Micah had managed the best acting week of his life. Unfortunately none of the great acting was on camera. Yes, he’d filmed several scenes that week, and they’d been decent, but the most convincing work he did was when the camera wasn’t rolling, when he pretended that he was unaffected by Maddie Bauers.

He hadn’t talked to her in several days—since the day in Breckenridge—and he certainly hadn’t touched her. He’d promised he’d stop—stop what? Pursuing her and flirting with her, he supposed. The only way he knew how was to avoid her completely. He’d stayed away from her at the catering tent and let his stand-in take his measurements to be sure he wouldn’t have to address her. He ignored her name on the call sheet and her number in his phone, unwilling to go so far as to erase her contact info. Sure, he was in a foul mood every moment of every day, but remarkably, no one but Fudge seemed to notice. Either he was a better actor than he thought, or his mood just blended in with the rest of the cast and crew, who were edgy from a week of night shoots.

Micah stifled a yawn.

“Am I boring you?” Beaumont asked. It’d been a long day and the director was coaching the main actors for the next evening’s scenes.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“It has. Well, I’m done with you, anyhow. You’re on fire, kid. Keep it up. Any questions?”

Micah shook his head. Truth was he hadn’t been listening to most of what his director had said. Early in the conversation Beaumont had begun picking on the crew, had even thrown a vague insult toward the camera crew, and Micah became distracted. Were all his directors such pricks when it came to the production staff? He hadn’t paid attention in the past. Why did he notice now? Was it because Beaumont was especially prickish or because one of the crew members was Maddie?

It was totally Maddie. How could anyone work with her and not notice her passion and drive? He knew Adam noticed. And Joe. And Sam. How did Beaumont miss it? Micah had paid careful attention to her work whenever he watched the dailies—the raw footage from a day’s shoot. So many times he and the other actors would miss their marks, improvising their blocking, and Maddie’s expertise kept everything in focus, time after time. Why didn’t Beaumont know that? He sat in video village for nearly every take, watching from the monitors, directing over a headset, but surely Joe and Adam told him. Still, the director acted like he had no clue what Maddie did to cover for the cast.

Micah yawned again.

Beaumont patted him on the back. “Get some sleep. Next week we’re back to day shoots. We’re all struggling, but we’ll get through.”

Yeah, right. This week video village had been set up inside the cabin. Beaumont got to sit in comfort while his cast and crew slapped at bugs and waded through stickers in the meadow and the woods outside in the dark. Hardly seemed like Beaumont was struggling.

But Micah nodded and looked at his watch before picking up his messenger bag. Four in the morning. No wonder he felt so out of it.

He bid goodnight to Beaumont and the actors still conversing around the table in the cabin dining area and walked into the main room. At the front door, he glanced at the monitors that made up video village in the corner. Maddie sat there, her back to him.

Alone and unnoticed, he took the opportunity to feast his eyes on her for the first time in days. Her dark brown hair was swept up into an untidy bun, long tendrils hanging down her neck—her long, graceful neck—curling around the cord of the headphones she wore. She’d discarded her overshirt and Micah could see the thin, baby-blue strap of her bra peeking around the edge of her tank. He relished the times she bared her firm, strong arms and her sun-darkened flawless skin. He longed to touch her, run his hands over her shoulders, feel his arms around her.

But that was a fantasy for another life.

What caught his attention now were the images on the thirty-inch monitor she sat behind. Picturesque shots of a young couple filled the screen. The woman knelt in a red wagon, her arms spread as the man raced down the street, pulling her behind him. Both laughed, the camera catching the pure and exquisite joy of such a simple moment. It was shot as the sun was setting, and beams of light reflected off the camera lens, creating a whimsical effect. Micah was enthralled.

He moved closer to watch over Maddie’s shoulder. Eventually, he was unable to contain his curiosity. “What is it?”

She jumped and swiveled toward him. “Oh my God, you scared me.” She removed her headphones and hung them around her neck. “We have a production meeting in a bit. Joe said I could use the monitor until then. Are you guys done?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. God, what he’d done to her that she couldn’t even look at him. “I’m done. Beaumont’s still with the others. But I meant, what are you watching?”

“Oh, I…it’s just something I’ve been working on.” She hit a button on her laptop and the screen froze.

“Don’t stop it. Please.” Maddie shrugged and restarted the film from the beginning of the section. “Working on,” Micah repeated, his eyes not leaving the screen. “Editing…? Directing…?”

“Both.”

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s beautiful. I can’t hear any sound, don’t even know the storyline and I’m totally drawn in. The images are so vivid. The lighting is perfect. The quality is excellent. Digital film?”

“Yes, I shot it on RED.”

“You shot it? Gorgeous.” Man, he wished he could’ve seen that. The idea of her behind a camera was a total turn-on, mentally and physically. First, she’d look hot on a camera dolly. Hell, when didn’t she look hot? But more profoundly, he’d always admired people who ran camera. They dared to see the world in front of them in such a way that it created an exact story. It was much easier to act—totally self-absorbed—than it was to see everything completely outside of yourself.

He realized then that she probably saw him. Saw him in a way that few women ever did, with her photographer’s eye and her crazy insight and her brief glimpse of him in his youth. It scared him.

He shook away the thought and focused on the screen. When he spoke again it was as if he hadn’t been quiet for several minutes. “But it’s not just that, it’s the editing. Those jump cuts are awesome.”

Her eyes widened. “They take forever to put together.”

“I bet. But it’s worth it. It reminds me of Soderbergh. Or early Aronofsky.”

“Really? I was going for Godard, but I’ll take Soderbergh and Aronofsky any day.”

“Godard,” he chuckled. “Of course. Back to the roots. Yes, I see the influence of Breathless.”

She smiled, meeting his eyes for the first time in the conversation. The sudden connection shocked him and they both looked away quickly.

“What’s the story?” he asked, returning to the film.

“Young woman stuck in a mundane life. She becomes obsessed with wanting to fly.”

“To fly?” He wasn’t expecting that.

“A symbolism of her desire to be free. Free to do what she wants, free to follow her heart, her dreams.”

“She’s you.”

She didn’t reply and he realized from her downcast eyes that he’d said something too personal.

He moved back to safer ground. “What are you doing with it? Is it a short?”

“It’s full-length.” She stretched and leaned back in her chair. “I’m slowly putting it together whenever I have down time. I worked like crazy for years to save up for production and then I hired some friends real cheap and took some time off to shoot. That’s what I was doing while you were filming in L.A.”

So that’s why she joined the crew late. “And when it’s finished?”

“I don’t know. Enter it in festivals maybe.” She sighed. “It’s hard to find time to work on it. I don’t know when it will be done. If I could afford more time off...”

Her voice trailed off and Micah felt the yearning in her unspoken words. Not for the first time in his life he recognized how lucky he’d been to “make it” in the business, so to say. It hadn’t been easy, but some people—many people—didn’t ever get the chances he had. They worked and struggled and hit brick wall after brick wall. What obstacles had Maddie come up against?

He could help her, if he wanted to. He shouldn’t, he’d been burned before. But he could.

He leaned back against the arm of the leather sofa. “Have you tried to get some backers?”

She shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head. “Um, I just…I wouldn’t find anyone who’d invest. Trust me.”

He was puzzled by her response. Maddie worked with a lot of big names. Surely she could get interest from the directors she knew alone. Maybe she was scared. He could understand that. But she didn’t need to be. “It’s good, Maddie.”

She laughed, the light sound awakening his cock. “You don’t know that. You saw two minutes.”

He held his messenger bag in front of him to hide the protrusion in his pants. “More like ten. I was watching long before I said anything.”

She looked up at him through her long eyelashes, her eyes seeking affirmation, and suddenly he felt like a total dick. He’d pestered her and flirted with her, as if the most important thing in her life could be getting laid by Micah Preston. But all Maddie wanted was someone to tell her she was good.

He swallowed, then said the words he knew he shouldn’t. “I’d back it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha, thanks.”

Another woman would have taken advantage of his attraction to her and tried to weasel money out of him. But Maddie didn’t even take it when he offered. Was that her game? Was she playing him slowly?

No, he didn’t believe that. She hadn’t ever meant for him to see her film.

He tried again. “I’m serious.”

“Ah no, that’s not a good idea.” Her defenses were up. He was surprised she’d let them down at all. Didn’t she realize how weak he was? How hard it was for him to uphold his promise to leave her alone? Defense mode was a good thing.

“Okay, if you don’t want my money, which I have plenty of and have been looking to invest in production opportunities, I totally understand. But I can hook you up with other producers.”

She swiveled in her chair and met his eyes again. She held his gaze for several long seconds. Finally she spoke. “Don’t be nice to me, it confuses me.”

He grinned. “Sorry. I won’t let it happen again.” She returned his smile and he had to force himself not to wrap her up in his arms. Why did he have to be such a shit with her? Maybe he could try to be something different with her. Could attempt a real relationship.

But even if her hesitancy wasn’t from fear, his was. He was scared. A big fat chicken. And he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

He straightened and pulled his bag to his shoulder. “Consider the offer, okay?”

She turned back to her computer. “Okay.”

“You don’t mean that, do you?”

A small smile crossed her lips. “No, not really. Now go away.”

He scrutinized her, studying the soft features of her face, wishing he could get inside her head. She was proud, but not haughty, simultaneously strong and fragile. She longed to be free, to fly, so to speak, in her own way, but refused to take a handout. It was so refreshing in the world of show business, where so many people were pompous self-serving assholes. He loved that about her.

Though he shouldn’t be loving anything about Maddie. That completely broke his no-strings rule.

She shifted in her chair under his long stare. “What?”

“Just…you never cease to amaze me, Maddie from the party.” He walked toward the door, refusing to look back at her. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to turn away from her again.