Going Overboard (6 page)

“So sue me,” he said irritably. Someone shoved another light meter against his neck. “Aren't they about done?”

“Details count. You don't have a problem with a woman giving orders, do you?”

His voice fell. “I take orders from the person who's best equipped to give them—man, woman, Martian or gorilla. For now, you're it.”

“Fine. I guess I'm a little touchy on that subject.” “You've probably got your reasons.” McKay imagined she had encountered all kinds of male egos in her work. No doubt some baboon had stepped on her toes after she'd given him a perfectly reasonable order. Maybe he'd caught her in a deserted corner and decided to find out how that trim body felt beneath all that silk.

He scowled at the thought. “And if I ever get my hands on the man who gave you those reasons, you might want to leave the room.”

“I'm not sure whether to be grateful or insulted.” “Neither,” he grumbled. “Let's just get this job done.” He turned away, tugging off his shirt as he headed for the bedroom to change.

Carly refused to be nervous. He was just another body and this was just another job. There was no reason for anxiety. She frowned down at the third battery she'd dropped in the last five minutes.

Daphne watched Carly reach for her cappuccino as they stood on the veranda. “You want to watch the caffeine consumption. That stuff is pure rocket fuel.”

“Who's jittery? I'm solid as a rock.” Carly stuck out her hand and watched it lurch. “That's just ship movement.” She raked back her windblown hair, scanning the horizon. The sun was perfect, a ball of liquid gold glowing behind red clouds. The props were ready, and her crew was focused and in place.

So where was he? If he didn't hurry, they'd miss the light.

She turned toward the cabin and stopped dead, facing six feet two inches of hard, dangerous male in a tuxedo that fit like a masterpiece. The silk skimmed his broad shoulders and rode smoothly at his lean waist. As she had instructed, his feet were bare, his cuffs were rolled up, and his formal black tie lay open over his unbuttoned shirt.

He was all control on the surface, but an edge of violence simmered beneath, and the contrast was striking. Carly swung up her camera and ran a few frames, unable to take her eyes from the monitor.

He claimed the screen. The man was a study in disciplined power, right off the alpha chart.

God help the women of the free world when this picture hit the airwaves.

“Catch me,” Daphne whispered. “I'm going to faint.”

“Don't even think about it. I need you sane and focused so I can finish this scene in time to save my job.”

“Forget sane. Does the man look half as amazing as I think he does?”

“Absolutely,” Carly murmured. “He also looks annoyed as heck and ready to back out any second. Hank,” she called. “Let's get those colored filters fine-tuned and the champagne misted.”

With the last details covered, Carly turned and took a deep breath. “You look—”

“Phenomenal,” Daphne said.

Carly ignored her. “I'm glad the tux fits so well. If you'll stand beside this line taped on the deck, you'll be in position for the cameras.” She guided McKay into place, ignoring a sudden stab of tension. She wasn't going to be silly about this. He was just a job, after all.

“Let's get started.” She raised her camera, checked the lens, and cleared her throat, realizing something was wrong.

“The camera is upside down,” Daphne said helpfully.

“Of course it is. I was checking the battery,” Carly lied.

Pre-shoot nerves, nothing more.

She moved one of the teak deck chairs, pulled the champagne bucket closer, then arranged two crystal flutes on the glass table next to a spray of Indonesian orchids.

Satisfied, she stood back, watching McKay—watching
sunlight turn his face into an arresting clash of light and shadow. It was a pity that his features would not appear in the final scene, since they were still committed to use Griff Kelly for the head shots. The transposition work would take place after the filming.

Carly scanned the main cameras, painfully aware of how little time they had until the sun went down. “Hank, how's the setup?”

“Okay over here, Carly. Ready to roll.”

“Excellent.” She looked at McKay, his expression cool and arrogant, impatience in every hard line of his body.
He really hates doing this
, she thought.

On impulse, she decided not to tell him the cameras were rolling, afraid he would tense up. “Hank, you are cued.” Her cameraman nodded. He knew her well enough to guess what she was doing.

She saw the red light appear, indicating that the film was running. “Let's run through this once for practice, please. Look toward the sun, Ford. One elbow on the deck rail. Yes, that's perfect.”

“You mean I have to do something?”

Carly almost laughed at the wariness in his voice. “No bungee jumping or skydiving, I promise you.” She turned him slightly, adjusting his silhouette against the sunset. Then she moved back out of camera range. “Now lift the silver picture beside the orchid.”

He muttered something as he picked up the photograph.

“That's it. Now pour a glass of champagne, then turn toward the rail and raise the glass. It's your toast to a dream that's finally coming true.”

The man was enthralling. He didn't seem to give a damn if ten people or a thousand were watching. Every movement was casual, yet hinted at absolute control and cool intelligence. Carly knew that every woman who saw him would yearn to be the one who could pierce that tough male shell.

“Hank,” she murmured “are you getting all this on your end?”

“Oh yeah,” the cameraman whispered.

“Okay, Ford. You're doing fine. Now we hear the door opening.” On her cue, one of the camera techs re-created the creak of hinges. “Slow footsteps. Very expensive heels. Daphne? You all set?”

“Ready, Carly.”

“Stay just off camera until I tell you.” She nodded as Daphne straightened a bracelet that could have fed a Third World country for a week. “Lift your hand, Daphne. Let us see the bracelet.” Carly framed carefully, catching the gleam of diamonds against McKay's black satin collar. “Now we hear the opening strains of Vivaldi. Softly, then swirling louder.”

The lush melody of violins and brass swept the deck. The sound would actually be dubbed in later, but Carly liked to use music to key up the atmosphere for her actors.

And right now the atmosphere couldn't have been better. It was almost too perfect, in fact. Something had to go wrong.

Carly fought off a wave of anxiety, angling in on the diamonds gleaming like white fire against the sunset. “Turn around, Ford. Very slowly. Very controlled. Daphne, keep your hand right at his shoulder. Follow him as he turns without breaking contact.”

Mentally, Carly raced through every detail of the scene. The focus was tight, the mood perfect, and she had never done anything better. But she knew that most of the credit belonged to her new model. The man was lethal— all tough eyes and tough body, claiming the camera just as she'd predicted.

“Daphne, move in slightly and raise your hand to his jaw. Tender, okay? As if you have all the time in the world.”

Carly's pulse hammered as she watched Daphne's hand move into place. She gripped her camera, almost afraid to breathe. “Hold it. Draw it out, that's right. Done,” she called. Suddenly giddy, she collapsed against

the deck railing. “Daphne, get that bracelet back into its case and call security before I have a heart attack. Ford you're a killer. Hank, you and the crew take a break. Champagne all around.” Her legs were unsteady and she was still clutching her camera. Somehow she couldn't let the scene go.

“Why do we need a break?” McKay asked tensely. “Aren't we going to shoot the real scene?” When a wave of laughter spilled from the crew, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?” he demanded.

“I'm delighted to say that we have just completed a flawless scene in one take. Congratulations,” she said breathlessly. “You were brilliant.”

For the space of a breath, anger flared in his eyes. Carly watched in fascination as he blocked his reaction before anyone else noticed.

So the camera hadn't lied. This was definitely a man who valued being in control. No emotion got through unless he wanted it to.

Aware that soothing of the waters was due for her deception, Carly filled a glass with champagne and held it out to him. “Sorry. I thought it would help if we jumped right in.”

“Very smooth. It's been a while since anyone conned me that well.”

“And that bothers you.”

“Damned right.” He tugged off the tuxedo jacket, frowning when she put her hand on his arm.

“I was only trying to make this easier for you.”

“I know.” The anger in his eyes receded slightly. “Otherwise you'd be looking for another actor right now.” He took the champagne glass and drank slowly. “Apology accepted on one condition.” He turned the glass, studying her over the rim. “You. Me. Dinner, tonight.”

D
inner?” Her wariness was instant. “Why?”

“Because you have to eat. Since we're going to work together, it will help if I get to know you.”

“Reasonable, I suppose,” she said finally. “But I have to check film, then pack up cameras for tomorrow.”

“Your staff can handle that. They won't miss you for a few hours.” McKay finished his glass of rich, fruity Roederer Blanc de Blanc. “Time's up. Yes or no?”

Carly studied her crew, busy picking up props. “I can't stay long.”

“Agreed. I'll meet you here in ten minutes.” He slanted her a look that skimmed from head to toe. “Wear something comfortable.”

Carly watched him stride off, aware of the curious glances of the crew. She heard a chuckle and flushed. “What's so funny?”

“Hey, going to dinner with him is fine by me,” her head cameraman said. “We'll finish up here.”

“The bracelet's gone back to the vault under guard.” Daphne took her arm. “I'll make sure all the cameras are back in the office before I lock up.”

“But—”

“Go,” Daphne said impatiently. “Just because you're busy doesn't mean you can't have a little private time. It's true, getting to know him will help your work.”

“It sounds even thinner coming from you than it did from him,” Carly said flatly.

“Then why did you say yes?”

She shrugged. “Curiosity. Or maybe because I can't turn down a challenge.”

Daphne studied Carly in thoughtful silence. “Wear the linen sundress with a single strand of pearls.”

Carly flushed. “I will not dress up. This isn't a date.”

“You still want to look your best.” Daphne tapped her cheek. “Definitely the red linen.” She shooed Carly toward the door. “Your cabin is across the hall, remember? Along with the life you keep forgetting to live.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Go. The man just saved your job. The least you can do is thank him.”

Thanking him was one thing, Carly thought. Suffering was another.

“We can't be eating here.” She stared at the wall of windows overlooking the ocean. “Not in the health club.”

“I told you comfortable.” McKay studied her dress as he opened the door. “Not that I dislike your choice, but pearls may be a little overdressed for the treadmill.”

“So sue me,” Carly grumbled stealing his line. “I try to avoid places like this.”

“Too busy, right? You figure you get enough exercise working out with your camera. Or maybe bench-pressing your Palm Pilot.”

“How did you know I have a Palm Pilot?”

“Call it a lucky guess.”

“How do you know so much about me after less than a day?”

“Must be a gift I have.”

She tried not to fume as they were greeted warmly by a stunning woman in yellow spandex.

“Why is no one else around?”

“Being famous has its perks.”

“You're famous?” Carly whispered.

“No, you are. Martina was delighted to open the club as part of your research.” He ran a finger over her pearls, one brow raised. “Nothing reduces stress like exercise.”

Carly realized that Martina was waiting patiently, a towel and a red spandex leotard in her hand.

The outfit should have sent her running for the nearest exit. Spandex meant a serious workout, while the faded sweat suit McKay produced from the bag over his arm implied a man who showed no mercy on himself or others.

Carly didn't have time for any of it.

She was ready to turn tail when McKay took her arm firmly. “Not scared of a little sweat, are you?”

“No way.” Goaded, she took the exercise suit and sputtered a thank you.

“Good. You can change in there.” He pointed past a fi-cus tree. “I'll warm up your treadmill.”

“How kind of you.” Carly tried not to fume as she wriggled into the spandex, feeling like an absolute fool. Irritably, she tugged at the high-cut leg openings. What had made her think the man had any romantic intentions?

On the plus side, rather than outline every imperfection, the spandex smoothed and complimented, making her body look more toned than it was, and the tights that went with the leotard were surprisingly comfortable.

McKay's gaze lingered longer than necessary as she strolled across the empty exercise area. He had changed, too, and his sweats looked like they had suffered major abuse in the name of peak conditioning.