Overnight Sensation (7 page)

She slid beneath the blankets and switched off the bedside lamp then groaned and thumped her pillow in frustration. Damn, damn, damn. What was wrong with her? She didn’t know what she regretted most—letting Garrett, a near-perfect stranger, kiss her so thoroughly, or letting him leave before he could finish what they’d begun.

IT WAS ALL IVY COULD do not to twist her face away from the passionate kiss, especially when Eric’s slick tongue insinuated itself between her lips. She fought the urge to bite down on it, and instead arched against him and forced her arms to encircle his neck and stroke his shoulders in a parody of sexual need. Inwardly, she fumed with outrage.

They’d been trying to shoot this particular love scene for more than two hours, but couldn’t seem to get it right. They’d done seventeen takes, and each time something had gone wrong. Either the lights hadn’t faded properly, or the camera movement had been wrong or, as with the last several takes, Eric had forgotten his lines.

Ivy was beginning to suspect he had done so deliberately.

Again she acknowledged there were women out there who would kill to be in her position. Literally. Less than a week ago, she’d been starry-eyed at the prospect of being cast as Eric Terrell’s love interest, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize the fantasy she’d woven was a far cry from reality.

Her mouth felt bruised from being crushed against his, and she knew her lips must look swollen and chapped from his kisses. But what infuriated her most was how he used the scene as an excuse to touch her more intimately than the script required. Maybe he figured he was helping her get into character, but instead she found his groping jarred her out of the scene.

Beneath the threadbare sheet of the narrow bed, she wore nothing but a beige-colored thong. Eric, clad in a pair of minuscule briefs, was positioned between her thighs. Finn had directed Eric to support himself above her on one elbow and use his free hand to stroke her face and neck and those parts of her body that weren’t hidden. But at one point, he’d run his hand under the sheet and briefly cupped her breast, even lightly pinching her nipple, so that she’d yelped in surprise. The scene had been cut.

Apart from that one squeal of surprise, she hadn’t said anything to Eric. She’d been too acutely conscious of Garrett Stokes, standing just behind the cameras, watching her performance. She wouldn’t let him or any of the other crew members know how much Eric’s action bothered her. They’d think she was inexperienced and a prude, and they’d be partly right. The truth was, she’d never felt so out of her element as she did with this project. No matter how she tried, she just couldn’t relax enough to slide into Helena Vanderveer’s skin.

Despite Finn’s skillful directing and his unfailing courtesy, she knew she was testing his patience. Once, he’d even suggested that perhaps she was uncomfortable doing the love scene, but she’d disagreed. She’d done partially nude love scenes. Her discomfort wasn’t from the knowledge that a dozen or more of the crew, including camera operators, gaffers and dolly grips, stood on the sidelines, observing.

It had nothing to do with her confidence, or the script, or even Eric Terrell, who was slyly going in for another grope.

It had everything to do with the man just out of her line of vision. His sharp, predatory eyes missed nothing, and without having to look, she could feel him watching her.

In the scene where Helena and Garrett first make love, the script had called for her to undress slowly, almost shyly, before inching into the small bed beside Eric. Just the awareness that Garrett Stokes’s eyes were on her had been enough to cause a hot tide of color to wash into her face, and she hadn’t had to feign the shyness that had swept over her as her blouse and bra had slid to the floor.

Finn had been elated with that particular take, saying she’d performed flawlessly. When Ivy had reluctantly glanced toward the area where Garrett stood, the surrounding shadows had concealed his expression, but she couldn’t help wondering what he’d thought of the take. Of her. Did he consider her performance flawless? Did he find her attractive? How did she compare with the real Helena Vanderveer? The endless questions plagued her, even as she tried to concentrate on her work.

They’d begun shooting three days earlier, starting with the scenes where Helena discovers the injured soldier in the jungle behind the mission and brings him to a room hidden beneath the floor of the small chapel. The set dressers had completely altered the room to resemble a tiny cellar chamber, containing a bed, a chair, a washstand and little else. In this chamber Garrett and Helena fall in love, transforming the dark, dingy surroundings into an intimate hideaway for their blossoming passion.

In full makeup and costume, Eric had been almost unrecognizable. He looked tough and dangerous. The special-effects team had done an amazing job of creating realistic injuries on his flawless body, and he’d assumed the persona of a hardened soldier with seemingly little effort.

Now here she was, pressed against him from knee to chin, his lips feasting on hers, and all she could think about was another pair of lips, more tempting even than Eric’s. Her hands stroked over Eric’s shoulders, encountered his cropped golden hair, and all she could think of was running her fingers through hair that was longer and darker.

Sweet Mary, what was wrong with her? Every woman in America had fantasized about being with this guy, and here she was, thinking about somebody else. Now, as his hand trailed along her rib cage, he captured her mouth in another deep kiss. At the same time, he nudged her thighs farther apart and settled himself more comfortably in the cradle of her hips. She could feel him hard and erect, pressing against her most intimate parts. She had to force herself to remain still and not shove him off her.

Eric Terrell had been right about one thing—he really got into his character. If not for the fragile barrier of her panties, she had no doubt he’d be trying to get into her, with or without the film crew looking on.

Ivy kept her eyes shut and told herself to just go with it; this was what two people lost in the throes of passion would do. But when he shoved his tongue deep into her mouth and simultaneously closed one hand around her breast, she forgot about the filming and responded instinctively, tearing her mouth away and shoving him hard enough that he lost his balance and sprawled gracelessly on top of her with a loud curse.

“Cut!”

Finn MacDougall barked the word with all the energy and disgust of an army drill sergeant who’d just realized his new recruits were better suited to beauty school than boot camp.

Mortified that she’d just ruined another take, Ivy twisted her face to one side and pushed at Eric’s shoulders until he rolled away and flopped onto his back, one arm flung wearily over his eyes.

Conscious of the others who watched her from behind the cameras, Ivy dragged the threadbare sheet over her nakedness and scooted back on the thin mattress until her shoulders were up against the cold stone wall. She felt ill not just from Eric’s unwelcome groping but because she’d probably just destroyed any chance of hanging on to her part. Finn would replace her, and she couldn’t blame him.

He emerged from behind the main camera and strode across the dirt floor of the small set toward the bed. He wasn’t a classically handsome man—his nose was too prominent and his eyes too deep set. But he had a compelling presence that drew attention wherever he went. Now his bushy eyebrows were drawn together, and his lips were compressed in a thin line.

He stood beside the bed, hands on his hips as his gaze moved between Eric and Ivy. “Look, maybe we should call it a day and go back to this scene tomorrow.”

Eric withdrew his arm from his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. “No way,” he countered. “I want to get this scene done today.”

“Eric, you can’t even remember your lines,” Finn said, exasperation edging his voice. “You’re both tired, and quite frankly, I’m just not feeling any chemistry between the two of you.”

Eric glared at Ivy accusingly. “Yeah, well, if Miss Frigid over here would relax—”

Ivy gasped and clutched the sheet tighter. “Oh, please, give me a break! This is supposed to be a love scene, not a rape scene.” She eyed Finn imploringly, her voice filled with indignation. “He grabbed my breast. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in the script.”

“It’s called improvisation,” Eric snarled. “If you had any experience with real films, you’d understand that sometimes you just need to go with your instincts.”

Before she could respond, Garrett Stokes was there, leaning over her to stick one hard finger into Eric’s chest. Ivy stared in utter fascination at his face, scant inches above her own. His eyes darkened as he glowered at the startled actor, and a muscle worked convulsively in his lean jaw. He spoke through gritted teeth in a deceptively low voice.

“How about I go with my instincts?” he ground out, using his finger to push Eric back against the cold wall. “You so much as breathe in a way that isn’t written in that script, you so much as look at her in a way that makes her uncomfortable, and I’ll be all over you like stink on shit.” He gave the actor a shove. “You got that?”

Eric glowered back at him for several seconds, and Ivy had an insane, completely inappropriate urge to giggle at the very real fear that flashed in Eric’s eyes. Then he seemed to pull himself together before he yanked Garrett’s hand away and sat up.

“Yeah, I got it,” he muttered, a dark flush staining his neck. “But let me tell you this. Your little missionary here needs to loosen up.” His lips curled in a sneer. “Maybe you want to give her another reminder of just what it was you shared with Helena while she was nursing you back to health.”

“Maybe I should give you a reminder—”

“Okay, okay, you both made your point.” Finn laid a hand on Garrett’s arm, interrupting his snarled response, and the other man reluctantly straightened. Finn impaled Garrett with a meaningful look. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Garrett blew out his breath and raked a hand through his hair, but not before he pinioned Eric with one last glare. “Yeah, we will.” He gazed down at Ivy and his expression softened, if only slightly. “You okay?”

She nodded mutely and watched as he returned to the side of the set, rubbing the back of his neck.

She recalled his earlier words about how every woman responded differently to a man’s touch. Okay, so she definitely had not responded to Eric’s caresses the way she’d responded to Garrett’s, but she knew from their brief encounter that Garrett would employ a little more finesse in his lovemaking than Eric would.

Recalling the intense expression in Garrett’s eyes as he’d intervened, she felt a delicious shiver run through her. She couldn’t believe he’d confronted Eric the way he had. When was the last time a guy had done something so chivalrous for her? Aside from the night Garrett had rescued her from Eric’s drunken attentions, she couldn’t ever remember such gallantry. His intervention moments ago made her feel both feminine and fragile that he’d been concerned for her well-being. For just an instant, her imagination surged. What she wouldn’t give to have Garrett play himself! She definitely wouldn’t have to fake an orgasm.

“Okay, listen up,” Finn was saying to the rest of the crew. “That’s a wrap. We could shoot this scene a dozen—a hundred—more times and it wouldn’t do any good.” He nodded at Eric. “Go ahead and hit the showers. I’ve decided not to film the love scenes until next week. Tomorrow, we’ll head out to Xalapa and wrap up the remaining jungle scenes with the drug cartel.” His gaze shifted back to Ivy. “You need to take a few days off and give this part some serious thought.”

Ivy’s mouth fell open. She was shocked and relieved that he wasn’t kicking her off his set.

“No, listen to me,” Finn said firmly, misunderstanding her expression. He lowered his voice so that the rest of the crew wouldn’t overhear him. “I brought you onto this project with some reservations, but you came so highly recommended that I decided to offer you the role.” His eyes flicked to Eric. “I don’t know what’s going on with either of you, but there’s absolutely no chemistry here. In fact, there’s so much animosity between the two of you that I feel like I’m watching a pro-wrestling match.” He turned back to Ivy. “I know you can do this—I’ve seen your other films. So here’s what I recommend. Take the next few days and do whatever you have to do to find some inspiration.”

Ivy nodded her agreement, too grateful that he hadn’t fired her to argue.

“Don’t come back until you’re ready to put everything you have into the love scenes and get them right.” Finn’s voice was hard. “Remember, Helena is hugely attracted to this soldier. She wants him. She’s falling in love with him. She needs to communicate all this during their lovemaking, not shrink from him.” He wagged a finger admonishingly at Ivy. “Now is not the time for your acting skills to go on vacation. Forget about the cameras. Women all over the world would kill to be in your place right now.”

Ivy wanted to tell Finn that it wasn’t the cameras she found so distracting, and that she’d gladly trade places with those other women if it meant she wouldn’t have to get naked again with Eric Terrell. Instead, she just nodded anew.

“I want energy. I want emotion. ” Finn looked back and forth between the two of them, then pinned Eric with a glare. “And I don’t want any more of the crap I saw today. It won’t be tolerated on my set. Do I make myself clear?”

Eric nodded mutely, but Ivy didn’t miss the resentful glance he shot her. As soon as Finn turned away and began directing the crew to break down the cameras, Eric stepped off the bed and snatched a dressing robe from his personal assistant, who hovered nervously nearby. He thrust his arms into the sleeves and belted the robe around his waist as he stared down at Ivy, who was still curled up beneath the sheet.