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shocked. Jeremy rolled away and Olivia sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. What s wrong? she
asked no one in particular.
Sheila held the robe open like a shield and Olivia slipped into it, belting it quickly. What s
wrong? she repeated more urgently.
Adrian spoke from directly behind her. My dear, you just rendered the entire crew, including me,
speechless.
So it was okay? she asked him uncertainly.
That was beautiful. Magical. After this movie is released, you re going to get offers for every
romantic film in the biz that even looks like it might get green lighted.
People around the set started to smile. Almost like they were emerging from some sort of trance.
And then a strange thing happened. The crew applauded. She d never heard of such a thing on a
movie set before. Well, okay then. Blake must have done his job even better than she d realized.
Oh, God. Blake. He hadn t been here, right? She glanced over at the tall, canvas-backed stool he
usually sat in beside Adrian s monitor array. Empty. Thank goodness.
She turned to head for her trailer and some clothes
And that was when she spotted him. Still as a statue in a deep shadow behind camera two. Arms
crossed, slouching against the wall, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, face expressionless,
pale eyes distant. And he radiated& nothing at all. It was as if he d pulled all his thoughts and
feelings inside himself and locked them away. Like he d completely shut down.
He got it, right? He understood that all her passion had been for him, didn t he? Trembling, she
walked over to him and his gaze never strayed from her. Never waivered.
I didn t know you were here, she choked out.
I thought it might make you uncomfortable if you knew, so I stayed back here out of your sight
line.
She nodded, determined not to ask him how she d done. If he approved. If he d liked what he d
seen. How could he? She d all but had sex with another man in front of him.
Congratulations, he said quietly. You re a real femme fatale, now.
Then why did she feel like he d just punched her in the gut?
He turned and walked away without another word. Why was he always walking away from her?
Oh, right. He didn t want a real relationship with her. All those pesky feelings she d just discovered
she harbored for him weren t part of the deal. It was strictly business between them.
Then why did she feel like he d just ripped her heart out of her chest and thrown it on the floor?
She d gotten exactly what she wanted, right? He d taught her how to pull off a spectacular love
scene. Her career was on track, her reputation as a femme fatale sealed. She was on her way to the
top. She should be over the moon thrilled.
Then why did she just want to go back to her trailer and cry her eyes out?
Chapter Eight
Blake had no idea how to catalogue the feelings roiling around in his gut. Jealousy, fury, pain, rage.
God, she was brilliant. It had been like watching a master artist at work, painting a picture of
desperate passion. Except instead of canvas and paint, she d used her body, her face, and her fucking
soul.
He d barely kept himself from twisting McDumbass s head from his neck. And this was why, if for
no other reason, he could never have a real relationship with the beautiful, lusty femme fatale named
Olivia Harper there wouldn t be a leading man left alive in Hollywood once his temper got the
better of him.
He needed a drink, and he needed it now. And there was only one place on set he knew to find a
bottle of whiskey. Jackson Motta s trailer.
The fastest way to Motta s crash pad was to cut through the middle of the set. Bright lights
illuminated set designers and a construction crew hard at work sawing and hammering a set together
overnight. He d had no idea movies were the round-the-clock operations they d turned out to be. This
place reminded him of a military base in that respect.
He kept to the shadows to minimize the chances of someone recognizing him and wanting to engage
him in conversation. He just wanted to be alone and drink away the images of Jeremy McDaniels s
hands all over Olivia, his mouth on hers, the two of them heaving and moaning in bed together.
And that was when he spotted the guy, no one he recognized, lurking across the set, slouching in a
shadow, unmoving. Had Blake not been so furious and functioning in killer alert mode, he might not
have spotted the guy. He moved inconspicuously past a trailer and down the row of wardrobe tents.
He slipped into the last one and waited, half-crouching behind a long row of tattered zombie
costumes on hangers.
It took a few minutes, but a lone man eased past the tent, clinging to the shadows as he made his
way forward. The guy was squinting, obviously trying to spot something or someone. Blake waited as
still as a statue for the bastard to pass. Once the guy had finally moved on, he slid out after the
intruder. The hunter had become the hunted.
The intruder had made nearly a full circuit of the set and was nearing the parking lot when someone
called Blake s name from behind him. He ducked down, swearing violently. Had he moved fast
enough? Had the intruder spotted him?
The male voice called his name again. Blake thought he heard footsteps running across gravel, and
a few seconds later a car started in the parking lot. He stood up fast to catch a make and model or
maybe a license plate. But the vehicle was too far away, moving off into the night without headlights
at a high rate of speed.
Where are you, dammit? I know you re out here, Blake.
He stood up, chagrined. It was Jackson Motta. I m over here. I thought I saw someone who didn t
belong on set and I was trying to check him out without being seen.
Probably some damned paparazzo trying to get some pic s of the movie. We chase the punks off
all the time.
Maybe. Or maybe it was a Russian hit man scouting out the set for any sign of the new Marine
consultant on the film with the same name as a recent thorn in Mother Russia s side.
What can I do for you? he asked the head stunt coordinator.
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