Over Exposed (3 page)

“We're gonna be stuck here together for a couple days. If you haven't noticed, it's snowing like a bitch outside and I'm pretty sure the road leading up here isn't high on the township's priorities. It's just you and me. Nothing you say will leave this place. And you can't say anything that's going to insult me. Trust me, I've been insulted by some of the best.”

Ah yes, but what about when she told him how much she wanted to jump his bones and he laughed in her face? Or worse, gave her one of those pitying smiles she'd seen on the faces of her mom's boyfriends or husbands when they inevitably left?

“How did you get into the film business?”

He stared at her for a few seconds and she wasn't sure he was going to let her off the hook that easily. Then he shrugged. “I left for Hollywood a week after high school graduation. I slogged through a year of shit jobs before I talked my way into an intern position at Roger Corman's production company. Made no money but it was a foot in the door and when you work for Corman, you either swim or drown. I learned to swim, worked my way into a paid position, and the rest is history.”

“I saw
The Virgin and the Terror
.” Her smile widened as she continued. “Mama said it reminded her of
The Evil Dead
, so we watched that too but that freaked me out.”

“And . . . ?” He looked at her expectantly. “What'd you think of
Virgin
?”

She debated what to say for a few seconds then took him at his word. He'd said she could say anything. “Well, the virgin had a thing for the dragon, which was kind of weird. And the gorgeous guy you thought was the hero turned out to be a dick. At one point, I swore I saw one of the extras talking on a cell phone even though it was set in the dark ages. Or maybe it wasn't even set on earth at all? And what was with all the little stone people? I totally didn't get that.”

Greg was laughing so hard by the time she stopped to take a breath, she worried he was going to hurt himself. At least he wasn't pissed. Another man might've tried to defend himself. After all, she'd just torn his baby to pieces.

“I did think the story was really interesting,” she added, which just seemed to make him laugh harder.

When he finally calmed down enough to take a drink of milk, she was positive he was going to go into some lengthy description about why his movie was much better than she'd just made it out to sound.

“You know I built my career on that film, right?” He waited until she nodded to continue. “I'd been working on that script for years. I started it when I was sixteen. I had no idea what I was doing but I knew what I liked. I grew up watching B-movies, like
The Evil Dead
and
Re-Animator
and
The Toxic Avenger
, and I thought, well, hell, if they can make money on those movies, I can do better.”

Mesmerized, she watched him talk about his start in the film business. She heard most of what he said but mainly she got lost in his enthusiasm and his ability to tell a story.

She'd seen pictures of him on the set of
The Virgin and the Terror.
Okay, she'd searched long and hard to find pictures of him on the set. His hair had been shorter back then. He'd looked clean-cut, young, almost innocent—if you ignored the shit-eating, arrogant grin. He still had the grin but it was no longer arrogant. It was sexy. Really freaking sexy.

While he'd been almost too prettily perfect back then, now he had the age and maturity to back up his confidence. The guys she met now, the guys her age . . . most were jerks. They were cocky, which wasn't anywhere close to being confident. They acted like they had brass balls, but if you looked close enough, you could see the cracks beneath the surface. All bravado. No maturity.

This man . . . well, he
was
a man.

And you have major daddy issues, don't you?

Her face screwed up into a frown and he stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows raised.

“What? Not a fan of Leo?”

She blinked, shaking her head. “No, sorry. I was thinking of something else and . . . ”

She broke off when she realized she'd probably just offended him by admitting she hadn't been listening.

But he laughed again and she had to school her expression not to let her mouth hang open. God, could the man be any hotter?

She didn't think so and that was
really
going to be a problem.

“You're gonna be hell on my ego, aren't you, kid?”

A blush heated her cheeks. “I'm sorry. That's not— I didn't mean—”

She stopped with a sigh as he continued to laugh.

“Right. So I think I'll just clean up these dishes,” she said. “I'm sure you want to get back to work. Or maybe you should get some sleep. You look like you could use it.” She rolled her eyes when she realized what she'd said and stopped in the process of picking up the dishes. “And wow, did I just sound like my mother or what?”

He released another short, rough sound of amusement but when she flashed him a look, he wasn't smiling. He stared at her with an intensity that made her feel like she was naked. Which didn't help her rising blood pressure.

“I'm not ready for bed yet.” He gathered his own dishes when she would have reached for them, and he motioned for her to lead the way into the kitchen. “I'll give you a hand with these then we can check for dessert. I'm in the mood for something sweet.”

Had he looked at her for any particular reason when he said that? It certainly seemed that way.

But then he headed for the door and she got drawn along behind him. Achingly aware that he was only inches away from her, she tried not to keep looking at his very fine ass. Which was really,
really
hard to do because, oh, my God, the man had a great ass.

And broad shoulders. And that hair.

So not fair.

But she was used to disappointment so . . .

“You see anything in the fridge for dessert?” Greg headed directly for the dishwasher and would've taken the dishes out of her hands and loaded them himself if she hadn't put them out of his reach on the counter so she could open the door on the machine.

She was the one being paid to look after him, after all.

Giving him her best “employee” smile again, she reached for his dishes. “I did see a few different pieces of cakes and pies in there. Tyler obviously knows you have a sweet tooth and stocked the kitchen for you.”

She almost breathed a sigh of relief when he turned toward the fridge and she didn't have to force that smile anymore.

“Huh. He's clearly trying to make me fat. Jesus, how the hell many Termini Brothers cannoli does he think I can eat? There must be twenty in here. How many do you want?”

Truthfully, she wanted about five right now. She ate when she was nervous and right now, her nerves were jonesing for sugar.

“Oh, none for me, thanks.”

“Don't like cannoli, huh? Then you don't know what you're missing. There's chocolate cake in here and strawberry pie and . . . I think that's carrot cake.”

Setting the dishwasher to run, she headed for the opposite side of the room. “I think I'm just going to head up to my room for the night. I don't want to get in your way—”

“You're not getting in my way.” With a sigh, he shut the refrigerator door, the tray of cannoli in hand. Then he gave her that smile again, the one that made her thighs clench. “And truthfully, I could use the company.”

*  *

Greg watched Sabrina struggle for a way to decline his not-really-all-that-polite invitation.

If he were a decent guy, he'd give her an out. Tell her, sure, no problem. See you tomorrow.

But he wasn't going to. He wanted to spend more time with her. Screw it. It wasn't like she was underage. Hell, he knew older men than him who dated eighteen-year-olds. Of course, they were pricks but . . .

Goddamn it, he
liked
this girl. If she could get over the whole guest/employee thing, and get comfortable with him, they could have an intelligent conversation. For the past week and a half, he'd talked to no one except Camilla Banks, the first caretaker Tyler had sent. She'd had the grandmother-type down perfectly. Probably because she was, five times over.

But he hadn't had the faintest desire to talk about his screenplay with her.

He wanted to talk to Sabrina.

Yeah, he wanted to do other things with her, too. But that wasn't going to happen.

And maybe if he continued to tell himself that, he'd actually make it happen.

Leaning back against the counter, he watched her struggle for an answer. He couldn't tell if she really didn't want to spend time with him or if she did but didn't think she should.

He did know he'd seen her awareness of him in her eyes, seen the attraction.

With a barely audible sigh, he watched her worry her bottom lip with her teeth. Christ, if she wanted to stand in the kitchen for hours and discuss the merits of pie over cake, he'd dress up like the Pillsbury Doughboy and let her poke him in the stomach.

Was that the alcohol talking?

Probably not. He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind since the night they'd met. It had become a real problem. And now that he had the opportunity to spend some time with her, maybe he'd be able to work her out of his system.

Without an actual workout in bed.

“Sure,” she finally answered, and that shy smile she gave him forced him to swallow a groan. “I can do that.”

With the cannoli in hand, he led her back to the lounge and waved her toward the couch. He set the pastries on the coffee table then fell onto the other end of the couch.

“Did Tyler tell you what I've been working on?”

She shook her head. “No. Just that you're here to work. I did see something online about you writing a screenplay, though.”

Had she been checking him out?

And there goes that ego again.

“But there really wasn't a lot of information. Will you tell me about it?”

Grabbing a cannoli, she settled back into the couch, watching him. Waiting. Like she was truly interested.

“It's an idea I had a few years ago. A parlor piece that takes place in the same house over the course of a weekend. A group of friends gathered for a wedding. Sort of
The Big Chill
with a little
Match Point
thrown in.”

“You mean the Woody Allen movie?”

He laughed. “Yeah, have you seen it?”

“Oh, I loved that one. I don't go to the movies much but my mom has a thing for Woody Allen so she and I went to see it. I couldn't believe how much I wanted that guy to get away with murder. I mean, it was just so—”

“Amazing how Allen made you root for the villain?”

Her bright smile made it hard for him to breathe. “Exactly. I thought about that for days.”

“Yeah, it's a great piece of film. That's what I want to create.”

Her lips remained curved in a sweet smile and he wanted to lean forward and kiss it off her face.

“Don't you think your other movies are great pieces of film?”

He shrugged. “I'm not in the business of making art. I make popular entertainment and I make damn good popular entertainment. I've produced two movies I think can be called art but I've never made one myself. This is my shot.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back, even if they were the truest words he'd ever said. He hadn't said them to anyone else. Why he'd told Sabrina . . .

As she tilted her head, her hair fell over her shoulders again. He couldn't tear his gaze away as she brushed it back. His hands curled into fists from wanting to wind the strands through his fingers.

“So you're writing the screenplay, too? I thought you didn't write anymore. That you mainly produce now.”

He caught back a grin because, again, she must have done some research on him. Juvenile? Yes. Did he care? Fuck no.

“Yeah, I'm doing the screenplay and directing. We film in December for four weeks. We're doing it here in Pennsylvania.”

She nodded. “I did read about that in the newspaper. Why here? And in December? It could be miserably cold and snowy. Although”—she smiled as she motioned toward the window—“I guess you're not safe anytime.”

Good question
. It was the one everyone was asking, from his business partner to the media to every actor who thought they had half a snowball's chance in hell of getting a role.

People were lined up on either side of the divide between
It's a desperate attempt to regain credibility with a low-budget art-house production
or
His production company's in trouble and this project is a desperate, last-ditch Oscar-bait to give the company leverage when it comes time to sell
.

“Because I'm tired of the fucking rat race in Hollywood and I wanted to make a movie as far from the system as I could get.”

He waited to see the doubt in her eyes, the cynical “Yeah, he's totally lost it” look he would've gotten from anyone in the business.

Sabrina just shrugged. “Sounds good. I can't wait to see it.”

As she took a bite of her cannoli, Greg shook his head.
Amazing.
He felt like a ten-ton weight had been removed from his shoulders. While his jeans got tighter.

Fuck
. He really needed to keep that under control.

When he didn't answer right away, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What? Don't believe me? I do actually enjoy movies that have a decent plot and not just half-naked guys running around saving the planet.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, but a smile lurked around the corners of her full mouth. Christ, he felt like a fucking kid, wanting to lean forward and kiss the hell out of her.

He'd wrap that hair around his hand, pull her close, and keep her there. Plaster that lush body up against his and seal his mouth over hers.