CHAPTER TWENTY
PATCH LOADED UP a plate with gluten-free pancakes, breakfast pizza, and fruit Friday morning as he pleaded with Payton to put in a good word and get Willow hired to cater all the future set breakfasts. He looked like a rebellious teenager with his black jeans, shock of brown hair sticking up in all directions, and strands of leather and silver wrapped around his wrist. Willow knew he and Piper had met for drinks, and when Piper came by that morning, she’d claimed that was all they’d had. Willow tried to picture Zane’s chilled-out assistant in a relationship with her high-strung sister, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t see it. She had a feeling they were both barking up the wrong tree. Then again, until she and Zane had come together with this zany plan and cleared the air, she might never have visualized the two of them in a lasting relationship, either.
“Come on, Payton. Can’t you pull some strings?” He took a big bite of the pizza and closed his eyes. “Mm. Willow Dalton, you are amazing.”
“Thank you, but I have a bakery to run, remember?” Willow had picked up a new wedding cake job last night, and she’d spent half the night coming up with ideas. Her love for baking had only increased since she’d started her business, but the truth was, she loved spending the mornings on set, too. The cast and crew were friendly, funny, and appreciative of every little thing she did, which made her want to branch out and do more, like adding pancakes and pizza for restricted diets to the menu. She’d never considered herself much of a cook beyond baking, but their praise had her considering expanding the bakery menu in addition to her other ideas. She could hardly believe the week of filming had passed so fast. Tonight she and Zane, along with Bridgette and Ben, were having dinner with Remi and her brother, and tomorrow morning they were heading back to LA. This weekend she would see Zane on his turf, in his home. She was nervous and excited to see how the man she’d come to love more than she’d ever thought possible fit into a world she had such conflicting feelings about.
“Details, details,” Patch teased. He draped an arm over her shoulder and lowered his voice. “Maybe I can get Zane to convince you by some other means.”
Little did he know that no matter how amazing sex with Zane was, it wasn’t her motivator to do a darn thing. It was the look in Zane’s eyes, the loving pitch of his voice—even when he was teasing—and the complete and utter happiness he instilled with nothing more than a smile or a shrug. It was crazy how much she loved that humble shrug.
Payton tucked her long red hair behind her ear. “Willow knows I’d happily take her on as a regular. You might be interested to know that we’re going to be ordering gifts throughout the year from her, so be a good boy and maybe I’ll send you something sweet.”
“They’re setting up for the kissing scene down by the lake. Are you going to watch?” Patch asked as they walked out of the tent.
Willow glanced at the commotion taking place down the hill. She had surprised herself this morning when she’d told Zane to “kiss the hell out of Remi,” and she’d meant it. Being with Zane had opened her eyes to a lot of things, but one of her biggest realizations was that her mother had been right. Every kiss counted. Last night Willow had finally gotten up the courage to read the scenes leading up to the kiss and the actual kissing scene. She’d found herself rooting for the characters, hoping they’d get together, just like she had with Zane’s screenplay.
“Of course,” she answered. “This is a pivotal scene, and I definitely don’t want to miss it. Keisha offered to take care of things here so I could go down and watch.”
“Cool,” Patch said. “I’ll see you down there. Remi has nixed an audience, so once they’re set up, only key people will be allowed on set. You’re with me, so you’re cool. If anyone gives you a hard time, just tell them to speak with me.”
“Thanks, Patch.” Willow watched him head down the hill and wondered about Remi’s request. She really must hate kissing scenes after all.
“Ever wonder what it’s like?” Payton asked as they returned to the tent.
Willow busied herself straightening up the tables. “Hm? What what’s like?”
“For the actors? The kissing scenes?”
Yes, way too much. “Remi said she hates them.”
Payton poured herself a cup of coffee. “Imagine you wake up feeling cranky, or bloated, or stressed about forgetting your lines. Then you get to the set, and the makeup artists are fussing with your face and hair, wardrobe is nipping and tucking, and across the set you see this incredibly hot guy. But he’s People’s Most Beautiful or he’s won an Oscar, or he’s an actor you haven’t worked with before. Other than your work on the current film together, all of which has been stressful, he’s basically a stranger. And you can flip that around for the guys, because it’s just as bad.”
“Gosh, and when I see it on the big screen, it seems so easy.”
“Want to know another trade secret that’ll burst your bubble?” She waggled her brows with a mischievous grin that reeled Willow’s curiosity right in.
“You know I do.” She leaned in closer.
“Okay, well, in the love scenes, not only are they often in full-body makeup, but the guy puts all his goodies in this flesh-colored bag and the girl wears a vag pad, which is stuck to her skin, covering up her naughty bits. And there’s often fake sweat and fifty crew members watching and the director telling them, ‘Move your hand, lift your leg, don’t smile.’ It’s awful. I’d never want to be an actress because of those scenes.”
“A flesh-colored bag?” Willow couldn’t suppress a laugh. “That sounds horrible. But it shows how good the actors and actresses are. Most love scenes look natural.”
“That’s why they get paid the big bucks.” Payton popped a blueberry in her mouth. “You’d better get down there if you want to see the scene.”
Willow walked down the hill toward the set, acutely aware of her heart ricocheting inside her chest. She’d convinced herself not to worry about this scene, but now that it was imminent, she was torn by conflicting emotions. She tried to distract herself by focusing on her surroundings.
A group of people traipsed up the hill a good distance away, and she wondered if they’d been sent away from the set. There were only a handful of people within the cordoned-off area. Zane came into focus, standing tall and handsome while one woman applied makeup and a guy fussed with his clothes. She recalled what Payton had said and wondered if all of the preparation and fussing was uncomfortable for him. Was he nervous about the kiss? If so, he’d been too cool to let her in on his anxiety, but still she had to wonder.
She knew a loving kiss and a kiss given to fulfill a work commitment were miles apart, but no matter how supportive a fiancée she wanted to be, she was still a sensitive female. Wasn’t it in every woman’s fiber to be possessive of her partner? To nurture and care for, yes, and to have and to hold? Nowhere was it written that a significant other had to support in the sharing of their partner’s toe-curling kisses.
Patch waved Willow over, and Zane’s gaze landed on her. She felt his sexual magnetism and his eager affection encircling her like a blanket. Inhaling a deep breath, she reached for her inner calm. Then she dug a little deeper, past her conflicted, jealous heart, all the way to her core, where reason rose above all else, and prepared herself to watch her man kiss another woman.
IF ZANE HEARD one more Go get her, buddy, he was going to lose his shit. Jesus, they’d built this scene up to epic proportions, as if there wasn’t pressure to do every scene as perfectly as possible. He’d come to the realization that this was it for him. The end of the line. Changing genres hadn’t given him any better sense of fulfillment than acting in action movies had. Did all actors eventually feel like they were playing with water instead of working with clay? No matter how different the set, the cast, the location, it was all still pretending to be someone another person had created. Yes, he was bringing the character to life, but it was still carrying out someone else’s vision. It was time to take the next step, and after handing his script over to the director this morning, he hoped like hell luck would be on his side. If Steve liked the screenplay, anything was possible.
He took his place on the set, mentally playing over his lines and hoping Remi had pulled herself together. She’d been a nervous wreck, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like they were hijacking a plane and jumping out midair. That was something to be nervous about. This was a piece of cake.
Thinking of cake brought his mind to his beautiful girl. He popped an Altoid and stole a quick glance at Willow, who was talking with Patch. He should be pissed at his loose-lipped assistant for spilling his secrets about his house and what was—and what had never been—in it. But it was hard to be angry at the guy who’d helped bring him and Willow together in the first place. Like a kid awaiting show-and-tell, Zane couldn’t wait to show her his place.
“Quiet on the set!”
Steve’s voice snapped Zane into acting mode, but as he caught sight of Remi nervously fidgeting with her hands, the part of him that should want to do whatever it took to make her comfortable sort of wanted to give her a little shake and say, It’s a kiss. Lighten up.
It was definitely time to get out of this business before he turned into an asshole.
With everyone in place, the assistant director yelled, “Roll it,” and the rest of the directions fell on deaf ears. Zane was in the zone. He’d become his character, and at the sound of the clapper, he spurred into action. Or rather, slow motion, given that action in this movie moved at a snail’s pace.
Remi stood by the lake with her back to him. Her short black dress hung loosely from her thin frame. In the scene, they’d just come from the funeral of her father, who had been murdered, and Zane, the private investigator her family had hired—and her past lover—was comforting her. He’d mastered the confident yet careful gait and the tender cadence of his voice the scene called for. She turned as he approached, sunlight reflecting in her damp eyes. Her trembling lips and fidgeting, nervous hands perfectly relayed her devastation. But as he reached for her hand and she collapsed against him, he felt his body tense up and worked hard to fix it, but she felt wrong. She wasn’t Willow. And now he was screwed. His mind reeled as he tried like hell to get his head back into the scene.
“I will stop at nothing to catch the people who did this, Cora. I promise you I will put them away.” Okay, cool. That was solid.
“Bob,” she said breathlessly.
He lowered his mouth to hers, and the second their lips touched, he tensed up again. Motherfucker.
“Cut!”
“It’s not you,” he said as quickly as he could, knowing Remi would think she’d somehow caused his screwup. “I mind-fucked myself. Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair, not caring that makeup would have to fix it, and waved to Steve.
“I’ve got this. Sorry,” he called to Steve, but his insides were in a full-on battle. He’d kissed more women than he could count, and never had he freaking fucked up. He forced himself not to look at Willow, but that didn’t block the heat of her gaze from boring into him. He didn’t want to know what was going through her mind.
The makeup team fixed his hair and Remi’s lipstick, and they went through the motions again. Three times.
Holy hell.
The easiest scene of them all, and he was acting like this was his first time filming. Steve called Patch over and said something Zane couldn’t hear, but Patch’s pinched look wasn’t good. He stalked over to Willow with his head down, took her by the elbow, and began escorting her away.
“Oh, hell no!” Willow’s voice called the attention of every person on set as she broke away from Patch and stormed past the camera crew.
Wills, what are you doing? His eyes darted to Steve, who rose from his chair with a pissed-off look in his eyes. Zane held up a hand in his direction and strode toward Willow.
“Baby, what are you—”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she said through gritted teeth.
Shocked, he was at a loss for words.
She stepped closer. “I’m afraid to touch you because of makeup and wardrobe and all that, but if I could, I’d grab you by the collar and shake you.” Her eyes dialed down to warm determination. “Z, if anyone knows how to kiss the hell out of a woman, it’s you. What’s going on? Do you really need me to leave the set? You’re a professional, and I don’t need or want you to be anything less.”
“Wills, she’s not you, and it’s fucking with my head.” He felt the eyes of the cast and crew watching their every move.
“Then unfuck it, because I believe in you, and don’t you dare let me or anyone else down. Do you hear me?”
He chuckled, but there was no denying the mental click inside his head. She was absolutely right. “Yeah, baby. I hear you loud and clear.”
“Good, now go kiss her like she’s never been kissed before, and if you screw this up”—she stepped closer and whispered—“you’ll never find out the dirty surprise I have in store for you.” She spun on her heel and strutted away.
The whole damn peanut gallery applauded.
Steve waved a hand as if to say, Go to it.
And Zane did just that. This time when he took Remi into his arms, he kissed her until she went limp in his arms, and when Steve yelled, “Cut!” it was Willow’s eyes he found.
She mouthed, I’m so proud of you, and he mouthed, Dirty surprise, earning the sexiest blush he’d ever seen.