Take On Me

Was this foreplay or warfare?

And, at this moment, did Dylan really care? As he pulled Sadie’s bottom lip into his mouth, he knew their differences didn’t matter. She moaned low in her throat and dug her fingernails into the muscles of his back. He swept a path across her cheek to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, leaving her neck, then biting her. Her hips bucked against his and she slid a hand down his back to grab his butt and drag him even more tightly against her.

He needed more. He needed skin, had to taste her, know her, have her. He stared down into her glittering eyes, taking in the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she gasped for breath, the flush on her cheekbones, the tumbled, sexy mess of her hair.

She was everything he hated in a woman. But he was going to have her or die trying.

SARAH MAYBERRY

lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner, Chris. As well as penning romance novels, she also writes scripts for television. She has plotted TV births, deaths, betrayals, marriages, first kisses, divorces and innumerable cliff-hangers in both Australia and New Zealand, but for now is content to stick with true love. May it ever run smooth…

Dear Reader,

It was inevitable that I’d wind up writing a series of books set behind the scenes of a soap opera – I’ve spent more than three years working in-house for various TV dramas in New Zealand and Australia. It’s a crazy, pressured and often hilarious way to earn a living, and I figured it would be the perfect place for people to fall in lust – and love – with one another.

Coming up with the heroines for my three stories was equally easy – Sadie, Grace and Claudia just seemed to jump right out of my keyboard, along with their heroic counterparts.

I hope you enjoy getting a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the way serial drama is produced via Sadie and Dylan’s story. These two stubborn people have some serious ground to cover before they can let go of past misconceptions – but I hope you’ll agree it’s worth the risk.

I love to hear from readers. You can contact me via my website, www. sarahmayberryauthor. com. And, of course, keep an eye out for the next instalment of the SECRET LIVES OF DAYTIME DIVAS mini-series, All Over You, due out in May 2009.

Until then, happy reading!

Sarah Mayberry

TAKE ON ME

BY

SARAH MAYBERRY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thanks to all the Shortland Street and Neighbours people who have inspired this book – bits of all of you are in there somewhere. As always, thanks to my faithful readers – La-La, the fabulous Miss Moneypenny and Hanky Panky – and to Wanda, the maple syrup queen, who always knows best.

Prologue

Grovedale Senior High Prom, 1994, Los Angeles, California

SADIE POST STARED at her reflection in the girls’ bathroom mirror. More specifically, she stared at her chest. Her flat, featureless, pancake of a chest. Her mother kept telling her she was a late developer, but Sadie had given up on hoping for late development two years ago. At seventeen, with a chest like an ironing board, she was officially a freak of nature. One day soon, a documentary crew would turn up on her doorstep and she’d be starring as The Girl Who Skipped Puberty. They’d have a doctor and diagrams, and they’d explain how all the stuff that was supposed to go toward breasts and hips in her body had instead been used by Mother Nature to stretch her out to a skinny six feet tall, with no extra to spare for luxury items like curves.

No wonder Dylan Anderson didn’t know she existed. She’d sat next to him in American Literature for a whole year, and he’d barely glanced her way. The one time he had, she’d been doodling his name all over a page in her notebook, and she’d barely managed to slam it shut before he saw it.

She bit her lip, thinking about what had happened in class today. He probably knew she was alive now. And not in a good way.

Why had she suddenly decided it would be good to stand up for herself?

She knew why. She might not have breasts, but she had desire to spare. In the privacy of her bedroom, she’d mapped the silky smoothness of her own body, discovering what felt good, what felt great, and what made her lose control when she did enough of it. And it was always Dylan’s name she whispered into her pillow when she climaxed.

The door suddenly swung open and music filtered through into the bathroom as two girls entered, their high heels click-clacking on the tiled floor. They were giggling, their blond heads leaning toward one another as they whispered conspiratorially.

Sadie stepped back from the mirror, allowing them to take her place. She knew where she fitted into the school food chain. Cindi Young and Carol Martin were cheerleaders—she was an amoeba compared to them. Less, probably.

She kept her eyes averted as they smoothed on lip gloss and fluffed their hair, finally teetering back to the gym to gyrate some more and send the boys wild with their sexy, curvy bodies and gravity-defying breasts.

Cindi and Carol and girls like them were why Sadie had done what she’d done today. She knew she didn’t have what it took to get Dylan’s attention the old-fashioned way. And she’d wanted him to notice her so badly. When the opportunity had seemingly fallen into her lap…she’d jumped in, feet first.

Which was probably why it had all gone so horribly wrong. She hadn’t thought through her strategy enough. Usually, she liked to script important events in her mind first before she tackled them in real life. Of course, in real life, people often diverged wildly from her mental script—but for some reason it helped her feel braver if she’d already imagined a version of the scene in her head.

She took a deep breath and tried to fluff her blond hair into a semblance of Cindi or Carol’s provocative hairstyles. It resolutely refused to do anything but hang limply by her face, and she finally dropped her hands to her sides. She was stalling. She had to go out there and face him.

She tried her best smile in the mirror. She had good teeth, small and straight and white. And she liked her lips—they were full and pouty, even more so with some of her mom’s lipstick on. The smile looked okay. She tried a greeting.

“Hi, Dylan.”

She grimaced. She sounded way too familiar. It wasn’t as if they were friends or anything. Especially after today. But what were her options? She could hardly call him Mr. Anderson. He’d die laughing.

“Hey, do you have a moment?” she said instead, trying to sound sure of herself, a woman of the world. Her voice came out all weird and croaky, like Miss Piggy.

Her eyes dropped to the bodice of her satin gown once more. Who was she kidding? She looked like a kid playing dress-up—a really tall, skinny kid. Why would Dylan glance twice at her when she didn’t even look like a real woman?

On impulse, she spun on her heel and stepped into the first cubicle. Working feverishly, she plucked again and again at the single-sheet toilet paper dispenser, her hands a blur of motion as she harvested a mountain of paper.

One nervous eye on the door, she stuffed the tissue down her bodice. It prickled against her skin as she adjusted it again and again until two respectable-looking mounds tented the front of her spaghetti-strapped, knee-length, black satin dress. She turned sideways to the mirror, then spun around the other way. A small smile curved her lips. She looked good. She had breasts! Surfing a wave of confidence, she pushed her way out into the corridor.

Music throbbed loudly as she made her way toward the gym. Madonna’s “Vogue” was playing, and as she entered the cavernous gym she saw Cindi and Carol and their clique striking a series of sexy poses on the dance floor.

Immediately she began to scan for Dylan. Her eyes ran over the Jocks, lounging on the bleachers and eyeing the dancing cheerleaders with lascivious intent. Next were the gaggle of Art Geeks, their dramatic black hair and smudged kohl eyeliner making them look like extras in a Michael Jackson video in the gym’s nightclub lighting. The Burn-outs and Freaks were next, then the Math Nerds. A frown pleated her forehead as she turned slowly, trying to find Dylan’s tall, rangy frame in the crowd. He wouldn’t be dancing—he was too cool to dance. And he wouldn’t necessarily be hanging out with any of the established groups. He was a lone wolf, operating outside the cliques that made up the school’s social hierarchy. Luckily for him, he was good-looking enough and funny enough and cool enough to get away with it. James Dean for a new generation, except his hair was raven-black instead of dirty-blond and his eyes a dark, disturbing gray.

The crowd parted briefly as the tide shifted on the dance floor between songs. Sheryl Crow’s “All I Wanna Do” came on, and suddenly she saw him standing on the other side of the gym. As usual, her heart skipped a beat. He was so dark and dangerous and beautiful.

She moved toward him, edging past dancing teens, dodging uncoordinated elbows and knees until finally he was within reach, his back to her as he talked to another guy from their year.

Nerves tap-danced in her belly now that she was near him. She almost turned away, but instead she forced herself to reach out and touch his arm, rationalizing that he probably wouldn’t hear her over the music if she tried to attract his attention verbally. Plus she got to touch him, even if it was only through his clothing.

He swung around to face her and she swallowed a lump of pure adoration as she looked into his face. His unusual dark gray eyes, fringed with sooty, wasted-on-a-boy lashes, his straight, strong nose, the carved perfection of his lips and chin—she could practically sculpt him from stone she knew his features so well.

His expression was unreadable as he stared at her, but there was no missing the way his eyes dropped down below her face for a brief moment. She felt a zing of triumph rocket along her veins. He’d noticed her cleavage! It had made a difference!

“I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about today. And to let you know I can help you with American Lit, if you like,” she yelled over the music.

His face screwed up impatiently and he shook his head to indicate he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Greatly daring, Sadie stood on her toes to make up for the few inches of difference in their heights and leaned toward him. She was so close, she could feel the heat coming off his body.

“American Lit. If you need any help…?” she yelled.

He definitely heard her that time, but his expression was unreadable. Crucially, though, he didn’t say no outright. She congratulated herself on at last getting through to him. He simply hadn’t understood her earlier offer, the one she’d made in class, before she’d…Well, obviously she could make up for all that now.

He leaned close.

“Sure, Sadie,” he said in her ear. “You can help me out with American Lit—but first you have to tell me something.”

She was awash with relief and excitement. She could feel his breath on her ear. And he was going to forgive her. She had a second chance to prove herself.

“Sure. What?”

He pointed to her chest.

“What the hell is that?”

Sadie glanced down—and froze. A glowing nimbus of white light was radiating out of the neckline of her dress. For a moment her mind went blank with horror, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Then she realized that the bleached tissue she’d stuffed down her dress was responding to the black-light disco lighting. Not just responding—she had a supernova in her bodice, enough light to rival the neon glow of Vegas. Astronauts were probably pointing and staring from the moon, her chest was glowing so brightly.

She gasped, clapping her hands to her breasts to try to cover the incriminating radiance. Stricken, she glanced up and saw that Dylan was grinning, a hard glint in his eye now. He hadn’t forgiven her for today. Not by a mile.

“You got a cold or something?” he asked. Then he reached forward and pulled her clutching hands effortlessly from her chest. Crooking a finger into her bodice, he tugged it out so he could look down her top more clearly. “Man, you’ve got a whole rainforest down there, haven’t you?”

She was numb with shock as he reached into the neckline of her dress, unable to comprehend what was happening. She’d imagined his hands against her skin a million times, but as she felt the warm brush of his fingers against her body there was no desire, only a rising tide of nausea and shame. Slowly, casually, he plucked the scrunched-up tissue from her dress, handing each piece to her so that soon she was holding a small pile of glowing white balls. A crowd gathered to witness the spectacle. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Jocks doubled over with laughter as they saw what was happening, while Cindi and her pack giggled behind their hands. Others murmured sympathetically, shaking their heads as they witnessed her humiliation.

At last she was holding all the tissue, and Dylan reached forward and covered her clutching hands with his own. Leaning in close, he squeezed her hands meaningfully with his own and looked her in the eye.

“I think we’re about done, Sadie Post,” he said. For the first time she smelled the alcohol on his breath and registered the glassy cast to his eyes.

He turned his back on her. She stood frozen for a few more pathetic seconds as he walked away, then she turned tail and ran, glowing balls of tissue scattering in her wake.

She wanted to die. She could never come to school again. She could never do anything again. Within minutes, the whole school would know what had happened, and she would be the absolute laughingstock, a figure of pity and fun for everyone to take a shot at.

Tears streaked her face as she bolted down the corridor, her sobs echoing off the brick walls. She hated Dylan Anderson. She hated him as much as she used to love him. More, even.

And she was never, ever, going to forget this.

1

“SADIE, STOP FIDGETING. You’re a bride. You’re supposed to be serene and dignified,” Claudia said.

Sadie grimaced apologetically. “Sorry. I just wanted to see,” she said hopefully.

“Well, you can’t. Not until I’ve finished,” Claudia Dostis said firmly, returning to the task of lacing the corsetlike back of Sadie’s ivory-silk wedding gown.

Sadie sighed and nodded, and her other bridesmaid, Grace Wellington, smacked her lightly on the shoulder.

“That includes your head, too,” she said. Grace was trying to anchor a frothy veil into the upswept mass of Sadie’s honey-blond hair.

“Does this mean I have to go back to bride-training school?” Sadie asked meekly.

“If you’re very still for the next twenty seconds, we’ll put in a good word for you,” Claudia said.

They were her closest friends, as well as her work colleagues and she trusted them implicitly, so she made a big effort to calm her nerves and stand docilely for the next few minutes as they continued to fuss. Finally, she felt a last tug around her middle, then Claudia let out a sigh.

“Done!”

“Me, too,” Grace said.

They both stepped back and surveyed her with satisfaction.

“Nice work with the veil,” Claudia said to Grace.

“Not so shabby on the dress work, either,” Grace said, returning the compliment.

Sadie raised an amused eyebrow. “Does this mean I finally get to look?”

Grace and Claudia grabbed a shoulder each and gently turned her around to face the freestanding mirror in the middle of her bedroom.

The woman facing her was a stranger, an elegant fairy princess in floating ivory silk, her blond hair swept into a sleek, sophisticated updo, her neck long and slender, her pale skin flawless, her large brown eyes dramatic and sexy.

“Wow. Is that really me?” Sadie squeaked.

“Yep. Gorgeous, as always,” Claudia confirmed.

Sadie blushed at her friend’s compliment, but a frown creased her forehead as her gaze inevitably drifted to her chest. It was pathetic, but she would probably never be one-hundred-percent happy with the size of her breasts, she admitted to herself. Too much baggage. Too long waiting around for the damned things to arrive in the first place. Who didn’t develop breasts until they were nineteen, for Pete’s sake? It was a form of cruelty, as far as Sadie was concerned.

“What’s wrong? You hate the way I did the veil, don’t you?” Grace asked, her clear green eyes clouded with concern.

Sadie pushed the old, old worry way. She was a B cup. Perfectly respectable. It was because she was nervous—that was why such an old, dusty preoccupation had reared its ugly head.

“It’s perfect, thank you. I was just wondering if I should have gone with a white dress instead of ivory,” she fibbed.

Claudia made a rude noise. “Even ivory is pushing it, lady,” she said knowingly.

“Hey!” Sadie said, pretending to be offended. “Are you implying I’m not a virgin?”

“I hope you’re not,” Grace said. “I’ll have to take down all that stuff I wrote about you on the toilet wall.”

They all giggled like idiots, then Sadie caught sight of the time and a jolt of adrenaline rocketed through her. The car would be here in twenty minutes.

“You guys had better get dressed,” she advised.

“Remind me again how you talked me into this dress,” Grace muttered as she unzipped the long, figure-hugging, strapless red sheath that had been tailor-made for her bombshell figure.

“Let me see… Because I am Bridezilla, and I must have my way?” Sadie suggested lightly.

“And because you were outvoted two to one,” Claudia said as she slid into her pint-size version of the same dress. Although she was petite, Claudia’s figure was still feminine, and the red fabric clung to her curves. With her olive skin and almost-black Greek eyes, she looked stunning.

“Oh, God.”

Sadie turned from contemplating Claudia’s dark beauty to see that Grace had pulled on her dress and stepped into her stiletto heels. Red silk outlined her classic hourglass figure, zooming in dramatically at her tiny waist, and then out again for her fantastic, sexy hips. She looked like Veronica Lake and Betty Grable and Marilyn Monroe, all rolled into one sexy, hot mama.

“Hubba, hubba.” Sadie hooted approvingly.

Grace blushed a fiery red to match the dress. “I look like an overcooked hot dog,” she said gruffly. “If one of these seams gives, duck for cover.”

Sadie laughed and shook her head. They looked beautiful. Red had been the ideal choice for both of them, and the classy dress set off their different figures to perfection.

“I think we need more champagne,” she said, moving across to where the last bottle rested on ice. She and Grace had already guzzled a whole bottle while their hair and makeup was being done—Claudia being a staunch teetotaler—but Sadie figured the alcohol would help settle her growing nerves.

She was getting married! Her mind turned briefly to Greg Sinclair, the handsome blond man she would soon call husband. She wondered what he was doing, how he was feeling. Was he as nervous-excited as she was? Would it be cheating to call him before the wedding?

Resisting the temptation to jinx things by making a quick phone call, Sadie concentrated on working the cork loose from the champagne bottle as Claudia and Grace put the finishing touches on their hair and makeup.

She had to stifle a smile as she heard Claudia bossily telling Grace to not even think about putting on the heavy black-framed retro glasses she habitually wore.

“Banned from the wedding,” Claudia announced firmly.

She was going to make a great producer on Ocean Boulevard, Sadie knew. She sighed happily to herself as she poured out the champagne. Her life was so good right now. It had been cool enough working with Grace for the past two years as script producer to her script editor on Ocean Boulevard, the daytime soap that currently consumed her working hours, but now Claudia would be joining them as producer of the show. It didn’t get much better—doing something she loved for a living with her two closest friends by her side. And, in under an hour’s time, she would be married to an amazing, funny, clever, gorgeous man.

“Pinch me, quick,” she said to Grace as her friend came over to collect a glass of champagne.

“Sure,” Grace said, obliging with a gentle nip on Sadie’s arm. “Better?”

Sadie grinned and slid an arm around her friend’s waist. “Where would I be without you guys?”

Claudia joined them, and she slid an arm around her waist, too. Across the room, the mirror reflected their images back at them and Sadie couldn’t help smiling. What a mismatched set—Claudia the pocket-rocket, string-bean old her and Grace the va-voom vamp.

“I love you guys. Thanks so much for doing this with me,” she said.

Claudia and Grace squeezed their arms tighter around her waist, and she had to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds and blink like crazy to avoid crying.

“Suck ’em back in, Sadie—no brides with panda eyes on our shift,” Claudia said encouragingly.

Sadie laughed, the humor helping to restore her equilibrium. Bang on time, the doorbell rang.

“God, the car’s here already,” she said, her nerves ratcheting up a notch.

The next five minutes were spent in a bustle of activity as they gathered all the items Grace and Claudia considered necessary to maintaining her appearance through the ceremony and reception—including the rest of the bottle of champagne. Her bridesmaids spent another five minutes out in the street discussing the best way for Sadie to sit on her skirt, until finally Sadie stepped past them and squished herself into the seat.

“Easy,” she said when they stared at her, scandalized.

The church was a ten-minute drive away, and she sat back and tried to let the sunny blue sky soothe her. It was useless, however—her brain was like a hamster on a wheel. What if she forgot her vows? She’d always been hopeless at remembering lines. And what if she tripped when she walked up the aisle and her skirt flipped up and—God! Had she even remembered to put underwear on? She clapped a hand to her hip, but was unable to feel anything through all the layers of fabric.

She turned to Claudia on her right. “Did I put underwear on? Can you remember?” she asked urgently.

Claudia patted her arm reassuringly. “You need to stop thinking, sweetie,” she said firmly.

Sadie opened her mouth to protest, then her sense of humor caught up with her and she collapsed into laughter.

Which was why she almost missed seeing her uncle Gus standing out front of the church, frantically waving the driver on as they approached. At the last minute, however, as the car swept past the church, she registered the formally dressed man gyrating like a maniac on the sidewalk.

Swiveling in her seat, she craned her neck to look out the rear window and confirm it really was Gus, and that they really had driven straight past the church.

“Um…hello?” she said, leaning forward to tap on the glass dividing the back of the limo from the driver. “Wasn’t that the church back there?”

“Yeah, but we got waved on. I’m going to do a lap,” the driver explained.

Sadie sat back with a thump and stared first at Claudia and then Grace.

“What the hell?” she finally asked.

Both her friends were looking equally confused.

“Maybe they’re waiting on something,” Grace suggested.

Sadie bit her lip. A horrible, dark thought slithered into her mind and she tried not to look in its direction. It was useless, however—she worked on a daytime soap. She’d written or helped plot this scene too many times over the years. Happy bride, perfect day, laughter—then disaster. Dead groom. Groom gravely ill due to car accident. Revolt in groom’s far-off European principality—she’d done them all over the years.

“Can we go back, please?” she asked the driver anxiously. “I don’t want to do a lap of the church.”

“But—” the driver objected.

“You heard the bride. Turn the car around,” Claudia ordered, her producer’s voice firmly in place.

Sighing audibly, the driver spun the wheel and the car turned back toward the church.

As they approached from the opposite direction, Sadie could see her uncle had been joined by her pale-faced aunt, Martha. His shoulders were slumped and he shook his head as they discussed something intently.

“Oh shit,” she whispered under her breath. Another series of worst-case scenarios flitted across her mind: groom runs off with best friend. Bomb threat on church. Groom turns out to be bride’s secret brother.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I know it’s hard to rein in that imagination of yours because of what we do for a living, but this is not Ocean Boulevard,” Grace said firmly. “It’s probably something lame like the priest has had too much altar wine, or Greg’s allergic to his boutonniere.”

Sadie took a deep breath and forced herself to let go of the awful, over-the-top scenarios racing across her mind. Grace was right. She was overreacting. She wouldn’t go borrowing trouble—she’d simply face whatever was wrong and deal with it.

Her uncle must have heard the car, because he turned and frowned as the limo came to a halt.

Despite her vow to herself, Sadie leaned across Claudia to push the door open, unable to wait for the chauffeur to do it. Claudia slid out instantly, turning to help Sadie drag herself and her silk train from the car. The click of heels on the pavement told her that Grace was circling the car from the other side, but all Sadie’s attention was on Gus.

“What’s going on?” she asked. She was clutching her bouquet in a death grip, her knuckles white.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Gus said, and Sadie knew then, without a doubt, that she was about to have a Soap Wedding.

Behind her, she heard Grace’s swift, shocked intake of breath, and Claudia muttered a four-letter word.

“He’s not here?” Sadie guessed, taking a stab at which soap cliché she was about to get sucked into. Of course, she could rule out a few right from the start. To her knowledge, Greg was not the prince of some far-flung European country. And she was pretty sure he wasn’t her brother, given that he was the spitting image of his father. Also, her two best friends in all the world were standing behind her, so neither of them had run off with him.

“He had a note delivered,” Martha said, handing over a plain letter-size envelope.

Sadie stared down at it for a long moment before passing her bouquet to Grace. Her hands were trembling as she slid a finger beneath the seal and tore the envelope open. There was a single piece of paper inside. Greg had gone to the trouble of printing it, she saw, rather than writing it by hand. She had a flash of him mulling over the composition of the letter on his notebook computer, adding and deleting words as he pondered how best to break it to her. He obviously hadn’t mulled for too long, however. The note was devastatingly short.

Dear Sadie,

I know I’m the one who wanted to hurry, but you were right. It’s too soon to get married. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for everything. I just need some time to get my head together. Forward the bills as they come.

Yours, Greg

Her hand dropped to her side and she blinked back the storm of tears that was pressing against the backs of her eyes. That was it? He was dumping her at the altar, and she only got a handful of words?

“What did he say?” Claudia asked.

Sadie held out the letter. There was a short silence as Claudia and Grace read the note then passed it to her aunt and uncle.

“He never said anything, hinted at anything…?” Martha asked, bewildered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Claudia’s head come up.

“You mean like, ‘Sadie, I don’t think I’m going to turn up tomorrow’? That kind of thing?” Claudia asked in a dangerously calm voice.

Sadie laid a hand on her arm. “Claud,” she said. This was not her aunt’s fault. She was a good woman who’d done her best to fill in the gaps in Sadie’s life when her parents were killed in a car accident seven years ago. Martha was blown away—as they all were.

“I can’t believe this,” Grace said, her eyes scanning over and over the few words on the note. “This is…unbelievable.”

Sadie lifted her eyes to contemplate the stately church in front of her.

Inside, more than two hundred of her and Greg’s friends and relatives were waiting to celebrate their wedding. The men would be in suits, the women in gorgeous-but-deadly designer high heels that they knew they’d regret by the time the reception was over. In their cars, presents would be sitting, wrapped and ready to put on the gift table once they arrived at the reception. Toasters, kettles, towels, glassware. The wherewithal to set up a new home. Her and Greg’s new home.

She hoped they’d all kept their receipts.

She clenched her hands together as a wave of humiliation and hurt threatened to descend. She wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and get the hell out of here. To pretend that she had never been so foolish as to believe the words of handsome Greg Sinclair when he’d looked into her eyes and told her he adored her. That he wanted to marry her, as soon as possible. That he’d never felt more sure of anything in his life.

“Let’s go,” Claudia said decisively. She gestured toward the waiting car where the chauffeur was doing his best not to look too interested in what was going on. This would be a bit of a treat for him, Sadie reflected distractedly. A twist on the usual.