Overnight Sensation

“I’m not going to make it, man,” he’d said, his voice little more than a whisper. “She won’t accept it, though. Always was a stubborn brat.”

“Hang in there,” Garrett had croaked.

“No, man,” Devon had said, closing his eyes. “It’s no good. I worry what’s going to happen to her when I’m gone. She’ll be alone.”

“There must be someone,” he’d responded. “Some family or friend.”

“No. It was just the two of us.”

Garrett had been silent. He couldn’t make a promise to watch over some chick he didn’t even know, no matter how gorgeous she was. Besides, she appeared more than capable of taking care of herself.

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Devon had looked over at him, and Garrett had flinched at the hope he’d seen flare in his gaze. “You swear? She doesn’t even have to know. Just do it for me.”

“I swear.”

Less than three hours later, while his sister had looked on in dismay, Sergeant Devon James had flatlined. Nurses had hustled Ivy out of the room while medical personnel had tried to resuscitate her brother, but their efforts had been futile.

The weight of Garrett’s promise had settled heavily onto his shoulders, but it had also given him something to live for. He’d latched on to the promise with all the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a lifeline, determined to be there for the girl in the future.

Now here he was, two years later, standing in front of the woman he’d promised to keep an eye on, completely kicking himself that he’d never made contact with her before now. Back then, just the knowledge that she might someday need him had been enough of an incentive to push him to recover. Throughout the long months of rehabilitation, he’d followed her career. He’d kept tabs on her activities and had been prepared to step in and help her if necessary, but an opportunity had never arisen.

Until now.

He should say something to her, tell her about his connection to her, if you could even call it that. Instead, he stared speechlessly, wondering how she would react if she knew the truth. Ivy James had saved his soul, and she wasn’t even aware of it.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about having his combat experiences made into an action-adventure movie, but there was one thing he’d always been certain of: he’d wanted Ivy James to play the part of the leading lady. It was just one way he could fulfill the promise he’d made to her brother.

When Garrett’s brother-in-law, Finn MacDougall, had initially approached him about the venture, he’d adamantly refused to give his consent. He still had nightmares about those last horrific days in Colombia when a covert narcoterrorism mission had come apart like a five-dollar shirt.

He’d allowed himself to be captured in order to provide the rest of his team a chance to escape. It had worked, but the three days he’d endured in the hands of the brutal Escudero cartel had just about sapped his belief in the goodness of mankind. It wasn’t so much what they’d done to his body that had nearly killed him; it was what they’d done to his spirit.

If anybody knew just how tough his recovery had been, it was Finn. After all, Garrett had spent nearly a year living in Finn’s home while recuperating from injuries that included multiple gunshot and stab wounds. His body still bore the scars from where he’d been tortured by the cartel. Despite having pushed himself to the max to regain his strength, he had to live with the knowledge that his abilities were now compromised to the point where he’d never again serve as part of a Green Beret “A-Team,” the twelve-man basic unit that could carry out any number of deadly covert operations.

Even after he’d managed to escape, two more days had passed before he’d found refuge, then another six days before he’d been airlifted out of the steaming Colombian jungle to an American hospital. His only satisfaction was knowing the information he’d brought back with him had been enough for the Colombian military to target the cartel and put an end to their reign of terror and drug smuggling.

Now, looking at the woman who would play Helena Vanderveer, the Dutch missionary responsible for rescuing his sorry ass, he wondered if he’d been wrong. There was a sensuality about Ivy James that was undeniable, yet at the same time she looked so god-damned…fragile. The real Helena might fool some with her small stature and sweet smile, but beneath it all she was as tough as Kevlar. Nobody could ever call her fragile.

Ivy was still staring at him. As he tried to formulate the right words to introduce himself, the rain suddenly stopped, and a warm burst of sunlight fell over the spot where they stood. Ivy tilted her face up toward the clearing skies and smiled.

Garrett felt something in his chest shift.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed. “It’s over. Just like that.”

She turned her gaze back to Garrett. Her eyes were the same rich, dark-chocolate shade he remembered, thickly fringed with spiky dark lashes. She used her fingers to wipe the moisture from her face as she again focused on the suitcase he carried.

“La maleta…la sandalia,” she said haltingly. A small frown creased her forehead as she pointed first toward the luggage, then toward the sandal he held. “Es mina.”

Her pronunciation was terrible, her grammar worse. But even if he hadn’t spoken Spanish fluently, there was no mistaking her meaning. Glancing down at the mud-covered shoe that still dangled from his hand, he swiped it against the wet fabric of his cargo pants until most of the mud was gone, then handed it to her.

“Yeah, I know they’re yours.”

“Oh! You speak English! That’s great.” Her face cleared as she accepted the shoe, and then she balanced on one leg as she slid her bare, mud-covered foot into the sandal. “For a second, I wasn’t sure if you understood me.”

Garrett smiled. “I’m American. Finn sent me to meet you.” He gestured over his shoulder at the rutted lane that intersected the main road. “I have a Jeep parked just down there. I’ll drive you out to the hacienda.”

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, and Garrett saw all the tension leave her body. “I really thought I was going to be stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, and then I saw you and—”

He watched with interest as her cheeks pinkened.

“Well, let’s just say I envisioned the worst,” she admitted, tucking a wet strand of hair behind one ear and slinging her carry-on bag over her shoulder. “You must be part of the film crew.” She tilted her head and considered him for a moment. “Do I know you? Have we met before? You seem familiar to me.”

Garrett hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words. Shifting her bag to her other shoulder had brought her luscious breasts fully into view. Beneath the wet fabric of her sleeveless top, he could clearly see her bra and, beneath that, the dark shadow of her nipples. His throat went dry, and he had to drag his gaze from her and turn away.

“Ah, no,” he finally managed to say, keeping his voice neutral. “I’m a technical consultant. Let me grab your other bag, and then we can head out.”

“Oh, that’s not my suitcase.” She laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “The driver threw down the wrong one and took off before I could tell him.”

Garrett glanced at her hand. She jerked it back, but he could still feel her slender fingers against his skin. Briefly, he wondered how they would feel against other parts of his anatomy.

“We’ll take it along with us,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s unlikely yours will be returned, but just in case, we’ll have someone bring this back to the airport in Veracruz and put in a claim for your bag.”

With any luck, her second travel case wouldn’t show up. Ever. He’d spent only a second or two shoving her spilled belongings back into the ruined suitcase, but that had been long enough for him to realize the case contained mostly underwear and shit, girly stuff not meant to be worn in public. His hands had skimmed over wet satin panties and lacy bras, silky pajamas and fragile camisole tops, all soaked from the rain. His imagination soared with tantalizing images of a barely clad Ivy. He had no problem whatsoever with her wearing nothing but underwear for the entire time she was in Mexico.

Hefting the blue suitcase in one arm and still holding her tapestry bag under his other, he made his way to where he’d parked the Jeep, acutely aware of the woman following closely behind him.

Watching him.

For the first time since he’d been released from the hospital, after months of excruciating physical therapy to finally get rid of his damn crutches, he felt self-conscious about his limp. He knew he was lucky even to have use of his leg, but he hadn’t quite resigned himself to the limp now being as much a part of the “new” him as the scars that went with it.

“How long will it take to get to the hacienda?” Ivy asked, as he stowed her gear behind the passenger seat and held the door open for her to climb in.

“Not long. About ten minutes.” He rounded the hood of the Jeep and slid into the driver’s seat, using his hand to help lift his bad leg into the vehicle. He didn’t meet her eyes as he started the engine. There were a lot of expressions he’d like to see in those big, dark eyes, but sympathy wasn’t one of them.

“I like the name. Hacienda la Esperanza,” she said experimentally. “It sounds…beautiful.”

“The place started out in the sixteenth century as a monastery,” he said, maneuvering the Jeep along the rough road. “Then it was used as a coffee plantation, before being abandoned about thirty years ago. Now it’s privately owned, and mostly used for retreats or special events. Weddings. Reunions. That kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

Garrett couldn’t tell what her expectations were, but suspected she’d be pleasantly surprised by the hacienda. With over one hundred rooms on two levels, it was a masterpiece of classic Spanish architecture. Rooms that had once housed Jesuit seminarians had been converted into elegant spaces with most of the original architectural features, including arched windows and heavily beamed ceilings. The only indulgence had been the addition of private marble baths in each room.

The hacienda had been chosen not only because it could accommodate the entire cast and crew, but because the property itself, as well as the mountainous region surrounding it, closely resembled Colombia.

Garrett had spent his first two nights in the monastery-turned-hacienda, but the vast hallways and vaulted ceilings made him feel exposed. He preferred the old workers’ quarters behind the house, a series of casitas, or cottages. Each casita consisted of a simple wooden platform with wood walls and a tin roof. He’d cleared a host of small scorpions and spiders out of one of the cottages, and the production crew had acquired some basic furniture and a couple of kerosene lanterns for him. It was sparse, but comfortable. In it, Garrett could enjoy the solitude of the nearby forest and avoid the endless noise and activity of the main house.

The set director and his crew had divided the property into several separate filming locations. One area served as the Dutch mission where Helena Vanderveer worked, complete with small chapel. The design folks had done almost too good a job at transforming the derelict warehouse located on the premises into a replica of the cartel stronghold where he’d been held and tortured.

Garrett glanced over at Ivy.

She was sitting upright, trying not to let her back touch the seat, and he knew her wet clothing must be uncomfortable. Despite the humid warmth of the afternoon, he could see goose bumps on her bare arms.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” he commented. “One of the girls in the makeup department is about your size. Maybe you can borrow something from her until we get your own wardrobe figured out.”

She cast him a grateful glance. “That would be great.” She was silent for a moment. “So what’s it like on the set? I mean, everyone else has been on location for three weeks. I can’t help but feel like—like an intruder.”

He knew she was referring to the fact that she’d been offered the role only two days earlier. Although Finn had given his word that he would cast Ivy as Helena Vanderveer, he’d held off actually making the offer until the very last minute, no doubt hoping Garrett would change his mind and let him offer the part to some A-list actress who, when paired with Eric Terrell, would guarantee record-breaking crowds at the theaters.

No freaking way.

Garrett had wanted Ivy James. Okay, so he’d had an ulterior motive, but his own lust for her aside, he’d seen every film she’d ever made and knew she’d do justice to Finn’s project. Her previous work had consisted of almost exclusively small, independent films, but her performances had been impressive. The only reservations Finn had had about bringing her onto this project had nothing to do with her acting.

Of course, Ivy James did have a history of falling in love with her leading men. With the exception of her two most recent films, she had become romantically involved with several of her male costars, although the relationships had never seemed to last beyond filming.

But it wasn’t her failed love affairs that had made Finn hesitate. It was the fact that despite her talents, she was a relative unknown. Her prior flicks hadn’t garnered wide distribution. She was a risk, and if not for Garrett’s insistence, Finn probably wouldn’t have considered her for the part.

Garrett glanced over at Ivy again, unwilling to tell her why Finn had waited until the last minute to contact her agent. She’d accepted the part. She didn’t need to know the circumstances surrounding the offer.

“Finn probably would have approached your agent sooner, but he didn’t want to distract you from the project you were wrapping up in Montreal,” he lied. “I know that he’s eager to meet you. They’ll begin shooting your scenes in just a couple of days.”

“Have you—have you worked with Eric Terrell before?”

Her tone was casual, but Garrett didn’t miss the underlying anxiety. He noted the color in her cheeks and the way she clenched the strap of her carry-on bag. She was nervous about meeting the acclaimed actor, and he couldn’t really blame her. The guy was on the front page of every tabloid and at the top of every media list there was. Hottest Actor. Most Eligible Bachelor. Sexiest Man Alive.

They’d forgotten to add Biggest Dickhead On The Planet, but Garrett guessed that most folks who knew him already had that one figured out. He’d shown up on location with an entourage of support personnel, including a bodyguard, a personal secretary and his own makeup person. Hell, the production company had even agreed to pay for a private cook for him. He’d put up a huge stink when he’d learned he’d be working with a relatively unknown actress. He’d actually told Finn he would only star opposite an A-list actress. Garrett had to give his brother-in-law credit. Finn hadn’t backed down. Instead, he’d calmly told Eric that he could get over it or get off his set. Eric had buttoned his mouth, but Garrett knew the decision had rankled. He hoped to hell the other man would maintain his pompous-ass mind-set and leave Ivy the hell alone, but he doubted he’d get that lucky. With her looks, Ivy would be pure temptation.

Garrett never would have chosen Terrell to portray him in the film, but Finn had insisted the choice was a good one. During the past three weeks, Garrett had reluctantly acknowledged he was right. Based on the uncut footage he’d seen so far, he’d say Finn had another blockbuster in the making.

“This is the first time I’ve worked with him.” He was carefully noncommittal.

Ivy flashed him a smile. “I’ve seen his movies.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, who hasn’t seen his movies, right? I just never thought I’d get the chance to work with him. I’d have thought they’d want somebody like Angelina Jolie or Jessica Alba for this part.”

Garrett let his gaze slide over her. “Trust me,” he drawled, “there was never any question about you being cast for this part.”

Her eyes widened fractionally and then filled with pleasure before she looked out the window, hiding her expression from him. But Garrett could still see the smile that hovered on her lips, and he felt a ridiculous sense of satisfaction knowing he’d put it there. His eyes lingered on her a moment, noting how her hair was beginning to dry in soft corkscrews around her face. He wondered how the curls would feel in his hands. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he forced himself to focus on his driving.

“I’ve worked so hard at my career,” she continued. “True, a lot of people would say my choice of films has been a little unorthodox, but I’ve always tried to choose roles that would challenge me, you know?”

He glanced over at her. “Sure.”

“I mean, I’ve been offered plenty of roles in popcorn movies, but I want to be taken seriously.” She turned earnest eyes to him. “That’s why this role is so exciting. It means I’m finally reaching that point in my career where people are starting to sit up and notice.” She smiled. “I just never thought my past projects would capture the attention of a director like Finn MacDougall. It’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for.”

Garrett determinedly ignored the guilt that rose in him and gave her a polite smile of acknowledgment. “I’m certain you won’t let him down.”

She laughed. “Not if I can help it. I’ll do whatever is necessary to make this the best performance of my career.”

The dense foliage fell away as they entered the tiny village of Pancho Viejo, a cluster of small houses and rustic buildings that circled a central plaza with an ornate fountain. Carefully manicured trees lined the narrow road, their trunks painted white and their branches strung with colorful lights. The picturesque scene elicited a murmur of delight from Ivy.

They turned off the small road and drove through a set of old, iron gates, then along a road less rutted than the one they had just traveled. Slowly, the thick vegetation on either side of the road gave way to steep, tiered hillsides still bearing traces of the coffee bean cultivation that had supported generations of local residents. Before long, the hills leveled out. Garrett suppressed a smile as Ivy caught her first glimpse of Hacienda la Esperanza and gasped.

Situated at the end of a long drive bordered on either side by fig and cypress trees, the hacienda was a sprawling, two-story structure of white stucco. Tall, narrow windows marched along the first and second floors. Creeping ivy clung to the near side of the building, completely obscuring the white stucco, insinuating itself into the window embrasures and dangling in long ropes from the overhanging roof. The sun was sinking behind a panoramic backdrop of lush mountains, streaking the skies with warm hues of orange and pink, and Garrett admitted the house made a stunning first impression.

Skirting the building, he drove around to the back of the hacienda. The circular drive stopped in front of a covered walkway supported by stone pillars and flanked on either side by lush gardens.

As he pulled onto the gravel lot, the sound of laughter and muted conversation drifted toward them. Garrett eyed his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. Congregating by the pool after dinner to discuss the day’s filming over drinks, before going to bed, had become something of a ritual for the cast.

Ivy stood close by his side as he hauled her suitcase out of the Jeep, and he caught her looking speculatively toward the house. Her clothing still clung damply to her skin, and the thought of parading her past the other cast members held little appeal for him. No way did he want Eric Terrell to see Ivy in her current state. That Ivy would be shooting some pretty intimate love scenes with the actor didn’t matter. To Garrett’s way of thinking, her nearly transparent clothing was almost more erotic than if she was butt naked.

Okay, that was a complete lie.

Just the thought of Ivy James in the nude made his body tighten in response.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice more brusque than he’d intended. “I’ll show you to your room and then ask Denise, who works in makeup, to find you something dry to wear.”

She cast him a grateful glance and walked ahead of him down the covered walkway and into the large, central courtyard. A fountain gurgled in the center, surrounded by lush gardens. The hacienda rose up on all sides. What had once been the cloisters had been converted into private balconies overlooking the gardens.

“Up these stairs to the left,” he murmured, indicating the winding stone staircase that connected the two floors of the hacienda and led to the private rooms on the second level.

Garrett followed at a slower pace, not even trying to force his bad leg to move faster. He knew from bitter experience that would do no good, and he’d just be sore and sorry the following day. Besides, being several steps behind Ivy gave him the opportunity to admire her perfect, heart-shaped rear as she climbed the steps.

They reached the upper level of the hacienda, and he preceded her along an interior corridor with vaulted ceilings and tiled floors. He stopped in front of an ornately carved door at the end of the hallway.

“This is your room.” He pushed open the door and set her luggage just inside. “It has a nice view of the mountains. I’ll go find Denise and get you those dry clothes. When you’ve changed, just come back down the stairs and follow the voices to the pool area, okay?”

“Wait.” She faced him. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, “but I don’t even know your name. You’ve gone out of your way to be so nice to me, and I can’t believe I haven’t even asked your name.”

“It’s Garrett Stokes.”

“Garrett—”

She broke off, and Garrett knew the exact instant she realized who he was.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You’re him. The special-ops guy this movie is all about.”

Garrett allowed himself a wry smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She’d had absolutely no clue who he was. He wasn’t surprised that she had no recollection of him. She’d definitely had bigger things on her mind than some injured soldier who’d shared hospital space with her brother. Nevertheless, he still found it disconcerting that in those few hours, she’d made a profound impact on his life, while he hadn’t even registered on her radar. He wouldn’t betray her brother’s trust by telling her that he’d been that soldier, since doing so would be equivalent to opening Pandora’s box. But a part of him still wanted to create a ripple in her world, make her as aware of him as he was of her.

She frowned. “I thought you were a technical consultant.”

He shrugged. “I am. Finn brought me aboard to ensure the film captures my covert-ops experiences as realistically as possible.”

Her face paled, and Garrett could tell she was remembering the gruesome torture scenes. He’d seen the storyboards and read the script. The screenwriter hadn’t spared the audience when he’d written those portions of the screenplay.

As quickly as the color had drained from her cheeks, it flooded back. “The scenes with the missionary—are they based on real life, as well?”

Garrett hesitated.

She was referring to the explicit, highly sensual love scenes. He fought briefly with his conscience, debating whether to tell her the truth. They were the one facet of the movie that didn’t conform to events as he’d experienced them. Finn had insisted on taking artistic license in portraying Helena Vanderveer as a beautiful young woman with a healthy libido and an instant attraction to the injured soldier who’d found his way to her mission.

In reality, Helena was a sturdy Dutch woman in her midsixties, with a strong spiritual calling and zero interest in any romantic entanglements. Furthermore, Garrett had been unconscious most of the time she’d cared for him. He had only hazy memories of her and their time together.

Finn had brushed all that aside, insisting a torrid love affair between the soldier and the missionary would heighten the film’s appeal. At his request, the writer had revised the script to depict the soldier as badly injured, but not to the extent that he couldn’t engage in some creative lovemaking with the attractive missionary. Never underestimate the healing powers of lust, Garrett thought wryly.