Femme Fatale (13 page)

At first she thought he was joking. But when the grim set of his jaw didn’t loosen up, it dawned on her foggy brain that he
wasn’t kidding
. “Whoa. You’re, like, hiding out? Undercover?”

“Sort of.” One corner of his mouth curved up sardonically. “Hence my concern over showing up on some tabloid website with you. If I blow this, the negotiations could go south and then I’d really be in trouble.”

“Oh.” What more could she say? He’d put his career at risk to come pull her out of that club and talk the photographer out of pressing charges against her. Had he seriously traded his career for hers tonight? Real people didn’t do that whole self-sacrificing thing in this day and age, did they?

When they got to the hotel, Blake stopped the SUV directly in front of the lobby doors. Everything looked calm. It paid to stay at a gated resort.

“Same deal,” he announced. “I’ll come around to get you out of the vehicle. Keep moving until we reach the elevators. Just in case.”

“Could they be inside the hotel?” she asked.

“I doubt it. The security here is pretty good. But these paparazzi are persistent. Someone may have snuck inside.”

And on that note, he jumped out of the SUV. Her door opened, and she immediately pressed herself against Blake, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist. His arm looped over her shoulder and she snuggled into it instinctively. They hit the lobby and quiet fell around them as they made their way to the elevator.

The doors
whooshed
closed and for the first time since arriving here tonight, she and Blake were truly alone.

“Seriously, Blake. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have you got your room key? I don’t have mine with me.”

“In my purse.” He was blowing off her attempt to be serious. He probably didn’t want to talk about these stalkers of his and used her drunkenness to dodge the subject. Dammit, she kept telling everyone she wasn’t that drunk. Why did no one believe her?

He lifted her purse out of her hands, found her key, and handed the bag back to her. He walked her down the hall to her room, his arm around her like he expected a photographer to jump out of one of the closed doors at any second. She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally opened her door for her and ushered her inside.

She expected him to leave immediately, but he didn’t. “Need any help getting to bed?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“I think I can manage my clothes and falling over into bed, thanks.”

“How about I find a bucket or bowl for beside your bed?”

“I’m not going to puke. I really didn’t have that much to drink.”

“Then why did you throw your drink at that guy?”

She stared down at the carpet guiltily.

“Olivia?”

She huffed and looked up at Blake unwillingly. “He said Jeremy and I made a great couple.”

Amusement began to twitch at the corners of his mouth as he commented soberly, “A serious transgression.”

“And when he said he’d seen the pictures of Jeremy and me on our date and that we looked really happy together, that was when I tried to slug him.”

“I see.”

Scowling, she kicked off her stupid high heels, which were the only reason she’d been wobbling at all, and headed for her bedroom. When Blake didn’t follow, she turned and demanded, “Are you coming?”

“I’ll pass, tonight. I have a policy against taking advantage of drunk females, and you could use the sleep.”

“You and your damned honor,” she grumbled.

He let himself out the front door and his voice drifted back to her. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Dammit. Why did he have to call her princess like that and remind her of their nights together? Tears sprang to her eyes as she stripped and then fell into bed. Her dreams weren’t going to be sweet at all. She was going to dream of him and wake up hornier than ever.

Chapter Ten

Blake knew something was up the second he got out of his car on the set the next day. Crew members smirked at him as they murmured good mornings, and a few grinned outright. Were he with his Marine battalion, he’d be suspicious of a practical joke about to spring on him.

He strolled over to where Jackson Motta was setting up a foam crash pad painted speckled beige to match the desert dirt around it. The mat was set in a shallow depression that left it flush with the ground.

“What’s up, Jack?” Blake asked the stuntman casually.

“Hey, Mr. Photogenic. Didn’t take you long to get famous, did it?”

Stone cold terror tickled his ribs. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re all over the Internet.”

“What?” Blake’s gut started a slow twist, gradually tightening like a python curling in on itself. No.
No-no-no-no-no-no-no
.

“You and Liv. There’s just one photo…but she’s draped all over you as you’re sneaking out that back door. The two of you look pretty cozy.”

“Wait. That’s last night.” Leaving the club through the back alley. Where the hell had the photographer been? Then he remembered the cat, and gave a mental groan. It must have been disturbed by someone hiding in the shadows. “How recognizable am I?” he asked grimly.

“The photo’s not that great. But not so fuzzy that people can’t see how hot you two are for each other. You look like you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

Damn, damn, damn—

“How’d you two end up clubbing together last night?”

“We didn’t. She got a little tipsy and threw her drink at a photographer. Tyrone and Sheila called me to come get her and take her back to her room.”

“Why didn’t they take her back to the hotel?”

“Couldn’t deal with the paparazzi, I suppose.”

“Then why not call hotel security to come get her, or the security crew from the film? They’d have picked her up.”

Blake spoke low. “She threw a drink but also tried to take a swing at the photographer. The police got called. The photographer goaded her, and it was a private club the guy snuck into. I had to schmooze the paparazzo and the cops pretty hard to get them not to press charges against her. Not sure hotel security would have done the same, which was why Tyrone said he called me.”

Jackson whistled under his breath. “Adrian would have killed her if she got arrested. He likes publicity up to a point, but he’s adamant that his actors don’t cross the line. She owes you huge for rescuing her.”

Blake shrugged. She’d been in trouble; he’d helped her out. End of discussion. Even if he had screwed himself in the process. Still, what were the odds Russian agents kept up with the American gossip rags? “I gather everyone on the set has looked up this website on their phone or tablet?”

“Websites. Plural. Oh, yeah. You guys were the lead story on
all
celeb-spotting sites.”

So much for flying under the radar. To hell with the Russians. Surely, Colonel Santerros wouldn’t hear about gossip rags… As long as his boss’s secretary didn’t surf the online tabloids, he might skate by without last night’s fiasco biting him in the butt too bad. If he was lucky.

His cell phone rang and he pulled it out. No such luck. It was a Pentagon phone number. “Major Ramsey.”

“What the hell are you doing out there, Ramsey? This is
not
keeping your head low!”

Yup. Colonel Santerros. “It’s not what it looks like, sir. Miss Harper had a little too much to drink and got into an altercation with a tabloid photographer. A couple of the other crew members called and asked me to come to the club to deal with the fallout. Honestly, I checked the route before we exited. I could have sworn it was clear. The guy must have been hiding in a Dumpster or something.”

“A
Dumpster
? You know better than to put yourself in a situation where you might get this sort of publicity, especially now, dammit. I’m scrambling my ass off to figure out how to hide you from the Russians until this whole mess blows over, and you have to go and pull a stunt like this? If they find you and start exerting pressure… Your timing sucks, Major.”

“I know, sir. I plan on leaving right away.”

“Fuck, Blake. If I can’t get the CIA to cut Carmen loose, there’s no telling how hard the Russians will come after you. They may even try to kidnap you and use you to trade for her.”

“Not if I can help it, sir.”

“I suppose you can explain why that actress has her hand up your shirt and is grabbing your ass like you’re her own personal boy toy?”

“Sir. You know photographers can make even the most innocent situation look suspicious.”

Santerros made an impatient noise. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? Even I might not be able to cover your ass after this. And you’re screwing a movie star while you’re at it?”

Blake tried, and failed, to get a word in edgewise. The colonel had no interest in any explanations. The timing did suck, and he’d take the colonel’s word that the photo looked like Olivia was crawling down his pants. She
had
been. It was so natural to have her touching him that he hadn’t even registered how it might look on the home page of an online tabloid.

“—can’t screw every hot female you come into contact with. I could explain away the debacle with Carmen because you were trying to get her to reveal herself as a spy. But I’ve got nothing to explain why, within days of arriving in Hollywood, you’re fucking this Harper girl and ending up with your photo all over the Internet. Christ, Blake. Do you
want
an early retirement?”

He didn’t even try to answer. In point of fact, everything the colonel accused him of was true. The circumstances might have been quite different than his boss’s assumption, but the fact was he had slept with Olivia. On multiple occasions. With enthusiasm. And he’d gladly do it again should the opportunity arise. The photo? Maybe not so much.

Eventually the ass-chewing from his boss wound down. Santerros ended with a sharply snapped order to, “Fix this. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” Blake replied glumly. He disconnected the call and pocketed his phone. How in the hell was he supposed to fix this fiasco?

“The boss?” Jackson asked sympathetically.

Blake started. He’d forgotten the guy was standing there. “Yeah. Not a happy camper.”

“If you get kicked out of the Corps, you could always come to work with us. You’re great with explosives. And the stunt side of the house is a piece of cake to pick up after the training you’ve had.”

Blake stared. Kicked out of the Corps?
Hell
, no. The boss had been kidding about retirement.
Hadn’t he
…? The thought simply wouldn’t compute. The Corps was his life. It was who he was. The prospect of being kidnapped by Russian agents scared him less than the notion of leaving the Corps.

Jackson continued, “I’ve been thinking about starting up my own stunt company. I’ve got a lot of contacts. Been around the biz for a while. With a top-notch explosives guy like you on board, we’d be golden. Think about it, eh?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sure. I will.” He stumbled away from the stuntman, still reeling at the idea of getting kicked out of the Marines. He did have to fix this mess now. But how?

He spied Olivia’s town car pulling onto the set. She got out, and surprisingly, Adrian Turnow himself went over to greet her. Not surprisingly, he had his tablet in his hand, swiping his finger across it like crazy. Shockingly, he gave her a big bear hug as soon as she climbed out of the car.

She looked startled and then…chagrined, maybe? Blake was too far away to tell. The bastard must be thrilled to death at the publicity she’d drummed up for the film. No matter that it had probably ruined his career and possibly endangered his life.

Except
he’d
made the decision to rescue Olivia. He’d told her it was clear, and to follow him out into that back alley. He couldn’t blame her for doing what he’d told her to.

She disappeared into Make-up and one of Jackson’s guys called him to ask for help in safety-checking a stunt driving sequence. What in the hell was he going to do? He wasn’t about to risk the boss’s wrath. And no way would he lead his Russian pursuers to Olivia. They’d use her as collateral damage without batting an eyelash.

He had to bug out now. Today. As soon as filming was over.

He was thoroughly screwed. Now all he could hope to do was protect her—and himself—from his mess by leaving.

…

Olivia had never been so embarrassed in her life. She’d been dead certain Adrian would, at a minimum, ream her out for last night’s stunt. But instead, he’d gushed over her like she’d just invented the moving picture camera. He was over the moon at the publicity she’d gotten for the movie and didn’t seem to think her outburst would hurt her reputation in the least.

The crew smirked their asses off, but they, too, seemed to find her debacle funny. Personally, she thought her behavior had been reprehensible. But no one else saw it that way. Except for Blake. He spent the morning keeping his distance from her. And every time she caught sight of him, he was scowling heavily.

She had to face the music sometime with him, but Lord, she didn’t want to do it in front of the entire crew. Everyone darted glances back and forth between them as if waiting for Blake and her to throw themselves at each other, drop to the ground, and hump on the spot. Talk about complete failure to keep a secret. Ugh.

As Adrian called for a lunch break and the cast and crew piled over to the catering tables, Jackson Motta strolled up beside her to help himself to a sandwich. He muttered under his breath, “Blake needs to talk with you. He’ll meet you at your trailer.”

She stared at the piles of tuna sandwiches without acknowledging the man beside her other than to murmur, “Thanks.”

Jackson added quietly, “Don’t hose him over, Liv. He’s a good man. Stuck his neck out and took a bullet for you. I overheard his boss ripping him a new one this morning.”

She squeezed her eyes shut in dismay.
Aww, crap
. It was worse than she’d feared. He was in trouble for saving her. Cursing under her breath, she headed for her trailer.

He was standing by the sink when she entered, his palms planted on the counter. He looked like someone had just torn his guts out.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, even though she already knew the answer.

He exhaled hard. “Could be better. Showing up on all those celebrity websites telling the world where I can be found is going to draw my stalkers right to me. And to you. I have to leave here, ASAP.”

“Blake, no, you can’t leave!” He looked at her, a flash of something indefinable in his light blue eyes. She moved to his side and put a hand on his flexed biceps. “What can I do? Tell me.”

“Nothing, really. Once the CIA agrees to give the captured agent back, the Russians should calm down and quit harassing me. But in the meantime…”

“How long is that likely to take?”

“A few months. Knowing government red tape, maybe a few years. I dunno.”

“
Years?
” she exclaimed in horror. “But all you did was rescue me from my own stupidity! And now you’ll have to live under a rock somewhere for years?”

A corner of his lip curved. “You and I both know I did a lot more than rescue you last night.”

“Yes, but nobody else knows about the rest of it.”
As in the smoking hot sex
.

He shook his head. “Liv. I’m guilty of exactly what my boss accused me of—endangering the success of some delicate negotiations by giving the enemy a way to find me. Not to mention fraternizing with a client. What he
should
do is throw me out of the Corps.”

“They owe you protection.”

“Not how it works, babe. Hell, it might make the Russians decide I’m not worth kidnapping if I get kicked out. I’d hardly be an effective bargaining chip. And they’ll know I can’t spy on them anymore.”

“You’re a spy?” she squeaked.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” he said, making a face.

Shoot. Everybody knew what that answer meant. She’d hit the nail on the head. He
was
a spy. No wonder bad men were trying to find him. She reeled back from him, appalled at herself. In her thoughtlessness and selfishness last night, she’d put him in a terrible position.

It was his honor that had driven him to rescue her, no matter the price to himself. One of the many reasons she was crazy for the man.

“What if I told your boss it was all my fault?”

He turned to face her. “Sweetheart, no. I’m still going to have to leave, either way. I just wanted to tell you before I take off, so you don’t worry.”

A swirl of panic started low in her belly. She just couldn’t imagine not having him with her here on the set…or in her life after the movie wrapped. “What’ll happen to you?”

He shrugged. “If I’m lucky, they’ll give me a new assignment somewhere in the back of beyond, and I can fade out of sight again. Or they may be so fed up they’ll make me resign my commission and leave the Corps.”

She grasped his arm. “That’s insane. You’re a great Marine. Honorable and dutiful and all that other stuff. I’m not letting you throw your career away like this.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”

“I still say they need to provide you protection from those Russian agents stalking you. It’s the least Uncle Sam can do after all your years of loyal service.”

“They already did that, stashing me out here as a consultant. It’s my own fault that I blew my—”

No. It was
her
fault. “Then I’m telling everyone that I’m crazy in love with you!” she burst out.

He gaped at her, looking positively shell shocked. “What on earth would that accomplish?”

“I’m a high profile celebrity. The Marines can’t risk me getting hurt if I’m with you and those enemy spies try to kill you. They’ll have to protect
me
, at least!”

He shook his head. “
Now
who’s insane? Besides, nobody’s trying to kill me. Yet, anyway. And trust me, you won’t want a guard posted around you day and night, never leaving your side. Think of the disruption on set.”