3
“Action.”
I gave the cameras time to sweep across the painstakingly constructed set. This scene would transport the audience back in time to a 1960s cafe. The red plastic bench seat stuck to my thighs where my miniskirt had ridden up, and the marbled blue laminate tabletop gleamed under the studio lights. Extras bustled past or were sitting at surrounding tables, while The Animals crooned about being misunderstood in the background.
I gave my co-star, Benjamin Eales, a shy smile before delivering my line.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” My slow Southern drawl slipped off my tongue with ease.
Ben—Toby Quinn as he was known in the story—shifted uneasily in his seat. “I don’t see how I could stay away, ma’am.”
My smile widened, with just a hint of something sly for the cameras, not that Ben would have noticed. Ben’s character was too infatuated with mine for that. I waited until Ben’s gaze was drawn to my mouth, then licked my lips. “Now, I told you, sweetheart, call me Jean. And it’s nice to be surprised.”
There was something about the Southern accent I liked. The elongated vowels and rounded notes had a sensual musical quality to them when you played them just right. And I was playing them right, judging by Ben’s reaction.
His tanned complexion colored slightly and I knew it wasn’t planned. Ben was a good actor, but he wasn’t that good. He was young. Almost a full ten years my junior, his sweet, boyish qualities would get him places in this town. It already had, if the casting of this movie was anything to go by. I’d immediately developed a fondness for my co-star and had the instinctive urge to take him under my wing. It was his first major feature film with a well-known cast and it hadn’t taken long to understand his innocence wasn’t entirely an act. With his tousled light brown hair and the sort of light blue eyes that flashed with mischief, and at times doubt, I felt a sort of sisterly rapport with him.
Ben cleared his throat, perfecting an appearance of awkwardness. “No, ma’am, I, I, mean Jean. I want to be here. I want to do this.”
‘This’ was joining a band of upper-class 1960s criminals, of which I was the kingpin’s wife. Our characters, Jean and Toby, would go on to have a dangerous affair that would end horribly. It would eventually destroy the criminal organization I’d worked so hard to build with my husband, Duke Sterling, played by veteran Hollywood actor Jeremy Mason.
Right now, though, Jean was recruiting Toby to the gang using her considerable sexual prowess. That wasn’t the reason I’d been drawn to the character. Jean Sterling was a woman ahead of her time. Highly intelligent, deeply driven and ambitious, she was a modern woman trying to make her way in the world. The fact it involved criminal activity was all the more fascinating. I liked playing women who were layered, and Jean’s shades of gray were a quality I hoped I could make viewers fall in love with as much as I had.
“Are you sure?” I asked Toby, toying with a sugar sachet. “This isn’t child’s play.”
Toby thrust his chin forward. “I’m not a child, Jean. You’ll see.”
His words were unwittingly ominous, as Jean eventually lets herself be seduced by Toby. When he turns out to be an undercover cop intent on bringing Jean down—and succeeding—we never learn if his feelings for Jean were real or not.
I lean across the table drawing Toby’s eyes to my bare arms. “That’s good, Toby. That’s real good. Now if that’s the case, you listen to me . . .”
The scene continued smoothly and when we were done, I shot the director, Manning Tate, a questioning look.
He nodded. “It’s good, Lena.” He turned to the DP—Director of Photography—Neil, who nodded too.
“Are you sure?” I asked. I was used to filming a scene multiple times. We’d only shot it twice. It was the first time I’d worked with Manning and his style was new to me. Efficient, direct, and with lots of discussion prior to each take to ensure he got what he wanted.
He cocked his head to one side, jostling his unruly mop of perpetually messy gray curls. His blue eyes filled with amusement through his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust yourself.” He clapped his hands to get everyone moving and I blinked.
Manning had been talking a lot about trust since filming had started. Trusting in the story, the characters, the crew and the cast. It was all one big exercise in trust when it came to pulling one of his films together.
I shot Ben a wry smile and wriggled along the bench seat in my miniskirt and attempted to get out of the booth maintaining my decency.
Ben grinned at me. “Here.” He came around the table and held out a hand.
I took it gratefully and let him hoist me up.
“Oh!” I overbalanced on my—Jean’s—heavy platform heels and fell into Ben’s chest, crushing my cleavage painfully.
Ben’s laughter reverberated against me and he gripped my arms and eased me back.
“I’m so sorry. You think after being a model this outfit wouldn’t be a problem, but these heels are ridiculous.”
“I won’t stop you throwing yourself at me.”
I let out an unexpected laugh. “Don’t tell the media about it. It will be all over the news.”
Ben let go of my arms. “Yeah. Older woman Lena Lyons corrupts Benjamin Eales. It’s got a certain ring to it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Cougar? I’m not that old, thank you very much.”
“No, you’re not. Just more experienced.” He winked at me.
I shook my head at his innuendo. It was just banter, pure and simple, but for some reason it made me feel younger and reminded me of a time pre-divorce when things had been simpler.
From behind us, I heard someone clear their throat.
Ben’s smile faded, and I turned around.
Marc stood staring at us, an unreadable expression on his face. From an actor’s perspective, the sort of face that was devoid of emotion was extremely hard to master.
I stifled a sigh. “Yes?”
“Got a sec?”
No. “Yes.”
Ben caught my arm as I went to go. “Who’s that?”
I glanced between Marc and Ben, caught off-guard by the question. Marc’s presence on-set was being kept low-key at the request of the producers. They didn’t want the crew knowing there was someone carrying out an investigation. Only a few people knew about the earlier ‘incident’ including Chloe, who’d been with me at the time.
Marc stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Nathan. Lena’s boyfriend and one of the extras.” Marc—Nathan—gave Ben a disarming grin.
I stared at him in shock, but fortunately neither of them was looking at me.
“Oh, right,” said Ben, shooting me a confused glance.
I snapped my mouth shut and gave them a tight smile.
Ben didn’t seem to notice. “Nice to meet you, Nathan. Lena hasn’t mentioned you.”
Marc reached over and put his hand around my waist, and I had to stop myself from squirming out of his grasp.
“She’s been pretty busy. I can live in hope I might be cast opposite her one day, though.”
“So you’re an actor?” Ben asked with interest.
Marc threw a fond glance in my direction, making me stiffen. “I’m trying. Congratulations on landing the role of Toby, by the way. Well done.”
Ben smiled. “Hey, thanks. Anyway, I’ll leave you guys to it.”
I returned Ben’s smile and waited until he was a safe distance away before rounding on Marc. “Boyfriend?” I hissed. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Marc. Please tell me the producers didn’t approve this.”
Marc tightened his grip on my waist and led me away from the set. “Not here, Princess. Leave the dramatics until we’re in private.”
I inhaled deliberately as he guided me toward my trailer. Keep calm, Lena, just keep calm, I willed myself. I didn’t do dramatics—at least, not in real life—but never, ever, had I wanted to yell at someone more than I did right now. And that was saying something, because I couldn’t recall the last time I had yelled, unless you counted the characters I played.
I took the steps to the trailer carefully. The last thing I wanted to do was trip and force Marc to catch me. Inside I didn’t look back, and went to the bar fridge for a bottle of sparkling water. I savored some of the fizzy bubbles, wishing like hell it was champagne.
I heard the door close behind me and finally turned. It appeared Marc had made himself at home while I’d been on-set. He’d taken over the small table. A laptop and files were strewn across the surface as well as a couple of used styrofoam coffee cups. I knew it was coffee because I didn’t drink it and the stale smell lingered in the small space.
“Explain it to me. Right now,” I ordered, my voice deathly quiet.
Marc flopped into the bench seat next to the table and flipped open his laptop. “Think about it. They can’t just have me wandering around set investigating. People would ask questions and it kind of defeats the purpose. If the perpetrator is one of the crew and they know who I am, they won’t make another move while I’m here.”
“I’d say that gives you a perfectly good reason not to be here.”
Marc didn’t look at me and started punching keys on his keyboard using two fingers. “The semen on your bed says otherwise.”
I drew in a shaky breath. “Why can’t Tim or Jay look after me on-set?” They were my usual bodyguards and I’d had to leave them at home with nothing to do today because of Marc’s interference.
“Because I’m the best.”
Infuriating man. It infuriated me more that he was right. “Modest too. But boyfriend? Come on, Marc. Surely that’s not necessary.”
His dark eyes finally met mine. They observed me coolly. “I’m not happy about it either, believe me. Before you, I’ve avoided being seen in public with my clients, and last time I looked, I’m not a bodyguard. But I’ll do what it takes to protect you, Lena. And think about it. If I’m your boyfriend, I can go everywhere with you.”
I took a step back and bumped into the kitchen cupboard. I put out my hands to steady myself on the counter behind me. Oh my God. I hadn’t thought about that. Marc would have to go out in public with me. To movie premieres and other places where a person would normally take their significant other. Suddenly the mineral water didn’t seem like such a good idea after all, and the bubbles swirled dangerously in my belly.
“Not going to happen,” I told him. “I’m going straight to Tania right now to sort this out. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone else you’re my boyfriend in the meantime.”
Tania was the assistant production manager, and I tried not to run for the door. The sooner I cleared up this horrible mess, the better.
“Good luck.”
It was the smarmy overconfidence that got me. I snatched my hand from the doorknob and turned to face him.
“Admit it, Romero. The prospect of getting close to me is too good to pass up. That’s why you’re doing it this way.”
He remained still for a second, and when he moved, it was with the casual grace of a predator who is confident of catching the prey in its sight. It took him two long strides to reach me. His breath heated my face he stood so close, a strangely arousing blend of coffee, mint and spice. I held his gaze, but was reminded of his imposing height. I cleared six foot and he still needed to look down at me.
His eyes studied my face but it wasn’t the cold, calculating stare reserved for suspects. Eyes so dark I could barely make out the pupils roamed my features with an animal grace that caused my roiling stomach to tighten.
His mouth curved liked he’d felt my response. “Trust me, Princess. If I want to get close to you, I won’t have to trick you to do it.”
I stood frozen like a defenseless animal for a second before my senses—and the rage—finally kicked in. I reached up and ran my index finger down his bristled cheek, ignoring the jolt of heat that shot through me at the contact. “In your dreams, Romero.”
He blinked—at my touch or my words, I couldn’t tell which—and the spell was broken. He stepped back and looked away, so I turned and slipped through the trailer door, eager to escape the inexplicable primal atmosphere suffocating the small space.
As I rushed away, I wasn’t sure whether to categorize my response as fight or flight. But one thing was for certain: Marc Romero had the power to cause a serious adrenaline rush.