smiled into the darkness. "Sweet!" he said approvingly. He squeezed her gently. "God, you make me so happy, Stevie. I love you, darlin'."

"I love you too, babe." She squeezed him back. "Tell me about home. Where is home? Mikey says you have a house in Sydney and a farm someplace else. I forget where she said."

He chuckled. "Christ, your sister's over the top, isn't she love?"

"Where you're concerned, just a tad," agreed Stevie with a wry smile. "How she's going to deal with having you in her face all the time, I have no idea." She chuckled, thinking of the ways she could torture her sister, and then brought her attention back to Russell. "So---if you have two houses, where do you spend your holidays?"

"Holidays? I'm talking about Chrissie."

Puzzled, Stevie lifted her head. "Who's Chrissie?"

"Who's Chrissie? Ya nong, Chrissy is Christmas. Short for it, ya know?"

Stevie lay back down. "Oh jeez! Strine again."

"You'll have to learn it, love. Can't live there without speaking the lingo."

Her head came up off the pillow again. She stared down at him, lolling against his pillow with his hand beneath his cheek and a smirking grin on his face. She said cautiously, "Live there? I thought I was coming for the holidays…"

Russ reached up and dragged her face down to his. He kissed her tenderly. "Where I come from, holidays mean a vacation, love…and I want more than a vacation with you. Maybe you'll like it there enough to stay. Maybe you like me enough to stay with me forever…"

She said nothing, simply stared at him, her expression solemn and intense. "Are you serious, Russ. Really serious?"

"Girl, don't you listen?" he drawled, switching to a lazy American drawl. "What the fuck do ya think I've been saying to you all day? I love you, Stevie. I want you with me all the time. I want to marry you."

Her eyes filled with quick tears. "Marry? Ah, Russ. Sweetheart." She lay her head on his chest and listened to his heart. It was beating fast and hard beneath her cheek.

"Ah Russ? Ah Russ? That's all you got to say? What the fuck does 'ah Russ' mean? Is it good or bad? Jesus, Stevie, you're killing me here!"

"Shh." She lifted her head and kissed him tenderly. "It's good."

His fingers stole into her hair. "Then you will? Marry me?"

She nodded. "Yes. Because I can't imagine living even a single day without you now."

His heart felt like it was expanding in his chest; he was overcome by a trembling, soaring, flood of happiness. "Ah, sweetheart. You don't know what that means to me, hearing you say that." He massaged her scalp, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and said hesitantly, as if to prod her to certainty. "You don't think it's too quick? We've only been together a fortnight."

"Hell yes, I think it's too quick," Stevie chuckled. "We're both crazy!"

Russ let loose with his amazing giggle, relieved that she felt like he did, and that she seemed sure. "It is crazy, love…but it's right. I know it."

"Me too." Stevie nestled in his arms. "But we don't have to make it legal right away. We can wait---oh, say a month or so." She was smiling; he caught the gleam of her teeth and eyes in the semi-darkness and pulled her into his chest.

"Wait a month? That long? Well, whatever you say, love. Just not too long, okay? I'm ready when you are. Fuck, I'm ready now." He patted her contentedly and asked, "Do you fancy a big wedding, Stevie? You know, the long white dress, bridesmaids all in a row, the rellies in to celebrate?"

She shrugged, peculiarly disinterested in the mechanics. "That's up to you too. I've already had a wedding like that; I don't need another one. But you've never been married, so maybe that's something you'd like." She cuddled him closer. "You tell me what you want, and that's what we'll do."

His voice rumbled in his chest. "Well, I'd like to be married at home, in Oz. Okay with you?"

Stevie shrugged. "Okay with me. Probably not okay with my family, but you come first. If you want to be married in Australia, it'll be there. If you want me to wear a long white dress, I'll wear it. If you want me to have a row of bridesmaids, then you'll have to pay for my sister and girlfriends to fly to Australia---unless you want to line up all your old girlfriends for me," she teased.

He pinched her bum, hard enough to make her squeal. "No, no. We'll have none of that," he growled. "No old girlfriends at the wedding, love." He raised his eyebrows and looked at her speculatively. "And no old boyfriends, either," he warned. "Will your family kick a big fuss, really?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe not. But don't worry, it doesn't matter what they want. What matters to me is what you want." She snuggled closer still, threw a leg over his hip. "My precious honey baby sweetie darling," she cooed, "gets whatever he wants." She thought a moment and qualified, "This time, anyway." She pressed kisses to his chest, his shoulder, and finally his lips. He bussed her quickly and then held her off when she would have taken it farther.

"Hold on a tick, ya wild woman! I'm talking, here. What do you think of a wedding at New Year's?" Russ pressed. "I usually have a bash then anyway; we could make it bigger and do the whole shivoo at once. I'll fly your family over, whoever you want. We'll charter a fuckin' plane, bring 'em all at once. What do you reckon?"

"Is that what you want to do? That will make you happy?"

"If you're happy, then I'm happy, love. Really. If you want everybody there, we'll do it."

"Hmmm," mused Stevie. "Where's this nasty surly bastard I've heard about? What did you do with him?"

Russ brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, suddenly serious. "He's in here, love. Believe it. Just that mostly he's calmer around you."

Stevie gazed up at him. "Baby, I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Oh yeah? What about all that stuff I tell you when we're doing the naughty?"

"Oh, that. That's not sweet, that's hot. That's meant to rev me up."

"Mmmm. And does it work?"

"You know it does. It's amazing, what your voice does to me."

"Sexy bastard, am I?"

"Uh huh. Very sexy. Very hot. I could eat you up." She waited, expecting him to begin the delicious kissing and caressing that was the prelude to his lovemaking, but he surprised her. He spoke hesitantly, as though for once, he was unsure of himself.

"Stevie…hon?"

"Hmmm?"

"What do ya reckon, can we have a baby soon? I mean, you don't want to wait years or anything, do you love? I'm not getting any younger and I want a kid so much… Christ, I've wanted kids for years now."

'Well,' Stevie thought, astonished. 'That is certainly not what I was expecting!' She grinned against his chest. "So you want to knock me up right away, do you? You don't want to take a little time to get used to each other?"

"Well, yeah. A bit, maybe. But I figure I'm already used to you, and I want to start a baby." A thought dawned on him. "I never asked---you're not on those depo shots or anything, are ya? That could hold things up for fuckin' months…"

Stevie shook her head. "How's this for stupid? I'm not on any kind of birth control at all. I didn't need to be, until you came along."

He drew back and looked at her, astounded. "What? You mean to say we've been playing with fire these last two weeks?"

"Ummm, yeah. We have been. Or rather, I have been."

He was silent, thinking. "Why would you take a chance like that, love?"

"Oh, it wasn't really taking a chance. I wasn't fertile; I counted back, and I knew it was safe. Besides, I never thought that this would become what it has. I thought I was in for a one-night stand, maybe two. Besides, once we did it without one, I didn't want to use condoms. I wanted to feel you inside me, not latex."

Russell gazed at her with a half smile on his lips. Stevie ducked her head, suddenly ashamed. "It was stupid, I know. Irresponsible. Reckless. Totally out of character for me."

His expression was intense. "So when are you due? You know, to have your period?"

"The seventh of December. Which means I should ovulate right about now. In fact, I'm pretty sure I am ovulating; I can usually tell, and the signs are there. That's why yesterday and today, I kinda discouraged you from having intercourse." She flopped over on her back. "So---no more bare-backing for us, hon. Time to use those condoms. Better lay in a big supply." She winked broadly, for while they were talking, she'd realized he was hard. Now he half turned and began rocking gently against her as he nuzzled into the place where her neck joined her shoulder.

"No. No frangers," he whispered, placing soft persuasive kisses on the tender skin of her shoulder. "Let's go for it now, Stevie. Make a baby with me, sweetheart." He took her hand and kissed it, licked along her knuckles until he took her fingers into his mouth, sucking lightly. As he drew them out, he kissed her fingertips and said quietly and so seriously she knew he meant it, "I love you, I want to spend my life with you. I want you to give me a child. Hell, I want you to give me at least three kids. We'll have our 'just us' time when they've grown up."

Stevie gazed over his shoulder into the semi-darkness as he kissed his way down her body. This was an incredibly important decision he was asking her to make on the spur of the moment, especially with the distraction of his mouth on her skin. They should think about it, discuss things. After all, they weren't even married yet, and she didn't like to think of their child being conceived out of wedlock. Stevie was enough of an old-fashioned girl to consider a pregnancy begun before the sanctification of marriage a mistake. But as she looked down at his chestnut head as it traveled over her belly, kissing, caressing, she felt a rush of warmth and tenderness.

'As if any of that really matters now,' she chided herself, thinking of Eric and how she'd missed her chance once before. 'I should know better---I do know better,' she thought, watching the man she loved as he worshipped her. 'Life is short, we should make each other happy while we can.'

She reached out and tugged at a strand of hair. Russ lifted his head and looked at her, and her breath caught in her chest. The emotion in his eyes, so full of love, so full of longing, convinced her that any child they might conceive this night would be blessed with an abundance of love from his parents and would bring his father especially, great joy.

She whispered, for a normal voice seemed too harsh for the moment. "Russell, you're right. Let's try to make a baby now, tonight."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked back the mist that quickened in his eyes. He felt as if he should thank her, but he knew she wouldn't want that from him. She would just want him to love her, and so, lowering his head to pull a kiss from her lips, he began.

He spent long minutes on her mouth, tasting her, using his tongue to stroke hers and the inside of her lips. She whimpered low in her throat, and he moved to her neck and shoulders, sucking the skin gently, licking her to savor every inch. Down to the curve of her breasts, farther to take a pink nipple between his teeth and lavish it with his tongue. He gave each breast, each turgid nipple, his adoring attention, and then he crawled lower to the mound of her sex and kissed it almost reverently before sliding his tongue between the folds that hid her clitoris.

Stevie sighed in pleasure and rocked against his mouth. Russell licked circles then increased his pace and the pressure, flicking his tongue back and forth against her until she was panting shallow breaths and clutching his hair. He slipped a finger inside ---so wet, so warm, so ready for him---and sucked gently at the same time. Stevie exploded into a mindless, thrashing orgasm, so powerful, so overwhelming, that she locked her legs around his head and cried out unintelligibly. He let her come down slowly, kissed between her thighs until she released his head, and then he was up and moving over her, spreading her knees with his hands. He fitted himself into her, sliding into her incredible heat and familiar welcoming slickness. He hilted and paused, shuddering in pleasure, looking down at her beloved face, at the adoring eyes that told him only truth, and for the first time, he said it aloud while he was inside her, a part of her.

"Stevie…I love you.