Twisted Arrangement 4 (13 page)

His tongue teased the seam of her lips, gently flicking against her tongue, as his hand slid up into her hair and pulled her closer. Emma curled her fingers into the lapels of his suit as gravity seemed to shift. She felt suddenly as if she might slide off her chair, off the very surface of the earth.

Emma couldn’t resist the allure of Josh’s heat, his spicy flavor, his satiny lips. She moved her mouth against his, tasting, taking, until she shuddered with the echoes of pleasure reverberating beneath her skin, all beginning at that central point where Josh’s lips touched hers.

After only a moment, Josh drew back, leaving her gasping. Heat burned in her cheeks and desire burned in her veins. She knew her eyes were impossibly wide as she stared into Josh’s gorgeous face. Like the other night, that kiss had felt like something else. Something more.

Based on the flush high on his sculpted cheekbones and the fierce glitter in his blue-green gaze, Emma thought Josh felt the same way. His hand dropped from her face, landing on his thigh with a soft thump. She wanted to reach for him and clasp his fingers, but when she lifted her hand, he flinched.

It was a microscopic movement, but Emma saw it. She froze, and returned her hand to her own side.

“Wow,” Kimber-Not-Short-For-Kimberly commented from beside her, combing pearl-pink talons through her long blonde hair. “That was a hell of a smacker. Your man’s got some serious tonsil-hockey skills. Lucky bitch.”

Emma blinked, the temperature of her cheeks increasing at the younger woman’s crass words. She opened her mouth to speak, not sure what would come out, when the soft but magnified ‘thump, thump, thump’ of someone tapping a live microphone cut her off. The round, balding man was at the podium, sweating and grinning.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention please?”

Emma stared at Josh, ignoring the Master of Ceremonies, wanting to say something. Anything. Josh stared back for a minute, jewel-like eyes flat and unreadable. Then he turned his attention to the dais. Emma slumped in her seat as if she was a puppet and he’d cut her strings.

Just an act
, she tried to remind herself. But that kiss hadn’t been an act. Last night hadn’t been an act. So what was it?

Emma bit her lip and forced her attention to the man behind the podium. The truth was, she was very afraid of the answer to that question.

Josh ducked under the open half-tent that shielded the monitor from the bright sunlight, watching Morse Goodweather survey the shot through the high-def monitor, and tried to pretend he wasn’t desperate to increase the distance between him and his faux wife. The truth was, he’d been avoiding Emma since the DGA dinner last night.

Because of that kiss.

He’d only meant it to be a brief touch of their lips. The night had been going so well. They were bantering, schmoozing. Countless photographers had snapped their picture on the way into the banquet hall. He’d spotted several more among the crowd too. He and Emma had been photographed with Christine, Arnold, and a slew of other Hollywood notables. All very good for the image of their marriage. No one could doubt they were genuinely hitched after that display.

Including his own damn self, apparently.

They’d been in public, for Christ’s sake. A quick kiss was permissible, even expected, given the recentness of their supposed nuptials. But the very second their lips touched, Emma had given this sweet, small sigh. He’d felt her body grow pliable as she leaned into him, and those lush lips had parted just the slightest bit.

He hadn’t been able to resist taking what she offered, flicking his tongue into the warm, moist cavern of her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Though there was no denying the carnality of the lip-lock. It hadn’t just been ‘tonsil-hockey’, as Arnold Purefoy’s trophy girlfriend had crudely remarked. It had been so much more.

Hence his current plan to avoid Emma at all costs.

Fair? Probably not. But Josh thought it the wisest course of action for the time being. Until he could get some distance, clear his head, and figure out why the hell he kept ending up at ‘more’ with Emma when he was trying to keep it at... well, not more.

“What’s the good word, Morse?” He forced a jovial smile and clapped his director on the back. Morse flipped his limp flop of blond hair back off his forehead.

“Dennis wants to wait another ten minutes. For the light.”

Josh nodded, glancing out over the set, eying the angle of the sun. “Alright, then. We wait ten minutes.”

Dennis, the Director of Photography, was an older man, tall and broad, with a fringe of white hair around the gleaming dome of his head and a neatly-trimmed, snowy goatee. “In ten minutes, that light’ll be so lush and gorgeous, I’m telling you.”

“You’ll want to make love to it?” Josh snorted. It was a favorite phrasing of the cheerful DP. Josh had heard it often in the years they’d worked together.

“Smart ass. Wait and see if you don’t.” Dennis socked his shoulder.

Josh believed him. McClure was one of the most sought after DPs in the business and had shelves of awards to his name. The man was an artist. His odd penchant for referring to his framing and lighting as he would a sensual woman was just one of his odd quirks. Not that Josh minded. The man could have as many quirks he wanted, as long as he did good work.

Good. Focus on the film and not on Emma.

He stayed in his office ‘working’ late last night, waiting until he was sure Emma was asleep before going to bed, and then setting his alarm for ridiculously early. As they drove to the set, he occupied himself on the phone to avoid conversation. But even as  he chatted with Dennis and Morse, he could sense her behind him. As if, in the few brief weeks of their sham marriage, he’d developed some sort of sixth sense for her location.

Josh knew if he turned and looked she’d be standing with several PAs and assistants, including her younger brother, off to the side of the set. Knowing Emma, she was probably coaxing stories from the more long time staff members. She was constantly curious about all aspects of the business. He found it fascinating to watch her absorb the information about the different roles people played in the making a movie. Her green eyes danced with intelligence and genuine interest as she listened.

It endeared her to the crew rather quickly. ‘Mrs. Owens’ was a big hit. Josh gritted his teeth, forcing out a chuckle at one of Dennis’s joking remarks. Everyone loved Emma. He had lost count of the number of times he’d been congratulated on his good luck in landing the petite brunette. If they only knew the real circumstances of the relationship.

Not that anyone ever would. That was the whole point. He should be happy his crew had so emphatically joined Team Emma. It meant their act was working. So why did it irk him every time someone called him a lucky man?

Maybe because she isn’t really yours.

Josh breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Dennis gave Morse the all clear to move ahead with filming. The actors took their places, William, in full costume. climbed into the creaking carriage. Sound techs adjusted levels while boom operators shifted mic poles out of the shot. Dennis and Morse watched the monitor, conferring quietly.

To Josh’s left, he saw Todd hurry off toward the equipment trucks, speaking into the Bluetooth device clipped to his ear. Emma watched her brother go, a small smile on her lush, pink mouth. The pride in her expression was easy to read.

Several assistants scrambled out of the way as Morse called for the background actors to find their places. From the corner of his eye, Josh noticed Emma touch a finger to her lips and wink at a young woman wearing thick glasses and an intern badge. He vaguely recalled the girl, but couldn’t recall her name. Her cheeks flushed as she lifted her hand to her mouth and made a buttoning motion. She and Emma shared a grin. Even the interns adored his wife.

Pseudo-wife. Damn it, why couldn’t he remember that? He really shouldn’t have to work so hard to remember that their relationship was fake. The only reason Emma was living at his home and sleeping in his bed, was because she had to for appearances. He needed to stop looking forward to coming downstairs in the morning and smelling the rich scent of the mocha she’d made for them, or hearing the soft sound of her footsteps as she passed the door of his office.

Why couldn’t things just be simple? He’d never expected this charade to grow so complicated. 

It knocked him off-balance that the part he’d thought would be the most difficult for him – faking the easy intimacy of being in love – wasn’t hard at all. Instead, it was navigating the confusing morass of emotions their unconventional relationship stirred up in him that was proving troublesome. And that ticked Josh off.

“Cut!” Morse’s agitated bark scattered Josh’s thoughts, thank goodness. The reprieve was short-lived, however, as he caught sight of Emma speaking with Pete, their head gaffer. She was laughing at something the burly older man had said. Pete gazed at her as if it was Christmas morning and Emma wore a tag with his name on. Josh’s scowl deepened.

He was so intent on watching the interplay between Emma and Pete, who was nearly twice her age and had two ex-wives under his belt, that the creak and snap of wood took a minute to register. William Ransler’s startled cry jerked Josh’s gaze back to the set in time to see the actor tumble from the carriage’s now freely swinging steps, face first, arms out.

Cleo, who had been waiting to retouch William’s make-up, rushed forward but wasn’t able to reach him before Ransler hit the ground with a sickening thump. Josh flinched as he saw the older man’s forehead bounced off the ground. Dirt, not blacktop, thank god. People immediately crowded the scene. Josh ducked around the enormous camera, intent on the fallen actor, but couldn’t see William over the heads of the gathering, frantic crew.

Everyone was shouting. Josh pushed through the throng around the wounded actor, trying to reach the center of the crowd. Even amidst the confusion, he was aware of Emma, the light scent of her citrus soap enveloping him as she reached his side. He instinctively slipped his arm around her waist.

“What happened? Did you see?” Her voice was breathless, a little uneven with nerves.

Before he could answer, his phone chirped his mother’s signature ring tone. Biting off a curse of exasperation, Josh yanked it from his pocket and lifted it to his ear. “Not a good time, Mom.”

“Josh, honey. It’s your father.” And then his mother did something she didn’t do very often. Kara Owens burst into tears.

***

Emma was jerked to a stop as Josh froze. Glancing at him, she watched as shock, pain, and fear washed over his face. He paled, jewel eyes shooting wide, and his mouth dropped open. People swarmed around them like salmon spawning, all rushing toward William. She and Josh were the lone island in the stream.

“Josh?” She touched one hand gently to his chest, but he didn’t so much as glance at her.

“Is he...?” He closed his eyes, his voice a dry rasp. Not speaking to her, she gathered. His mother.

Her own fear spiked, making her saliva taste bitter and metallic. Cam? Had something happened to Cam? She couldn’t think of any other reason for the look on Josh’s face. Emma’s fingers curled into Josh’s shirt of their own volition.

Josh’s gaze darted down to her, over to the crowd around William, and then fell. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Mom, I have a situation on set right now. It has to be dealt with. I don’t know when I can get there.” The anguish in his voice was like a fist to Emma’s gut. Something was clearly wrong with Josh’s father. His mother wanted Josh there, and he was refusing to leave the film, leave William.

Emma tugged on his shirt front. When his eyes focused on her, she scowled. “Josh, go.”

He tilted the phone from his mouth a little. “Emma, I can’t. I have to...” He trailed off, waving a limp hand at the buzzing herd of people around them. She shook her head.

“It’s your dad, right? That’s more important. Go. I doubt there’s much you can do here anyway. And if there is...” She frowned at the crew and then up at him. “I’ll handle it.”