Overnight Sensation

“Pretty much everything in the script is accurate,” he fibbed, boldly meeting Ivy’s eyes, “especially the scenes with Helena.”

“Oh.” She was silent as she digested his words, and the color in her cheeks deepened. “Well, I hope I can do your…relationship…justice.”

Garrett kept his face carefully impassive. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if you’re not getting it right.”

Her eyes grew big. “You’re not—you’re not actually going to be on the set while we shoot those scenes…are you?”

Garrett heard the horror in her voice, and only barely suppressed a grin. “You bet.”

“Why?” She sounded desperate.

“Just in case you need any pointers,” he responded guilelessly. “It’s my job to make certain every scene is shot as realistically as possible.”

“Why would I need pointers from you?”

“Because every woman responds differently to a man’s touch,” Garrett replied, allowing his gaze to drift over Ivy’s body. “And despite the fact that you’re shooting the scenes with Eric Terrell, you’ll have to respond as if you’re with me.”

He left her standing wide-eyed and mute in the doorway of her bedroom. But as he turned away, he saw with satisfaction the beginnings of something else in her dark eyes, and he smiled.

That something was awareness.

3

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Ivy stood by the pool with a margarita in one hand as Finn MacDougall shook her other hand and apologized for his rudeness in waiting until the last possible minute to offer her the role. He had indeed not wanted to distract her from the project she’d been involved in. He’d meant to contact her sooner, but time had gotten away from him. He was thrilled to have her on location, and excited to begin working with her.

Dazed, Ivy could only listen and nod and smile like an idiot. Finn was every bit as charismatic and artistic as she’d imagined he would be, and she was tempted to pinch herself to ensure the whole thing wasn’t a dream. How was it possible that Finn MacDougall was apologizing to her?

The entire scene was like something in a bad comedy, and completely opposite to how she’d envisioned her first meeting with the famed director. In her endless imaginings, she’d been composed, casually elegant and regally gracious. She certainly hadn’t looked like something the cat had dragged in.

Her hair was almost dry, but the humidity caused it to curl into an unruly tangle. She hadn’t had time to freshen her makeup, and she knew she looked tired and pale. Worse, the clothing that Denise had loaned her made her feel like a grungy teenager. Denise herself had been little more than a petulant adolescent, clearly put out by Ivy’s needing to borrow her clothes.

“Here,” she’d snapped. “It’s all I can spare. You’ll have to talk to the wardrobe people for any other clothes.”

She’d flounced out of Ivy’s room without another word. Ivy had reluctantly changed into the clothing, and cringed when she saw how terrible she appeared in the borrowed outfit, which consisted of a shapeless T-shirt and a pair of baggy pants that suspiciously resembled pajama bottoms.

God, what must Finn think of her?

“Well, it’s great to finally meet you,” he was saying. “I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment with the assistant director to review the dailies, so just—” he swept a hand toward the people who milled around the pool “—make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

Ivy watched as he made his way back to the main house, stopping several times to speak to people. She’d been hastily introduced to the other cast members, but aside from one or two familiar faces, they were mostly unknown to her. Viewing them now as they chatted and laughed, she was reluctant to insert herself into their intimate conversations.

She swirled her drink uncertainly for a moment, feeling awkward and self-conscious, until her gaze fell on the man at the far side of the terraced patio. Even while talking with Finn, she’d been acutely aware of Garrett Stokes several paces away, observing her.

She couldn’t get his last words out of her head: “You’ll have to respond as if you’re with me.”

Worse, every time she envisioned herself acting out the love scenes for the movie, Garrett was the man she cast in the leading role. A supremely muscled, naked Garrett, with molten eyes.

Which was crazy. An hour ago, she’d been a jumble of nerves just thinking about working with Eric Terrell. She considered him so far out of her league, both personally and professionally, that she’d had trouble visualizing herself as his on-screen love interest. Now she couldn’t even recall what he looked like. The man who came to mind was Garrett Stokes. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the real deal—the Green Beret who’d experienced everything in the script firsthand. He was the one Helena Vanderveer had risked everything for, including her life…and her heart.

Unwillingly, her gaze slid over him. He’d changed out of his wet clothes and now wore a loose-fitting shirt made of some gauzy, breathable material over a dry pair of cargo pants. But even the casual clothing couldn’t disguise his wide shoulders or flat stomach, or hide that his was a leanly muscled physique. He exuded a raw sexuality that turned a woman’s thoughts to hot, potent kisses and bone-melting orgasms. Despite knowing him less than an hour, Ivy realized she wasn’t at all immune to those insidious thoughts.

She wondered what it would be like to be pressed against all that hard warmth. He’d said every woman responded differently to a man’s touch—as if he was an expert on the subject. How would she respond to his touch, to his hands on her body and his mouth on her skin?

As though sensing her wayward thoughts, Garrett smiled at her, a slow, knowing smile that caused her breasts to tighten and heat to swamp her midsection. If that was how he’d looked at Helena Vanderveer, no wonder the missionary had torn off her clothes and jumped into the guy’s sickbed with him. Ivy felt hot color sweep up her neck to her face, but she was helpless to drag her eyes away from him.

“Hey, you must be Ivy.”

Startled, Ivy turned to see an attractive woman in a turquoise sarong smiling at her. Her red hair was an artful disarray of curls, captured in an oversize clip at the back of her head, and her green eyes were elongated by an expert sweep of black eyeliner. She had such an open, friendly face that Ivy couldn’t help but smile back at her. The other woman extended her hand.

“I’m Carla Ricci, and I’ll be doing your makeup.” She gave Ivy an appraising look. “You have great bone structure, and your eyes are amazing, but we’ll have to do something with the hair. A little conditioner, and you’ll be all set.”

Ivy grimaced and self-consciously put a hand to her head. “We got caught in a downpour, and I haven’t had time to do anything with it,” she explained.

“Oh, yes, I heard. You and Mr. Military Badass over there.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully in Garrett’s direction. “He wanted to drive into Veracruz to pick you up at the airport, but Finn needed him here, instead. I expected the guy to go completely Rambo when he found out you were taking the public bus in.” She shuddered. “You poor thing.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Ivy lied, “except that I lost my luggage.”

Carla put a conciliatory hand on Ivy’s arm. “I heard.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Ivy’s outfit. “If your suitcase doesn’t show up and you need something to wear, come see me. I have some little dresses that would look totally hot on you, and it would teach Denise a lesson, the little bitch. She’s just worried that Eric will find you more attractive than he finds her.”

Surprised, Ivy couldn’t help but give a small bark of laughter. “Me? Oh, please. I’ve seen the women Eric Terrell is attracted to, and I’m pretty sure I’m not up to those standards.”

“Are you kidding?” Carla shot her a look of astonishment. “When’s the last time you stood in front of the mirror, sweetie? You totally have a young Julia Ormond look going on, all sweet and sexy at the same time. And those curls are to die for.” She caught an errant ringlet on the end of her finger. “Most women would kill for hair like this.” She winked at Ivy conspiratorially. “Besides, from what I hear, your leading men have a hard time keeping an arm’s length, if you know what I mean. If you ask me, you could have this one eating out of your hands…or more.”

Embarrassed by the other woman’s candidness, Ivy couldn’t help darting a glance at Garrett Stokes, wondering how much of the bizarre conversation he could overhear. She hoped none of it. “Well, I’m definitely just here to do a job, so I doubt there’ll be any of that going on.”

Carla smiled at her knowingly. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t we? Of course, none of us would be heartbroken if Eric developed a little thing for you, since it would put Denise’s nose hugely out of joint, if you get my meaning.”

Ivy blinked.

A burst of laughter erupted from those nearest the house, and the cast members sitting by the pool glanced up, suddenly alert.

“Oh, here he is now,” Carla said sotto voce. “Good luck, sweetie. See you on the set!”

Ivy turned around expectantly, to find that Eric Terrell had arrived. For him to make his way toward the terrace where she stood took several long moments, giving Ivy the opportunity to study him.

He was without doubt the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His golden skin glowed with good health, and his teeth flashed white as he laughed at something a woman said to him. His famous hair, long acclaimed by the style press as a masterpiece of tousled honey and wheaten streaks, had been cropped to military standards, but even the quarter inch that remained managed to look like gilded velvet, begging to be stroked. He was every inch the golden boy, and he knew it.

Ivy watched as he ingratiated himself with the other cast members, but she couldn’t help feeling his joviality had a falseness. As he drew closer, she heard the deep warmth of his voice, and caught the tail end of an outrageous remark that made those nearest him guffaw anew.

Eric smiled as he moved away from the group, but when he finally stopped in front of Ivy, she could tell the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He let his gaze drift over her for a moment, taking in every detail of her disheveled appearance. His beautiful mouth twisted briefly.

“You must be Ivy James.”

“Yes.” Was it really her voice that sounded so breathless? She watched in utter fascination as the pink tip of his tongue probed the corner of his mouth. He assessed her silently for a moment, nodding to himself.

“Okay, okay. I think we can make this work,” he finally murmured. “But you might want to wear something…I don’t know…more feminine?” He shifted his weight, and Ivy could have sworn his chest had expanded by at least two inches. “You’ve never worked with me, but those who have know that when I’m filming a project, I get completely into character, both on and off camera. I mean completely. And if I’m not feeling the love off camera, then it’ll show when I’m trying to execute those intimate scenes on camera.” He tilted his head. “Are you understanding what I’m saying?”

Ivy shook her head, completely bemused. “No.” Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed that Garrett Stokes had moved closer.

Eric scratched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling with his patience. “Look,” he said, as if addressing a three-year-old, “the audience has to believe that the chemistry between us on-screen is the real deal. But in order for me to convey that passion, I need to feel it. I mean really feel it.” His eyes were a light blue, almost silver. Now they boldly skimmed her body. “I need to be able to relate to you sexually in order to play the love scenes properly. And, babe, that outfit just doesn’t do it for me. Now do you understand?”

Ivy felt her mouth start to fall open. She snapped it shut. Shock swept through her, rendering her momentarily speechless. When she did find her voice, it came out sounding strangled.

“Unless I’m working, I’ll wear whatever I want to wear, babe, and I’ll wear it for my pleasure, not yours.” She was only slightly gratified to note a flush seep over his perfect cheekbones. She pressed on, her voice growing stronger with her increasing irritation. “But I do have one question for you. What if the script called for you to murder me? Would you then need to relate to me on some violent level in order to play the part properly?”

Eric Terrell stared at her for a full minute, during which Ivy was uncomfortably aware of the complete silence that surrounded them. Then he laughed softly. “Okay,” he relented, “so that’s how it’s going to be.” His eyes continued to hold hers, and something in them made her shiver. “I guess I was wrong about you.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled, and his gaze dropped leisurely over her body. “I just figured you’d want to portray your character as realistically as possible.” He leaned toward her and said conspiratorially, “Even maintain certain relationships off camera in order for them to strike a realistic chord on camera. Now I know you know what I’m talking about.”

There was no mistaking the sensual intent in his eyes. Ivy’s heart began to pound and she was certain he would hear it thumping in her chest. Instead of feeling flattered by his obvious interest, she felt vaguely panicky and a little cheapened, as if he thought she was an easy lay because of her prior relationships. She’d always known some people would judge her based on her past, but she hadn’t thought anyone would be so blatant about it, so insulting. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter; Eric Terrell was a guy who made a practice of sleeping with his costars, so he probably judged everyone else by his own low standards. As she struggled to formulate a response, a smooth voice cut in from behind her.

“Hey, pal, lighten up. The rest of us have worked with you long enough to know you’re just kidding, but I think you’re making our leading lady a little uncomfortable.” Garrett’s voice was easy, but his eyes were hard.

Ivy stopped breathing as the two men stared at each other for a long minute. Garrett’s stance was relaxed, and to anyone who watched, the three of them might appear to be having a friendly conversation, but Ivy sensed the tension that coiled inside him.

Finally, Eric snickered. “Yeah, right.” He swung his gaze back to Ivy. “No offense. I was just kidding.” He leaned toward her, and for a moment Ivy thought he was going to say something in her ear. Instead, he sniffed delicately several times.

Ivy recoiled. He was smelling her!

“Just do me a favor and don’t wear any scented cosmetics or perfumes, okay?” He stepped back and smiled humorlessly at her, making no effort to keep his voice down. “The smell of that shit makes my stomach turn. Don’t make it too difficult for me to act like I actually want to do you.”

Without another word, he walked away. Almost immediately, the stifled conversation resumed around them. Ivy fought for composure, determined not let the others see her mortification. That he’d actually implied she wasn’t attractive enough to turn him on, either on-screen or off, was humiliating enough, but to have done it in front of the other cast members was just unbelievable. She didn’t dare look at Garrett. Suppressing a groan, she drained her margarita glass in one lengthy swallow, shuddering at the strong alcohol.

“He’s right about one thing.” Garrett’s voice was pitched low, for her ears alone.

Ivy lowered her glass and reluctantly faced him. His light-brown eyes were the same shade as the aged tequila warming her belly and causing a pleasant glow to spread outward from her center. For just a second she had a crazy belief that if she could just sink into the endless depths of those eyes, she would find the peace and inner strength she so desperately needed right then.

She forced herself to smile at him. No way would she let him know just how seriously Golden Boy had pissed her off. For all she knew, Garrett had handpicked Eric Terrell for the part. She understood enough about the inner workings of Hollywood to realize that if Garrett complained about her to Finn MacDougall, just one call to the producer and she would be on the next plane back to New York.

“Oh, yeah?” she asked. “What’s he right about?”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t for him to lean in toward her until his face was scant millimeters from her jaw. He breathed deeply, inhaling her scent. When he pulled back, a smile curved his mouth. “You don’t need any perfumes. You smell…great…just the way you are.”

Ivy stared at him, unable to form a coherent response. He was close enough that she could see the amazing striation of golds and browns in his irises, see the stubble of whiskers that shadowed his lean jaw and the small scar that bisected his upper lip and made her ache to trace her fingertip across it.

His mouth fascinated her. It was a hedonistic mouth, capable of doing wicked things. She could imagine his lips against hers, working magic before working their way down the length of her body. Heat unfurled low in her belly. She stared at his mouth, mesmerized. His gaze fastened on her lips, and as if time itself had slowed, he bent his head fractionally toward hers.

Ivy felt her breath escape on a sigh. She was barely aware of the other cast members congregated around the pool. Her limbs loosened, and warmth slid along her veins. He was going to kiss her, right there in front of everybody, and she didn’t even care. Her eyes drifted shut.

“It’s been a long day,” he said abruptly, his voice rough. “Look at you, falling asleep on your feet.”

Ivy’s eyes flew open to find he’d pulled back slightly. His expression as he regarded her was unreadable. Hot shame flooded her face. She glanced around swiftly, but if anyone else had guessed how close she’d just come to attaching herself to Garrett Stokes’s face, they gave no indication.

She exhaled on a shaky breath and forced herself to smile. “You’re right.” She pushed a hand through her hair, unable to meet his eyes. She was pathetic. What must he think of her? She needed to get out of there immediately, before she did something really laughable. As if a public confrontation with Eric Terrell hadn’t been stupid enough, she’d nearly kissed a complete stranger. “I’m going to call it a night.”

“Yes, ma’am. I think that’s a good idea,” he murmured, and took the margarita glass from her trembling fingers. “Shall I walk you to your room?”

For one wild, crazy second, she was sure his words were code for Can I spend the night doing decadent, indecent things to you? In the next instant, she dismissed the thought, as alluring as it was. She’d misread his intent to kiss her, so she was no doubt imagining the suggestion in his voice, too.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I know the way.”

Was it just wishful thinking, or did he actually look disappointed?

“Okay, then. Sleep well,” he said.

Yeah, right. Like there was any chance of that happening.

With as much composure as she could muster, she walked toward the house. Once inside, she practically sprinted up the staircase. Inside her room, she shed the borrowed T-shirt and bottoms, balled them up and hurled them into a far corner. She had no idea what she was going to wear tomorrow, but she’d be damned if she’d put those hideous clothes back on her body.

Then, clad in nothing but her panties, she shut the light off and edged under the cool bedsheets, leaving her midriff uncovered. A warm breeze wafted in through the open windows and caressed her skin, taunting her. With a groan, she turned on her side, dragged the covers up over her shoulders and determinedly closed her eyes.

“Sleep well.” Ha. She’d be lucky if she got any sleep, especially when all she could think about were hazel eyes and a pair of lips so temptingly sinful that she still ached at their loss.

IT WAS ALMOST TWO O’CLOCK in the morning when Ivy finally gave up any pretense of sleeping. Aside from the margarita she’d had earlier that night, she hadn’t eaten anything since she’d left New York, and she was starving.

But it wasn’t her stomach that kept her awake. It was the absolute stillness surrounding the hacienda. She’d lived in New York City the past five years, and the constant hum of traffic and wail of sirens had become comforting background noises that helped lull her to sleep. Even the streets of Montreal, which were quiet in comparison with New York City’s, had had their buzz. Out here, however, in the remote mountains of Mexico, the silence was almost unbearable.

An image of Garrett drifted through her mind. Was he asleep? Had he thought of her after she’d left the pool area? Had he seen how much she’d wanted him?

With a despairing huff, she threw aside the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The room suddenly felt overly warm, suffocating. Even the ceiling fan circulating the air did little to cool her heated flesh. She was restless with need. She couldn’t get his image out of her head, and the Technicolor fantasies she’d had about him earlier had only made her more hot and bothered. It was crazy, but the guy completely distracted her. Made her think about doing things she hadn’t done with any man in a long time. Too long, in fact.

She enjoyed sex. She wanted sex. Good sex. She had the distinct feeling that sex with Garrett Stokes wouldn’t just be good but totally off-the-charts amazing.

Sitting up, she scooped her hair off her neck, wishing she’d turned on the air-conditioning before getting into bed. She’d figured open windows would be more comfortable than the climate control, but she’d been wrong. A sheen of sweat covered her skin.

She switched on the bedside lamp and then padded across the room to flip on the air-conditioning. Crossing to the casement windows, she pulled them closed and thought longingly of the swimming pool and its cool, blue depths. The pool seemed the perfect antidote to her current ailment, and at this hour she was unlikely to encounter anybody.

Grateful that she’d packed her bathing suits in the smaller suitcase, she donned a simple one-piece suit and a terry-cloth robe. After retrieving a bottle of water from the small fridge, she crept down the hallway, past the closed doors of the other rooms. She wondered which room belonged to Garrett. The last thing she needed was to run into him.

She hastily suppressed a snort of laughter at the thought. Given her frustrated state, she’d probably attack him. As soon as she stepped outside, she drew in a thankful breath, inhaling the heady fragrance of hibiscus and mango blossoms. The humidity had dissipated somewhat and the temperature was cooler than it had been in her bedroom.

Despite the fact that silence had kept her awake, she realized the night was far from quiet. She stood for a moment on the walkway and listened. The sound of crickets was everywhere, interspersed with the occasional hoot of a night owl and the distant scream of something Ivy didn’t want to think about. Fireflies dotted the darkness, their blinking lights like a reflection of the overhead stars. Tilting her head back, she studied them. She had never seen stars like this in New York City. They were brilliant, and so abundant, as if some careless hand had strewn billions of diamonds across the sky.

She followed the tiled pathway through the central courtyard and around the side of the hacienda to the pool area. The patio lights had been turned off, but the lights in the pool were on, softly illuminating the water.

Ivy let her robe drop to the ground, then stood at the edge of the deep end and dove cleanly into the water. She stroked underwater to the shallow end and came up with a satisfied gasp—only to find herself staring at a pair of masculine legs.

Naked masculine legs.