Femme Fatale (2 page)

“I’m not supposed to be in the military. My character’s clothes have been destroyed in the previous scene, and I’m borrowing a uniform.”

He leaned in close from behind to murmur over her shoulder, “Then why don’t you leave your hair down? Guys in the audience will fantasize about wrapping it in their fists and pulling your head back so they can suck your neck.”

The fair skin visible below her earlobe took on a pinkish cast that was utterly charming. A blusher? Her breasts probably turned that same rosy shade as arousal overtook her—

Dammit.
He was doing it again
. He was diving in head first around a hot female without checking for landmines. Had he learned nothing from Carmen? Steeling himself, he moved around in front of Olivia and reached for her shirt’s top button. She gasped lightly as his fingers brushed against the upper curves of her bosom. He slipped the luckiest button on earth free of its mooring nestled between her breasts and pulled her shirt wider open. Was there even a bra under there?

Surely all that sexy lift and jiggle was not natural. But the softness and rebound of her breasts didn’t feel like silicone against the back of his fingers. Her breath-stealing display was
real
? He said a brief, fervent prayer of thanks to whatever god of genetics had fashioned this exquisite body. A driving need to get inside her shirt and examine its contents pounded through him.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathily.

“Men will be the primary audience demographic for this film, right?”

She nodded, her cat eyes huge and dark.

“Then they’re going to want cleavage.”

She blinked up at him rapidly. “Yeah. Sure.” Lord, she looked as off-balance as he felt.

Pushing back a strand of her tawny hair that had slipped free and tucking it gently behind her delicate, and entirely edible, ear, he said quietly, “There. You’re perfect.”

He could swear she stumbled a little as she turned toward the voice calling her to the set on a megaphone. He shamelessly relished the view of her booty twitching away from him.

Sexy young things like her were Trouble. Capital T. But that didn’t make them any less tempting. Carmen already had his life on hold until further notice. He was
not
going there again.

But no panties? ?

Hell, he was already in Trouble.

Chapter Two

Olivia was hot and exhausted as the sun beat down mercilessly on the California desert. It was the third take of a scene that had her and Jeremy darting across the frame while explosive squibs—fake bullets—exploded around their feet. She ducked under an umbrella while Blake helped lay yet another line of squibs for the next take. His biceps flexed as he efficiently armed charges, squatting on powerful legs.

“For God’s sake, get it right this time, Jeremy!” Adrian shouted.

Jeremy was the one who’d skidded to a stop shy of the foxhole in the first take to peer down into it before hopping in like a girl. On the second take, he’d copped a feel while they pranced across the shot and gotten yelled at for it. He was still sulking about his stifled creative juices. He was lucky Olivia hadn’t cold-cocked him in the name of her own creative juices.

She was near tears but the last thing she needed was a reputation for being a wimp on set. Not if she wanted to keep doing big action thrillers.

A deep, smooth voice rumbled in front of her. “Nobody can run for squat holding hands. It’s why lovers
skip
through the daisies.”

The loafers were dusty and scuffed now but the crease in the slacks, in her field of view, was still crisp. She took a steadying breath and looked up. The bronze V of skin in the neck of his shirt glistened with perspiration, but it was Blake’s only concession to the heat. He looked infuriatingly at ease in this freaking oven.

“What do you suggest?” she asked.

“Don’t hold hands. When you reach the hole, have Jeremy put his hand on your back like this.” He stepped around beside her and placed a protective hand on the small of her back. Her pulse jumped as he murmured, “He can propel you forward into the foxhole and safety. And you can elbow him in the gut if he gets fresh with you again.”

She broke into a grin. “I like the way you think.”

He shrugged. “A lady’s got to look out for herself.”

“Places, everyone!” the assistant director bellowed.

Olivia cast a grateful glance at Blake, who nodded back encouragingly.

As Jeremy reached for her hand, she said, “Why don’t we try this one running side by side? You can put your hand on my waist when we get ready to jump. I’ll hang back out of your shot a bit. It would put you more center screen, but—”

“Done,” Jeremy interrupted.

Smiling to herself, she took off running on cue. Dodging and weaving as the squibs exploded around them like firecrackers on steroids, she sprinted for all she was worth toward the foxhole. Jeremy shoved her in and took a flying leap after her. She crashed onto a pile of soft foam mats and rolled out of her co-star’s way.

Jeremy must have rolled over, too, because his front pressed against her back from shoulder blades to ankles and his arm flopped over her. No shock, his hand commenced wandering up toward her chest. She jerked her elbow back sharp and hard, and her co-star swore loudly and rolled away.

“Cut!” Adrian shouted from somewhere above.

Another hand appeared before her face. A large, tanned hand with hard calluses and capable fingers. “Nice shot,” Blake commented. It sounded like he meant her elbow and not the mad dash to the foxhole. She traded smiles with him.

“Jesus, Harper. You broke my damned rib!” Jeremy complained loudly.

“Little poke like that made you cry?” Blake asked dismissively. “We’re gonna have to toughen you up if we’re going to make a Marine out of you.”

“I don’t want to be a Marine,” the actor whined.

“Too bad,” Blake sighed and hopped into the foxhole. “Civilians don’t get to play with the good toys. And the Corps has given me permission to bring some of our latest weaponry onto set.”

Jeremy climbed out and stalked away, grumbling under his breath.

“Need a boost?” Blake asked her. His hands went around Olivia’s waist, and before she knew it, she was standing beside the hip-deep hole. The strength behind his easy lift shocked her. He jumped out as light as a cat to join her, so tall beside her that she felt small and feminine.

As camera booms and light stands were rolled in every direction to prepare for the next scene, he asked, “Now what?”

“It’ll take the crew a couple of hours to set up the night shot. And, of course, the sun has to go down.” He frowned. “Didn’t they give you a shooting script and filming schedule?” she asked.

“Nope. I just got a call yesterday from my boss telling me to get to Palm Springs, California, ASAP to consult on a movie.”

“Come to my trailer and I’ll show you my script and schedule. Plus, I get better food than the catering table for the crew. You can eat with me.”

“The crew’s chow will be fine. I’d lay odds it’s better than what I get in the field,” he replied.

“Blake Ramsey. Are you telling me a big bad Marine like you is afraid of having supper with a helpless little thing like me?”

One light brown eyebrow arched over those penetrating eyes of his. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I am afraid of a few things in this world. But darlin’, women are nowhere on that list.”

“Come on, then. I dare you.” Using her perfected sashay, she headed for her trailer without waiting for him to fall in beside her. She wasn’t even sure he’d followed until his hand reached past her to open the trailer door for her and the heat of him stroked her back.

She stepped into the blessed cool of the RV bus. It wasn’t outfitted expensively like a rock star’s but was nice enough for her. Plus, it had a real shower that didn’t rain all over the toilet,
and
a king-sized bed.

Olivia surveyed past the small side table overflowing with the massive stack of bills that never got smaller and surveyed today’s fare on the miniature kitchen counter—a plate of fresh fruits, cheeses, European cold cuts, a bowl of salad, and chocolate chip cookies. She peeked in the oven and spied lasagna with gooey cheese overflowing the ceramic dish.

Working in companionable silence, they had the meal on the table in a few minutes.

Being in such close proximity to him and doing something so intimately domestic, made her more nervous than her first big audition. He was just a guy. Right? Then why was she reacting to him like he was a freaking superhero?

“How old are you?” Blake asked.

“Nearly twenty-six,” she replied. “But my agent will kill you if you tell the press that. They think I’m barely twenty-two.”

“Why lie about it?”

“Welcome to Hollywood, where youth and beauty rule. What about you? How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Isn’t that young for an officer of your rank?”

He shrugged. “Not when you’ve been to a bunch of war zones.”

“As in getting shot at?” she blurted, alarmed.

“Same thing.” He stood and cut another slice of the lasagna. “Want more?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Not if I want to fit into my wardrobe tomorrow.”

“What’s with the hearty Italian food? I thought all you Hollywood types eat rabbit food and nibble on twigs.”

“I prefer to eat like a human being and work out a lot. I had to drop about ten pounds for the big screen, but this is going to be a strenuous shoot. I’ll burn the calories.” She shifted subjects abruptly. “Tell me about combat.”

His eyes were miles away. Distant. Cold.

Whoa.

“It sucks,” he said shortly.

“Tell me,” she pressed.

“Which part? The smell of blood? The screams of the wounded? Having to look a man in

the eye as you gut him?”

“You’ve done that?” she gasped.

“Yes.”

She recoiled from the bitterness in his voice.

“Hell, I’m sorry.” He shoved a hand through his short hair. He stood, and she did the same, coming face to face with him in the narrow aisle. His gaze was still dark, but he had returned to the present.

“It’s okay. You can talk to me,” she said quietly.

“You don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff. You have a shiny, happy life. War’s a million miles away from this world.”

“Men like you die to make this life possible for me.” The heat in her reply surprised her. Honestly, it was the first time she’d ever thought of it in those terms. She’d known intellectually that democracy required defense, but it had never had a human face for her until now.

He blinked down at her in surprise. On impulse, she reached up to lay a palm on his cheek, which was rough with blond whisker stubble. “I’m serious, Blake. Tell me about it.”

“The hard part is to forget it, not dredge it up.”

“Then let me help you forget it.”

“A girl like you shouldn’t say things like that to a guy like me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m just big enough a bastard to take you up on it.”

Her heart leaped. “Glad to hear it, soldier.”

He actually groaned aloud. His hands drifted toward her as if to pull her close against him. His head tilted down slightly, and her gaze riveted on his lips, which looked as tasty as chocolate bonbons with sprinkles on top.

Her lower body was warm and willing. And her breasts
throbbed
. What was up with that? She and Blake swayed toward each other, drawn like the opposite poles of magnets.

Someone banged on her trailer door and Blake jumped. She headed for the door muttering, “Quit looking so guilty or rumors are going to fly about us.”

“You think inviting me to your trailer for a private dinner isn’t going to do that anyway?”

He was right. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Major Blake Ramsey, no matter how tight he tied her insides in knots, could not be linked to her in the press. Relieved he’d caught onto the game so quickly, she was surprised by the rush of disappointment that followed.

Think Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Chagrined, she threw the door open and said a bright hello to the assistant director. Sure enough, Sheila took a long, suspicious look around the trailer, her gaze falling in disappointment as she spotted the two plates on the table and Blake fully dressed by the sink, his expression as bland as white bread.

“Shall we head back to the set?” Olivia asked Blake formally.

“After you, Miss Harper,” he replied, just as distant.

Thanks to Sheila’s incredibly untimely interruption, Olivia wanted to sneer at everyone as she stomped to her place for the last scene of the day. She was so flooded with frustration that she nailed an argument with Jeremy in one take. Adrian called her delivery inspired. Her co-star seemed miffed that she’d upstaged him, but with half-a-dozen major movies under his belt he could step up his acting if he felt threatened.

She dismissed Jeremy’s whining with a wave of her hand and headed toward her limo, a black town car. Blake stood nearby, looking around in all directions.

“What’s up?” she asked him.

“Someone was supposed to arrange a rental car for me, but I don’t see one anywhere.”

She laughed. “One thing that’s true in both TV and movies: if you want to get something done on set for sure, do it yourself. Are you headed for Palm Springs?” It was the nearest human settlement large enough to have a hotel. At his nod, she responded, “That’s where I’m going. Jump in with me.”

He handed her into the car and climbed in behind her. “I can see the appeal of this lifestyle,” he commented as the spacious vehicle pulled out smoothly.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh of pleasure. Cool air blew from the air vents, and quiet music played over the low purr of the engine. “It’s hellishly hard work to get here, and the sacrifices wannabe actors have to make are incredible. But if you can hit the lottery and become a working actor, it has its perks.”

“You seem almost too…nice…for this business. Genuine. Sweet, really.”

“I’m no longer the girl next door from that TV series.” His labels, which he probably considered compliments, stiffened her spine. She couldn’t afford nice or genuine. Hot. Sexy. That’s what made kick-ass action heroines. Not sweet.

She was in trouble if she couldn’t solidify her new image.

“No, you’re definitely not a girl any longer.” His gaze darkened, but the look of interest…hunger, maybe…disappeared so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it. “Do you worry about getting devoured by the whole movie star thing?”

“How so?”

“Seems like young actresses spin out of control and ruin themselves more often than not. Does your family approve?”

She laughed painfully. “They didn’t until the first big paycheck came in and then they figured out how lucrative my coattails could be.”

“I’m sorry,” he said soberly.

She studied him carefully. “You’re a really smart guy, aren’t you?”

He barked a laugh. “Not when it comes to women.”

He had no idea how sexy he was. The scent of him wrapped around her, but she checked herself. She couldn’t fall for an unknown, someone totally outside the industry. Fall for a hot,
famous
actor who would make for beautiful tabloid photos, her agent insisted. The more photogenic a couple, the more coverage they got in the press.

“What are you thinking about, Blake?” Her fingers traced along a hard bicep.

He raised an eyebrow as he poured two drinks from the decanter in the mini-bar and passed her one. She sniffed whiskey and mentally shuddered.
Badass, Liv, badass
. She took a deep breath and tossed it down just as he commented, “Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Harper?”

She would never know if it was the whiskey or his bold question that made her choke. She ended up yanked across his lap, lungs on fire and head hanging down, while he pounded on her back.

When she could finally breathe again, mortification slammed into her. She was lying across his lap, rear end sticking up in the air like an errant schoolgirl about to get spanked. Darned if his palm didn’t pass lightly over her rear, too, like he was thinking the exact same thing.

And then a finger slipped under the hem of her short skirt, easing it up--

Oh, crap. She’d worn a thong today. His palm passed over the juicy flesh of her rear end, testing the spring and resiliency like he was measuring it for that spanking. Vulnerability ripped through her, followed by the hardest arousal of her entire life.