Femme Fatale (12 page)

The shower was small, and it ended up being simpler to make love while soaping each other up. It was a terrible hardship, but he manned up and did what needed to be done to make the shower’s logistics work. And Olivia emerged from the shower rosy and relaxed and smiling. Just the way he liked his women. He corrected himself: woman. Singular.

He toweled off and pulled on his discarded clothes. “I’m glad we’ve got that settled,” he commented as she pulled on leggings and an over-sized sweater.

She glanced up at him questioningly. “Got what settled?”

“You’re with me. I’ll have a little talk with Jeremy and stop him from spreading more rumors, and you don’t have to go out with him again.”

She straightened sharply. “You’ll do no such thing!”

Flummoxed, he stared at her. “But—”

“But nothing. Having sex with you changes nothing. You and I can’t have a real relationship, and I need Jeremy to spread those rumors. If it takes going out with him again to keep him singing the same tune, so be it. You and I both have careers to look out for.”

Was she for real? He looked back at the bedroom where they’d just had hot monkey sex and she’d been screaming his name into a pillow. He got that sex did not constitute a relationship. But he’d really thought they had a connection. More than just the sex.

He looked back at her, and her gaze was hard. Closed. Determined.
Sonofabitch
. Rather than let her see how much she’d hurt him, he executed a smart about face and marched out of her trailer. Out of her life.

…

Olivia sagged as the trailer door closed behind Blake. She pressed a hand over her mouth to hold back a threatening sob.

He was everything she’d ever dreamed of in a man—protective, sexy, intelligent, and caring. And he’d be true for life. This list went on and on. She was falling for him so hard and fast it scared her. The last thing either of them needed was to fall in love.

Well, she wasn’t sure how he felt, but she had it bad. But it was too impossible for them to be together. He had his life. One she knew he loved. The military was so much a part of him.

And even if he didn’t have his other life, he couldn’t be a part of hers. It was best to make that break now, before either of them dived any deeper.

A very pissed off voice in her head ranted.
I only want him to be happy…my happiness doesn’t matter as long as he gets what he wants…bleh
. Emo crap like that was so not her. Here she was, kicking him out of her bed so he could go kill people and get shot at because it was what he wanted. Just call her Masochistic Girl.

Relief blanketed her that she hadn’t sent him the text—there was no way their futures would never mesh. At least she still had her career, cold comfort it was turning out to be. Morosely, she brushed out her hair and blow-dried it.

A knock turned out to be Sheila coming to fetch her. But as soon as Olivia opened the door and the director’s assistant got a good look at her, Sheila stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “What’s wrong, hon?”

“Nothing,” Olivia lied.

“Just ignore him. Guys are all assholes. They say stupid crap all the time.”

Oh God, oh God. Sheila knew? Who else knew? “Does everyone on the set know about us?” she asked in horror.

Sheila nodded and Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. She was sure Blake had been warned against getting involved with anyone on the set. What had they done to his career? He’d be devastated if he got kicked out of the Marines—

“Everyone in the crew knows Jeremy’s a total douchebag. They figure he’s lying about most of what went on between you. They’ll ignore the worst stuff he’s saying.”

Jeremy
— Olivia nearly threw up in relief. Sheila was talking about Jeremy? Thank God. She pasted on a brave smile. “As long as the crew doesn’t believe everything he says, I’ll be okay.”

“Thatta girl. Tell you what. Why don’t I get a few of the girls in the cast and crew together for a girl’s night out? We can sit around and bash men till you feel better.”

It would give her an excuse not to go out with Jeremy if he asked her out again. “That would be awesome,” she replied enthusiastically.

Sheila smiled. “It’s a date, then.”

The rest of the day’s shooting went uneventfully, except for the spectacular explosion of the cabin Blake blew up. The cast members who’d gathered to watch the show were a quarter-mile away and still the concussion slapped her in the face and bits of debris rained down on them. It was terrifying to feel the force of an actual explosion and know he faced the threat of that stuff on a regular basis in his real job.

That hardened Olivia’s resolve to stay away from him. She’d live on the edge of fear every day he spent on a new tour of duty.

When shooting wrapped at around nine p.m., Sheila collected her and drove her into Palm Springs to a private nightclub with good drinks, better music, and a huge dance floor. She didn’t like this place any more than last night’s bar, but at least she didn’t have to deal with a drunken male tonight.

“Let your hair down, Liv!” Sheila shouted over the music. “You’re too tense!”

Tyrone, who’d been voted one of the girls for the night, chimed in. “You can’t let Jeremy get to you. Party hearty. Screw McDumbass!”

“No, thank you,” she laughed back. She had no intention of ever screwing McDumbass. They were right. She’d been too bloody serious and focused on the man drama in her life. It was high time she lived up—or down as the case might be—to her new party girl reputation. Why not get a little drunk and crazy? People expected it of her anyway. And if it numbed the pain of watching Blake storm out of her trailer, all the better.

“Duck Farts for everyone!” she shouted to the waiter. The guy brought the shooter drinks to the table and everyone slammed them down. They tossed back Brain Tumors, Kamikazes, Slippery Nipples, Snakebites, and the ever-popular Cum Shot—a mixture of butterscotch schnapps, Irish cream, Kahlua, and vodka.

With every drink, she got madder at Jeremy and more despondent about Blake. Dammit, she really liked Blake. Why did he have to go and get in the way of her career…or was that her getting in the way of his? She couldn’t remember as her buzz got fuzzier.

The liquor flowed freely, and the gang commenced teasing her about the twisted crap she’d done with Jeremy, insisting on ratings and reviews of his performance.

“But I didn’t have sex with him!” she tried to explain.

“It’s okay, honey,” Sheila drawled. “He’s cute and you two practically did the deed on set the day before yesterday.”

“But—” She got shouted down before she could defend herself and then dragged out onto the dance floor. It dawned on her that they all half-believed she actually had slept with him. It hurt that they thought she was that slutty. This badass, femme fatale stuff wasn’t turning out to be all it was cracked up to be.

The lights flashed and the floor spun as some guy shimmied up to her and plastered his crotch against her belly. What the hell. She’d made her wild-child bed and now she had to lie in it. She grabbed the guy by the ass and dry-humped him right there on the dance floor.

The next hour or so got blurrier. It involved more shooters and quite a bit of dancing. There was some sort of scuffle that involved pointed cell phone cameras and bouncers, and she threw a glass of something on ice in the face of the paparazzo who’d snuck into the club and was taking pictures of her. She thought that was when the police got called.

Eventually, she ended up in some sleazy back office of the club with a policeman and Sheila and Tyrone and some other guy, probably the club owner. Her head throbbed and she was dizzy and starting to feel like she might heave. It was an effort to focus on the owner, who talked about not wanting to cause a scene and was there somebody discreet that he could call?

Tyrone came up with the brilliant suggestion to call Blake. The make-up artist rummaged in Olivia’s purse for her cell phone while she tried clumsily and unsuccessfully to stop him.

“Girlfriend,” Tyrone announced, “you’re a hot mess. And you could use a knight in shining armor right about now.”

Sheila nodded in agreement.

“Trai…traitorous bitch,” Olivia announced on a belch. She wanted to tell them that Blake insisted he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, but they were too busy ignoring her.

Tyrone spoke into the phone, “Hi, Blake, Tyrone here. Our girl, Olivia, has got herself in a spot of trouble and could use a rescue. Yeah. We’re at the Bailey Blue. Great. Thanks.” He looked up at the cop. “Ten minutes.”

The officer nodded his thanks and left to wait outside.

It was actually more like five minutes and she spent the whole time arguing for Tyrone and Sheila to give her damned purse and phone back so she could catch a cab to the hotel. She told them over and over that she knew better than to drive. Not that she had a car. Still. The bitches wouldn’t give her purse back.

The office door opened and Blake stepped inside. She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m sorry my peeps bothered you. I don’t see what the problem is. They could have just called me a cab.”

He smiled in amusement. “Have a little too much fun, did we?”

She scowled. He wasn’t part of the conspiracy, too, was he? “Look. I’m a little drunk. But I quit drinking a while ago. I’ll be fine. I just want to go back to my hotel, and you guys are making a federal issue of it.”

“A photographer is out front. He was demanding to press charges against you for assault, but I think I’ve got him talked out of it,” Blake explained gently.

“He crashed the party,” she replied indignantly. “This is a private club and he wasn’t invited!”

“That’s what I explained to him. I told him you would press invasion of privacy and stalking charges against him if he went after you for throwing your drink at him. He agreed to let bygones be bygones if you will, too.”

She threw her hands up, which knocked her off-balance, and she swayed in the chair. “Fine. Whatever. He still deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Blake soothed. “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” He reached down and helped her to her feet.
See? She wasn’t even wobbly
.
Much.

“Thanks for the call, guys,” he said to her posse.

“No, no. Thank you,” Sheila said in relief. “Have you got a plan to get her out of here?”

“I just checked out the back exit and the alley back there’s deserted. And dark,” Blake responded. “We should be okay.”

Sheila nodded and waved them out.

“What are you talking about?” Olivia demanded.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” He wrapped his arm firmly around her and led her out of the office. The club was mostly empty as he led her into the kitchen. He paused in front of the exit and murmured to her, “Once we get outside, keep your head down, okay?”

“I thought you said the exit was deserted?”

“Five minutes ago, yeah. But some ambitious photographer could come around back hoping to get lucky. We don’t want any photos of either of us on the front page of a tabloid, or on one of those celeb-watcher websites, right?”

“No, of course not.”

Blake cautiously opened the door, looked both ways, and hustled her outside. They started down the alley, his arm firmly anchored around her waist, heading in the opposite direction from the club’s front entrance.

“My car’s parked over on the next block.”

They were nearly there when something clattered behind them.

Oh, God
. She cringed against him, holding him close and burying her face against his chest, seeking shelter in his big, strong body. “What was that?” she whispered.

His head swiveled, checking out the noise, then let out a breath. “Just a cat,” he murmured, and propelled her forward by main force. “Keep moving,” he said. They reached the SUV. Blake beeped open the door, shoved her inside, and leaped around to the driver’s seat.

“Where’d you get the wheels?” she asked.

“Borrowed ‘em from the hotel security guys. I thought a bulletproof car might come in handy.” He started the engine and added, “Put on your seat belt.”

She did so as he pulled forward. “Sorry about all this,” she muttered as the SUV sped around a corner.

“Comes with the territory. You’re an up-and-coming Hollywood starlet. You should know better than to get drunk and make a spectacle of yourself. Getting pictures of you like that would be worth a fortune to them.”

“I’m not
that
drunk,” she declared. And she was getting more sober by the second. Who knew adrenaline could wipe the effects of alcohol right out of her system?

“You threw your drink at a photographer and threatened to slug him.”

She sighed. That part was still kind of fuzzy, but she was pretty sure the guy had richly deserved it. Still, she knew better than to rise to their bait. It was media training 101 not to let the bastards goad actors into saying or doing something stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Bad girl reputation or not, that was it for her going out in public ever again and getting wasted. “Thanks for coming to get me. You didn’t have to.”

“I suppose I didn’t. But it’s not in my nature to ignore damsels in distress.”

She studied him as he drove grimly, his stare fixed on the road. “No, it’s not, is it?”

He didn’t reply.

“I’m missing something, Blake. Why are you so tense about coming to get me? Does it make you that mad that I went out with the girls and had a little too much to drink?”

He huffed. “No, that’s not it. This has nothing to do with you. It’s my own personal shit.”

“Tell me. Heck, I probably won’t remember it in the morning anyway, and if you don’t distract me from the way this car is bumping along, I may get sick.”

He looked equal parts appalled and amused as he glanced across the interior at her. “Fine. Some foreign agents are trying to find me and hassle me, possibly grab me, to exert pressure on the government.” When she just blinked, he went on, “We’re in negotiations to release one of their spies. My boss sent me out here to California to hide on a movie set for a few weeks while the deal gets negotiated. That should calm the bad guys down.”