Femme Fatale (4 page)

“No idea,” he muttered.

Liar
. He knew darned good and well how and why he’d been sent here. She debated whether or not to call him on it but decided to let it slide for now.

“What about you?” he challenged. “What’s this about your image being wrecked if people find out you don’t know how to seduce a man? Which I happen to think is a load of crap, by the way. You’re as hot as they come. And even if you were as naïve as your public image, innocence makes men feel manly and protective.”

He thought she was hot? The flickering glow from the pool painted his features in shifting shadows that prevented her from seeing if he was pulling her leg or not. She drained her glass of wine and Blake refilled it in silence.

She sighed. “I’m being marketed as an action-adventure star. Fans will expect me to be a certain kind of woman. To look and act a certain way. If I fail to deliver that, my popularity will slip, and I’ll stop getting parts.”

He chewed a bite of his steak before asking, “So when do you let your hair down and drop the image?”

She frowned. “Never.”

“So you’re always acting? Always pretending to be someone you’re not?”

“Pretty much. It’s a 24/7 gig.”

“And I thought getting shot at for a living was harsh.”

“Acting is fun most of the time.”

“At what cost? Will it be fun in five years? Ten? When the things you really wanted from life have slipped out of reach for you?”

“Wow. That’s a depressing world view. You’re single, right?”

He nodded, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

“Because any woman who had to live around all that pessimism would slit her wrists, eventually.”

In the blue light of the pool, he went a ghastly shade of gray and froze.

Oh, shit. There
had
been a woman. And whatever happened between them had cut him deep.

“I—” His cell rang, and he had it out of his pocket and up to his ear before she blinked. “Ramsey.” His face hardened and his eyes, once molten when gazing at her, sharpened to glittering aquamarines. “Assholes…That’s why I’m here…Keep me posted. Thanks.” He clicked off the phone, stuffed it in his pocket, and cursed under his breath.

Blake glanced up, and his eyes widened as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“W-what happened?” she stammered.

“Nothing,” he cut across her question.

“Why
are
you here? I thought Adrian—”

“Drop it,” he bit out and she recoiled, deciding she’d get nowhere if she pressed him about the woman in his past, either.

They finished the meal in tense silence. What had he heard that set him off? Why was he really on the set? The danger of the man seated across from her angrily slicing his steak into tiny pieces slammed into her.

Hollywood fake badass was one thing. But this guy was a trained killer. Had seen death and delivered death. She’d planned to offer him the second bedroom in her suite for the night, or maybe even an invitation to share the master suite.

What was she thinking?

He laid down his knife and fork and folded his napkin neatly beside his plate. Despite his impassive expression, Olivia sensed the anger simmering just below the surface. A simple push and his explosion might be worse than a truck full of the squibs she’d dashed through today. He stood. “Thanks for supper. And I promise I won’t tell anyone about your image thing being an act. If what you say is accurate, no one is as they seem in this business. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Harper.”

She was back to being Miss Harper, huh? Mute, she wondered what secrets he kept as he showed himself out of the suite.

“At what cost? Will it be fun in five years? Ten? When the things you really wanted from life have slipped out of reach for you?” he’d asked, now well aware of the secrets she hid from the world.

Olivia sat there, alone, in the cold light of the pool for a long time. Was he right? Was this path going to lead her to a lonely and bitter end? Were the wealth and fame really worth it? Was she strong enough to walk away from the raging desire he provoked in her? To deny herself real relationships or even the occasional hook-up to scratch the itch he’d shown her? A single tear rolled down her cheek.

…

The next morning, as she hurried through the hotel lobby to her car, she couldn’t help but scan for a tall, straight profile. But there was no sign of Blake. Disappointment coursed through her in spite of warning herself to have nothing to do with him and his dangerous secrets.

She spent the drive reviewing her lines for the day, but her heart wasn’t in it. The town car pulled up at the cluster of trailers and tents long before she was ready to face Blake Ramsey. But hey, she was an actress. She could do this.

Except when she stepped out into the chaos and looked around, she didn’t spot him. He hadn’t left, had he? She headed for make-up, her head on a swivel. No sign of him anywhere.

“’Mornin’ beautiful,” Tyrone sang.

“More infected face for me today?”

“Script says the hole in your face is getting worse. I thought I’d go for a heavier zombie vibe today. More jawbone and maybe some exposed teeth.”

“Have you checked that with Major Blood-and-Guts?”

“He laughed and told me to go for it.”

“So he’s here?” Hope fluttered in her chest.

“Been here for hours. I hear he got here before Adrian even emerged from his trailer.”

Jeremy strolled up. “Hey, Harper. So how was the Marine? Did you fuck him?”

She glared at him from under Tyrone’s arm. “In the first place, I didn’t sleep with the
Marine
. And in the second place, I would never kiss and tell.”

“Aww, c’mon. Everyone saw you leave with Major Dickhead. You can tell me. This is the big time, kid. You’re expected to sleep around. I won’t rat you out to Adrian.”

“I. Didn’t. Sleep. With him.”

“Guess not,” he said, and
tsked
. “You’re too bitchy this morning to have gotten laid last night.”

“Go away, Jeremy.”

“See ya on set, baby. Do me a favor and brush your teeth. We’re kissing today.”

Kissing? Crap. Had there been changes overnight in the shooting schedule? After she’d dragged herself inside last night, she’d gone straight to bed.

“Tyrone, please save my life and tell me you’ve got today’s shooting script.”

“Right here, babycakes.”

She took the sheaf of loose papers. “God bless you.”

“I’ve got your back, Liv.”

Horrified, she read that she and Jeremy were slated to share a “desperately passionate” kiss before half her face fell off. A steady stream of swearing erupted inside her head. She had no idea how to do desperate, let alone passionate. And she was supposed to pull off both?

Dead. She was so
dead
.

Chapter Four

“Jesus, Harper. This is like kissing a corpse,” Jeremy complained.

“Maybe my co-star is failing to inspire me,” she snapped back, mortified.

“Stop it, you two,” Adrian intervened. “I know actors prefer to do the love scenes late in the shooting when they’ve developed more chemistry. But this is the only time we’re going to be out here for these exterior shots. So get over it and do what I’m paying you to do. Passion. I need more passion. And desperation. You’re dying, Olivia. You’re losing your grip on life and are going to check out at any second.”

Her co-star threw her a smug look as the director reamed her out.

But then Adrian continued, “And you, Jeremy. The love of your life is slipping away from you. You’re failing her. Let’s see some real angst out of you. It’s a flipping tragedy. You’re supposed to make them weep in the aisles, not nod off to sleep.”

Olivia felt marginally better after the director criticized Jeremy, too. But the problems with this scene were entirely her fault. Her intense television schedule meant she had zero real life experience to draw on.

She’d never even been on a real date with hearts, flowers, or passion.

Which meant she’d have to fake it. What was the next best thing to dying and losing her true love that she
had
experienced?

Instantly, an image of a tall, ramrod straight back retreating into the shadows of her suite came to mind, the sense of desperate loss as her body screamed with need unfulfilled.

“Quiet on the set,” Sheila called out.

Olivia heard the quiet snick of the door closing behind Blake as he walked out of her life. Felt the utter loneliness that had washed over her.

“Action!” Adrian announced.

She threw herself into the kiss wholesale. Jeremy stiffened for a moment, then responded enthusiastically. Except it wasn’t Jeremy McDaniels kissing her. It was Blake Ramsey, his scarred soul carefully hidden away. She threw her arms around his neck as if she would never let him go.

“And cut.”

Startled, she lifted her head off Blake’s shoulder—no wait. Not Blake.

“That was fantastic, Liv,” Adrian called.

Jeremy snorted. “Sure. Squeeze out a few tears and everyone goes crazy. Any chick who can cry on cue is the greatest thing since William Shakespeare.”

She brushed her cheeks and was shocked to feel wetness.

Adrian clapped his hands. “Okay, that’s a wrap for today. Everyone who’s working on tomorrow morning’s action sequence, I’ll meet with you at my trailer in ten minutes. I want cameras two and three on booms, and I need a weather report. Are we going to have clouds at sunrise tomorrow or not?”

“I’m on it, boss,” Sheila answered.

“Jeremy, Olivia. Get some rest. I don’t need either of you collapsing on me.” Given how early their call was in the morning, both Olivia and her co-star had elected to spend the night on set in their trailers.

“Hey, baby. Wanna sleep at my place?” Jeremy drawled. She stared at him, nonplussed. “We can take up where that kiss left off.”

Her jaw dropped. He’d thought that was hot? She’d pulled it off? Son-of-a-gun. “Uhh, I think I’ll just go to my trailer.”

“You’re saying no to Jeremy McDaniels?” Disbelief painted her co-star’s features.

Yikes. Bashing this guy’s gigantic ego would be a serious mistake. One snide comment to the tabloids about how his leading lady couldn’t deliver the goods in love scenes and she was toast.

“Sorry, Jer. I’ve got to study my lines. Maybe next time.” She threw in a flirtatious smile for good measure.

He looked more or less mollified and thankfully retreated to his own trailer without putting up any more fuss.

“Maybe next time?” a deep voice growled behind her. “A punk like that is your taste, then?”

She whirled to face him. “Where have you been?”

“Talking with the explosives guys about how to rig tomorrow’s scene. I thought you might appreciate it if they don’t kill you.”

“Oh.” Silence descended between them. She added lamely, “Thanks.”

“Sure. I’ll let you get to your lines, then.” He started to turn away.

“I know them,” she blurted at his back.

He swiveled back to her, frowning. “You lied?” Jeez. He made it sound like she’d committed a deadly sin.

“I can explain,” she burst out. Cripes. Why was she so freaked out about what he thought of her? Was this some misplaced need to please her father or something? Except Blake wasn’t that much older than she was. And he wasn’t anything like her father, who was round and bald and laid back.

His eyebrow arched and she felt like a child who’d been caught red-handed doing something terrible. Her rear end throbbed in eager anticipation of punishment for her transgression, and her knees about collapsed in shock.

Feet scraping the gravel nearby alerted her that some of the crew were interested in the little exchange. Movie sets were hotbeds of gossip, and it was vital to manage the rumor stream generated about her.

“Shall we take this to my trailer?” she muttered under her breath.

“Won’t that make people talk?” He crossed his arms.

“I’d rather have them saying that I’m screwing you than I blew off my co-star and refused to sleep with Jeremy McDaniels.”

“Is that some sort of crime?”

“If you want an answer, you’ll come to my trailer. I’m
not
talking about it here.” She spun and strode away, desperate to regain control of the exchange. Except when she reached her trailer door, Blake was not behind her. She allowed herself a single glance over her shoulder as she slipped inside. He was where she’d left him, immersed in conversation with Sheila.

Olivia hurried to the window over her sink and peered out surreptitiously. She was in time to see the assistant director and Blake share a hearty laugh. That bitch was flirting with him!

Jealousy roared up inside her, all but knocking her off her feet. Since when had
that
green monster bitten her? She scrubbed off her make-up angrily over the sink and collapsed onto the banquette at the kitchen table. She buried her face in her hands.

Blake Ramsey was not for her. He was wrong in every way a man could be wrong for her. He wasn’t from the movie industry. He wasn’t famous. He was prickly, demanding, and distracting. Dangerous. And worst of all, he knew her dirty little secret.

She had to go cold turkey. Stay away from him completely and just get through this damned shoot. Then she’d never have to see him again as long as she lived.

Avoiding Blake took care of one problem. The bigger one that threatened to tank her career wasn’t so easily solved.

The enormity of the deception she was trying to pull off pressed down on her until she practically hyperventilated. Who was she trying to kid? She’d never pull off this whole femme fatale thing and was lucky she’d squeaked through a kiss today. How would she fake knowing what the heck she was doing in a full-blown love scene?

“What’s wrong?”

She about jumped out of her skin as Blake spoke directly above her. Crap. How had he entered her trailer and moved next to her without her hearing him?

Her impulse was to answer that nothing was wrong, but this guy sniffed a lie from a mile away. Instead, she mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” He turned away from her, rummaged in a cupboard, and set a glass of water in front of her.

“What’s this for?” She wasn’t thirsty.

“Women can’t cry and drink at the same time.”

She took a slug of the water and saw what he meant. She couldn’t sob and swallow simultaneously.

“Finish it,” he ordered.

Desperate to get her to stop crying, huh? Tears panicked the macho Marine? Good to know. Smiling a little into the glass, she obediently finished off the water.

“Better?” he demanded.

Her smile erupted into a full-blown grin. “I’ve stopped crying, already. You can stand down, Marine. The crisis is averted.”

He let out a long breath he’d clearly been holding.

“Afraid of crying females?” she asked dryly.

“Scared silly.”

She nodded in commiseration, not bothering to remind him women weren’t on his list of things he feared.

“Who or what made you cry, Olivia?” he demanded grimly.

“Looking for somebody to hurt now, are you?”

“If someone made you cry, that would be an affirmative,” he bit out.

“You’re so cute when you’re homicidal,” she retorted wryly.

His scowl deepened.

“Seriously, Blake. I’m fine. Women have these crazy things called hormones, and sometimes we cry for no reason at all.”

“You had a reason,” he declared.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on women?”

“Made you stop crying, didn’t I?”

She had to laugh. The man didn’t concede an inch willingly. “What can I do for you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You came to my trailer, let yourself in, and snuck up on me. Did you have a purpose in doing so, or were you just trying to scare me half to death?”

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to finish our earlier discussion.”

“Which one?” she asked cautiously.

“Why did you flirt with Jeremy? Is he really your type?”

No. Direct, honest, real men—emphasis on men—were her type
. She sighed. “Here’s the thing. Jeremy is more established than I am. In the hierarchy of Hollywood gossip, that means he has more street cred than I do.”

Blake frowned. “And?”

“And if he were to say something negative about me to the press, no matter how much I denied it, they would likely believe him over me and rake me over the coals.”

“What could he say to hurt you?”

“He could tell them I’m a terrible kisser.”

“You didn’t look like a terrible kisser an hour ago.”

He’d been on set, huh? Had watched her trade tonsil examinations with Jeremy? “That’s just acting.”

“Isn’t acting supposed to imitate real life?”

She shrugged. “As much as possible. Although, sometimes acting is supposed to evoke more than real life to the audience.”

“A bigger, better kiss than reality?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“So you have to be an epic kisser and not just a regular one? Intriguing, Miss Harper.”

Her gaze snapped up to his. Ice blue fire raged in his eyes, and her gaze dropped to his lips. His epically kissable lips. “You have no idea,” she breathed.

“So you’re not interested in Jeremy McDaniels?” His question shattered her romantic imaginings of those lips plundering hers.

“No!”

A smile tickled the corners of his mouth. “All right, then. I’m glad we’ve got that clear.”

He rose to his feet and left the trailer so fast she didn’t even have time to invite him to stay for supper. What in the hell was that all about? He’d come in here just to find out if she liked another guy? Did that mean he was still interested in her even after he’d walked out on her last night?

In a significantly better frame of mind, she lay down for a quick nap before the night’s shooting began.

…

Blake reflexively scanned the set for the umpteenth time that day, and then watched the director give his final instructions to Olivia and Jeremy. This business of passionately kissing total strangers and experiencing no feelings about it whatsoever was hard to wrap his head around. When he kissed a girl, he meant it, by God. But then, he didn’t run around kissing just any girl, either. He knew plenty of guys who would bed every willing female who crossed their paths, but that had never been his style.

He liked to know their names. To have a little conversation with them. To feel like he’d connected with another human being and not that he was screwing a piece of meat. Maybe that was why misjudging Carmen so badly had messed him up in the head. But, she was a trained spy, after all. She was a professional at deceiving men. He could be forgiven for missing the signs, right?

At least he’d turned the tables on her and managed to trap her in a sting that exposed her and landed her in jail. But it had been close. And now her handlers were trying to find him and kill him. Hence, his being tucked away on this movie set where no Russian spy would think to look for a Marine officer.

“Blake! Get over here!” Jeremy yelled at him.

Wow. No one had used that tone of voice on him in a long damned time. He strolled over to where the movie’s star fumed. “What’s up?” he asked the actor.

“I’m supposed to blow up the car that’s chasing me and Liv by pushing this little button thingy.”

“An actuator,” Blake supplied dryly.

“But wouldn’t it be cooler if I shot out the engine and blew up the car that way? It’d be like a duel between gunslingers.
Mano a mano
. Me against the charging car. It would still fly up into the air and everything.”

“In point of fact, shooting an engine rarely causes an explosion. Although an engine can, indeed, be disabled with gunfire, it’s unlikely to blow up and even more unlikely that the entire car would become airborne.”

“Told you so,” Adrian jumped in. “It’s exactly cheesy fake crap like exploding cars that I’m trying to avoid.”

“But it would be cool,” Jeremy whined.

“You’re still going to get your damned flying car. But we’re doing it my way with an IED buried in the road. Go talk to the stunt guys about the timing of the
planned
explosion,” Adrian ordered. “I don’t need you screwing up this scene.”

As the actor stormed off, Adrian smiled at Blake. “That’s exactly the advice I hired you for. Thanks, Ramsey.”

“Sure. No problem.” Sensing a revolt from the disgruntled actor, though, he followed Jeremy. Sure enough, McDaniels was jumping down the throat of the head explosive stunt coordinator, who was maintaining a stoic silence.

“Hey, Jeremy,” Blake said pleasantly. “If Jackson, here, does what you’re telling him to, you’re going to get fried. Literally. We’re talking burns, disfiguring facial scars, the whole deal. So unless you’re planning to play exclusively Quasimodo parts in the future, you probably ought to let Mr. Motta do his job.”

Jeremy looked alarmed at the mention of facial disfigurement and moved away rapidly.