Overnight Sensation (4 page)

Okay, that was a complete lie.

Just the thought of Ivy James in the nude made his body tighten in response.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice more brusque than he’d intended. “I’ll show you to your room and then ask Denise, who works in makeup, to find you something dry to wear.”

She cast him a grateful glance and walked ahead of him down the covered walkway and into the large, central courtyard. A fountain gurgled in the center, surrounded by lush gardens. The hacienda rose up on all sides. What had once been the cloisters had been converted into private balconies overlooking the gardens.

“Up these stairs to the left,” he murmured, indicating the winding stone staircase that connected the two floors of the hacienda and led to the private rooms on the second level.

Garrett followed at a slower pace, not even trying to force his bad leg to move faster. He knew from bitter experience that would do no good, and he’d just be sore and sorry the following day. Besides, being several steps behind Ivy gave him the opportunity to admire her perfect, heart-shaped rear as she climbed the steps.

They reached the upper level of the hacienda, and he preceded her along an interior corridor with vaulted ceilings and tiled floors. He stopped in front of an ornately carved door at the end of the hallway.

“This is your room.” He pushed open the door and set her luggage just inside. “It has a nice view of the mountains. I’ll go find Denise and get you those dry clothes. When you’ve changed, just come back down the stairs and follow the voices to the pool area, okay?”

“Wait.” She faced him. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, “but I don’t even know your name. You’ve gone out of your way to be so nice to me, and I can’t believe I haven’t even asked your name.”

“It’s Garrett Stokes.”

“Garrett—”

She broke off, and Garrett knew the exact instant she realized who he was.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You’re him. The special-ops guy this movie is all about.”

Garrett allowed himself a wry smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She’d had absolutely no clue who he was. He wasn’t surprised that she had no recollection of him. She’d definitely had bigger things on her mind than some injured soldier who’d shared hospital space with her brother. Nevertheless, he still found it disconcerting that in those few hours, she’d made a profound impact on his life, while he hadn’t even registered on her radar. He wouldn’t betray her brother’s trust by telling her that he’d been that soldier, since doing so would be equivalent to opening Pandora’s box. But a part of him still wanted to create a ripple in her world, make her as aware of him as he was of her.

She frowned. “I thought you were a technical consultant.”

He shrugged. “I am. Finn brought me aboard to ensure the film captures my covert-ops experiences as realistically as possible.”

Her face paled, and Garrett could tell she was remembering the gruesome torture scenes. He’d seen the storyboards and read the script. The screenwriter hadn’t spared the audience when he’d written those portions of the screenplay.

As quickly as the color had drained from her cheeks, it flooded back. “The scenes with the missionary—are they based on real life, as well?”

Garrett hesitated.

She was referring to the explicit, highly sensual love scenes. He fought briefly with his conscience, debating whether to tell her the truth. They were the one facet of the movie that didn’t conform to events as he’d experienced them. Finn had insisted on taking artistic license in portraying Helena Vanderveer as a beautiful young woman with a healthy libido and an instant attraction to the injured soldier who’d found his way to her mission.

In reality, Helena was a sturdy Dutch woman in her mid sixties, with a strong spiritual calling and zero interest in any romantic entanglements. Furthermore, Garrett had been unconscious most of the time she’d cared for him. He had only hazy memories of her and their time together.

Finn had brushed all that aside, insisting a torrid love affair between the soldier and the missionary would heighten the film’s appeal. At his request, the writer had revised the script to depict the soldier as badly injured, but not to the extent that he couldn’t engage in some creative lovemaking with the attractive missionary. Never underestimate the healing powers of lust, Garrett thought wryly.

“Pretty much everything in the script is accurate,” he fibbed, boldly meeting Ivy’s eyes, “especially the scenes with Helena.”

“Oh.” She was silent as she digested his words, and the color in her cheeks deepened. “Well, I hope I can do your…relationship…justice.”

Garrett kept his face carefully impassive. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if you’re not getting it right.”

Her eyes grew big. “You’re not—you’re not actually going to be on the set while we shoot those scenes…are you?”

Garrett heard the horror in her voice, and only barely suppressed a grin. “You bet.”

“Why?” She sounded desperate.

“Just in case you need any pointers,” he responded guilelessly. “It’s my job to make certain every scene is shot as realistically as possible.”

“Why would I need pointers from you?”

“Because every woman responds differently to a man’s touch,” Garrett replied, allowing his gaze to drift over Ivy’s body. “And despite the fact that you’re shooting the scenes with Eric Terrell, you’ll have to respond as if you’re with me. ”

He left her standing wide-eyed and mute in the doorway of her bedroom. But as he turned away, he saw with satisfaction the beginnings of something else in her dark eyes, and he smiled.

That something was awareness.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Ivy stood by the pool with a margarita in one hand as Finn MacDougall shook her other hand and apologized for his rudeness in waiting until the last possible minute to offer her the role. He had indeed not wanted to distract her from the project she’d been involved in. He’d meant to contact her sooner, but time had gotten away from him. He was thrilled to have her on location, and excited to begin working with her.

Dazed, Ivy could only listen and nod and smile like an idiot. Finn was every bit as charismatic and artistic as she’d imagined he would be, and she was tempted to pinch herself to ensure the whole thing wasn’t a dream. How was it possible that Finn MacDougall was apologizing to her?

The entire scene was like something in a bad comedy, and completely opposite to how she’d envisioned her first meeting with the famed director. In her endless imaginings, she’d been composed, casually elegant and regally gracious. She certainly hadn’t looked like something the cat had dragged in.

Her hair was almost dry, but the humidity caused it to curl into an unruly tangle. She hadn’t had time to freshen her makeup, and she knew she looked tired and pale. Worse, the clothing that Denise had loaned her made her feel like a grungy teenager. Denise herself had been little more than a petulant adolescent, clearly put out by Ivy’s needing to borrow her clothes.

“Here,” she’d snapped. “It’s all I can spare. You’ll have to talk to the wardrobe people for any other clothes.”

She’d flounced out of Ivy’s room without another word. Ivy had reluctantly changed into the clothing, and cringed when she saw how terrible she appeared in the borrowed outfit, which consisted of a shapeless T-shirt and a pair of baggy pants that suspiciously resembled pajama bottoms.

God, what must Finn think of her?

“Well, it’s great to finally meet you,” he was saying. “I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment with the assistant director to review the dailies, so just—” he swept a hand toward the people who milled around the pool “—make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

Ivy watched as he made his way back to the main house, stopping several times to speak to people. She’d been hastily introduced to the other cast members, but aside from one or two familiar faces, they were mostly unknown to her. Viewing them now as they chatted and laughed, she was reluctant to insert herself into their intimate conversations.

She swirled her drink uncertainly for a moment, feeling awkward and self-conscious, until her gaze fell on the man at the far side of the terraced patio. Even while talking with Finn, she’d been acutely aware of Garrett Stokes several paces away, observing her.

She couldn’t get his last words out of her head: “You’ll have to respond as if you’re with me.”

Worse, every time she envisioned herself acting out the love scenes for the movie, Garrett was the man she cast in the leading role. A supremely muscled, naked Garrett, with molten eyes.

Which was crazy. An hour ago, she’d been a jumble of nerves just thinking about working with Eric Terrell. She considered him so far out of her league, both personally and professionally, that she’d had trouble visualizing herself as his on-screen love interest. Now she couldn’t even recall what he looked like. The man who came to mind was Garrett Stokes. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the real deal—the Green Beret who’d experienced everything in the script firsthand. He was the one Helena Vanderveer had risked everything for, including her life…and her heart.

Unwillingly, her gaze slid over him. He’d changed out of his wet clothes and now wore a loose-fitting shirt made of some gauzy, breathable material over a dry pair of cargo pants. But even the casual clothing couldn’t disguise his wide shoulders or flat stomach, or hide that his was a leanly muscled physique. He exuded a raw sexuality that turned a woman’s thoughts to hot, potent kisses and bone-melting orgasms. Despite knowing him less than an hour, Ivy realized she wasn’t at all immune to those insidious thoughts.

She wondered what it would be like to be pressed against all that hard warmth. He’d said every woman responded differently to a man’s touch—as if he was an expert on the subject. How would she respond to his touch, to his hands on her body and his mouth on her skin?

As though sensing her wayward thoughts, Garrett smiled at her, a slow, knowing smile that caused her breasts to tighten and heat to swamp her midsection. If that was how he’d looked at Helena Vanderveer, no wonder the missionary had torn off her clothes and jumped into the guy’s sickbed with him. Ivy felt hot color sweep up her neck to her face, but she was helpless to drag her eyes away from him.

“Hey, you must be Ivy.”

Startled, Ivy turned to see an attractive woman in a turquoise sarong smiling at her. Her red hair was an artful disarray of curls, captured in an oversize clip at the back of her head, and her green eyes were elongated by an expert sweep of black eyeliner. She had such an open, friendly face that Ivy couldn’t help but smile back at her. The other woman extended her hand.

“I’m Carla Ricci, and I’ll be doing your makeup.” She gave Ivy an appraising look. “You have great bone structure, and your eyes are amazing, but we’ll have to do something with the hair. A little conditioner, and you’ll be all set.”

Ivy grimaced and self-consciously put a hand to her head. “We got caught in a downpour, and I haven’t had time to do anything with it,” she explained.

“Oh, yes, I heard. You and Mr. Military Badass over there.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully in Garrett’s direction. “He wanted to drive into Veracruz to pick you up at the airport, but Finn needed him here, instead. I expected the guy to go completely Rambo when he found out you were taking the public bus in.” She shuddered. “You poor thing.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Ivy lied, “except that I lost my luggage.”

Carla put a conciliatory hand on Ivy’s arm. “I heard.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Ivy’s outfit. “If your suitcase doesn’t show up and you need something to wear, come see me. I have some little dresses that would look totally hot on you, and it would teach Denise a lesson, the little bitch. She’s just worried that Eric will find you more attractive than he finds her.”

Surprised, Ivy couldn’t help but give a small bark of laughter. “Me? Oh, please. I’ve seen the women Eric Terrell is attracted to, and I’m pretty sure I’m not up to those standards.”

“Are you kidding?” Carla shot her a look of astonishment. “When’s the last time you stood in front of the mirror, sweetie? You totally have a young Julia Ormond look going on, all sweet and sexy at the same time. And those curls are to die for.” She caught an errant ringlet on the end of her finger. “Most women would kill for hair like this.” She winked at Ivy conspiratorially. “Besides, from what I hear, your leading men have a hard time keeping an arm’s length, if you know what I mean. If you ask me, you could have this one eating out of your hands…or more.”

Embarrassed by the other woman’s candidness, Ivy couldn’t help darting a glance at Garrett Stokes, wondering how much of the bizarre conversation he could overhear. She hoped none of it. “Well, I’m definitely just here to do a job, so I doubt there’ll be any of that going on.”

Carla smiled at her knowingly. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t we? Of course, none of us would be heartbroken if Eric developed a little thing for you, since it would put Denise’s nose hugely out of joint, if you get my meaning.”

Ivy blinked.

A burst of laughter erupted from those nearest the house, and the cast members sitting by the pool glanced up, suddenly alert.

“Oh, here he is now,” Carla said sotto voce. “Good luck, sweetie. See you on the set!”

Ivy turned around expectantly, to find that Eric Terrell had arrived. For him to make his way toward the terrace where she stood took several long moments, giving Ivy the opportunity to study him.