Femme Fatale

a Hard Bodies novel

Cindy Dees
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 Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Unleash your inner vixen with these sexy bestselling
Brazen releases…

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Cindy Dees. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or
transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the
Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit
www.brazenbooks.com.

Edited by Nina Bruhns

Cover design by Heather Howland

ISBN 978-1-62266-703-1

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition April 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the
following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Irish cream, Kahlua. Marine Corps, C-4,
Tonto, Hollywood Walk of Fame, Jack Daniels, Penthouse, Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred
Lord Tennyson, L.A. Times, Dumpster.
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 Chapter One

“OMG, who’s the man candy?” Olivia Harper blurted. The perfection she’d
spotted out the window of the make-up trailer oozed raw sex appeal from a
hundred feet away.
Her make-up artist, Tyrone, answered appreciatively, “New military
consultant for the film. Yummy, isn’t he?”
“What happened to the old one?”
“Jeremy got him canned. Said the guy was picking on him,” Tyrone
added under his breath. “If you ask me, he couldn’t handle the boot camp
the first consultant set up. ‘Bout time someone picked on McDumbass—”
Olivia grinned, which made Tyrone squawk. He was in the middle of
attaching a fake wound to her right cheek. She was scheduled to spend a
good chunk of the big budget action-adventure movie in uncomfortable
prosthetics of one kind or another. But being an up-and-comer in the movie
industry meant taking the oddball roles whether she liked them or not.
Especially if she wanted to be branded Hollywood’s newest badass chick: a
female version of the man standing ramrod straight at the far edge of the
sound stage looking impatient.
Her co-star, McDumbass, aka Jeremy McDaniels, came into the trailer
just then, breaking her train of thought. “You look like shit, Harper.”
“That would be the point,” she replied dryly. In today’s first scene, she
was fighting a zombification infection while the hero raced to find a cure
for it. She angled her chin up so the wound could be extended down onto
her neck. She asked without moving her jaw, “What’s the name of the new
consultant?”
 “Which one?” Jeremy cast his bored gaze across the set.
Jerk. “The gorgeous one in the khaki slacks and navy polo shirt.”
“You mean the old guy?”
Olivia snorted. If that was old, sign her up for the geriatric ward. “Yeah.
The hot grandpa.”
“Blake something. He’s military.”
“Which branch of service?”
“How the hell should I know? The kind that shoots at stuff.”
“Wow, Jeremy. You really did your homework for your part. I’m so glad
you embrace portraying a soldier with such dedication.”
“Fuck you, Harper.”
She stuck her tongue out at his retreating back, and Tyrone rolled his
eyes. It was the first day of filming, and this was already turning into a long,
miserable shoot. On the TV series she’d come from, the cast and crew had
been one big happy family. She’d hoped for something similar on her first
real movie job.
Thankfully, Tyrone pronounced her fabulicious and let her out of his chair
of torture. She stretched out the kinks and strolled toward Mr. Consultant.
Up close, he was even hotter.
Smoking hot.
He wasn’t pretty like Jeremy or Hollywood’s other leading men. This
guy’s face was rugged and tanned, his pale eyes hard. Like they’d seen
plenty of life. And death. Her belly fluttered at the danger lurking in those
baby blues. His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow and trim.
It took no effort to picture this man naked, and she caught herself
breathing a little faster. Something about this one made her body tighten in
eager anticipation.
When she put on the sex kitten stroll she’d struggled to perfect, he
frowned. “You looking for someone?” she purred. “Can I help?”
“Could you point me to the director—Adrian Turnow?”
“He’s probably on set with the lighting and camera guys.”
 “Where would that be, ma’am?”
Despite his formality, his gruff voice prickled awareness along her skin
and curled low in her belly. She replied, “Don’t ma’am me. I’m Olivia
Harper. Call me Olivia or Liv.” She held out her hand and gasped as his big,
callused palm swallowed hers in a firm grip.
Head tilted, he appraised her and, holy crap, continued to hold her hand.
Her gut wound even tighter. He reached out with his left hand and her
breath caught in her throat. Despite his brief touch on her jaw where the
prosthetic wound turned downward to her neck, the warmth from his fingers
streaked to her core.
“There’s no bone,” he murmured.
No shit, Sherlock. The scent of him—man and musk—had just melted her
entire skeleton into hot, liquid lust. Had he not held her hand like that, she’d
probably have collapsed into a puddle right then and there.
“I’m Blake Ramsey, by the way. Nice to meet you. You’re even prettier in
person. More grown up. Except, of course, for that hole in your face.”
She beamed up at him. He knew who she was? How cool was that? After
years on a teen ensemble drama pretending to be nearly a decade younger
than she was, it was gratifying that he perceived her as an adult.
Of course, her agent would blow a gasket if she saw Liv ogling some
technical consultant as if she were a silly, love-struck teenager. She was
being positioned and marketed as the next kick-ass Hollywood megastar.
Emphasis on kick-ass. Edgy. Savvy. At ease handling men like Blake
Ramsey.
In Hollywood, image was everything. Her agent had warned that she
wasn’t even allowed to have lunch with anyone who wasn’t on the A-list.
“You need some bone,” he announced.
She choked at the bluntness of his come on. “Are you offering to do the
job?”
He looked startled for an instant, and then his mouth turned down
cynically. “I meant that a wound that deep would expose the jawbone. Tell
the make-up folks to give you some bone where that wound crosses your
jaw.”
“And you know this how?”
“Seen it for real,” he bit out.
Yikes. To lighten the abruptly serious mood, she asked, “Been through a
zombie apocalypse, have you?”
He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he studied her intently for a moment
more and then released her hand abruptly as if he’d measured her and found
her wanting.
Dismay fluttered through her. She pointed off to her right. “Set’s over
there. That’s probably where you’ll find Adrian.”
Crap. She was an actress. She knew how to keep disappointment out of
her voice better than that. He nodded and strode off in the direction she’d
pointed.
Jeremy’s amused voice rang out behind her. “Grandpa didn’t fall for the
sexiest babe in Hollywood, huh? You’re losing your mojo, Harper.”
She glared at her co-star and silently called him the foulest name she
could think of as she returned to the make-up trailer. “Hey, Tyrone. Mr.
Ramsey says I need bone at this spot on my jaw where the wound hits it.”
The make-up artist groused, “I told Adrian I’m not a special effects guy.
I’m in the business of making women look great, not half-dead.”
She sank into the chair and caught a glimpse of her expression in the
mirror. Bleak. Yep, that worked for zombies. Not so much for seduction.
Jeremy didn’t know how right he was about her lack of mojo. She had none
at all when it came to men. Although he would figure that out for himself
soon enough.
This movie had not one, but two steamy love scenes. And in her PG
television career, she’d barely been allowed a chaste peck on the cheek with
a boy, let alone a full-blown love scene.
Olivia wasn’t at all sure she was femme fatale material.
Her movie career might be over before it began.
 …
If Blake Ramsey had been banished to this loony bin, it meant he could kiss
his life as a Marine officer good-bye. He scowled as he headed the way the
actress had indicated.
His boss said the move was temporary. The Russian spy agency was
trying to pressure its American counterpart into releasing Carmen in a
prisoner trade, and their latest tactic was to harass and threaten him. His
boss wanted him out of Washington D.C. until the negotiation with the
Russians was concluded. It was annoying, but better than a bullet in the
back of the head, he supposed. Hell, after the debacle with Carmen, the
double-agent bitch from hell, he supposed he was lucky his own
government didn’t plan to execute him.
Blake scanned the chaotic spaghetti of taped-down wires, cameras, light
stands, and head phoned crew poking at tablet computers. He had never
seen such a disorganized gaggle in his life. He felt like a damned alien in
the midst of it all.
“Can I help you?” some kid in jeans and a black T-shirt shot at him,
clearly with no intent at all to help him.
He reverted to the command voice he used to whip snot-nosed eighteen-
year-olds into line. “Where’s Adrian Turnow?”
“Umm, over there.” The kid scuttled away, looking a little less self-
important.
He marched to the cluster of video monitors and the harassed-looking
man hunched over them. As Blake approached, he heard the guy reeling off
a continuous stream of instructions about angles and zooms and light
values. It might as well be Greek, for all the sense it made to him.
When the man stopped to draw a breath, Blake interjected politely, “Mr.
Turnow? I’m Major Blake Ramsey. Per your request, the Marine Corps sent
me to consult with you.”
 “God, that’s good. ‘Per your request.’ Sheila, write that down.” The
director, who didn’t look much older than Blake, looked him up and down
and continued dictating to his assistant, “Sunburn on leathery skin at the
back of the neck. Hair not quite buzzed on the sides. Starched and creased
slacks. No scuffs on the shoes. Jeez, you’re beautiful, Ramsey.”
Blake frowned. He’d prefer tough. Focused. Dangerous.
“Did Franky S. tell you what I need?”
Franky who? Did Turnow mean his boss, Colonel Franklin Santerros?
“Only in the most general of terms, sir.”
The director hooted. “That’s rich. Call me sir, again. I love it.”
What the hell? Blake’s neck—leathery sunburn included—suddenly felt
damned stiff. His gaze narrowed. If this guy was laughing at him, Franky S.
could find himself another Marine to do this job, his safety be damned.
“I don’t want any cheesy stunt explosions in my film, Major Ramsey—
you know, all fireball and no power. I need real concussion, real dust, real
debris, and I need you to make that happen.”
California under a full-scale zombie assault. Real. Right. “I’m sure your
stunt coordinators are fully checked out at explosives—”
“Yeah, but none of them have seen recent combat up close and personal
like you have. I also need you to teach my lead actor how to be a Marine. A
real one.”
“Then you should send him through boot camp.”
Turnow shook his head. “I tried. His insurance company flipped out when
he pulled some muscles, and they called off his training. The studio balked
after that. They were afraid you types would break him.”
Blake allowed himself a single wry twitch of the lips. “We probably
would have, sir.”
“Call me Adrian. You’ll sit beside me when we’re filming. Point out
anything that’s not completely accurate. ‘Kay?”
It sounded easy enough. Until a handsome kid strolled over wearing
ACU’s—the Army Combat Uniform—trousers not belted, combat boots
unlaced, and his blouse unbuttoned halfway to his waist with no regulation
T-shirt under it.
Adrian announced, “This is Jeremy McDaniels. Star of Zombie
Apocalypse.”
“The one I’m supposed to turn into a Marine?”
“Yup, that’s me. Good to meet you, dude,” the actor drawled around a
wad of pink bubblegum. “Let’s blow some shit up together.”
Blake wouldn’t let this yutz within a hundred feet of a block of C-4 if he
had anything to say about it.
“What’s on the agenda today, Adrian?” Jeremy asked. “We gonna kill us
some bad guys?”
“You’ve had the shooting schedule for a month,” the director snapped.
Blake did a double take as Jeremy slunk away. There might be some hope
for Turnow controlling this chaos, yet.
“If you could pop over to Wardrobe and give the extras a quick once over,
that would be great,” Turnow said, his attention already turning back to his
video monitors.
Colonel Santerros’s final warning rang in Blake’s ears as he hastened
toward the big tent Turnow’s assistant pointed out.
Don’t screw this up if you want to stay a Marine, Ramsey. Keep your
head down. Stay out of sight. Don’t draw any attention to yourself. Be
invisible, just until this mess with Carmen is sorted out.
Unfortunately, with this ragtag ensemble of actors as military wannabes,
he stuck out like a private who’d forgotten to wear his camos.
Blake felt like a parent dressing a bunch of four-year-olds as he tucked in
shirts, buttoned buttons, and pulled up pants. He thought he’d finished until
a sultry female voice murmured from behind him, tickling his spine like a
lover’s fingers. “Aren’t you going to inspect me?”
His heart clenched at the sweet sound, and he braced for the burn of
acidic pain that always followed. It had been nearly a year since he
discovered Carmen’s betrayal, but it still hurt.
 He turned slowly. Gold-on-green-on-brown cat eyes glinted up at him
sidelong. He’d heard that women in Hollywood were too beautiful to
believe, but no one had warned him that their sex appeal would leap out and
grab him by the throat. Or other places… Olivia Harper’s eyes ought to be
registered as lethal weapons.
Yet again, her striking resemblance to the woman who’d all but wrecked
his life punched him in the gut. Carmen had been a little shorter, her eyes
browner. A little heavier. Bottle blond whereas Olivia’s hair was a sun-
streaked honey brown. But they were both head-turning bombshells who
oozed sex appeal. Instant distrust churned in his gut.
“Well, let’s see now,” he drawled low and deep as he looked Olivia up
and down. “You got your boots on the correct feet. That’s a start.”
Her lush lips curved upward, and his male parts gave a lurch. Down,
Tonto.
He strolled around behind her. Damn, she turned an ugly field uniform
into fashion so sexy it shouldn’t be legal. “Your pants are too tight across
your tush. First time you have to duck down fast, you’re gonna split a seam
and show everyone your lace panties.”
“Sorry. No panties,” she replied breezily. “I thought commando was more
appropriate given the subject matter of the film.”
His gaze shot back down to her curvaceous rear end, cupped snugly by
gray digital camo cloth. Unlike many starlets who had no ass at all, hers
would fill his hands nicely as he pulled her snug against him—
He cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Your hair’s not regulation.” Wisps
of it trailed out of her loose bun, down the long line of her neck, to curve
around her shirt collar.
“I’m not supposed to be in the military. My character’s clothes have been
destroyed in the previous scene, and I’m borrowing a uniform.”
He leaned in close from behind to murmur over her shoulder, “Then why
don’t you leave your hair down? Guys in the audience will fantasize about
wrapping it in their fists and pulling your head back so they can suck your
neck.”
The fair skin visible below her earlobe took on a pinkish cast that was
utterly charming. A blusher? Her breasts probably turned that same rosy
shade as arousal overtook her—
Dammit. He was doing it again. He was diving in head first around a hot
female without checking for landmines. Had he learned nothing from
Carmen? Steeling himself, he moved around in front of Olivia and reached
for her shirt’s top button. She gasped lightly as his fingers brushed against
the upper curves of her bosom. He slipped the luckiest button on earth free
of its mooring nestled between her breasts and pulled her shirt wider open.
Was there even a bra under there?
Surely all that sexy lift and jiggle was not natural. But the softness and
rebound of her breasts didn’t feel like silicone against the back of his
fingers. Her breath-stealing display was real? He said a brief, fervent prayer
of thanks to whatever god of genetics had fashioned this exquisite body. A
driving need to get inside her shirt and examine its contents pounded
through him.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathily.
“Men will be the primary audience demographic for this film, right?”
She nodded, her cat eyes huge and dark.
“Then they’re going to want cleavage.”
She blinked up at him rapidly. “Yeah. Sure.” Lord, she looked as off-
balance as he felt.
Pushing back a strand of her tawny hair that had slipped free and tucking
it gently behind her delicate, and entirely edible, ear, he said quietly,
“There. You’re perfect.”
He could swear she stumbled a little as she turned toward the voice
calling her to the set on a megaphone. He shamelessly relished the view of
her booty twitching away from him.
 Sexy young things like her were Trouble. Capital T. But that didn’t make
them any less tempting. Carmen already had his life on hold until further
notice. He was not going there again.
But no panties? ?
Hell, he was already in Trouble.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Two

Olivia was hot and exhausted as the sun beat down mercilessly on the
California desert. It was the third take of a scene that had her and Jeremy
darting across the frame while explosive squibs—fake bullets—exploded
around their feet. She ducked under an umbrella while Blake helped lay yet
another line of squibs for the next take. His biceps flexed as he efficiently
armed charges, squatting on powerful legs.
“For God’s sake, get it right this time, Jeremy!” Adrian shouted.
Jeremy was the one who’d skidded to a stop shy of the foxhole in the first
take to peer down into it before hopping in like a girl. On the second take,
he’d copped a feel while they pranced across the shot and gotten yelled at
for it. He was still sulking about his stifled creative juices. He was lucky
Olivia hadn’t cold-cocked him in the name of her own creative juices.
She was near tears but the last thing she needed was a reputation for
being a wimp on set. Not if she wanted to keep doing big action thrillers.
A deep, smooth voice rumbled in front of her. “Nobody can run for squat
holding hands. It’s why lovers skip through the daisies.”
The loafers were dusty and scuffed now but the crease in the slacks, in
her field of view, was still crisp. She took a steadying breath and looked up.
The bronze V of skin in the neck of his shirt glistened with perspiration, but
it was Blake’s only concession to the heat. He looked infuriatingly at ease in
this freaking oven.
“What do you suggest?” she asked.
“Don’t hold hands. When you reach the hole, have Jeremy put his hand
on your back like this.” He stepped around beside her and placed a
protective hand on the small of her back. Her pulse jumped as he
murmured, “He can propel you forward into the foxhole and safety. And
you can elbow him in the gut if he gets fresh with you again.”
She broke into a grin. “I like the way you think.”
He shrugged. “A lady’s got to look out for herself.”
“Places, everyone!” the assistant director bellowed.
Olivia cast a grateful glance at Blake, who nodded back encouragingly.
As Jeremy reached for her hand, she said, “Why don’t we try this one
running side by side? You can put your hand on my waist when we get
ready to jump. I’ll hang back out of your shot a bit. It would put you more
center screen, but—”
“Done,” Jeremy interrupted.
Smiling to herself, she took off running on cue. Dodging and weaving as
the squibs exploded around them like firecrackers on steroids, she sprinted
for all she was worth toward the foxhole. Jeremy shoved her in and took a
flying leap after her. She crashed onto a pile of soft foam mats and rolled
out of her co-star’s way.
Jeremy must have rolled over, too, because his front pressed against her
back from shoulder blades to ankles and his arm flopped over her. No
shock, his hand commenced wandering up toward her chest. She jerked her
elbow back sharp and hard, and her co-star swore loudly and rolled away.
“Cut!” Adrian shouted from somewhere above.
Another hand appeared before her face. A large, tanned hand with hard
calluses and capable fingers. “Nice shot,” Blake commented. It sounded
like he meant her elbow and not the mad dash to the foxhole. She traded
smiles with him.
“Jesus, Harper. You broke my damned rib!” Jeremy complained loudly.
“Little poke like that made you cry?” Blake asked dismissively. “We’re
gonna have to toughen you up if we’re going to make a Marine out of you.”
“I don’t want to be a Marine,” the actor whined.
 “Too bad,” Blake sighed and hopped into the foxhole. “Civilians don’t get
to play with the good toys. And the Corps has given me permission to bring
some of our latest weaponry onto set.”
Jeremy climbed out and stalked away, grumbling under his breath.
“Need a boost?” Blake asked her. His hands went around Olivia’s waist,
and before she knew it, she was standing beside the hip-deep hole. The
strength behind his easy lift shocked her. He jumped out as light as a cat to
join her, so tall beside her that she felt small and feminine.
As camera booms and light stands were rolled in every direction to
prepare for the next scene, he asked, “Now what?”
“It’ll take the crew a couple of hours to set up the night shot. And, of
course, the sun has to go down.” He frowned. “Didn’t they give you a
shooting script and filming schedule?” she asked.
“Nope. I just got a call yesterday from my boss telling me to get to Palm
Springs, California, ASAP to consult on a movie.”
“Come to my trailer and I’ll show you my script and schedule. Plus, I get
better food than the catering table for the crew. You can eat with me.”
“The crew’s chow will be fine. I’d lay odds it’s better than what I get in
the field,” he replied.
“Blake Ramsey. Are you telling me a big bad Marine like you is afraid of
having supper with a helpless little thing like me?”
One light brown eyebrow arched over those penetrating eyes of his. “I’m
not ashamed to admit that I am afraid of a few things in this world. But
darlin’, women are nowhere on that list.”
“Come on, then. I dare you.” Using her perfected sashay, she headed for
her trailer without waiting for him to fall in beside her. She wasn’t even sure
he’d followed until his hand reached past her to open the trailer door for her
and the heat of him stroked her back.
She stepped into the blessed cool of the RV bus. It wasn’t outfitted
expensively like a rock star’s but was nice enough for her. Plus, it had a real
shower that didn’t rain all over the toilet, and a king-sized bed.
 Olivia surveyed past the small side table overflowing with the massive
stack of bills that never got smaller and surveyed today’s fare on the
miniature kitchen counter—a plate of fresh fruits, cheeses, European cold
cuts, a bowl of salad, and chocolate chip cookies. She peeked in the oven
and spied lasagna with gooey cheese overflowing the ceramic dish.
Working in companionable silence, they had the meal on the table in a
few minutes.
Being in such close proximity to him and doing something so intimately
domestic, made her more nervous than her first big audition. He was just a
guy. Right? Then why was she reacting to him like he was a freaking
superhero?
“How old are you?” Blake asked.
“Nearly twenty-six,” she replied. “But my agent will kill you if you tell
the press that. They think I’m barely twenty-two.”
“Why lie about it?”
“Welcome to Hollywood, where youth and beauty rule. What about you?
How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Isn’t that young for an officer of your rank?”
He shrugged. “Not when you’ve been to a bunch of war zones.”
“As in getting shot at?” she blurted, alarmed.
“Same thing.” He stood and cut another slice of the lasagna. “Want
more?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Not if I want to fit into my wardrobe tomorrow.”
“What’s with the hearty Italian food? I thought all you Hollywood types
eat rabbit food and nibble on twigs.”
“I prefer to eat like a human being and work out a lot. I had to drop about
ten pounds for the big screen, but this is going to be a strenuous shoot. I’ll
burn the calories.” She shifted subjects abruptly. “Tell me about combat.”
His eyes were miles away. Distant. Cold.
Whoa.
 “It sucks,” he said shortly.
“Tell me,” she pressed.
“Which part? The smell of blood? The screams of the wounded? Having
to look a man in
the eye as you gut him?”
“You’ve done that?” she gasped.
“Yes.”
She recoiled from the bitterness in his voice.
“Hell, I’m sorry.” He shoved a hand through his short hair. He stood, and
she did the same, coming face to face with him in the narrow aisle. His gaze
was still dark, but he had returned to the present.
“It’s okay. You can talk to me,” she said quietly.
“You don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff. You have a shiny, happy
life. War’s a million miles away from this world.”
“Men like you die to make this life possible for me.” The heat in her reply
surprised her. Honestly, it was the first time she’d ever thought of it in those
terms. She’d known intellectually that democracy required defense, but it
had never had a human face for her until now.
He blinked down at her in surprise. On impulse, she reached up to lay a
palm on his cheek, which was rough with blond whisker stubble. “I’m
serious, Blake. Tell me about it.”
“The hard part is to forget it, not dredge it up.”
“Then let me help you forget it.”
“A girl like you shouldn’t say things like that to a guy like me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m just big enough a bastard to take you up on it.”
Her heart leaped. “Glad to hear it, soldier.”
He actually groaned aloud. His hands drifted toward her as if to pull her
close against him. His head tilted down slightly, and her gaze riveted on his
lips, which looked as tasty as chocolate bonbons with sprinkles on top.
 Her lower body was warm and willing. And her breasts throbbed. What
was up with that? She and Blake swayed toward each other, drawn like the
opposite poles of magnets.
Someone banged on her trailer door and Blake jumped. She headed for
the door muttering, “Quit looking so guilty or rumors are going to fly about
us.”
“You think inviting me to your trailer for a private dinner isn’t going to
do that anyway?”
He was right. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Major Blake Ramsey, no matter how tight he tied her insides in knots,
could not be linked to her in the press. Relieved he’d caught onto the game
so quickly, she was surprised by the rush of disappointment that followed.
Think Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Chagrined, she threw the door open and said a bright hello to the assistant
director. Sure enough, Sheila took a long, suspicious look around the trailer,
her gaze falling in disappointment as she spotted the two plates on the table
and Blake fully dressed by the sink, his expression as bland as white bread.
“Shall we head back to the set?” Olivia asked Blake formally.
“After you, Miss Harper,” he replied, just as distant.
Thanks to Sheila’s incredibly untimely interruption, Olivia wanted to
sneer at everyone as she stomped to her place for the last scene of the day.
She was so flooded with frustration that she nailed an argument with
Jeremy in one take. Adrian called her delivery inspired. Her co-star seemed
miffed that she’d upstaged him, but with half-a-dozen major movies under
his belt he could step up his acting if he felt threatened.
She dismissed Jeremy’s whining with a wave of her hand and headed
toward her limo, a black town car. Blake stood nearby, looking around in all
directions.
“What’s up?” she asked him.
“Someone was supposed to arrange a rental car for me, but I don’t see
one anywhere.”
 She laughed. “One thing that’s true in both TV and movies: if you want to
get something done on set for sure, do it yourself. Are you headed for Palm
Springs?” It was the nearest human settlement large enough to have a hotel.
At his nod, she responded, “That’s where I’m going. Jump in with me.”
He handed her into the car and climbed in behind her. “I can see the
appeal of this lifestyle,” he commented as the spacious vehicle pulled out
smoothly.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh of pleasure.
Cool air blew from the air vents, and quiet music played over the low purr
of the engine. “It’s hellishly hard work to get here, and the sacrifices
wannabe actors have to make are incredible. But if you can hit the lottery
and become a working actor, it has its perks.”
“You seem almost too…nice…for this business. Genuine. Sweet, really.”
“I’m no longer the girl next door from that TV series.” His labels, which
he probably considered compliments, stiffened her spine. She couldn’t
afford nice or genuine. Hot. Sexy. That’s what made kick-ass action
heroines. Not sweet.
She was in trouble if she couldn’t solidify her new image.
“No, you’re definitely not a girl any longer.” His gaze darkened, but the
look of interest…hunger, maybe…disappeared so quickly, she wondered if
she’d imagined it. “Do you worry about getting devoured by the whole
movie star thing?”
“How so?”
“Seems like young actresses spin out of control and ruin themselves more
often than not. Does your family approve?”
She laughed painfully. “They didn’t until the first big paycheck came in
and then they figured out how lucrative my coattails could be.”
“I’m sorry,” he said soberly.
She studied him carefully. “You’re a really smart guy, aren’t you?”
He barked a laugh. “Not when it comes to women.”
 He had no idea how sexy he was. The scent of him wrapped around her,
but she checked herself. She couldn’t fall for an unknown, someone totally
outside the industry. Fall for a hot, famous actor who would make for
beautiful tabloid photos, her agent insisted. The more photogenic a couple,
the more coverage they got in the press.
“What are you thinking about, Blake?” Her fingers traced along a hard
bicep.
He raised an eyebrow as he poured two drinks from the decanter in the
mini-bar and passed her one. She sniffed whiskey and mentally shuddered.
Badass, Liv, badass. She took a deep breath and tossed it down just as he
commented, “Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Harper?”
She would never know if it was the whiskey or his bold question that
made her choke. She ended up yanked across his lap, lungs on fire and head
hanging down, while he pounded on her back.
When she could finally breathe again, mortification slammed into her.
She was lying across his lap, rear end sticking up in the air like an errant
schoolgirl about to get spanked. Darned if his palm didn’t pass lightly over
her rear, too, like he was thinking the exact same thing.
And then a finger slipped under the hem of her short skirt, easing it up--
Oh, crap. She’d worn a thong today. His palm passed over the juicy flesh
of her rear end, testing the spring and resiliency like he was measuring it for
that spanking. Vulnerability ripped through her, followed by the hardest
arousal of her entire life.
No man had ever dared to treat her like a woman full-grown, one who
would consider or even enjoy something besides fumbling, chaste,
missionary position sex in the dark. But this man was boldly fingering her
ass. And then, oh, God. His fingertip traced the line of the thong from the
sensitive spot at the base of her spine down, down, between her cheeks,
over her anus, and lower to places that were suddenly hot, moist, and
throbbing. Her thighs softened, opened for him, gave him full access to her
most private places. She wanted that finger inside her Wanted to impale
herself on it. Wanted him to stroke her to…
To what?
Maybe that was what terrified her into scrambling off his lap, her face
burning hotly.
“Note to self,” he commented dryly, “the lady cannot drink whiskey
without attempting to breathe it.”
If she were actually the confidant, kick-ass movie star she tried to be, she
would tear her clothes off—heck, tear his clothes off—and throw herself at
him this very second.
Instead, her intense reaction to being sprawled across his lap with that
finger boldly stroking her nether regions stole her voice. She stared at her
fingers twining in her lap. Her face must be ten shades of scarlet given the
soaring temperature inside the limo.
Blake sipped his own whiskey more temperately, studying her with
piercing eyes that missed nothing and gave away less. “What’s the deal,
Olivia?”
She looked up. “I-I don’t understand.”
“First you flirt with me on set. Then you invite me to your trailer for
supper. And now you offer me a ride back to town and end up across my
lap. Are you trying to seduce me?”
Was she? She tried to make sense of her motivation. He so wasn’t what
she needed for her Hollywood image.
But her body responded with ferocity to Blake’s interest, and she needed
to practice her sex kitten abilities if she were ever to rid her good girl
image. Think sex kitten, Liv. Be sex kitten.
She deflected her urge to giggle nervously with a bold reply. “I didn’t
mean to confuse you.”
He frowned. “It takes a lot more than that to confuse me, darlin’.” He set
his whiskey in the cup holder and leaned forward, drawing close enough to
kiss. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
 “What question?” His warm breath feathering her lips blew away her
feeble attempt to act the femme fatale and left her gasping for breath.
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Three

This wasn’t about the raging lust pounding through him, dammit. It was
about figuring out Olivia Harper’s agenda. Because God knew, every
woman had one. Some were more psycho than others. Blake had learned
from the best how women used sex as a weapon, yet Olivia might just be
able to give Carmen a run for her money. Hot. Cold. Nervous waif.
Scheming temptress.
Sure. Figuring her out was the only reason he loomed over her and
blatantly invaded her personal space. Yeah, and not a single dirty thought
had crossed his mind when she’d lain across his lap, her rear end wiggling
as it all but begged to be swatted. He wasn’t usually into that sort of thing,
but damned if she didn’t make his mind go there. And the way she’d reacted
when he stroked that sexy little black thong made him sweat to recall how
she’d gotten so wet and hot so damned fast. One little touch, and she’d been
on the verge of exploding. He’d been torn between spanking her ass cherry
red and fingering her to multiple screaming orgasms.
The file of newspaper clippings Colonel Santerros’s executive officer had
shoved at him painted Olivia Harper as a wild child. She’d broken out of
the sweet-kid-next-door persona in a big way in the past year and been seen
in numerous tabloids with Hollywood’s bad-boy crowd. Her acting credits
were excellent, and she’d been nominated for some big television awards
for her long-time role on a popular teen drama. And now she was breaking
into the movies in a big-budget film with a big-name director. Her star was
definitely on the rise, which meant there was no room in her life for a
Marine hiding in a Hollywood loony bin from Russian security forces.
 So why give him the jittery schoolgirl act, especially after that sexy little
display in his lap? His years in the field had given him a finely honed sense
of when he wasn’t getting the truth. He knew without a doubt Olivia Harper
was bullshitting him.
For some reason, that infuriated him beyond all logic—he didn’t expect
civilians to adhere to his strict ethical military standards, but he’d really
hoped she’d measure up.
He pressed again. “I want honesty. What are you really up to?”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Why the hell not?” He leaned forward and trapped her between his arm
and the back of the seat. Her breasts rose and fell entirely too fast beneath
that skimpy little tank top of hers, and her erect nipples were clearly
outlined. He drew so close their noses almost touched. Her breath was light
and warm against his face and smelled of spearmint chewing gum and
whiskey. Another few inches and their lips would touch—
She huffed. “Fine. I want to seduce you. But I wouldn’t have the first idea
how to do it,” she added in a defensive rush. “And if you repeat that to a
living soul, my agent will slap a gag order on you so fast your head will
spin.”
He pulled back enough to stare at her. “Why?” How on earth could
something like that be grounds for a gag order?
“You’d wreck my image.”
This bombshell didn’t know how to seduce him? Hah! Just as he figured,
here came the head games. Carmen had played the young-and-innocent
card, too. How disappointing. For some reason, he’d really hoped there was
more to Olivia than a scheming witch willing to climb over everyone to get
what she wanted.
The town car pulled into a resort that looked like something out of a
movie. Tall palm trees flanked the circular drive that wound around a tiered
fountain fifteen feet tall. Lush bougainvilleas and tropical foliage crowded
the drive. In this desert climate, the landscaping was a blatant display of
luxurious excess.
“Home sweet home,” Olivia announced in abject relief. “The driver will
take you wherever you want to go.”
Uncle Sam had made no housing arrangements for him. Not to mention
his lodging expenses would be reimbursed from Adrian Turnow’s film
budget. He shrugged. “This place’ll do.”
Alarm crossed Olivia’s mobile features, which surprised him. She wanted
him for whatever little sordid game she was playing—why not keep him in
proximity? He opened the car door and handed her to the curb. Her fingers
trembled slightly. Huh. Either she was genuinely agitated, or she was an
even better actress than he gave her credit for.
“Yet again, I find myself waiting for an answer to my question.” He was
determined to get to the bottom of Little Miss Hot-and-Cold. “What’s the
deal with your ‘image’ and not knowing how to sedu—”
She slammed a hand over his mouth and looked around frantically,
causing him to tense for an immediate attack. He grabbed her and shoved
her behind him out of pure, instinctive reflex. His hands came up, and his
gaze penetrated every shadow around them.
“What was that for?” she complained. Whoops. He’d shoved a little too
hard. She was sprawled in a bush behind him, scowling. Dammit, she had
him wound too tight.
Feeling monumentally dumb, he explained, “You looked scared out of
your mind. I thought you were in danger.”
“Paparazzi stalk me day and night. They jump out from behind pretty
much anything and impersonate repairmen and delivery guys. You never
know when one’s lurking around a corner, waiting to pounce.”
“And you’re worried about paparazzi, why?”
“Don’t talk about…what we were talking about…where anyone might
overhear us. If you’ll come up to my suite without making a stink, I promise
I’ll answer your question there. In private. Hotel security is under orders to
sweep my room for cameras and bugs every day.”
Dammit, he was supposed to keep his head down, too. She attracted
photographers wherever she went. He should have walked away, but his
dick disagreed.
So they both had reason to hide. His, he hoped, would go away soon, but
she had to live this crappy way for as long as she stayed in show biz.
Always having to look over her shoulder. Never knowing when she was on
Candid Camera. He helped her climb out of the shrubs.
“Thanks,” she grumbled.
A surprising urge to keep her safe hammered him. “Do you need me to
take evasive action? Plan an alternate route to your suite, so we’re not seen
together?”
“If there’s no press in the lobby, we’re probably in the clear. It usually
takes the paparazzi a few days to figure out what hotel I’m in.”
“You really like being famous?” he asked as they rushed across the lobby
to the bank of elevators.
“Like I said. It has its perks. And this would be its down side.”
The elevator door opened, and he swept her inside with an arm around
her waist. He turned her neatly to the side and used his body to block her
from sight as the heavy doors slid shut behind them.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
He tried to ignore how every sweet curve of hers pressed against his
body, tempting him to throw her down on the floor right here, right now,
and have his wicked way with her. Belatedly, he cleared his throat. “I pulled
a personal protection tour overseas. Old habits die hard.”
“In plain English, please?”
“I was a bodyguard to high ranking foreign officials. I guess my
protective reflexes just took over.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Blake.”
 “Had me fooled.” She might need a bodyguard from him if he couldn’t
control his lust.
The elevator stopped, and she dug in her purse for her room card as she
strode down the hallway. In a hurry to get behind closed doors with him,
was she? Or just in a hurry to get away?
The suite she let them into was, in a word, ridiculous. It was sleek and
modern and stupidly opulent, entirely fitting for a movie star. He thought
back to the succession of olive drab tents and cots he’d called home over
the years and could only shake his head at this lavish hooch.
“Hungry?” Olivia asked.
Oh, he was hungry, all right, but from the way she fidgeted, she wasn’t
offering what he had in mind. He played along. “Sure. What have you got in
the fridge?”
She looked startled. “Uhh, nothing. I thought we’d order room service.”
“Don’t cook, huh?”
Surprisingly, she bristled. “Actually, I’m a pretty good cook. My mom
taught me how, and she rocks in a kitchen.”
Yet again, Olivia had managed to intrigue him. Just when he thought he
had her figured out, she showed him another piece of the puzzle that was
her. None of the pieces he’d seen added up to any kind of coherent picture.
Bemused, he ordered a prime rib, and she ordered grilled tilapia.
The moment she hung up with room service, he backed her against the
wall and planted a hand on either side of her head. He wedged his leg
between hers, forcing her to ride his thigh in a blatant test of her reaction.
Instead of showing fear or intimidation, she all but melted onto him. Was
she aware that her hips were pulsing slightly, rubbing her sweet, hot crotch
against his upper thigh? She gasped and tensed, her body all but exploding
then and there. Her arousal was blazingly contagious. He murmured low
and seductive, “Tell me something. Why can’t I figure you out?”
“I-I’m sure I have no idea.”
 “One minute you’re throwing out this bad girl, sex nymph vibe, and the
next it’s like I’m talking to the girl next door. Which one is the real Olivia
Harper?”
Damned if she didn’t look him in the eye and murmur back, “Why can’t I
be both?” Despite her bravado, he noted a faint tremor in her voice.
“Fair enough.” He tilted his head, considering. “But tell me, then, why I
smell lies on you.”
“That’s sweat, big guy. In case you didn’t notice, it was a hundred and
fifteen degrees on set today, and I spent all afternoon sprinting around in
that furnace. Speaking of which, I’m going to jump in the shower. Would
you be a doll and listen for room service?”
She slipped out from under his arm as quick as a mink and hurried toward
her bed/bath suite within a suite. There was definitely a story to be worked
out of her. And he knew just how to do it. Carmen had taught him a thing or
two before she tried to destroy him.

…
Olivia breathed a sigh of relief as cool water cascaded down her body,
washing away dried sweat, sunscreen, and the last vestiges of the day’s
make-up. But her sigh was more about escaping the spell of one Blake
Ramsey than getting clean.
That man was danger on two legs. One glance and she practically threw
herself at him. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t the best-equipped
person to call her entire, ginormous bluff. And she dared not let him do that.
Everything depended on the new reputation she and her agent had so
carefully built.
How she wanted that Star with her name on it. Unfortunately, there
weren’t many parts for sweet young girls from Middle America and the
competition for those roles was beyond fierce. Her radical makeover and
willingness to take physical, dangerous, sexy roles was the only way to
distinguish herself from the crowd.
 She might hate the lies, but they were necessary.
Reluctantly, she stepped out of the shower, dried, and jumped into a tank
top and yoga pants. Steeling herself to do battle with the soldier in her
living room, she opened the double doors with a flourish and found the
gigantic space empty. Had he ditched her? Sharp disappointment stabbed
her belly. But then she spied a shadow in front of the turquoise glow of the
lap pool and relief poured through her.
She joined him on the deck and was delighted to see a table set for two
poolside.
Even better, their supper had arrived. He stood as she stepped through the
glass door wall and moved around behind her chair to hold it for her. The
old school courtesy made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Since when
was she a sucker for good manners? She answered her own question. Since
they came packaged in a hot Marine.
“Bon appétit,” he murmured.
She took a bite of her fish and closed her eyes in delight. The mellow
tilapia was perfectly seasoned. Not to mention, she was ravenous after a
hard day at work. A glass of white wine stood ready beside her plate, and
the Sancerre, a dry sauvignon, perfectly complimented the fish’s delicate
hollandaise sauce.
She opened her eyes and was startled to see Blake staring at her, his eyes
all but ablaze. “What?”
“Watching you eat is a…sexual…experience.”
Well, okay then. “Wanna bite?” she asked coyly.
His eyes burned white hot. He answered slowly as his molten gaze slid
down to her shirt and back up, “Oh, yeah. Gotta have me some of that.”
Her skin rippled with lust and a fair dose of trepidation at playing with
fire while she passed him a bite of her fish on her dessert fork.
He nodded. “Not bad. But I still prefer red meat.” Again, his gaze
traveled down and back up. Slower this time. A more thorough inspection
that clearly included a mental stripping gathered moisture in her core. She
squirmed.
“That stuff’ll kill you.” Her voice sounded breathless. She pointed her
fork at his steak, dripping with red juices.
“Ahh, but what a way to go,” he murmured. His baby blues tethered her,
and her fork dropped to the table. He leaned back with a smirk, breaking the
almost tangible tie between them, the fire in his eyes banked, and she nearly
groaned in relief. “Something’s gonna kill me. Might as well be this.”
“You say that like you don’t plan to make it to old age.”
“Not likely in my line of work.”
“Yup, standing around a movie set, showing people how to wear their
uniforms is pretty dangerous work.” The hold he had over her, seeming
without effort, and her fear of the pounding lust he aroused in her, drew the
snippy response.
A shadow crossed his face that looked like pain. Loss. Maybe even grief.
His reaction snuffed out her annoyance. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just military stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Are you always this nosy?” he shot at her.
“Yup. I’m a woman, but I’m also an actress. We’re naturally nosy.”
He rolled his eyes at that. But he’d neatly avoided answering her
question.
She tried peeling the onion from a different direction. “How’d you land
this gig, anyway?”
“Does being nosy always entail asking so many questions?”
“Do you always avoid answering?” she shot back.
His eyes narrowed. Oops. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the
subject of avoiding questions. “You first,” she added hastily. “How did you
get picked for this job?”
“No idea,” he muttered.
 Liar. He knew darned good and well how and why he’d been sent here.
She debated whether or not to call him on it but decided to let it slide for
now.
“What about you?” he challenged. “What’s this about your image being
wrecked if people find out you don’t know how to seduce a man? Which I
happen to think is a load of crap, by the way. You’re as hot as they come.
And even if you were as naïve as your public image, innocence makes men
feel manly and protective.”
He thought she was hot? The flickering glow from the pool painted his
features in shifting shadows that prevented her from seeing if he was
pulling her leg or not. She drained her glass of wine and Blake refilled it in
silence.
She sighed. “I’m being marketed as an action-adventure star. Fans will
expect me to be a certain kind of woman. To look and act a certain way. If I
fail to deliver that, my popularity will slip, and I’ll stop getting parts.”
He chewed a bite of his steak before asking, “So when do you let your
hair down and drop the image?”
She frowned. “Never.”
“So you’re always acting? Always pretending to be someone you’re not?”
“Pretty much. It’s a 24/7 gig.”
“And I thought getting shot at for a living was harsh.”
“Acting is fun most of the time.”
“At what cost? Will it be fun in five years? Ten? When the things you
really wanted from life have slipped out of reach for you?”
“Wow. That’s a depressing world view. You’re single, right?”
He nodded, frowning. “Why do you ask?”
“Because any woman who had to live around all that pessimism would
slit her wrists, eventually.”
In the blue light of the pool, he went a ghastly shade of gray and froze.
Oh, shit. There had been a woman. And whatever happened between
them had cut him deep.
 “I—” His cell rang, and he had it out of his pocket and up to his ear
before she blinked. “Ramsey.” His face hardened and his eyes, once molten
when gazing at her, sharpened to glittering aquamarines. “Assholes…That’s
why I’m here…Keep me posted. Thanks.” He clicked off the phone, stuffed
it in his pocket, and cursed under his breath.
Blake glanced up, and his eyes widened as if he’d forgotten she was
there.
“W-what happened?” she stammered.
“Nothing,” he cut across her question.
“Why are you here? I thought Adrian—”
“Drop it,” he bit out and she recoiled, deciding she’d get nowhere if she
pressed him about the woman in his past, either.
They finished the meal in tense silence. What had he heard that set him
off? Why was he really on the set? The danger of the man seated across
from her angrily slicing his steak into tiny pieces slammed into her.
Hollywood fake badass was one thing. But this guy was a trained killer.
Had seen death and delivered death. She’d planned to offer him the second
bedroom in her suite for the night, or maybe even an invitation to share the
master suite.
What was she thinking?
He laid down his knife and fork and folded his napkin neatly beside his
plate. Despite his impassive expression, Olivia sensed the anger simmering
just below the surface. A simple push and his explosion might be worse
than a truck full of the squibs she’d dashed through today. He stood.
“Thanks for supper. And I promise I won’t tell anyone about your image
thing being an act. If what you say is accurate, no one is as they seem in this
business. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Harper.”
She was back to being Miss Harper, huh? Mute, she wondered what
secrets he kept as he showed himself out of the suite.
“At what cost? Will it be fun in five years? Ten? When the things you
really wanted from life have slipped out of reach for you?” he’d asked, now
well aware of the secrets she hid from the world.
Olivia sat there, alone, in the cold light of the pool for a long time. Was
he right? Was this path going to lead her to a lonely and bitter end? Were
the wealth and fame really worth it? Was she strong enough to walk away
from the raging desire he provoked in her? To deny herself real
relationships or even the occasional hook-up to scratch the itch he’d shown
her? A single tear rolled down her cheek.

…
The next morning, as she hurried through the hotel lobby to her car, she
couldn’t help but scan for a tall, straight profile. But there was no sign of
Blake. Disappointment coursed through her in spite of warning herself to
have nothing to do with him and his dangerous secrets.
She spent the drive reviewing her lines for the day, but her heart wasn’t in
it. The town car pulled up at the cluster of trailers and tents long before she
was ready to face Blake Ramsey. But hey, she was an actress. She could do
this.
Except when she stepped out into the chaos and looked around, she didn’t
spot him. He hadn’t left, had he? She headed for make-up, her head on a
swivel. No sign of him anywhere.
“’Mornin’ beautiful,” Tyrone sang.
“More infected face for me today?”
“Script says the hole in your face is getting worse. I thought I’d go for a
heavier zombie vibe today. More jawbone and maybe some exposed teeth.”
“Have you checked that with Major Blood-and-Guts?”
“He laughed and told me to go for it.”
“So he’s here?” Hope fluttered in her chest.
“Been here for hours. I hear he got here before Adrian even emerged
from his trailer.”
Jeremy strolled up. “Hey, Harper. So how was the Marine? Did you fuck
him?”
 She glared at him from under Tyrone’s arm. “In the first place, I didn’t
sleep with the Marine. And in the second place, I would never kiss and
tell.”
“Aww, c’mon. Everyone saw you leave with Major Dickhead. You can
tell me. This is the big time, kid. You’re expected to sleep around. I won’t
rat you out to Adrian.”
“I. Didn’t. Sleep. With him.”
“Guess not,” he said, and tsked. “You’re too bitchy this morning to have
gotten laid last night.”
“Go away, Jeremy.”
“See ya on set, baby. Do me a favor and brush your teeth. We’re kissing
today.”
Kissing? Crap. Had there been changes overnight in the shooting
schedule? After she’d dragged herself inside last night, she’d gone straight
to bed.
“Tyrone, please save my life and tell me you’ve got today’s shooting
script.”
“Right here, babycakes.”
She took the sheaf of loose papers. “God bless you.”
“I’ve got your back, Liv.”
Horrified, she read that she and Jeremy were slated to share a
“desperately passionate” kiss before half her face fell off. A steady stream
of swearing erupted inside her head. She had no idea how to do desperate,
let alone passionate. And she was supposed to pull off both?
Dead. She was so dead.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Four

“Jesus, Harper. This is like kissing a corpse,” Jeremy complained.

“Maybe my co-star is failing to inspire me,” she snapped back, mortified.
“Stop it, you two,” Adrian intervened. “I know actors prefer to do the
love scenes late in the shooting when they’ve developed more chemistry.
But this is the only time we’re going to be out here for these exterior shots.
So get over it and do what I’m paying you to do. Passion. I need more
passion. And desperation. You’re dying, Olivia. You’re losing your grip on
life and are going to check out at any second.”
Her co-star threw her a smug look as the director reamed her out.
But then Adrian continued, “And you, Jeremy. The love of your life is
slipping away from you. You’re failing her. Let’s see some real angst out of
you. It’s a flipping tragedy. You’re supposed to make them weep in the
aisles, not nod off to sleep.”
Olivia felt marginally better after the director criticized Jeremy, too. But
the problems with this scene were entirely her fault. Her intense television
schedule meant she had zero real life experience to draw on.
She’d never even been on a real date with hearts, flowers, or passion.
Which meant she’d have to fake it. What was the next best thing to dying
and losing her true love that she had experienced?
Instantly, an image of a tall, ramrod straight back retreating into the
shadows of her suite came to mind, the sense of desperate loss as her body
screamed with need unfulfilled.
“Quiet on the set,” Sheila called out.
 Olivia heard the quiet snick of the door closing behind Blake as he
walked out of her life. Felt the utter loneliness that had washed over her.
“Action!” Adrian announced.
She threw herself into the kiss wholesale. Jeremy stiffened for a moment,
then responded enthusiastically. Except it wasn’t Jeremy McDaniels kissing
her. It was Blake Ramsey, his scarred soul carefully hidden away. She threw
her arms around his neck as if she would never let him go.
“And cut.”
Startled, she lifted her head off Blake’s shoulder—no wait. Not Blake.
“That was fantastic, Liv,” Adrian called.
Jeremy snorted. “Sure. Squeeze out a few tears and everyone goes crazy.
Any chick who can cry on cue is the greatest thing since William
Shakespeare.”
She brushed her cheeks and was shocked to feel wetness.
Adrian clapped his hands. “Okay, that’s a wrap for today. Everyone who’s
working on tomorrow morning’s action sequence, I’ll meet with you at my
trailer in ten minutes. I want cameras two and three on booms, and I need a
weather report. Are we going to have clouds at sunrise tomorrow or not?”
“I’m on it, boss,” Sheila answered.
“Jeremy, Olivia. Get some rest. I don’t need either of you collapsing on
me.” Given how early their call was in the morning, both Olivia and her co-
star had elected to spend the night on set in their trailers.
“Hey, baby. Wanna sleep at my place?” Jeremy drawled. She stared at
him, nonplussed. “We can take up where that kiss left off.”
Her jaw dropped. He’d thought that was hot? She’d pulled it off? Son-of-
a-gun. “Uhh, I think I’ll just go to my trailer.”
“You’re saying no to Jeremy McDaniels?” Disbelief painted her co-star’s
features.
Yikes. Bashing this guy’s gigantic ego would be a serious mistake. One
snide comment to the tabloids about how his leading lady couldn’t deliver
the goods in love scenes and she was toast.
 “Sorry, Jer. I’ve got to study my lines. Maybe next time.” She threw in a
flirtatious smile for good measure.
He looked more or less mollified and thankfully retreated to his own
trailer without putting up any more fuss.
“Maybe next time?” a deep voice growled behind her. “A punk like that is
your taste, then?”
She whirled to face him. “Where have you been?”
“Talking with the explosives guys about how to rig tomorrow’s scene. I
thought you might appreciate it if they don’t kill you.”
“Oh.” Silence descended between them. She added lamely, “Thanks.”
“Sure. I’ll let you get to your lines, then.” He started to turn away.
“I know them,” she blurted at his back.
He swiveled back to her, frowning. “You lied?” Jeez. He made it sound
like she’d committed a deadly sin.
“I can explain,” she burst out. Cripes. Why was she so freaked out about
what he thought of her? Was this some misplaced need to please her father
or something? Except Blake wasn’t that much older than she was. And he
wasn’t anything like her father, who was round and bald and laid back.
His eyebrow arched and she felt like a child who’d been caught red-
handed doing something terrible. Her rear end throbbed in eager
anticipation of punishment for her transgression, and her knees about
collapsed in shock.
Feet scraping the gravel nearby alerted her that some of the crew were
interested in the little exchange. Movie sets were hotbeds of gossip, and it
was vital to manage the rumor stream generated about her.
“Shall we take this to my trailer?” she muttered under her breath.
“Won’t that make people talk?” He crossed his arms.
“I’d rather have them saying that I’m screwing you than I blew off my
co-star and refused to sleep with Jeremy McDaniels.”
“Is that some sort of crime?”
 “If you want an answer, you’ll come to my trailer. I’m not talking about it
here.” She spun and strode away, desperate to regain control of the
exchange. Except when she reached her trailer door, Blake was not behind
her. She allowed herself a single glance over her shoulder as she slipped
inside. He was where she’d left him, immersed in conversation with Sheila.
Olivia hurried to the window over her sink and peered out surreptitiously.
She was in time to see the assistant director and Blake share a hearty laugh.
That bitch was flirting with him!
Jealousy roared up inside her, all but knocking her off her feet. Since
when had that green monster bitten her? She scrubbed off her make-up
angrily over the sink and collapsed onto the banquette at the kitchen table.
She buried her face in her hands.
Blake Ramsey was not for her. He was wrong in every way a man could
be wrong for her. He wasn’t from the movie industry. He wasn’t famous. He
was prickly, demanding, and distracting. Dangerous. And worst of all, he
knew her dirty little secret.
She had to go cold turkey. Stay away from him completely and just get
through this damned shoot. Then she’d never have to see him again as long
as she lived.
Avoiding Blake took care of one problem. The bigger one that threatened
to tank her career wasn’t so easily solved.
The enormity of the deception she was trying to pull off pressed down on
her until she practically hyperventilated. Who was she trying to kid? She’d
never pull off this whole femme fatale thing and was lucky she’d squeaked
through a kiss today. How would she fake knowing what the heck she was
doing in a full-blown love scene?
“What’s wrong?”
She about jumped out of her skin as Blake spoke directly above her. Crap.
How had he entered her trailer and moved next to her without her hearing
him?
 Her impulse was to answer that nothing was wrong, but this guy sniffed a
lie from a mile away. Instead, she mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He turned away from her, rummaged in a cupboard, and set a
glass of water in front of her.
“What’s this for?” She wasn’t thirsty.
“Women can’t cry and drink at the same time.”
She took a slug of the water and saw what he meant. She couldn’t sob and
swallow simultaneously.
“Finish it,” he ordered.
Desperate to get her to stop crying, huh? Tears panicked the macho
Marine? Good to know. Smiling a little into the glass, she obediently
finished off the water.
“Better?” he demanded.
Her smile erupted into a full-blown grin. “I’ve stopped crying, already.
You can stand down, Marine. The crisis is averted.”
He let out a long breath he’d clearly been holding.
“Afraid of crying females?” she asked dryly.
“Scared silly.”
She nodded in commiseration, not bothering to remind him women
weren’t on his list of things he feared.
“Who or what made you cry, Olivia?” he demanded grimly.
“Looking for somebody to hurt now, are you?”
“If someone made you cry, that would be an affirmative,” he bit out.
“You’re so cute when you’re homicidal,” she retorted wryly.
His scowl deepened.
“Seriously, Blake. I’m fine. Women have these crazy things called
hormones, and sometimes we cry for no reason at all.”
“You had a reason,” he declared.
“Oh, so now you’re an expert on women?”
“Made you stop crying, didn’t I?”
 She had to laugh. The man didn’t concede an inch willingly. “What can I
do for you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You came to my trailer, let yourself in, and snuck up on me. Did you
have a purpose in doing so, or were you just trying to scare me half to
death?”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to finish our earlier
discussion.”
“Which one?” she asked cautiously.
“Why did you flirt with Jeremy? Is he really your type?”
No. Direct, honest, real men—emphasis on men—were her type. She
sighed. “Here’s the thing. Jeremy is more established than I am. In the
hierarchy of Hollywood gossip, that means he has more street cred than I
do.”
Blake frowned. “And?”
“And if he were to say something negative about me to the press, no
matter how much I denied it, they would likely believe him over me and
rake me over the coals.”
“What could he say to hurt you?”
“He could tell them I’m a terrible kisser.”
“You didn’t look like a terrible kisser an hour ago.”
He’d been on set, huh? Had watched her trade tonsil examinations with
Jeremy? “That’s just acting.”
“Isn’t acting supposed to imitate real life?”
She shrugged. “As much as possible. Although, sometimes acting is
supposed to evoke more than real life to the audience.”
“A bigger, better kiss than reality?” he asked.
“Exactly.”
“So you have to be an epic kisser and not just a regular one? Intriguing,
Miss Harper.”
 Her gaze snapped up to his. Ice blue fire raged in his eyes, and her gaze
dropped to his lips. His epically kissable lips. “You have no idea,” she
breathed.
“So you’re not interested in Jeremy McDaniels?” His question shattered
her romantic imaginings of those lips plundering hers.
“No!”
A smile tickled the corners of his mouth. “All right, then. I’m glad we’ve
got that clear.”
He rose to his feet and left the trailer so fast she didn’t even have time to
invite him to stay for supper. What in the hell was that all about? He’d come
in here just to find out if she liked another guy? Did that mean he was still
interested in her even after he’d walked out on her last night?
In a significantly better frame of mind, she lay down for a quick nap
before the night’s shooting began.

…
Blake reflexively scanned the set for the umpteenth time that day, and then
watched the director give his final instructions to Olivia and Jeremy. This
business of passionately kissing total strangers and experiencing no feelings
about it whatsoever was hard to wrap his head around. When he kissed a
girl, he meant it, by God. But then, he didn’t run around kissing just any
girl, either. He knew plenty of guys who would bed every willing female
who crossed their paths, but that had never been his style.
He liked to know their names. To have a little conversation with them. To
feel like he’d connected with another human being and not that he was
screwing a piece of meat. Maybe that was why misjudging Carmen so badly
had messed him up in the head. But, she was a trained spy, after all. She
was a professional at deceiving men. He could be forgiven for missing the
signs, right?
At least he’d turned the tables on her and managed to trap her in a sting
that exposed her and landed her in jail. But it had been close. And now her
handlers were trying to find him and kill him. Hence, his being tucked away
on this movie set where no Russian spy would think to look for a Marine
officer.
“Blake! Get over here!” Jeremy yelled at him.
Wow. No one had used that tone of voice on him in a long damned time.
He strolled over to where the movie’s star fumed. “What’s up?” he asked
the actor.
“I’m supposed to blow up the car that’s chasing me and Liv by pushing
this little button thingy.”
“An actuator,” Blake supplied dryly.
“But wouldn’t it be cooler if I shot out the engine and blew up the car that
way? It’d be like a duel between gunslingers. Mano a mano. Me against the
charging car. It would still fly up into the air and everything.”
“In point of fact, shooting an engine rarely causes an explosion. Although
an engine can, indeed, be disabled with gunfire, it’s unlikely to blow up and
even more unlikely that the entire car would become airborne.”
“Told you so,” Adrian jumped in. “It’s exactly cheesy fake crap like
exploding cars that I’m trying to avoid.”
“But it would be cool,” Jeremy whined.
“You’re still going to get your damned flying car. But we’re doing it my
way with an IED buried in the road. Go talk to the stunt guys about the
timing of the planned explosion,” Adrian ordered. “I don’t need you
screwing up this scene.”
As the actor stormed off, Adrian smiled at Blake. “That’s exactly the
advice I hired you for. Thanks, Ramsey.”
“Sure. No problem.” Sensing a revolt from the disgruntled actor, though,
he followed Jeremy. Sure enough, McDaniels was jumping down the throat
of the head explosive stunt coordinator, who was maintaining a stoic
silence.
“Hey, Jeremy,” Blake said pleasantly. “If Jackson, here, does what you’re
telling him to, you’re going to get fried. Literally. We’re talking burns,
disfiguring facial scars, the whole deal. So unless you’re planning to play
exclusively Quasimodo parts in the future, you probably ought to let Mr.
Motta do his job.”
Jeremy looked alarmed at the mention of facial disfigurement and moved
away rapidly.
“Thanks, man,” Jackson Motta, the stunt coordinator, said under his
breath.
“No problem. Kid’s some piece of work, isn’t he?”
“I was half-tempted to rig the explosion the way he wanted me to.”
The two men traded grins, and Blake murmured, “If he gives you any
more trouble, gimme a holler. I’ll handle him.”
“Be careful. He’s got clout and could get you fired like he did the last
consultant.”
Blake grinned. “Nah, not me. My boss went to elementary school with
Adrian.”
“Hey, Blake. Got a sec?”
He pivoted instantly at the sound of Olivia’s voice. He strode over to
where she stood at the edge of a dive pit and murmured, “For you, I’ve
always got time.”
She looked up surprised, and her hazel eyes softened. A grip walked past,
laying electrical cable, and she broke the connection of their gazes. She
asked in a business-like tone, “If I understand the set up, Jeremy’s supposed
to head for the pit across the road, and I’m supposed to dive into this one
just as the explosion happens. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it me, or is this thing too shallow to protect me from a real explosion
just a few yards away?” she asked doubtfully.
“Let’s check it out, shall we?” He jumped down onto the foam crash mat.
He held a hand out, and she hopped in beside him. “Lie down with me.” He
dropped to his knees and fell flat onto his stomach.
 Olivia mimicked him, and the dive pit crackled with sexual tension. Their
shoulders brushed, and their faces were no more than a foot apart. Down
here, the giant banks of spotlights that illuminated the set didn’t touch them.
The night wrapped around the two of them like a flannel blanket.
“Kinda feels like being underneath the bleachers at a high school football
game, doesn’t it?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“I wouldn’t know. I was always on the field playing ball.”
“Were you the quarterback?”
“Nah. Linebacker. Captain of the defense.” He added reflectively, “If you
were from my home town, though, I’d definitely have taken you under the
bleachers.”
She smiled shyly at him. Had there not been dozens of people milling
around nearby, any one of whom could poke their head over the rim of the
pit at any second, he’d have been damned tempted to kiss her. Or better, to
slide his hand into her pants and see if she was as hot for him as he was for
her. He had to forcibly restrain himself from pulling her against him.
Focusing on the task at hand, he explained the logistics of the shot. She
nodded, listening intently.
“So the energy from the explosion will skip over me?” she asked.
“Exactly. It’s still going to be loud and hot, but not enough to hurt you.
You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“What if I don’t want to be safe?” she murmured, almost to herself.
And now the little temptress… Two could play her game. “Why would I
blow up the girl I’m planning to make love to very soon?”
Her eyes went wide, and more emotions than he could catalogue or name
flitted through her dark eyes.
“Olivia, take your mark!” Adrian bellowed over his megaphone.
She leaped up as though she’d been hit with a cattle prod and disappeared
from the hole. Well, hell. But then it dawned on him that she hadn’t told him
to take a hike.
 …
Olivia did her best to listen as Jackson Motta walked her through the
sequence of events one last time. Any sane actress would have insisted on a
stunt double for this scene. But Adrian wanted close up shots in the middle
of the actual explosion, and she had a reputation to build.
She was still reeling from Blake’s parting shot. Making love with Blake
Ramsey? Now there was an explosive thought. All that muscle and
masculine sex appeal naked and claiming her for himself?
The stuntman finished talking, and she’d hardly heard a word of his
briefing. Final places were called. She checked her earplugs one more time.
They were snugly in place. Right now, the cameramen would be reporting
in over the radios one-by-one that they were rolling.
“Quiet on the set,” an assistant director announced.
“And action!” Adrian called.
“On my count,” Motta announced. “One!” The remote-controlled car
started rolling, picking up speed toward Olivia and Jeremy where they stood
in the middle of the road. A stunt guy beside Motta used a control box to
drive it while the lead stuntman stared at a stopwatch in his fist.
“Two! We are go for detonation.” The car had hit the right speed at the
exact right time to place it on top of the explosive charge when the whole
thing blew.
“Three!” That was her cue. Olivia turned and sprinted for the dive pit
while Jeremy did the same toward the other side of the road. It wasn’t hard
to paste a terrified look on her face. A big freaking explosion that would
toast her like a marshmallow was about to blow right behind her.
“Four!”
Crap. She wasn’t at the pit yet. She took the running leap she’d been told
to, stretching out her entire body toward that dive pit in entirely real
desperation.
KABOOM!
 The flash behind her was blinding as she slammed into the foam mat, her
momentum rolling her onto her back. The noise was incredible. Even
through the high-tech earplugs her head felt like it had just been smashed
between two giant bricks.
Something heavy and hard rolled on top of her and terror erupted in her
as a massive wave of searing heat rolled over the pit. Whatever crushed her
took the brunt of it. Panicked, she struggled against the object flattening her.
“Easy, baby. It’s just me.”
Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at Blake in shock. Only a range of
about four inches separated them.
“Thought you might like a little moral support down here.”
Ohmigod. “You really are a knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”
He grunted. “Hardly.”
She opened her mouth to disagree, but another explosion ripped through
the night.
“Was that planned?” she gasped.
“Yup. Secondary fluids exploding in the car. The oil and hydraulic fluid
get hot enough from the first explosion that they blow up, too.”
“Why don’t they all blow up at once?” she asked.
“Different flash points,” he muttered as his mouth drew closer to hers.
“Do you really want to talk about the mechanics of explosives right now?”
And that was when the adrenaline hit her. Like a runaway freight train, it
slammed into her so hard she didn’t know what had hit her. Her entire body
felt as if it was on fire, restless, hungry for…something. She’d nearly died
just now, but she was alive. Alive! Exultation soared through her, and she
laughed aloud with it.
The square of sky overhead flickered as orange and lurid as the fires of
damnation. And Blake Ramsey was the fallen angel of temptation. She’d
never wanted anything as much in her life as she wanted him right now.
“God, that was incredible!” She flung her arms around his neck and
kissed him soundly on the mouth.
 And then he kissed her back.
The heat and impact of that exploding car had nothing on Blake Ramsey.
She was surrounded by his own restless heat, his mouth on hers, his tongue
plunging carnally into her mouth, and her sucking at him like she planned to
inhale him. His body moved against hers demanding acknowledgement and
she squirmed back, straining toward him. Toward the mind-blowing lust
tearing through her and the promise of slaking it in the hard body crushing
hers.
Her hands raked frantically across his back. Her right leg wrapped around
his hips to bind him to her, rubbing parts of his that were shockingly hard
and demanding against just the right place…
She groaned into his mouth and arched up into him, transformed into a
wild thing she barely recognized in the haze of lust pounding through her.
A gigantic hissing noise startled her and she lurched against Blake,
terrified.
“Fire truck spraying foam on the car fire,” he muttered.
Laughing, she collapsed back against the mat. “For a second there, I
thought it was the serpent.”
“What serpent?” he asked.
“You know. The serpent. The one that tempted Eve. You gotta think it
ended up in hell—” She broke off as he stared down at her with a perplexed
look. “Hellfire. Damnation. Temptation… Never mind,” she muttered.
“Kiss me again.”
His mouth curved up in a smile that could only belong to Lucifer. Yup,
her analogy was spot on. He was the tempter luring her to come on down to
the Underworld. It’ll be a great time. Stick with me, babe, and I’ll show you
a hell of a good time…
“Olivia? How are we doing?”
She jolted as Jackson Motta called out from somewhere nearby. Blake
rolled off her so fast she was disoriented when Jackson’s face appeared over
the edge of the pit.
 “Ahh. Got yourself a foxhole buddy, did you?” Motta commented.
“Thanks for looking out for our girl, Blake. How’d she come through her
first big bang?”
Motta had interrupted what had been about to become her first big bang,
dammit.
“Like a pro. It was a little hotter in here than I anticipated.”
She all but choked on a crack of laughter. How on Earth did he say that
with a straight face?
“Next time we’ll dig a little deeper hole for her, so she doesn’t get
burned,” Blake added.
“Got it,” Motta replied.
Blake stood and held a hand down to her. They climbed out of the pit, and
he strolled away as if nothing had ever happened. But her insides still
jangled. She was as jumpy as if she’d downed a half-dozen espresso shots.
“Brilliant, Liv,” Adrian cried out as she headed toward him for further
instructions. “That look on your face as you launched yourself toward the
foxhole—just brilliant!”
That’s what genuine terror did for an actress. “Do you need anything
more from me tonight?” she asked dryly.
“No. We’re good. Head on over to your trailer and get some sleep. We’ve
got a big day tomorrow.”
Several hundred extras were being bused to the set first thing in the
morning to play a zombie hoard. Big crowd scenes were always chaotic to
shoot. “’Kay. Night, boss.”
“Good job today, kid.”
She was still smiling as she headed into the rows of trailers and RV’s that
housed the crew. The smell of meat charring on a grill wafted to her nose
and, mouth watering, she headed toward the delicious odor. It led her to a
roomy Army tent with the sides rolled up. A bunch of the stunt guys sat on
folding lawn chairs hoisting beers and laughing while Jackson Motta and an
all too familiar tall, crisp silhouette oversaw steaks on a gas grill. Their easy
camaraderie struck her with longing.
“Hey, Miss Harper,” one of the guys said politely.
Blake turned sharply. But his face was relaxed as he smiled at her.
“Brewskie?” he asked.
“Yeah, actually,” she smiled at him. “That sounds great.”
One of the stuntmen opened a plastic cooler, pulled out a can of beer, and
tossed it to her.
“Thanks, asshole,” she groused, tapping the can to dispel the built-up
pressure from throwing it. She knew better than to open it now, unless she
wanted to be doused in spraying beer. The guys all laughed.
She sank into one of the folding aluminum lawn chairs and stretched out
her legs.
“How do you like your meat?” Blake asked her casually. Too casually.
She grinned up at him. “As close to raw as you can get it.”
“Thatta a girl,” one of the guys laughed. “Knows how to eat a piece of
meat properly.”
Her gaze snapped toward Blake, and the smirk in his answering look
made her squirm. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered just loud enough
for her to hear without the others picking it up.
She mostly listened as the stunt crew traded war stories. Some of the men
were ex-military and told actual war stories, and others told hilarious and
harrowing tales of stunts gone wrong. Since most of them had early calls in
the morning the party broke up in an hour.
“Walk you back to your trailer?” Blake murmured.
Her pulse leaped in anticipation. “Sure.”
The desert night had cooled, and she hugged her arms across herself as
they strolled through the trailer camp. They arrived at her door and, always
the gentleman, he opened it for her.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” she asked.
“Jackson’s letting me crash on his couch.”
 She looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “His couch is six-
foot-two?”
Blake shrugged. “I’ll probably pull the cushions onto the floor. It’ll be
fine.”
“Why don’t you stay here? I’ve got a king-sized bed.” And what would
she do if he accepted her offer? The desert air no longer felt cool as heat
sparked between them.
He leaned toward her, and his scent washed over her as he considered her
long and hard. “As tempting as that is, you’ve got a reputation to protect.
We’re on set, where everyone and their uncle will see who comes out of
what trailer in the morning.”
Damn her reputation. “But crappy cushions on a floor? You’ll feel like
hell tomorrow.”
“Honey, sleeping on a padded surface in air conditioning with no one
shooting at me is pure luxury in my world.”
That brought her back to reality. He was a Marine. She needed a mega-
star. She grimaced. Still, she could offer him comfort of the non-mattress
kind. “I can’t make you change your mind?”
He tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. His fingertip circled her
ear lightly, and a shiver rippled through her. “Another time. When there’s
privacy. And you’re not compromised. It’s the honorable thing to do.”
“So, I just figured something out, Blake Ramsey.”
“What’s that?”
“Honor sucks.”
He melted away into the night, his quiet laughter floating back to her as
she stood on her front step and wished for a bunch of sex toys in her trailer
to ease the terrible tension thrumming deep within her. No such luck,
though. The trailer was nicely tricked out, but not that nicely.
Cursing under her breath, she flopped into her huge, lonely bed and failed
entirely to get a decent night’s sleep. Only one thought assuaged her
immense frustration. Tomorrow she got to go back to Palm Springs for the
night. And one way or another, she’d get Blake Ramsey to go with her.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Five

Blake tossed and turned on the shifting cushions, banging his elbows into
the kitchen cabinets more times than he could count. He was a damned fool
for turning down Olivia’s offer. This was the real world, after all, and
people hooked up all the time. No one would think twice if he came out of
her trailer in the morning as fresh as a damned daisy.
When dawn peeked through the windows, he gave up on sleep and went
for a run. The desert played him a symphony of bird calls and insect noises
as the sun rose in a magnificent rush of lavenders, pinks, and peaches. He
was a couple of miles beyond the set when his cell phone rang in his fanny
pack.
He stopped and dug it out, panting, “Ramsey.”
“Frank Santerros. How’s Hollywood?”
“We’re not technically in Hollywood, but I’m settling in.”
“Lead actor’s not giving you any trouble?”
“Nah. I’ve got him under control. I’ve had troops with a lot worse
attitudes than his.”
Santerros laughed but then his voice went serious. “The CIA just briefed
me that the Russkies have picked up one of our undercover field agents.”
Blake’s gut leaped. Not that he wished an American operative ill, and the
guy was no doubt getting the crap interrogated out of him right now. But, it
gave the CIA a compelling reason to reconsider its initial refusal to trade
Carmen back to Mother Russia.
He asked tersely, “The CIA gonna think about trading the ice bitch for
their spy?”
 “Maybe. Any sign of Russians sniffing around the set or hassling you?”
“Nah. No one’s gonna find me out here in the middle of nowhere. What’s
the word from your end?”
His boss answered reluctantly, “We’ve intercepted some chatter from the
Russian intelligence agency. They’ve got feelers out for you. They’re
definitely hunting you. But if we can get the CIA to play ball, they should
call off their dogs.”
“Thanks for looking out for me, boss.”
“You’re a good man, Blake. One of my best. So keep your head down,
eh? Just lie low for a while, dude, while this thing with Carmen works itself
out.”
Surely it couldn’t be that easy. “What’s the catch?”
“Worst case scenario, you’re done as a field operative. But you’d make a
hell of a desk jockey here in the Pentagon. Straight shot to colonel, for
you.”
Driving a desk for a living sounded only slightly less awful than bamboo
spikes jammed under his fingernails. But if his country required it of him,
he supposed he could deal with the boredom. Still, he readily admitted to
being an adrenaline junkie. He hated sitting still.
“Don’t end up on the front page of the L.A. Times for the next few
weeks, and you should be golden.”
He grunted a reply and ended the call.
That meant no Olivia Harper. No way. No how. No where. Damn. All he
had to do was keep his dick in his pants and play the simple consultant on a
zombie flick. Way down the food chain, even within the movie crew.
His decision bothered him more than it should have and he wanted to
punch someone.
Not only did he have to worry about his safety, but if he happened to be
with Olivia, her life would be in danger as well.
No Olivia.
 When he returned to the set, it was nearly time for his fighting lesson
with Jeremy McDaniels, and he went straight to the actor’s trailer. One of
the costume girls was just slipping out the door. She smiled shyly and
hurried away.
“Ramsey. You’re here. Good. I just had me some ass, and I’m wide-
awake. Let’s do this fighting thing.”
Blake refrained from commenting on the guy’s wake-up routine. Each to
his own. And this was Hollywood, after all, not the real world. Instead, he
asked, “Where did you leave off in your training with the last consultant?”
“He was supposed to teach me how to handle myself in a fist fight. Show
me some moves so I’ll always win.”
“If you want to win a fist fight, you bring a knife. And if you want to win
a knife fight, you bring a gun.”
“Always pack more heat than the other guy, huh?” Jeremy laughed.
“Good advice.”
Blake shrugged. It had worked for the U.S. Marines the past few hundred
years. And when that didn’t work, they made a point of being meaner and
more determined to win than the other guy. It helped to believe in what they
were fighting for enough to die for it, too. But he sensed this actor wouldn’t
grasp the importance of character traits like duty, honor, and country in
winning fights.
He smirked. He might not have the delectable Miss Harper, but at least
one of his prayers would be answered. “Put up your fists.” The actor did as
ordered, and Blake reached out to correct the guy’s wrists. “This fist is your
shield and this one is your weapon. Think in terms of a punch traveling
down your arm to your elbow. Like this…”

…
Shooting the crowd scene was as big a mess as Olivia had expected. She
didn’t envy Adrian trying to control the chaos. Managing five hundred
extras roaming around as zombies and staging mass fight scenes was like
trying to herd cats. But somehow, the director got the shots, and the day
came to an end.
Olivia collapsed in her town car with a sigh of relief. She looked for
Blake to see if he needed a ride, but he was nowhere in sight. Reluctantly,
she told the driver she was ready to leave. Better this way—if no one saw
them leave together, there’d be no speculation about them.
She showered in her suite. After a light dinner, she read the shooting
schedule and the latest corrected script to prepare for the next few scenes. A
series of technical shots at night were on tap. No dialogue, just a bunch of
close-ups of her and Jeremy emoting fear, doubt, and terror. No big.
Idly, she paged through the next few days’ worth of scenes. She knew all
her lines but ran through them anyway. The air conditioner fan kicked on
and blew the script to the next page. The heading leaped out at her. LOVE
SCENE.
Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.
She checked the date in the corner. Three days from now. She had three
days to figure out how to pull off a convincing love scene. Her steamy kiss
with Blake in the dive pit last night hadn’t been a bad start. But that was a
far cry from a full out love scene. She and Jeremy would be expected to get
more or less naked between the sheets, and furthermore, to act like they
knew what they were doing. She had faith Jeremy would know exactly what
to do. He was a lech of the first water.
But not only had her TV career never included any steamy love scenes,
her practically non-existent social life hadn’t included many, either. Until
recently, she’d spent her private life trying to dodge the press and not feed
rumors or scandal about herself. And it was darned hard to date anyone in
Hollywood without either of those erupting. She’d managed a few furtive
semi-dates, with one ending in a fumble of quickie sex, but that was about
it.
Knowing Jeremy, he wouldn’t cut her the slightest break or help her
through the scene with one ounce of sympathy. He was furious that she kept
stealing scenes from him. She knew he was out to show her up or even to
humiliate her outright in front of Adrian.
Well, Lord knew, his chance was coming. In three fricking days.
She paced the suite in agitation, her panic growing with every lap of the
living room. She had to do something. But what? She had no idea where or
how to hire a male hooker to give her some pointers. Her shooting schedule
was too tight to go out partying and pick up some random guy in the next
few days, either. And it wasn’t as if she could hire a sex tutor between now
and then. Not to mention, if anyone found out about her doing any of those
things, she was toast. Burnt, dried out, totally ruined toast.
She stopped pacing abruptly.
Blake.
He could help her. He’d already announced that he planned to bed her…
soon. And he’d understood about her reputation, so he wouldn’t kiss and
tell. In fact, no one would know what they were up to as long as they were
discreet. It was the perfect solution.
Now all she had to do was convince him.
A quick phone call to the front desk confirmed that Mr. Ramsey was,
indeed, staying in the hotel although the staff wouldn’t release his room
number. Not even to her. Cursing the hotel’s excellent privacy policy, she
settled for having the operator ring her through to his room.
She waited impatiently for him to pick up the phone, but it kicked over to
voice mail. Closing her eyes in immense frustration, she left a message.
“Hey, Blake. It’s Liv. Give me a call when you get in. Or better, come up
and see me. I’ve left a key for you at the front desk.”
She called the desk clerk and arranged to have a key ready for Major
Ramsey explaining that she needed to discuss the next day’s stunt
choreography. She hung up, feeling like a sophomore in high school. She
didn’t owe the hotel staff any explanations for her behavior. She was an
action-movie star. She could have whatever man she wanted up to her room.
 Then why did she feel like she was breaking every rule of decent
behavior, and if her parents found out, she’d be grounded for the rest of her
life? Would she ever kick the Midwestern good girl baggage?
This is only for the part, she reassured herself. She didn’t want him.
But she did.
Irritated about being a wuss, and at Blake for not being around, she
grabbed the phone. The hotel operator put her through to his room again.
And again, she got his voice mail. “Blake, it’s Olivia. Please call me as soon
as you get this. It’s urgent. I really need your help.”
Too wound up to sleep, she stepped out on her deck. The evening air was
sultry with residual heat from the day. The pool was blue and inviting, the
same turquoise of the ocean rolling up onto a white sand beach. Safe up
here on the penthouse, tucked out of sight of the paparazzi, she stripped off
her clothes and dived into the pool naked, reveling in the slide of cool water
across her skin. She swam a few laps hard and fast, and then slowed down
to a more leisurely pace, down and back, down and back.
Out of breath, she stopped at the end nearest the penthouse, slicking her
hair back from her face as she stood up in the armpit-deep water. God, that
felt good.
“What’s the crisis?” a male voice asked tersely from the shadows beside
the sliding glass doors.
She jolted and dropped instinctively to her neck in the water. “Jeez,
Blake. You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that!” Had he been watching
her swim naked, or had he just stepped out here? How much had he seen in
the choppy water? Badass, Liv. Badass.
“Pass me a towel,” she demanded.
“Don’t get out on my account. You looked like you were enjoying
yourself.”
He had been watching her!
“What’s the crisis?” he repeated.
 She noted wryly that he still hadn’t passed her a towel. The pile of neatly
folded terry cloth rescue for her modesty taunted her from its rack a million
miles away by the patio door. Trapped in the pool, she propped her elbows
on the edge, her chin resting on her hands, her body plastered against the
concrete side. It was about as much cover as she could get.
“I have a problem.” She cleared her throat. “I was hoping you could help
me out with it.”
“Sure. What is it?”
Now that the moment was upon her to proposition him, she found her
tongue tied in a big, fat knot. This was not how she’d envisioned having this
conversation. “You’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage, here.”
“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” he replied casually. He leaned against the
doorframe and crossed his arms, flashing her a holy-cow display of flexed
muscles. It reminded her sharply that this was a mature, confident, self-
possessed man, not some snot-nosed, self-absorbed, emotionally stunted
actor. This was also a man who demanded honesty.
He waited silently, his laser sharp gaze never leaving her face. At least he
wasn’t being a sleazy jerk and trying to get a freebie peek at her. Of course,
he’d probably gotten an eyeful while she was swimming.
A shiver that could be ice cold or burning hot, or maybe both, chattered
down her spine. The good news was that what he’d seen hadn’t sent him
running for cover.
Knowing him, he was going to stand there waiting for her answer until
she gave him one. Even if it took all night and she permanently wrinkled
into a prune. She took a deep breath and jumped off the cliff. “I have to film
a love scene in three days.”
“And?”
She huffed. “And we’ve already established that I don’t have a clue what
I’m doing with guys. Not in that department, at any rate.”
“You handled yourself just fine in that pit.”
Their kiss had made an impression on him. Warmth slid down her spine.
 “But that was just a kiss.”
“Honey, that was not just a kiss. That was the mother of all kisses.”
She’d thought it was pretty fantastic, herself. “But I have to get into bed
with Jeremy and act like I know what I’m doing.”
Blake frowned and asked a tad sharply. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
She winced at the bald question. “No. Of course not.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“Let’s just say my previous…experience…hasn’t exactly prepared me to
be—” She had no idea what word to use.
“A femme fatale?” he supplied.
“Exactly.”
“So you need to find a way to have gnarly sex in the next three days so
you’ll know how to fake it with McDumbass.”
“Yes!” She was so relieved that he grasped her problem without her
having to spell it out that she could cry.
“What do you want me to do about it?”
Dammit. He was going to make her say it. “C’mon, Blake. Don’t make
me say it aloud. I’m embarrassed enough already. You did say you were
planning to…well, you know…very soon…I was hoping we could move up
the timetable slightly…”
She’d expected his face to light up. For his eyes to burn with that white
heat the way they did when he was about to kiss her. But instead, his face
clouded over. A frown knit his eyebrows into a line.
“What?” she said, alarmed.
He sighed. “You have to understand that I need to be careful. Very
careful.”
An image of him laughing with Sheila, Adrian’s damned gorgeous
assistant, flashed through her mind. “You’ve met someone else?” she asked
in a small voice.
“No. It’s not that. I can’t draw any attention to myself.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
 “It has to do with me not doing anything stupid. Like getting involved
with a beautiful, sexy actress whom the press stalks.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a long story, and most of it is classified. Suffice it to say I’m keeping
my head down for a while. I can’t afford for certain people to notice I’m
here on this movie set. And that means I can’t risk gaining notoriety by
jumping in the sack with the up-and-coming star of a movie.”
Oh, God. If he wouldn’t help, her career was over. Worse, she’d made a
complete fool of herself. She’d just assumed he’d be willing. It had never
dawned on her that he might turn her down. If word leaked to the press
about this—
—To hell with the press. He’d just rejected her, and it hurt like hell.
“Aww, baby. Don’t look like that.”
She tried to put on a brave expression. Her gaze slid away from him
involuntarily as she said lightly, “It’s okay. I understand. I’ll figure out
something else. Watch a bunch of porn movies on pay-per-view or hire a
male prostitute. And if you could just keep this conversation to yourself, I’d
really appreciate it—”
A huge splash cut her off. She whirled around in the water in time to see
Blake surface in the pool, clothes and all. “What are you doing?” she
exclaimed.
He stripped off his sodden shirt, wadded it up, and tossed it to the edge of
the pool. “One sec,” he said as he ducked under the water momentarily. He
came up with a big wad of soaked khaki. His pants. They joined his shirt on
the side of the pool. Two socks flew poolside, and then a ball of black
Lycra. Oh. My. God. His underwear. He was as naked as she was.
She watched warily as he paddled slowly toward her. Of course, he was
as at ease in water as he was handling explosives. The guy was a Marine,
after all. His gaze never leaving hers, he swam up to her and braced a hand
on the edge of the pool on either side of her head. She’d sunk to her neck in
the water, again, and was flapping her hands back and forth frantically to
keep the water around her breasts moving briskly. Obscuring the view, she
hoped. She was such a gigantic chicken!
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
“The vast majority of porn films aren’t sexy. They’re fake. And just nasty.
If you’re going to rock your love scene, porn won’t cut it for research. And
no male prostitutes for you—too much risk of an STD.”
A slow smile spread across her face.
“Don’t smile at me like I’m some knight in shining armor,” he ordered. “I
already told you once I’m not that guy. I have a few conditions for this
research project of yours if I’m going to participate.”
She nodded solemnly. “Name your terms.”
“This has to be just business. Nothing personal.”
“Sex is pretty personal, Blake.”
“I mean no emotional involvement. Friends with benefits. Not a whole
relationship with commitment and fights and emotional drama. You don’t
need any of those, and neither do I.”
He was right, of course. But a little piece of her heart rebelled at ruling
out a real relationship with him. Still, she was the one who’d propositioned
him. This was an educational exchange. Not true love. “Anything else?” she
asked.
“One more thing—it has to stay strictly secret between us. Nobody, and I
mean nobody, can find out about this.”
That suited her just fine. The last thing she needed was for anyone to find
out she was taking sex lessons from a consultant on her film. “Deal.”
The night sky and the stars and glow of the pool stood silent sentinel
around them, disturbed only by the faint whapping of the pool filter door
swinging back and forth.
“Do you have any idea how naturally beautiful you are?” he asked
quietly. “Not too many women look so good with no make-up and wet
hair.”
 She smiled. It was sweet of him to say something nice to her. “You don’t
have to go to all the trouble of romancing me, Blake. If you want to skip the
whole foreplay thing and get straight to the sex, that’s okay with me.”
He shoved back from the wall, drenching her in water. She came up
coughing and batting water out of her eyes.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded.
“That was me reconsidering this whole thing,” he snapped. “I’m not a
gigolo, and you’re not some cheap slut. If that’s what you expect from great
sex then maybe you are better off watching your porn films.”
She gulped, panicked. “Please, Blake. I’m sorry. I already told you I don’t
know what I’m doing. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
He sighed and glided close once more. He pushed the hair off her face
gently. “How about you let me be in charge and call the shots, then?”
She nodded, afraid to say something stupid and screw things up.
“Relax, Liv. We’ve got all the time in the world, and I’m not going to
leap on you and ravish you.” He reached out with both hands to massage
her shoulders, his thumbs digging into just the right spot to make her groan
with pleasure. “What time’s your call tomorrow?”
“Late afternoon. We’re night shooting.”
“Perfect.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re not going to get much sleep tonight, darlin’.”
She gasped as her blood fired like a gunshot through her veins. His arms
went around her, one across her shoulders and one scooping down under her
knees. He cradled her in his arms and waded across the chest-deep pool to
the wide steps. He carried her out of the water and they dripped across the
patio.
“You’re cold,” he murmured.
Was he kidding? She was burning up in his arms. She was so elated this
was going to happen, that she was going to find out what it was like to have
decent sex with someone who knew what he was doing, she could hardly
keep from squee-ing aloud. To heck with research. She wanted him.
“Into the shower with you,” he announced. “I don’t want you to catch a
chill.”
Okay, then. Sex in the shower. She could work with that.
Except he merely set her on her feet in her bathroom with a quiet order to
stand under a shower as hot as she could stand until she was all warmed up.
And then he left.
WTF?
He did say to let him call the shots. Confused, she climbed into the
shower and cranked up the hot water until the entire bathroom steamed up
into a virtual sauna. Jets of borderline scalding water pounded into her
shoulders and back until she moaned with pleasure. Good call on the hot
shower. She felt mellow and boneless by the time she stepped out. And
much less panicked about the events to come. It would be all right. She was
in good hands. After all, he’d known she needed to unwind in the shower
before she had.
She towel-dried her hair and wrapped a huge, soft, bath cloth from the
towel-warming drawer around herself. She opened the door to her bedroom
and stopped in surprise.
The space was softly lit with dozens of candles. Where had those come
from? The bed covers were turned back, and—
“Here. Try this.” Blake was there, a towel wrapped snugly around his
lean hips. She ignored the liquor glass he held out and took in the acres of
muscle that made up his shirtless chest. If the man had any body fat, it was
not apparent to the naked eye. She’d seen pictures of six-pack abs before,
but she’d never actually seen a set up-close like this. Her belly tightened in
anticipation.
“If you’re not going to drink from the glass, I guess I’ll have to do it this
way.” She watched, bemused as he took a sip of the amber liquid, and then
stepped close to her. With his free hand he tipped up her chin. He kissed her
lightly, easing her mouth open and letting the sweet, strong liquor flow from
his mouth into hers. It tasted of burnt caramel and was the most delicious
thing she’d ever tasted. Not that his method of delivery had anything to do
with it.
And that was when she knew she was completely in lust with this man. If
anyone else had spit booze into her mouth, she’d have found it completely
disgusting. But as he took another sip and shared it with her intimately,
whatever apprehension she’d felt began to crumble.
“What is that?” she murmured.
“Liquid inhibition remover.” He held the glass to her lips and poured the
potent liquor down her throat. She finished the glass and he poured her
another. As marvelous as it tasted, she started to feel the alcohol going to
her head. Fast. And hard. That stuff was strong. She captured the last
mouthful of her second glass of the liquor and stood on tiptoe to kiss him
with it.
“Fast learner, huh?” he murmured. “This is going to be fun.”
The liquor heated her from her throat to her nether regions. Apparently
the stuff hit her brain, just as fast. She already felt the tiniest bit buzzed. My,
my. He was clever about this whole seduction thing. He already had her
physically and mentally warm and gushy.
“What’s next, Professor?” she asked.
“A little strip tease, I think.”
She tensed at the thought. She was emphatically not an exhibitionist and
had never been one of those life-of-the-party girls.
“Easy, baby. It’s just you and me.” He guided her to the wall of mirrored
closet doors and turned her to face her reflection. “The trick is to do to your
body what you think your lover would like to be doing to it himself.”
“But I don’t know what—”
“Shh. That’s why I’m going to show you what I like. You just get to
watch and learn.”
 She nodded hesitantly. His hands were tanned and big resting on her
shoulders. He used one to push her hair to the side so he had access to her
neck. She tilted her head under the light pressure of his mouth so he could
kiss the sweet spot just below her ear. Mmm. That felt delicious.
His hands skimmed down her arms to her fingertips and back up to her
shoulders. His right hand crossed her front to grip the corner of the towel
where it was tucked in under her left armpit. He untucked it and by slow
degrees unwrapped the soft cloth. His left hand reached across her and took
the other end of the towel, lifting it away from her body with glacial
slowness. Even she was holding her breath by the time her naked body was
eventually revealed.
“Remember, there’s no hurry in a good seduction,” he murmured against
her shoulder.
Without him telling her, she let her head fall back against his chest. He
kissed his way along the edge of her jaw and her body sang with desire. She
would have turned in his arms to kiss him, but he forestalled her gently.
Through half-closed eyes, she watched his hands roam around her waist
to splay on her stomach, the contrast of dark skin against her pale flesh
unbearably erotic. His right hand went south to cup her mound, and his left
hand migrated north to cup her breast. His thumb flicked lazily across her
already taut nipple, and she moaned as she arched into the tantalizing
sensation. Her hips rocked lightly forward, then back. His thumb flicked
again against her breast and her whole body undulated.
If she had a skeleton at some point in the past, every last bone in her body
had completely dissolved by now. Were it not for her breast straining up and
into his hand, her legs would have collapsed from under her completely.
“So responsive,” he praised her. “It’s such a turn on to watch you get
hot.”
She groaned. There were no words for this languid want pulsing through
her with every beat of her heart.
 “Open your eyes. I want you to watch what I’m doing. There will be a
quiz later.”
She smiled when he added, “Spread your legs a little for me, Liv. Good
girl.”
She watched, mesmerized, as his hand dipped between her legs. One
finger stroked long and slow between her swollen folds and she cried out at
the intense pleasure. “Again,” she gasped.
He smiled into the mirror, his gaze locked with hers. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she groaned. He did it again and her eyelids closed at the exquisite
sensations zinging through her body. His hand left her and her eyes flew
open in time to see him capture her right hand in his. She tensed as he
guided her fingers to where his had just been.
“You can close your eyes, now,” he whispered.
He guided her fingers to her hot, moist flesh, pressing them lightly
against her and moving her hand in a slow circle. Massive jolts of lust shot
outward to every corner of her body. “Don’t stop doing that,” he instructed
in her ear.
His finger slipped inside her, plunging in and out to the same slow
rhythm she used to rub herself. “Ohmigod,” she cried out. Hips undulating,
white lights exploded behind her eyelids.
“Open your eyes, baby.”
She did so, and the sight that greeted her was so intensely sexual it almost
pushed her over the edge. A slender, curvaceous female form writhed in the
mirror in the throes of near orgasm, tousled hair mostly covering her face,
body flushed, nipples hard and proud and thrust forward hungrily. And that
bronzed, masculine hand moving between her legs was so erotic she could
hardly stand to look at it.
“All right, darling. Your turn.”
“What?” she managed to choke out.
“I’ll help. But now you get to do that to yourself.”
 Her face heated a good ten degrees, and Blake dropped a light kiss in her
hair. “You can do it. Just concentrate on how it feels. And if you get
embarrassed, close your eyes.”
Gently, he guided her left hand to her breast. Experimentally, she rolled
her nipple between her fingers. Mmm. Nice. She increased the pressure a
little more. Oh, yes. Just like that.
Blake’s big, warm palm cupped her other hand and guided it to her belly,
but then it retreated. Eyes firmly shut, she slid her palm down across the
soft, flat plane of her stomach. Her skin felt like warm satin. Tentatively,
she let her fingers drift lower. Found the sweet spot right…there. Oh, yes.
She stroked the way Blake had shown her and was shocked when her hips
rocked into her hand.
She froze but Blake murmured before she could get self-conscious,
“Keep going.”
She stroked again and felt her mouth curve into a smile of slow delight.
“Open your eyes, Liv.” She stared, shocked, at the wanton in the mirror.
He continued, his voice low and charged, “Real desire, real pleasure, is a
hundred times sexier than any porn video.”
Amen, brother. Never in her life had she been even this remotely turned
on. She’d had no idea she could even feel this stretched-to-the-breaking-
point tension. A need so deep and primal to take this man inside her
overcame her. She turned around and pressed herself against the length of
him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her left leg around his hips.
He stood statue still and let her climb all over him. She pulled the towel
from his hips and turned her mouth and hands loose on the candyland of his
body. It was the first time she’d ever explored a man’s body at her leisure.
He made occasional sounds in the back of his throat of pleasure and
approval, and she catalogued every spot that wrung a groan from him and
what got the biggest reactions.
She might be a movie star, but she had nothing on him in the physical
perfection department. His body was hard and fit, wreathed in muscles that
were strong and capable. A mixture of lean and massive, flat planes and
muscular bulges, he was a gorgeous specimen of male anatomy. And he let
her have access to every square inch of him. How did he know she’d be so
curious? He really did know her better than she knew herself.
His self-restraint was admirable. He was clearly turned on and had to be
craving serious, hard-driving sex as badly as she did if the size and iron
hardness of his erection was any indication.
After she had explored his package thoroughly with hands and mouth and
tongue, he finally reached down to lift her by the shoulders. Thank God.
She was so horny she could scream. All kinds of naughty thoughts about
what she was willing to let him do to her right now skated through her mind
excitedly.
Smiling wickedly, his eyes dark and hungry, he led her over to the big
bed. Kissing her, he pushed her down gently to the mattress. The sheets
were cool and smooth on her burning skin. Every nerve in her body
screamed for this. Anticipating her first ever orgasm, she strained toward
him eager for what was shaping up to be a mind-blowing release. So this
was why everyone was so hot and bothered about sex. She got it, now.
Blake’s naked, heated body pressed down on hers and she wrapped her
legs around his hips, urging him forward. He laughed, resisting the pull, and
pushed up, kneeling between her knees. Sprawled before him, she felt like a
siren calling him to her.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.
He reached over her head for something out of sight. “Give me your right
hand,” he instructed. She raised her arm and was startled when something
soft slipped around her wrist and tightened. She tilted her head to look up
and spied one of her silk neck scarves tightened in a slipknot around her
wrist. She tugged at it experimentally as he reached for her left hand and
tethered it to the opposite corner of the bed.
She was able to move her arms around, but her hands would not reach
one another over her head. Going straight for the kink, was he? Not that she
was complaining. The helpless feeling that washed over her as he slid down
between her knees was glorious.
She cried out when his hot, wet mouth closed on her core. His tongue
dipped between her cleft and found her swollen, pulsing clit. He licked it
like he was savoring a sweet, slippery, dripping slice of peach. In about
three seconds, she was on the verge of a screaming orgasm. Electricity built
up in the pit of her belly, flying out to her fingertips and back, concentrating
where his tongue laved and flicked, building up to the very edge of a
monstrous static discharge of orgasmic proportions. Tension coiled between
her legs, building…building…almost…
And then his tongue retreated.
“Don’t stop,” she begged. “It’s right there. Ohmigod…” She didn’t know
exactly what ‘it’ was, but she was figuring it out fast. And she was pretty
freaking sure she was going to love it.
The bed shifted, and her eyes flew open. Blake stood beside the bed,
staring down at her, his face inscrutable. He spoke grimly, his voice tight.
“Sex is better if you anticipate it for a while. One-night stands are fine for
an hour or two. But wanting someone, thinking about him, lusting after him,
letting the anticipation build makes the sex that much better when it finally
comes.”
“Blake! Please. I can’t take this…I’m so close…” Dammit, she didn’t
have the words to describe how she hovered at the precipice of something
incredible and unknown. To describe how badly she wanted it. How she’d
never felt this before and desperately wanted to experience that magic thing
dangling just out of reach.
“I’ll be in the other bedroom if you have an emergency other than
massive sexual frustration.” To her incredulous shock, he turned and headed
for the door.
“You can’t leave me like this!” she cried out. “I’m tied up for God’s
sake!”
 “Sorry. The object of tonight’s lesson is for you not to get any sexual
relief. I’ll be back in the morning to turn you loose.” And with that, he
walked out of her fucking bedroom and closed the fucking door.
The. Fucking. Bastard.
Sexual frustration so intense she nearly wept from it rolled through her.
She scissored her legs back and forth. Tried to rub her nether regions
against the mattress to find some sort of relief, but the angle was wrong
with her tied on her freaking back like this. She yanked at the silk ties, but
of course, Mr. Marine knew his damned knots. She tossed and turned and
shouted at him to come in here right now and untie her, all to no avail. No
matter how much she railed or begged through the walls, he didn’t come
back.
If he’d wanted to make her horny and mad as hell, he’d certainly
succeeded spectacularly. When he untied her in the morning, she was going
to kill him. After she ripped his balls off.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Six

Blake grinned. So, the hometown girl was real, after all—no one was that
good an actress. He couldn’t help but be smitten with the way she trembled,
sighed, blushed, and shied away as if sex truly was a new experience. And
he’d relish every moment of her sensual awakening.
If he had thought getting involved with Carmen had been playing with
fire, giving sex lessons to Olivia Harper had been like jumping into a full-
blown volcano. As a military commander, he was decisive and bold, not
afraid to take the initiative or a calculated risk in the pursuit of a goal. And
almost without exception, it paid off.
But as he lay in bed and listened to Olivia curse him out more creatively
than he’d have believed possible from a nice Midwestern girl, he had
second thoughts about this course of action.
Three days wasn’t long to turn her into a femme fatale. He’d opted for
shock therapy to get her into the necessary frame of mind. But maybe he’d
gone too far. If she called the police and had him arrested in the morning,
he’d know for sure that he had. How else, though, was he going to bring out
the sexy, uninhibited, confident woman he sensed within her in only a
matter of days?
It didn’t help his doubts that his own body protested in the strongest
possible terms about leaving her alone and unsatisfied in her room. Lust
pounded through his dick so hard with every beat of his heart that he could
barely breathe for fear of exploding. He ought to take a shower and relieve
the tension, but that hardly seemed fair. What was good for the goose was
good for the gander. He couldn’t in good conscience take Olivia to the very
edge of an epic orgasm and then leave her wanting while he casually
allowed himself to get off.
Eventually, she grew silent and he stopped hearing her thrash in her bed.
She must have fallen asleep. He hoped her dreams were as horny as his
were bound to be.
Sure enough, he tossed and turned through the night, his dreams dark and
debauched. If he got around to doing to Olivia half of what he’d dreamed,
she was going to be more than prepared for any love scene she ever filmed.
In the hour before dawn, he got up and eased into her room using all the
killer’s stealth his years in combat had perfected. She sprawled naked
among the badly tangled sheets. If a photographer snapped her at this exact
moment the images would go down in history as iconic depictions of female
sensuality.
Working carefully, he used his razor sharp field knife to slice through the
silk scarves near the bedposts. He took one last look at her, burning an
image of her perfection into his memory for all time. And then he crept out
of the room and eased the door shut silently.
He pulled on his still damp clothes and slipped out of the suite after
clearing the hall through the peephole. He didn’t run into anyone as he
made his way back to his own room and a cold shower.
As the sun rose, he drove out to the movie set. Jackson Motta and Jeremy
McDaniel’s stunt double had several scenes to film today, and a couple of
them were going to be tricky. Jackson had asked for back up from Blake in
setting up the explosives for one of them. No harm in getting started early.
Besides, he knew better than to face Olivia today. At least not by himself.
If he was going to see her, it had better be in public in front of a bunch of
people so she didn’t claw his eyes out. Tonight, he would make it all better
for her—if he lived that long. In his experience, there was nothing on earth
more dangerous than a horny, pissed-off female of the human species.

…
Adrian wanted angry determination? Oh, she could give him that. All she
had to do was picture Blake Ramsey walking out on her last night, leaving
her tied to her fucking bed.
He’d been a chickenshit and avoided her like the plague all day, which
was probably just as well. She was going to murder him slowly and
painfully the first time she managed to corner him without an audience.
“Jesus, Olivia, that’s brilliant!” Adrian announced over the megaphone.
“Camera three, can you get an even tighter shot of her face? God, that’s
going to make for ninety-four feet of pure fury on the big screen, baby.”
“Since when did you become the great American actress?” Jeremy
muttered, peeved.
Since Blake Ramsey made a complete fool of her. He must be laughing
his ass off at leaving the Hollywood starlet trussed up like a cheap slut in
her bed. “You’re an actor, Jeremy,” she snapped. “Channel your real life
experiences into the role and become the character. It’s not rocket science to
act half-decently.”
Glowering, Jeremy stomped away while chuckles floated toward his back
from nearby crewmembers. “What a bitch,” he complained to no one in
particular.
Her eyes narrowed. He had no idea. If any man dared to cross her right
now, she was going to hurt him. Bad.
The next scene called for a tender moment between Jeremy and her, and
she ended up having to take a big dose of her own advice. She was feeling
anything but tender at the moment. Psycho on the warpath was more
accurate. But she put on her big girl panties and channeled kittens and
babies and got through the scene. Thankfully, Adrian was perceptive
enough to compliment Jeremy on the take. Her co-star seemed slightly
mollified.
Shooting wrapped a little after four a.m. and she headed for her car. When
she got back to her suite, she was getting drunk, climbing in the shower, and
scratching the itch that had been riding her since last night.
 She headed straight for her bedroom and stopped in shock as she threw
open the double doors. Hundreds of candles burned on every horizontal
surface of the room, casting a warm, golden light on what had to be a
thousand white roses. Vases and bowls of them were everywhere the
candles were not. Their rich perfume was velvet in the air. What the hell? It
looked like someone was getting married in here.
Blake rose from the armchair across the room. He wore all black—black
slacks and a black turtleneck with the sleeves pushed up to reveal his
gorgeous forearms.
All she said was, “Get. Out.”
His head dipped in acknowledgement. “Remember this feeling. You’re
horny. You’re mad. You want relief, and you’re going to hurt someone if
you don’t get it soon. This is where sexual aggressiveness comes from.
Take charge when you feel like this. Push your lover down, rip off his
clothes, and demand satisfaction.”
Her jaw sagged. He had the gall to think she was going to continue with
his stupid femme fatale lessons? Of all the nerve—
She stormed across the open space, lifted her hand, and swung it at him
as hard as she could.
Blake was faster. His hand shot up and he caught her wrist a few inches
from his face. She struggled to get loose, but his fist gripped her like an iron
manacle. He said evenly, “Never slap a guy, Olivia. It just makes him mad.
If you’re gonna take a swing at a guy, slug him. It’ll still make him mad, but
it’ll slow him down long enough for you to get away or for him to see
reason.”
She was so not seeing reason right now. She was seeing red, dammit.
“How dare you—”
He jerked her wrist, yanking her against him. Unwillingly, her body
reacted to the proximity of a sexy, strong male subduing her aggression. His
mouth swooped down on hers, and he kissed her wet and hard and carnal.
 She couldn’t decide which she wanted more: to continue the kiss or kill
him. He saved her the choice, though, by lifting his mouth away from hers
and explaining, “Tonight, we’re going to experience the opposite sensation
from last night.”
“The opposite of frustration?” The words slipped out before she could
call them back.
“Let’s play a little game, shall we? Let’s see how many orgasms you can
have before you collapse.”
Huh?
He turned her loose and retraced his steps across the room. “I have a
present for you.” He picked up a wand nearly the length of his forearm from
the side table. It had a big, round ball on the end of it.
“What’s that?” she asked cautiously.
He grinned knowingly. “It’s about to be your very best friend.”
A vibrator? Jeez. That thing looked industrial strength.
“I know last night wasn’t fun for you,” he continued. “At least not the
way it ended. But it was necessary. You asked me to teach you how to be a
femme fatale in three days. That means I had to take you through a wide
range of emotions and sensations very fast—including the negative ones
related to sex that give women power. Give me one more night. If you still
hate my guts in the morning, I’ll get out of your hair and never bother you
again. I promise.”
Orgasms until she collapsed? Her frustrated libido reared its head
hopefully. It liked the sound of that. She took another step into the room.
“Close the door behind you. If I don’t miss my guess, it’s going to get
loud soon, and we don’t want to scare the neighbors.”
“Loud?” she echoed.
He smiled widely. “You strike me as a screamer. Shall we find out?”
Blake poured her a flute of champagne and smiled knowingly. Somewhat
mollified, she drained the glass, the bubbles tickling down her throat. So
what if he found her need for fortification amusing? With him, she could be
herself and not worry about what he thought. After all, this was just
business. Nothing serious. Right?
“More?” he murmured.
Damn, she wanted to stay mad at him, but his consideration won her over.
As usual. She nodded shyly.
His voice husky, he said low, “Do you have any idea how smoking hot
you are when you go all sweet and feminine like this?”
“Show me?” she ventured.
“My pleasure.” He lifted the empty champagne flute from her fingers and
raised her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingertips one by one. He worked
his way up her wrist, pausing to inhale the scent of her skin.
“What do I smell like?”
“Like a woman. Soft. Sexy.” His lips uttered the words against her skin as
he kissed a path of heat across the inside of her elbow up to the hollow
above her collar bone, where he paused to lave her flesh with his tongue.
Who knew that spot was so sensitive? Nerves all over her body jumped as
his tongue swirled in and out of the dip just below her neck.
His hands joined in, roaming across her flesh, pushing aside clothing,
lifting it away and making it magically disappear. Cool air from the air
conditioner whisked across her skin, raising goose bumps that Blake
nibbled his way across until her entire body was shivering.
She tried to undress him in turn, but only managed to get his black
turtleneck off before he captured her hands and lifted them away from his
bare chest. “This night is for you, baby,” he murmured. His low, sexy
promise touched her core and weakened her knees.
He led her to the bed. She might have felt like a lamb going to the
slaughter were it not for the lovely lightness the champagne gave her feet
and her head. She floated across the thick pile carpet barefoot. “Make me
feel like a princess.”
He picked her up and gazed down at her, his expression intense but
otherwise unreadable. “Then let me worship you, princess.”
 He laid her on the bed and impossibly soft rose petals caressed her skin as
gentle as velvet. Their crushed fragrance filled her head until she was drunk
on the sweet musk.
“That’s what you smell like to me,” he whispered against her neck. She
arched up into him, and his hard, warm body was there, reminding her of
his masculine presence, feeding her hunger for him. She pressed her thighs
tightly together as her core throbbed demandingly.
Last night’s unsatisfied lust came roaring back. Her breasts ached as his
hands skimmed across them, her nipples tightening into needy little buds.
His lips closed on one, his tongue rolling around it while his fingers
mimicked the motion on her other peak.
“Oh, my,” she half-sighed, half-moaned.
He chuckled against her hot, wet flesh. Still kneading her breasts with
both hands, he kissed his way down her body. His big hands skimmed down
her ribs, lifting her narrow waist to his mouth. All those hours in the gym
paid off as her supple body flexed for him. And then he cupped her ass in
his big hands and he was lifting that hungry, throbbing, wanting part of her
to his mouth.
His fingers delved into her cleft as he spread her open for him. She’d
never felt so vulnerable before. So exposed. Or, oh, God, so possessed, as
his mouth closed on her.
He sucked and licked and toyed with her like her body was a piece of
candy. His favorite flavor. His for the taking. His to savor. He made a sound
of approval and she started the long, slow unraveling she remembered from
last night.
Her fingers and toes began to tingle. The electric sensation gathered
strength, accelerating throughout her body, streaking toward the glorious
things his tongue was doing to her clit, her labia, and even her opening.
Where the wetness of his mouth ended and the wetness of her body’s desire
began, she had no idea. It was all one giant raging ball of clawing lust,
climbing deep inside her, zinging wildly throughout her.
 His teeth grazed her sensitized flesh and her upper body lurched up off
the mattress. It was starting. An orgasmic storm gathered in her, roiling
faster and faster, a static charge building up unbearably within it, his tongue
flicking faster and faster across her swollen flesh.
“Oh my God, yes!” she cried out.
A lit fuse raced toward the massive build-up of explosive energy he’d
whipped to a frenzy inside her. Almost…almost…
Little bolts of lightning started to erupt but still the thing built within her,
his tongue darting hot and wet across her clit.
“Don’t. Stop,” she gasped.
“Ready?” he paused long enough to ask.
“Now, Blake! Please, God, now!”
His teeth and tongue and lips clamped down on her clit at the same time
he plunged his fingers inside her, filling her and stretching her as they
plundered all of her.
Her orgasm exploded, shattering her into a million pieces as volts of
electric pleasure tore through every cell in her body. Her mind went black
and then white hot bliss flung her limbs wide and shot her up off the
mattress into Blake’s mouth keening in utter abandon as the first shock
wave of the orgasm ripped through her.
And then another wave of pleasure slammed into her. And another. On
and on it went, crackling through her body, emanating from and returning to
Blake’s magic mouth upon her center. For his part, he sucked at her like she
was the elixir of life, drawing every drop of pleasure from her that her body
would yield to him. It was the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to
her.
At long last, the non-stop orgasm finally wound down and she collapsed
back, stunned. Her entire body felt vividly alive and completely drained at
the same time.
“That’s one,” he laughed against her inner thigh.
“You mean we get to do that again?”
 “You get to. This is your night, princess.”
“I don’t think I can—“
A quiet electrical hum started somewhere between her knees, cutting her
off. “Wanna bet?” Blake asked with dark humor.
The trembling ball of the vibrator closed on her clit, her labia nestling
around its cool rubber hungrily.
“Ohmigod!” Her thighs clamped shut on Blake’s forearm.
“Open up for me or I’ll turn this thing to high,” he threatened with a
chuckle.
Obediently, she threw her legs open, giving him total access to whatever
parts of her he wanted. The magical vibration of the rubber ball slid up and
down, around her clit, across her opening, even venturing to tickle her anus.
She was shocked at the number of nerves that leaped to attention there.
Well, that explained a lot about some of the kinkier variations of sex.
The vibrating ball returned to her aching clit and she groaned with
satisfaction as a sharply focused tingle of pleasure rapidly grew into a
raging orgasm that ripped through her again.
“Wanna see what happens on the high setting?” Blake asked.
She was still panting too hard from orgasm number two to answer. The
pitch of the hum shifted to a higher, faster pitch. This time when the
vibrating rubber ball closed on her still throbbing clit, the orgasm slammed
into her so hard and fast she hardly had time to register its coming. She
screamed, then, as orgasm number three stripped all thought out of her brain
and left her a quivering mass of orgasmic pleasure.
Blake could do absolutely anything he wanted to her right now, and she
would joyfully let him, as long as that lovely vibrating rubber ball never,
ever went away. Her entire world narrowed down to the area between her
legs.
She lost count of the orgasms. And gasped, and moaned, and begged, and
even prayed in there a few times, too, before she actually passed out from
an excess of pleasure and exhaustion. Her last conscious thought was that, if
she was dying, this was a hell of a way to go.

…
Blake had seen some magnificent sights in his life, but nothing compared to
Olivia Harper in the throes of mind-blowing pleasure. She gave in
completely to her sexuality, allowing herself to become a creature of pure
sensation in his hands. The courage with which she threw herself into the
experience humbled him. She was a hell of a woman.
She was also in damned fine physical shape, too. It took hours, and he
lost count of how many times she arched up off the mattress crying out her
pleasure before she finally, literally, collapsed in exhaustion. He tucked her
in and kissed her forehead and she mumbled something incoherent, but she
was unconscious by the time he reached the bedroom door.
Tonight, he did take that shower and give himself a little relief from his
own pent up lust. After witnessing her performance tonight, he had to
wonder if men had gotten the short end of the evolutionary sexual stick by
getting only one orgasm at a time.
He crawled into bed beside her and was gratified when she burrowed into
his heat, snuggling up against him without waking up. He gathered her in
his arms and fell asleep with a smile on his face nearly as big as the one on
hers.
No surprise, Olivia slept late the next morning. Very late. Her call wasn’t
until mid-afternoon, though, so he didn’t wake her. He’d taken a long swim,
dressed, and read most of two newspapers when he finally heard her shower
running. He ordered a light lunch of tuna salad on croissants and fresh fruit
and, when it arrived, took the wheeled table from the bellboy and pushed it
out to the patio.
He turned around and Olivia was standing in the doorway behind him
wearing a gauzy white cotton cover-up. Based on the silhouette of her long,
slim legs and the dusky peaks of her breasts visible through the sheer fabric,
he’d say she was naked beneath it.
“Sleep okay?” he murmured.
Her mouth curved up into arguably the most beautiful smile he’d ever
seen, sultry and sexy and satisfied. “Yes, thank you. And you?”
“Probably not half as well as you, but fine, yes. Hungry?”
“Ravenous.”
No surprise. She must have worked up a hell of an appetite with all that
strenuous exercise last night. She did surprise him, though, by stepping
around the table and stretching on tiptoe to kiss him. It was tentative, a little
shy, even. A sharp contrast from last night’s wanton abandon. Such
complex creatures, women. Savoring this demure side of her, he let her
dictate the intensity of the kiss. She broke it off sooner than he would have
liked but later than he’d expected, and he seated her at the table without
comment.
He was most of the way through his sandwich when she asked without
warning, “So, what’s the takeaway from last night supposed to be?”
“What do you think it should be?” he threw back into her court.
“Sex is good?”
He laughed. “Good sex is good.”
She pondered that one for a minute. “You’re right. From a woman’s
perspective, bad sex sucks.”
“What else did you learn last night?” he prodded.
“Sex could become an addiction.”
An addiction, huh? She must have really enjoyed herself. But then, he
already knew that. She’d made no secret of it.
She frowned and added, “Sex could pretty easily control a person’s life,
couldn’t it?”
That was actually a pretty profound observation. He hadn’t figured it out
until his affair with Carmen had blown up in his face.
 He nodded soberly. “That’s why it’s so important to pick the right partner
to have sex with. People get in trouble all the time by getting hooked on sex
with the wrong person. Their partner treats them like crap everywhere
except in bed, but they’re so hungry for sex that they put up with terrible
things outside of bed that they should walk away from.”
“What does that have to do with being a femme fatale?” she asked.
“Nothing. Consider it a little free life advice. Never sleep with an asshole
in the first place.”
She chuckled. “Where were you when I was starting to date?”
He shrugged. “Getting shot at in a war zone.”
Silence fell between them. He hadn’t meant to kill the conversation. He
laid his cloth napkin beside his plate. “So here’s the thing. I wanted you to
figure out last night that sex rocks. It’s something to be heartily enjoyed,
and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. The more enthusiastically you throw
yourself into it, the more pleasurable it is.”
“Got it,” she replied briskly.
No kidding. She’d blown his mind with how well and how fast she’d
learned that lesson.
“Is there a Phase Three to this project?” she asked lightly.
He studied her intently, intrigued by her tone of voice. It almost sounded
like she was getting emotionally invested in a repeat between them. Which
was doubly intriguing, given that they hadn’t actually had sex with each
other. He’d done some pretty damned intimate things with her last night, but
not one of them had been full-out sex.
He could understand her wanting another helping of last night’s menu,
but he sensed there was more behind her question. Problem was, he was
already walking a razor’s edge of emotions with this woman. He didn’t
need her developing some crush on him. God knew he couldn’t afford to do
the same.
This was business. Just business. Friends with benefits. No attachments.
No real feelings, dammit. Did he dare go all the way and have sex with her?
Could he hang onto even a semblance of objectivity where she was
concerned if they slept together?
He took a swig of his ice water and answered lightly. “Of course, there’s a
Phase Three. The frosting on the cake, as it were.”
“Gimme a hint as to what’s in store?” she cajoled.
An emotional minefield was in store. He knew what she needed to
complete her sexual crash course, but how in the hell was he going to
protect himself? He couldn’t go there again. Couldn’t lose himself in a
woman and destroy his life for good. He was already hiding from would-be
assassins, for God’s sake. How much more complicated did his life need to
be? But how was he supposed to say no to Olivia Harper? She was
everything he’d ever wanted in a woman and more.
Dead. He was so freaking dead.

…
This day simply would not end. Olivia couldn’t remember the last time a
shoot had ever dragged on so interminably. Normally, she loved her job and
time on set flew by. But not today. Not when every few seconds her mind
turned to the possibilities tonight held in store for her and Blake.
Jeremy was cautious around her and she couldn’t blame him. She’d been
a pretty serious bitch yesterday. Today, she did her best to make it up to
him. He probably thought she was bipolar…or possessed.
To Jeremy’s credit, he didn’t make any sleazy references to their love
scene coming up tomorrow. Maybe Blake’s tactic of turning her into the
Bride of Frankenstein yesterday hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. It
certainly put Jeremy in a more respectful, even fearful, frame of mind. How
hilarious. Who’d have guessed scaring douchebags would be one of the side
benefits of becoming a femme fatale?
Another side effect was that she had become hyper-aware of Blake
around the set. She could spot his silhouette hundreds of yards away and her
gaze was continually drawn to him. So much so that Tyrone murmured
during the application of yet another prosthetic, “Girl, you got it bad, don’t
you?”
“What?” she mumbled from under Tyrone’s hands.
“He’s one-hundred-percent, USDA Prime, that Marine. I’ll give you
that.”
It was that obvious she liked Blake? Crap! Their arrangement was
supposed to be a gigantic secret. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
she muttered.
Tyrone chuckled. “Liar, liar, pants on fire. You on the pill, girl, and I saw
that box of condoms in your purse.”
“Oh, Lord,” she muttered. “And I suppose you’ll blame that blood test for
STD’s last week on my attraction, too, even though it was just to keep the
movie’s insurance company happy. Although I have no idea how I’d get an
STD from filming a fake love scene.”
Tyrone snorted. “As if McDumbass would know how to pass one on.
Ha!” He worked in silence on her face for a minute and then said
insistently, “So, dish on the hot Marine, sister.”
“Okay, but you have to swear not to tell a soul. My agent will kill me if
she thinks I’m even looking at someone not famous and A-list.”
“I dunno. That Marine looks pretty A-list to me. If he played for my
team, I’d be all over him.”
“You know what I mean.”
Tyrone sighed. “Yeah, I do. It’s all about social climbing in this town.
Who you’re seen with. Who can get you in the magazines if you can land a
date with them. But honey, you’re better than all that. You’re real. Go for
who you want, not who your adoring fans want. Don’t let the machine
swallow you up and spit you out.”
She stared at the make-up artist in the big mirror in front of her chair. Not
in a million years would she have expected to receive advice like that from
this particular source. Worse, her gut said Tyrone was right.
 She wanted more of last night. A lot more. But her gut also said that
wasn’t the whole story. She wanted more than orgasms. Damn the image
her agent created, Olivia wanted Blake. In all his bossy, unpredictable,
domineering glory. The type of guy she’d dreamed of having when she was
still a girl from the Midwest, before the glare of lights and flash of cameras
lured her down another path.
Friends with benefits. Strictly secret. No attachments.
His conditions replayed in her mind, taunting her. What they had between
them didn’t mean anything to him. He’d made that crystal clear before he
ever tied her to that headboard. He had issues. He had a life away from the
movie set that would never include her. It wasn’t his fault he was the first
guy ever to pleasure her. Of course, she was bound to develop a huge crush
on him, right?
His comments at lunch about the dangers of sexual addiction came back
to her, this time laced with irony. Had he been warning her off of him?
Telling her in so many words not to confuse her sexual desire with wanting
a real relationship. She had to give the guy credit. He was subtle. He’d told
her flatly not to fall for him and she’d been too blinded by all those amazing
orgasms to realize it until now.
Hurt curled in her stomach like a child hiding from pain and shame. She
was on her way to being a femme fatale, darn it. She could sleep with a guy
and not develop a schoolgirl crush on him. More to the point, she had no
choice. She had one more day to prepare for her love scene and then she
and Blake were finished. No harm, no foul.
Why, then, did that word—finished—sound so bloody ominous?
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Seven

Blake worried about Phase Three of Operation Femme Fatale. Olivia might
be a pro at diving off emotional cliffs and letting it all hang out for everyone
to see, but he was not. Particularly not after Carmen burned him so bad.
He’d thought she loved him. Wanted to marry him. But it had all turned out
to be a lie. A ploy to get him to pass classified materials to her government.
It had been sheer dumb luck that he’d happened to walk into her apartment
one day to surprise her and overheard her speaking with her Russian
handler on the phone. Otherwise, who knew what would have happened?
Fortunately, he’d been able to back out of the place undetected, go to his
boss, and blow her cover. His boss at the time told his superiors Blake had
known all along there something was funny about her and that he’d allowed
the seduction to get her to reveal herself. That his intent had been to expose
her as a spy.
Blake had never told his boss that, but neither had he said anything to
contradict the man, either. It still rankled him that he hadn’t been entirely
forthcoming. It was how he’d avoided prison and, instead, wound up in a
loony bin full of actors. And one Miss Olivia Harper.
Friends with benefits. Just business. Nothing serious. He could be a man;
he could handle whatever the evening had to offer. But damn she was
gorgeous. Her body, her passion, and that sweet hint of genuine down-home
girl she worked so hard to hide.
Blake hit all the traditional romantic notes when he set up for tonight’s
date—an intimate, candlelit dinner for two, champagne on ice, soft music, a
red rose on her pillow. Hell, he’d even sprung for a tuxedo. It had been
shockingly expensive, but the shop had tailored it while he waited, and he
had to admit it made him look like James Bond.
He showered, shaved, and dressed in his own room and then went up to
her suite to wait for her. He had to force himself not to pace in his agitation.
But Phase Three scared the living hell out of him. He only knew one way to
do romance, and that was to do it for real.
The door opened and Olivia burst through it, apparently in a big hurry.
She slammed the door shut behind her and turned eagerly to face him. “Oh,
my,” she breathed, taking in his preparations with a wide smile. “Give me a
few minutes?”
“Take all the time you need. Dinner won’t be here for another half-hour
or so.”
She disappeared into her suite and his anticipation began to climb. He had
faith she would wow him, but how, he had no idea.
She went with simplicity and the results were, in a word, stunning. She
came out of her room wearing a little black dress that looked painted on her
body. Her hair was pinned up in a loose twist, a few tendrils escaped around
her face. Her make-up was understated except for a dramatic sweep of
eyeliner that turned her cat eyes into even sexier weapons than usual. And
her perfume…it all but brought him to his knees. It was spicy and sweet and
exotic just like her.
He held her chair for her at the table for two and she blushed up at him as
she murmured her thanks. “Is this Phase Three?” she asked.
“It is. Welcome to Romance 101. We’ve covered the stronger emotions of
sex. And now it’s about the gentler emotions. Tenderness. Connection. The
art of subtle seduction. And if I may say so, you’re off to a stellar start,
Olivia.”
“I have a good teacher. And you’re looking mighty handsome yourself,
tonight.”
He poured her a glass of champagne and they toasted to the movie being
a big hit, to Phase Three, and, she added shyly, to lots and lots of orgasms.
Their laughter mingled with the cool night air, drifting up to whatever gods
looked down on them from the heavens.
After Olivia got over her initial nervousness, she seemed to relax and
answered his questions about the TV and film industries while he fielded
hers about life in the military. She knew her business every bit as well as he
knew his, and he was not surprised to discover a sharp and observant mind
at work. It hadn’t dawned on him before now that actors would have to be
such astute students of people, relationships, and a million details of the
world around them.
When they finished eating, he led her inside and spun her into his arms
for a dance in the middle of the living room. Her body swayed easily with
his, she molded to him as if she belonged there, and the moment was pretty
damned near perfect.
“Where did you get so good at romance?” she murmured up at him.
He shrugged under her hand on his shoulder. “I like women. You’re
endlessly fascinating creatures. I suppose it started with studying my sisters
and listening to them gripe about their boyfriends. I have three older
sisters.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry. How did you survive their teen years?”
He grinned down at her. “By getting out of the house a lot and treading
carefully. Very, very carefully. Where do you think I learned to be so
stealthy?”
She laughed, her eyes glowing with emotions he’d rather not put a name
to. They made him feel…nervous. He commented seriously, “I’ve seen
some beautiful women in my life, but I have to say you are the most
spectacular one I have ever seen. I can see why everyone says you’re on
your way to stardom. I predict that you’re destined for greatness.”
She smiled. “I’d rather be known for my acting than my looks. Pretty
starlets come and go. But really talented actresses can stick around for a
long time and have good careers.”
 “From what I hear around the set, Adrian thinks you’re the second
coming of Christ,” he commented.
“Really?” She gaped. “He criticizes me all the time.”
“I imagine he sees your talent and wants to push you to grow. I gather
he’s a damned fine director.”
“He’s one of the best. Why else do you think I took a role in a zombie
movie? I wanted to work with him.”
“Gee, and I thought it was because you make such a cute zombie.” He
dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and twirled her toward the bedroom.
The surround-sound stereo piped into every room was pretty cool. He’d
have to look into wiring a similar set-up into his condo in Quantico, if and
when he ever got back to it.
Soft, female hands pulling free his shirt tails, roaming up under his shirt
and onto his bare chest, yanked him out of his thoughts. Olivia had the
mechanics of what to do once they got into the bedroom pretty well figured
out. She was just in too big a hurry.
“Easy, princess. We’ve got all night.”
Quick study that she was, she glommed onto his meaning instantly. In a
few minutes, he was the one having to rein in his impatience as she peeled
off his clothes inch by tantalizing inch and explored his body to her heart’s
content at a snail’s pace that left him swearing under his breath.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and backed her up to the bed.
Quickly, he unzipped her and peeled the little black dress off her body. God,
she was magnificent. He stretched out on the mattress and gently tugged her
down and across his chest to sprawl on top of him. He pulled out her
hairpins, and her honey-streaked hair fell in a curtain around the two of
them. He ran his fingertips lightly around the shell of her ear. “I feel like the
luckiest man alive to be with you tonight. How can I make you feel the
same way?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who knows what he’s doing.”
 He smiled. “I think the student is going to outpace the professor before
too long. You’re extraordinary.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I think I still have a lot to learn.”
“Let’s remedy that, then, shall we?” He rolled over, reversing their
positions, and kissed his way down her body, praising her as his lips drew
along one spot of silky sweetness after another. For her part, she was as
responsive as ever, arching into him with soft cries that drove him quietly,
completely, mad with desire. Last night he’d known he wasn’t going to take
her for himself, so it had been slightly easier to tune out her cries of desire
and pleas for him to make her his. But tonight, wild horses couldn’t stop
him from making love with her. Which made it a hundred times harder to
stay in control.
Olivia was having no part of extended foreplay, however. She grabbed the
short hair at the back of his neck and pulled him down to her impatiently.
“Don’t you make me beg, Blake Ramsey. Not after last night. I’ve got no
more begging left in me, you hear?”
He laughed, genuinely amused. Her frankness was beyond refreshing. It
was irresistible. Still, he checked to make sure she was plenty ready for
him. And how. Her body was hot and wet and throbbing with need the
moment he slid his fingers between her folds. She groaned and reached for
his raging erection in return. Her fist slid up and down his shaft no more
than twice before he had to snatch her soft, tight hand away. He was going
to blow his load right now if she didn’t stop torturing him like that.
“No fair,” she complained.
“Ahh, but all’s fair when it comes to this, princess.”
“Make love to me, then. Please?”
“I have a feeling I’m never going to be able to say no to you.”
“Just the way I like my men. Hot, hard, and willing.”
“Vixen.”
He grabbed the foil packet on the nightstand but she shook her head.
 “I’m on the pill, and the movie’s insurance company made me take blood
tests. I’m clean.”
“Ditto,” he murmured. He hadn’t been with a woman since Carmen, and
he’d had a full physical since then.
At long last, he sank into her body, its tight, welcoming heat and feminine
softness nearly undoing him on the spot. She gasped at the same time he
did, all humor swept aside by the towering passion always simmering
between them. It erupted in its full glory, hot, slippery, and pulsing around
him, threatening to throw him off the cliff of pleasure in a matter of
seconds.
He froze, teeth clenched, choking back his lust until he could move
slowly within her, could savor the moment, could experience every
exquisite inch of her to the fullest. Lord, the woman drove him crazy with
desire.
“My God, Blake. What you do to me. I think I’m falling—”
He kissed her to silence her. If she didn’t say the words, he didn’t have to
pretend he hadn’t heard them. And neither of them could afford to go there.
No matter how great the sex was, they had to at least pretend to keep their
emotional distance from each other. This was their secret indulgence, but it
could never be anything more.
The bitter poignancy of that reality made what they had between them
now all the sweeter. He wanted to savor this moment as fully as he could.
Make memories to last for years to come and maybe leave her with a few
fond memories, too.
She started to make those broken little gasps she did as her orgasm built.
The gasps turned into short, sharp cries, which built into long moans
climaxing in a low scream of release.
He captured the sound with his mouth against hers, drinking in her
pleasure, reveling in the sharp-sweet residue of champagne on her breath,
along with her natural berry taste.
 Her body convulsed hard around his, her internal muscles milking him
until he thought he’d burst. But in an act of Herculean discipline, he held
off, found his rhythm again, and stroked her body to a new climax.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled against his mouth. “Yes. Yes!”
He smiled against her lips, never breaking the slow rhythm of filling her
to the hilt and retreating. At least not until her legs clenched around his
hips, her cries became more demanding, the rocking of her hips more
urgent.
He let his control slip a notch, let his thrusts pick up speed and intensity.
Her hands speared into his hair and he stared down at her, shocked at the
naked desire shining in her eyes.
The power of their lovemaking built like a firestorm between them and
around them, consuming them and sweeping them before it in its majesty.
Blake’s control dissolved and he pounded into her over and over, driven
higher and higher by her answering thrusts. Her fingernails raked his back
and she grabbed his buttocks, crying out his name as the next orgasm
slammed into her.
He might have let go himself, then, but compliments of last night, he
knew her body was far from finished. On and on the fire raged around them
as they burned down the night. She climaxed again and again, convulsing
around him until he thought he’d died and gone to Heaven. One last time,
he felt the power of an orgasm building within her and he stoked it
carefully, feeding fuel to the fire, coaxing her further and further until
finally, with a long, keening cry, she came completely and utterly undone
around him.
With a shout of his own, he joined her in oblivion. The entire world
exploded in a blinding blaze of glory.
Gradually, he became aware of silence around them. Quiet. Peace, even.
He was home. Never before, and never again, would he experience anything
to top that. He closed his eyes in a brief prayer of gratitude for this moment
of pure perfection.
 “Thank you,” he managed to breathe aloud to the woman who’d
irrevocably changed him and his perception of life.
“I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be thanking you,” she panted
back. “I’ve never— I had no idea— Just, wow.”
He kissed her lightly, propping himself up on his elbows so he didn’t
crush her. Their bodies fit so perfectly, and he was so spent that he made no
effort at all to move away from her. And truth be told, he had no desire to
end this moment.
She gazed up at him, her eyes by turns serious and thoughtful before
settling on something akin to wonderment. He could watch her face forever.
The play of emotions was a never-ending, ever-changing kaleidoscope he
found utterly fascinating.
“Please tell me you’re not going to grade my performance,” she finally
murmured.
This was safe ground. No talk of deep feelings and true love forever. He
laughed lightly. “You just blew the grading curve completely off the scale,
honey.”
“So that wasn’t average sex?” she asked in a small voice.
He grinned. “If you look up epic sex in the dictionary, what we just did
will be in there as the example of how it’s supposed to be done.”
The insecurity lurking at the back of her gaze dissipated partway. He
continued, “I’m serious, Olivia. It’s not that I’ve slept around over the
years, but I have had my fair share of good sex before. And that—” he
searched for words “—that was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It
was…magic.”
The rest of her insecurity evaporated in a brilliant smile that practically
made his toes curl, it was so fantastically beautiful to see.
“So, Blake. I may have one teensy, tiny problem with what just
happened.”
Alarmed, he stared down at her. “What?”
 “I forgot to take mental notes for my scene tomorrow. We may have to do
that again.”
He frowned in mock seriousness. “Well, now. That is a problem. But I
suppose I can make the sacrifice for the sake of your career.”
Their laughter mingled with the scent of crushed rose petals and vanilla
candles. Yup, this night was pretty damned near perfect.

…
Olivia floated out of bed the next morning, made love with Blake in the
shower—who knew soapsuds could be so much fun?—and glided down to
her ride to the set. She smiled beatifically at Tyrone as she sat down in his
chair. “Isn’t it a glorious day?” she asked her make-up artist.
Tyrone laughed aloud. “Someone got laid last night but good. My
money’s on the Marine. Is he as delicious as he looks?”
“Let’s just say the Marines believe in truth in advertising.” The words
were out of her mouth before it dawned on her what she’d just let slip.
Horrified, she looked up at her make-up artist beseechingly. “Please,” she
whispered in panic. “You can’t tell anybody.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, girlfriend.”
“I mean it. This is important.”
Tyrone nodded in understanding. “People get bored spending hours and
hours in my chair. They get to talking. I hear all kinds of stuff. I’m kind of
like a movie set priest taking confessions. I wouldn’t last long in this
business if I repeated any of the things I hear in my chair. Don’t you worry.
My lips are zipped, Liv.”
She would have smiled gratefully at him, but Tyrone was lining her
mouth at the moment and would scold if she messed up his work.
Thankfully, for today’s love scene, she’d be prosthetic free. But there would
be a bunch of close-ups, so Tyrone’s make-up job had to be impeccable.
She made like a statue while he worked his usual magic and lost herself in
pleasant memories of last night.
 Blake had been absolutely amazing. He’d been a total gentleman. He’d
put her at ease, had seemed to really enjoy talking with her, and hadn’t
rushed her or made her feel uncomfortable, not even once last night. And
the sex…
It was as if the two of them had been made for each other. She’d sensed
exactly what he liked best and he did the same for her. The Italians had a
word for it. Sympatico. That was it. The two of them had sympatico. By the
truckload.
She didn’t even need to see him to know when Blake arrived on set. She
felt his presence. She even felt him moving around the set as if she tracked
him on some sort of internal radar. Could he do the same thing with her? Or
was this all just a giant crush on her part?
“Girrrrrl,” Tyrone half-sang in amusement awhile later. “That man ain’t
taken his eyes off you once since he got here. He’s got it bad for you.”
Crap. Blake couldn’t give away their arrangement to the cast and crew.
He wasn’t a trained actor like she was. What if he couldn’t hide his reaction
to her after last night?
“Tyrone, I need your help,” she muttered urgently.
“Whatchya need?”
“I need you to give Blake a message for me. Tell him to be careful. Not to
give anything away.”
“Passing notes now, are we? Lord, it’s like being back in school. Liv,
honey, you’ve got it real bad.”
“Will you do it for me? Please?”
“Of course I will. Don’t give it another thought. We’re almost done, here.
I’ll just stroll on over that way and bump into him all casual-like. No one
will notice a thing.”
She gave the make-up artist a grateful hug and headed to the sound stage.
Today was all interior shots, culminating in the love scene. Although she
was still nervous, Blake’s lessons made her feel a thousand times more
prepared. Now she just had to translate her real experience with him into
faking with Jeremy.
They did a few desultory shots, and then the set was closed and all the
superfluous crew shooed out. The remaining handful of grips and
cameramen set up for the love scene while she retreated to the wardrobe
room. The way she heard it, these were long, boring, difficult scenes to
shoot, and sex would be the farthest thing from anyone’s mind by the time
the cameras actually rolled.
Her misgivings climbed, though, in Wardrobe as Sheila held out a tiny,
flesh colored thong. That was it? Just that teeny-tiny scrap of spandex?
Yikes.
“What does Jeremy get to wear?”
“About the same as you,” Sheila shrugged. “There’s a little more room in
the front of his thong.” She added a tiny bit snidely, “Emphasis on a little
more room. The way I hear it, that’s all he needs.”
Olivia laughed, grateful to Adrian’s assistant for breaking the tension
momentarily.
“First love scene?” Sheila asked sympathetically.
“Yes. Does it show?”
“Not so much. For what it’s worth, I worked on Jeremy’s last movie, and
it had a love scene, too. He made a few pretty inappro-pro comments during
shooting. But don’t take them personally. He’s just venting his own nerves.”
“He gets nervous in love scenes?” She assumed he’d be an old pro at on-
screen sex.
Sheila laughed. “Let’s put it this way. You won’t have to worry about him
actually getting turned on during shooting. Everything runs for cover and
hides with him, if you get my drift.”
Olivia beamed and gave the woman a hug of thanks, careful not to
smudge her make-up. Tyrone had assured her, though, that love scene
make-up was the industrial strength, not-going-anywhere stuff. Which made
sense. There might be quite a bit of skin-to-skin contact and rubbing going
on. With a little shudder, she changed into the thong and wrapped herself
protectively in the thick robe Sheila had left for her.
The set was quiet and felt deserted with only the barest crew left for
filming. She took a nervous peek around to make sure Blake wasn’t here.
No sign of him, praise the Lord.
Adrian was a sweetheart and asked everyone to turn their backs while she
took off her robe and climbed into the bed…which was on a rotating
platform, for goodness’ sake. It allowed her and Jeremy to be turned like
turkeys on a platter to get shots from different angles.
She pulled up the bed sheet and tucked it securely under her arms. Jeremy
came onto the set and slipped under the sheets beside her. He, too, seemed
tense and unusually quiet.
“You okay?” she mumbled.
“Yeah, sure. Never fear. Once the cameras get rolling, I’ll blow your
mind, baby.”
She recognized the bravado for what it was. Thank God Sheila had
warned her not to take anything he said to heart. And thank God Blake had
put her through Femme Fatale boot camp.
Adrian handled them spectacularly. He shot a whole series of very short
takes only a few seconds in duration, which became gradually more
intimate and had the end effect of draping her and Jeremy all over one
another without either of them becoming terribly self-conscious about it.
But then came the moment when Adrian said, “All right. Let the cameras
run. We’ll pick it up from that last kiss and go from there.”
This was it.
She closed her eyes and pictured Blake. She thought of his tenderness last
night. Of the screaming orgasms he’d given her the night before, of the
relentless lust he’d shown her she was capable of the previous day. And
then she poured every last bit of it into the next few minutes. It wasn’t
Jeremy in bed with her. It was Blake. His presence wrapped around her like
a comforting blanket and she drew it close to her heart.
 In her imagination, those were his hands on her. His mouth. His body. His
need. All of it—him.
Feelings she had no idea she harbored toward Blake rushed to the surface
and overflowed. Passion. Adoration. Desperation. It was shocking and
liberating to let all of it out and share it with him like this.
“And… Cut.” Adrian’s voice was hushed. Quiet enough so that she
barely heard it through the haze of sensation tearing through her. Blake’s
mouth lifted away from hers— No, wait. Jeremy’s mouth—and he stared
down at her, looking dazed.
She knew the feeling. It was disorienting to see her co-star’s face inches
from hers. That wasn’t the man she’d just made love to.
Sheila spoke from somewhere nearby. “I have your robe, Olivia.” She,
too, sounded a little shell-shocked. Jeremy rolled away and Olivia sat up,
clutching the sheet to her chest. “What’s wrong?” she asked no one in
particular.
Sheila held the robe open like a shield and Olivia slipped into it, belting it
quickly. “What’s wrong?” she repeated more urgently.
Adrian spoke from directly behind her. “My dear, you just rendered the
entire crew, including me, speechless.”
“So it was okay?” she asked him uncertainly.
“That was beautiful. Magical. After this movie is released, you’re going
to get offers for every romantic film in the biz that even looks like it might
get green lighted.”
People around the set started to smile. Almost like they were emerging
from some sort of trance. And then a strange thing happened. The crew
applauded. She’d never heard of such a thing on a movie set before. Well,
okay then. Blake must have done his job even better than she’d realized.
Oh, God. Blake. He hadn’t been here, right? She glanced over at the tall,
canvas-backed stool he usually sat in beside Adrian’s monitor array. Empty.
Thank goodness.
She turned to head for her trailer and some clothes—
 —And that was when she spotted him. Still as a statue in a deep shadow
behind camera two. Arms crossed, slouching against the wall, his shoulders
hunched up around his ears, face expressionless, pale eyes distant. And he
radiated…nothing at all. It was as if he’d pulled all his thoughts and
feelings inside himself and locked them away. Like he’d completely shut
down.
He got it, right? He understood that all her passion had been for him,
didn’t he? Trembling, she walked over to him and his gaze never strayed
from her. Never waivered.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she choked out.
“I thought it might make you uncomfortable if you knew, so I stayed back
here out of your sight line.”
She nodded, determined not to ask him how she’d done. If he approved.
If he’d liked what he’d seen. How could he? She’d all but had sex with
another man in front of him.
“Congratulations,” he said quietly. “You’re a real femme fatale, now.”
Then why did she feel like he’d just punched her in the gut?
He turned and walked away without another word. Why was he always
walking away from her? Oh, right. He didn’t want a real relationship with
her. All those pesky feelings she’d just discovered she harbored for him
weren’t part of the deal. It was strictly business between them.
Then why did she feel like he’d just ripped her heart out of her chest and
thrown it on the floor?
She’d gotten exactly what she wanted, right? He’d taught her how to pull
off a spectacular love scene. Her career was on track, her reputation as a
femme fatale sealed. She was on her way to the top. She should be over the
moon thrilled.
Then why did she just want to go back to her trailer and cry her eyes out?
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Eight

Blake had no idea how to catalogue the feelings roiling around in his gut.
Jealousy, fury, pain, rage. God, she was brilliant. It had been like watching
a master artist at work, painting a picture of desperate passion. Except
instead of canvas and paint, she’d used her body, her face, and her fucking
soul.
He’d barely kept himself from twisting McDumbass’s head from his
neck. And this was why, if for no other reason, he could never have a real
relationship with the beautiful, lusty femme fatale named Olivia Harper—
there wouldn’t be a leading man left alive in Hollywood once his temper got
the better of him.
He needed a drink, and he needed it now. And there was only one place
on set he knew to find a bottle of whiskey. Jackson Motta’s trailer.
The fastest way to Motta’s crash pad was to cut through the middle of the
set. Bright lights illuminated set designers and a construction crew hard at
work sawing and hammering a set together overnight. He’d had no idea
movies were the round-the-clock operations they’d turned out to be. This
place reminded him of a military base in that respect.
He kept to the shadows to minimize the chances of someone recognizing
him and wanting to engage him in conversation. He just wanted to be alone
and drink away the images of Jeremy McDaniels’s hands all over Olivia, his
mouth on hers, the two of them heaving and moaning in bed together.
And that was when he spotted the guy, no one he recognized, lurking
across the set, slouching in a shadow, unmoving. Had Blake not been so
furious and functioning in killer alert mode, he might not have spotted the
guy. He moved inconspicuously past a trailer and down the row of
wardrobe tents. He slipped into the last one and waited, half-crouching
behind a long row of tattered zombie costumes on hangers.
It took a few minutes, but a lone man eased past the tent, clinging to the
shadows as he made his way forward. The guy was squinting, obviously
trying to spot something or someone. Blake waited as still as a statue for the
bastard to pass. Once the guy had finally moved on, he slid out after the
intruder. The hunter had become the hunted.
The intruder had made nearly a full circuit of the set and was nearing the
parking lot when someone called Blake’s name from behind him. He
ducked down, swearing violently. Had he moved fast enough? Had the
intruder spotted him?
The male voice called his name again. Blake thought he heard footsteps
running across gravel, and a few seconds later a car started in the parking
lot. He stood up fast to catch a make and model or maybe a license plate.
But the vehicle was too far away, moving off into the night without
headlights at a high rate of speed.
“Where are you, dammit? I know you’re out here, Blake.”
He stood up, chagrined. It was Jackson Motta. “I’m over here. I thought I
saw someone who didn’t belong on set and I was trying to check him out
without being seen.”
“Probably some damned paparazzo trying to get some pic’s of the movie.
We chase the punks off all the time.”
Maybe. Or maybe it was a Russian hit man scouting out the set for any
sign of the new Marine consultant on the film with the same name as a
recent thorn in Mother Russia’s side.
“What can I do for you?” he asked the head stunt coordinator.
“Nothing. I just saw you creeping around and thought I’d check out what
you were up to.”
“Next time don’t shout for me, eh?”
 “Yeah. Sure. Anything you say, ninja dude.” Chuckling, the stuntman
strolled away.
Irritated as hell that the intruder had gotten away without him getting a
visual on the bastard, Blake headed back toward the main set. Please, God,
let that shadow have been a photographer and not a Russian. Back in D.C.,
his Russian tails had been gradually ratcheting up the pressure on him. The
day before he’d bugged out and come to California, one of them had
actually rammed his car in traffic. It had been the threat of bodily harm to
him that made Santerros send him out here. He really didn’t need the
bastards to find him and pick up where they’d left off.
He swung wide around the cluster of people gathered at Adrian’s monitor
array. The director must be playing back the raw footage of Olivia crawling
all over Jeremy McDaniels like he was the damned Messiah. Freaking
voyeurs.
His stride checked as the meeting broke up, though. He was shocked to
spot Jeremy and Olivia in the crowd. They wanted to watch themselves
having near sex? How wrong was that?
He noticed Jeremy jockeying so he could casually fall in beside Olivia as
she left for the trailer park. Curious, and so jealous he could hardly breathe,
Blake eased up close behind the pair. They were a lot easier to follow than
the intruder had been. These two were amateurs. A decade of field ops
served him well as he glided within hearing distance of them without being
spotted.
“—awesome, Liv. Have to admit I wasn’t too sure about you when I
found out who my leading lady was going to be. But tonight…” Jeremy’s
voice dropped until Blake couldn’t hear it, but it didn’t take a rocket
scientist to know what the prick thought of tonight’s love scene.
Jeremy’s voice rose to a normal speaking level again and Blake jolted at
what he said. “—out with me? Maybe dinner in town. Tomorrow night?”
The kid actually sounded sincere for a change. Insecure. Hopeful. Like he
had a real, live, born again crush on Olivia. A need to seriously hurt Jeremy
nearly sent Blake lunging for the guy’s throat.
Olivia stopped. Turned to face her co-star. “Are you asking me out? Like
on a date?”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
Damn, McDumbass could act when he wanted to. He looked so all-
American, hometown-boy right now that Blake could puke. Olivia nodded
slowly. “A date. Yes. I could do that. Tomorrow night.”
Son. Of. A. Bitch. She’d accepted? Didn’t she see that Jeremy just wanted
in her pants? That he didn’t give a damn about her at all? That his only goal
was to get her to fuck him for real? The kid didn’t care about her. Didn’t
want to get to know her, to talk with her, to discover how bright and
interesting and observant she was. What did she see in McDaniels, anyway?
Hadn’t she listened when he’d told her not to have sex with assholes? Or
was that just his jealousy talking?
Olivia and Jeremy resumed walking toward the trailers. Furious, Blake
kept pace behind them. At least Jeremy had gotten smart enough this time
to offer dinner before he tried to screw her.
But Blake would be damned if he let the guy set foot inside Olivia’s
trailer tonight. She’d just laid her guts out on film and Jeremy McDaniels
did not get to stomp all over her heart when it was open and vulnerable.
Right. Because stomping all over her heart was his department. After all,
it wasn’t like he could offer her any more of a long-term emotional
commitment than McDumbass could. He was still in the Marine Corps, on
ice or not. The Corps would expect him to go back to work in the bowels of
the Pentagon as soon as this little vacation was concluded, and she’d jet off
to her next movie role in some exotic location with another sexy, horny
bastard of a leading man.
Unless, of course, he left his military career behind and hitched his
emotional wagon to hers. Swearing at himself for even daring to
contemplate such insanity, Blake prowled after the lovebirds, the black
shadows he lurked in a good approximation of the state of his soul at the
moment.
Jeremy dropped Olivia off at the steps of her trailer with a chaste peck on
the cheek. Good move. McDumbass. Pull back for twenty-four hours to
make her think he respected her, and then jump her bones.
Jeremy moved off and disappeared around the end of another trailer.
Olivia turned to open her door and it stuck slightly. Blake stepped forward
and brushed her hand aside. With a sharp twist, it gave way under his
attack.
“Oh!” she cried out softly. “You startled me! But I’m glad you’re here,”
she added in a rush. “Can we talk? Something happened tonight—”
“It sure as hell did,” he growled. He followed her inside and closed the
door, then turned, scowling, to face her. “You actually accepted that
bastard’s invitation to go out on a date? Do you seriously think he gives a
flying flip about you? He wants to screw you. Nothing more. I can’t believe
you fell for his line of bull. Are you really that gullible?”
She recoiled, looking by turns hurt and furious. “I fell for yours, didn’t
I?”
He frowned, her retort checking his anger. “We had a business
arrangement. I upheld my end of the deal. I taught you every move you
used to blow Jeremy McDaniels’ pea-sized brain.”
“Are you jealous?” she demanded.
“No. I’m freaking blown away that you would go out with that bastard.
He’s a self-centered, emotionally impaired loser who banks on his good
looks to get chicks because God knows he’s got nothing else to recommend
him. Unless, of course, you like spoiled, immature dimwits who only think
with their dicks.”
“Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel about Jeremy?”
He stared hard at her. “You don’t seriously like him, do you?”
“Not particularly,” she admitted reluctantly.
 “Then why in the hell did you accept his dinner invitation?” he exploded.
“You know damned good and well he expects to jump in the sack with you
as soon as he can get you back to his place.”
“You were eavesdropping on us? Now who’s using low tactics?”
Guilty as charged, dammit. He grimaced. “I was keeping an eye on you to
make sure McDumbass didn’t think that just because you’d just crawled all
over him on set that he had the right to crawl all over you off set.”
That seemed to take the wind out of Olivia’s indignant sails. All she said
in response was, “Oh.”
“So. If you don’t like him, why are you going out with him?”
“Because it’s good business. The paparazzi will photograph us. We’ll get
tabloid coverage because everyone loves a good on-set romance. The movie
will get free publicity. I’ll get free publicity. And you’ve got no right to
comment on my decision. We had a deal, Blake. You set the conditions. It
was just business. No emotions. No attachments. Strictly secret, remember?
I’m keeping up my end of your stupid deal, so you’ve got no right to be
mad at me.”
A real need to do violence bubbled dangerously close to the surface of his
mind. Enough so that he knew it was time to disengage. He bit out, “Have a
nice time on your date, then. Maybe in between getting his rocks off,
Jeremy will get around to giving you an orgasm or two. Don’t forget to
scream for him. That’s a big turn on for most guys.”
She gasped and raised her hand. He turned on his heel and stormed out of
her trailer into the cold night. The crash of something large against the door
as it slammed didn’t slow his steps. He prowled the set until his blood
pressure came back down to something resembling normal. It took a long
damned time.
He didn’t feel like couch surfing with the stunt crew, and instead he made
the long, lonely drive back to Palm Springs. He found an open liquor store
and bought two bottles of Jack Daniel’s finest—one for tonight to wipe
away the memory of Olivia all but screwing Jeremy on set, and one for
tomorrow night to wipe out the images of what Jeremy was going to do to
her once the bastard maneuvered her into his bed.
How could she be so damned gullible? She was too smart not to see what
McDumbass was up to. But no matter how much Blake ranted at the walls
of his hotel room, it didn’t change a thing.
He was jealous. He wanted her and all of her crackling sexual energy for
himself.
He flopped on the edge of his bed, stared at the whiskey bottle beside
him, shocked to realize he didn’t want it. He’d rather wallow in this pain
and still be able to think about Olivia than be numb and wipe her from his
mind. He already missed her. A giant black hole gaped back at him when he
tried to examine his feelings. He’d felt crappy when he found out about
Carmen’s betrayal, but this was worse. Carmen might have had fucked up
his career but…
Olivia had fucked up his heart.
Putting conditions on sleeping with her had been idiotic in the extreme.
She’d said so herself. Their deal had been stupid. At least the two of them
could agree on that. He should have left the door open for a real relationship
with her. Or at least for extending their friends-with-benefits arrangement
beyond three lousy days.
Except the memory of that intruder slouching in the shadows, waiting for
an opportunity to strike, chilled him to the bone. He dared not endanger
Olivia by hanging out with her. He had to stick to their original deal. If he
gave a damn about her safety at all, he would walk away from her right now
and never look back. It was the honorable thing to do.
Olivia was right about one thing. Honor did suck.

…
Olivia winced as the town car pulled up in front of the restaurant Jeremy
had chosen for their date. Blake would never have chosen a place this
flashy. It wasn’t his style. He’d have gone for someplace understated and
classy. She should have guessed, though, that Jeremy would take her to the
trendiest place in Palm Springs where people went to “be seen.” A pair of
bored photographers lurked out front.
She eyed them through the tinted car window and asked Jeremy, “How
many paparazzi do you think will be waiting for us by the time we come out
of the restaurant?”
He eyed her slinky little dress critically. “I’m guessing twenty. You?”
She shrugged. “Depends on how many are in town tonight, I suppose. I
bet by close of business tomorrow there are fifty hanging around.”
“Yeah. Especially if they get wind of us dating,” he said with relish.
They so weren’t dating. If her own motives for going on this date hadn’t
been every bit as selfish as his apparently were, she would have told him so.
But this date was her glass house, too. No sense throwing stones at it.
The driver opened the door and she stepped out. One of the
photographers threw her a disinterested look but then did a quick double
take. He nudged his buddy. Jeremy joined her and planted a hand in the
middle of her back. Whereas Blake would have done the same thing by way
of courtesy or moral support, from Jeremy the gesture was nothing more
than a pose.
But hey. The guy knew how to work the paparazzi like nobody’s
business. He was one of the most frequent cover subjects of the big tabloids
in Hollywood. She gazed up at him with a look adoring enough to send the
gossips into conniption fits and the flashes of cameras duly captured the
moment.
“Okay, that’s enough, guys,” Jeremy announced. “We’re on a date, here.”
Like that wouldn’t enflame these paparazzi even more—oh. She saw
what Jeremy was doing. She added coyly, “We really would like some
privacy tonight.”
On cue, Jeremy threw her what she supposed was meant to be a steamy
look. Frankly, she thought he looked like some kind of creepy stalker. More
pictures ensued, and then Jeremy herded her into the restaurant.
 Of course, he wasn’t done making a spectacle. He made sure to speak
loudly and ask for a table smack dab in the middle of the dining room.
Stares and heads coming together here and there indicated that the two of
them, or at least Jeremy, had been recognized.
It was weird eating a meal knowing everyone in the room potentially
watched her take every bite. The service was slow, the portions tiny, and the
food over-garnished. It took her less than halfway through the main course
to start counting the minutes until this interminable meal would end.
Their conversation ran out of topics as soon as they got done trading
“how did you get into the biz” stories. They circled the limping
conversation back to the movie and descended into shoptalk. She’d had no
idea Jeremy was such a gossip. He knew all the dirt on everyone in the
crew, including who was sleeping with whom. Thank God he didn’t seem to
have caught wind of anything between Blake and her. She’d been right to
take this date and short-circuit any rumors Jeremy might otherwise have
started about her.
He waited until after supper to order a dessert soufflé, and she rolled her
eyes. They had to sit and wait for nearly a half-hour for the thing to be
cooked before it was served, and Jeremy ultimately ate only a few bites. But
at long last, he seemed satisfied that everyone who was anyone in Palm
Springs had seen them.
He stood. She waited for him to come around and hold her chair. Finally,
he asked impatiently, “Well, are you coming?”
Appalled and amused, she followed him out. So not Blake.
A barrage of cameras assaulted them the minute they set foot outside.
Two photographers had ballooned into ten. And this batch aggressively
jockeyed among themselves for the best shot.
Jeremy seemed disgruntled at the poor press turn out.
“How about a little stroll to walk off dinner?” he suggested.
“With the Light Brigade charging along behind us?” she asked
skeptically.
 “Huh?” He gave her a blank stare.
She quoted, “Half a league, half a league, half a league onward. All in the
valley of Death rode the six hundred.” More blank staring. “The Crimean
War? Alfred Lord Tennyson? He wrote a poem about the war called The
Charge of the Light Brigade?”
No change of expression.
Blake would have known the reference. It wasn’t fair to keep comparing
Jeremy to Blake, but how could she not? Jeremy just didn’t measure up to
him.
Sure enough, the press trailed along on their heels calling out questions—
some of them outright rude—most centering on their relationship and
whether or not she and Jeremy were sleeping together.
And that was when she learned something else about Jeremy. He was a
lying bastard. He made no bones about telling the media that he’d bedded
her and planned to do so again. Never mind that they’d been wearing those
stupid thongs and never had sex with each other and it had all been
pretend. Funny, but he never got around to mentioning that part. She winced
and was relieved to duck into a nightclub with him. At least the bouncers
made sure none of the paparazzi followed them in.
She hated bars. They smelled bad, and she’d never been any good at
knowing how to fend off obnoxious drunks when they came on to her. And
they inevitably did.
The club was loud, smoky, and crowded. Even if it was a far sight more
upscale than the places she’d been able to afford in the past, the same stale
smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey vomit made her faintly nauseous.
Reluctantly, she followed Jeremy as he made a beeline for the bar, bellied
up to it, and immediately hit on the bartender, who was a Penthouse-hot
blonde. Olivia mentally snorted. He’d already moved on from her, huh? In a
million years, Blake wouldn’t flirt with another woman if he was out on a
date with a girl.
 Jeremy had about a ten-second attention span when it came to women. He
must have been turned off completely by her attempts to have an intelligent
conversation with him.
Something else she learned about her co-star, and fast. He could really
pack away the booze. After tossing back a bunch of drinks in quick
succession, he dragged her out on the dance floor and progressively lost
both his coordination and inhibitions as the alcohol slammed him. He grew
a couple of extra hands that were all over her as they danced.
The smile on her face became forced, and she fought desperately to fend
him off without looking like she was batting him off of her. It was a losing
battle. God, she hated dealing with drunks.
Finally, she decided that the best defense was a good offense. She hauled
him back to the bar and gestured for the bartender. Olivia leaned across the
counter and shouted in the blonde’s ear, “Mix his drinks strong, could you?”
“Trying to get him hammered, huh?” the bartender laughed.
“Hoping he’ll pass out before too much longer so I can ditch him,” she
replied sourly.
Laughing, the bartender nodded. “You got it. Doubles coming up.”
Olivia sipped at a club soda with a twist of lemon while Jeremy slammed
back another few rounds. He started to stumble on the dance floor and then
to stagger. A bouncer came over to help her guide him to a booth.
“Any chance you could order us a cab?” she asked the huge guy.
“Yeah, sure. Want a pick-up out back so the press don’t see you?”
As much as she’d love for Jeremy to get caught drunk off his ass, it
wouldn’t be good for the movie. “That would be great.”
Two whiskey sours later, and Jeremy threatening to puke in words so
slurred she barely understood them, the bouncer helped her pour Jeremy
into a cab. Fortunately, he was staying at the same hotel that she was.
When the taxi pulled up in front, her stomach fell—the paparazzi had
found them. A half-dozen photographers camped out in front of the lobby.
Great. She went around to Jeremy’s door to help him out.
 “Come on, Mr. Superhero. Let’s get you up to your room.” He draped a
heavy arm across her shoulders and leered at her. “Just keep your mouth
shut, okay?” she muttered under her breath.
“Roger tha’, Liv—” a foul-smelling belch “—Livvy.”
With an arm around his waist and trying not to stagger under his weight,
she led him inside and prayed the photos looked like the two of them were
just being companionable. She ignored the shouted questions and hoped her
date would do the same.
Thankfully, they made it into the relative quiet of the lobby. Two hotel
security men stood at the doors ensuring that no press got inside. She smiled
gratefully at them as she stumbled past with Jeremy in tow.
She got him into the elevator and propped him against the wall. “Where’s
your room key, big guy?”
“In here…somewhere…” He started to pat at his clothes.
She ended up raiding his pockets and ignoring the lewd comments he
made in response. He remembered his room number, which was a boon,
because she bloody well wasn’t taking him up to her place in this state.
She was surprised to see his suite wasn’t anywhere near as nice as hers.
She would have to remember to thank her agent for being a goddess next
time they talked. She led him to his bed where he toppled over without any
ado. She pulled his shoes off, rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t
suffocate on his own vomit, and made sure his alarm was set for an hour
before their call time tomorrow.
Olivia practically ran up to her own room and got ready for bed, relieved
she’d dodged a bullet. She’d dreaded the moment Jeremy tried to get her
into bed. She’d prepared to tell him she was on her period and hoped it
wouldn’t royally piss him off.
Her aversion to sleeping with Jeremy went far beyond disliking her ass of
a co-star; she had to admit she couldn’t imagine being with anyone besides
Blake. She punched her pillow. Damn him and his friends with benefits.
 Lights off, she stretched out in bed. No surprise, her thoughts turned
immediately to Blake. It felt so lonely in here after the past three nights.
He’d filled this massive room with his charismatic presence. And she hadn’t
felt alone. Weird, but she hadn’t realized until now how lonely she’d been.
How could she spend all day surrounded by hundreds of people and still
feel so isolated? Strange place, Hollywood.
One minute, she wished that Blake and his stupid deal had never blown
into her life and the next she wished his lessons had never ended. Did he
have to mess with her head so hard? Except maybe it wasn’t her head that
was the problem. Maybe it was her heart.
Which was insane. He was a soldier. As soon as this movie was over, he
would head back to the latest war zone and run around playing Rambo until
he died or the Marine Corps found someplace new to send him to get shot
at. Even if he hadn’t forbidden a real relationship and they had given one a
go, she would never see him. Between her crazy shooting schedule that took
her all over the world, and his combat, there was no hope for them.
But that didn’t make her want him any less. There had to be a way.
Maybe he could think of something…assuming he wanted to give their
relationship a try. She’d had just enough liquor to think it would be a great
idea to ask him.
She called his room, but as usual there was no answer. He’d probably
spent the night out on set. She tried his cell phone, but he didn’t pick that
up, either. Frustrated, she texted a lengthy message to explain how she felt
about him, along with the obstacles to a relationship with him, and asked
for suggestions as to how to proceed. Then erased it.
Tomorrow. She’d talk to him tomorrow.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Nine

But the next day, Blake was frustratingly tied up handling explosives.
Olivia tried to go talk with him, but the special effects crew wouldn’t let
anyone else near as he wired an abandoned building to blow sky high. The
film’s insurance policy was extremely strict regarding who could be within
how many feet of C-4. Not surprisingly, she was emphatically not on that
list.
Jeremy looked like hell when he finally staggered onto the set just
minutes before he was scheduled to shoot his first scene of the day. Tyrone
and another make-up artist had to scramble like big dogs for him not to look
like a zombie on camera. They had to repeat take after take as Jeremy
botched lines and missed cues. Finally, Adrian called a lunch break and
stomped off to his trailer. The crew milled around the catering tables,
grazing.
Olivia was munching strawberries from a fruit and cheese platter when
she overheard someone ask Jeremy, “Was it a good party last night? You
sure look like crap today, dude.”
“Hell to the yeah. Liv and I went out clubbing.”
“How was she?”
Olivia froze, straining to hear Jeremy’s answer.
“She’s a tiger in the sack. Why do you think I look like shit?”
“Wow.” Olivia didn’t hear the rest of the reply because the blood roared
too loudly in her ears. Jeremy had the gall to claim he’d slept with her?
“—got some moves on her…down and nasty…no boundaries, man—”
 A wry corner of her mind noted that at least he was spreading false
rumors about her being good in the sack and not a complete dud. The rest of
her allowed embarrassment to climb her cheeks in a hot rush as Jeremy
elaborated in lurid detail about their supposed wild night in the sack.
Hmm. Did he wake up in a pool of his own dried puke or not? Curious
minds wanted to know. She turned to ask him that very thing and saw a
cluster of crew and cast members surrounding Jeremy as he regaled them
with his lies. She gritted her teeth to march over and confront him…and
spotted Blake’s tall profile in the crowd.
He stood slightly behind Jeremy, arms crossed, jaw rippling with muscle.
His eyes were hard and he looked every inch a killer. But he did nothing to
shut Jeremy up. Her steps faltered. Why wouldn’t Blake rise to her defense?
Surely he knew she wouldn’t do that stuff with her co-star, whom she didn’t
even particularly like. So why didn’t he call Jeremy out and kick his ass for
spreading lies about her?
Instead, he let that jerk shred her reputation right in front of him. Wow.
He hadn’t been kidding when he said there would be no emotional
attachment or feelings between them.
Fine. If that was how he wanted to roll, she could do the same.
Still, his reaction crushed her as she veered away and headed toward her
trailer with the plate of food.

…
Blake pasted a smile on his face and pleasurably contemplated how he’d
kill Jeremy McDaniels. Slowly and painfully was a given. Maybe a
traditional Native American death…staked out on the desert with a bunch
of shallow cuts all over his body to attract coyotes and vultures that would
eat his organs while he screamed…
Problem was he couldn’t afford to draw any attention to himself right
now by slitting the dickwad’s throat. Not when there might be Russian
agents sniffing around the damned set. Of all times, this was when he had
no choice but to maintain the lowest possible profile. Which prevented him
from calling out the star of a big movie in front of the crew and knocking
out his teeth.
He hated his inability to protect Olivia. He hated feeling powerless.
His gaze narrowed as Olivia spotted him, then swerved away from the
cast. Avoiding him, was she? He could damned well see why after last
night. Jeremy wasn’t leaving a single detail to anyone’s imagination
regarding what he and Olivia had done. The depth of Jeremy’s details was
good enough that even he began to question just how untrue the kid’s story
was.
Surely, she wouldn’t sleep with this prick. She hated the guy’s guts. Even
she wouldn’t stoop so low in the name of grabbing at publicity and fame,
would she? His gaze narrowed even more as Jeremy ranted on and on about
his co-star’s athletic performance in the sack. The skeezy sonofabitch.
Blake’s headache throbbed like a motherfucker. An urge to hurt
McDumbass pounded through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He’d
mess that boy up bad—
—Oh, wait. Head low. Not dead. Not to mention the whole Marine officer
thing. Enlisted grunts might be allowed to indulge in the occasional bar
brawl as a matter of defending Corps honor, but officers weren’t afforded
that luxury. And God knew, with paparazzi swarming all over the set, he’d
be caught on camera for sure if he picked a fight with McDumbass. Hell, he
might end up on the front page of the L.A. Times, after all. But still. His gut
twisted in a knot at having to listen to Olivia’s good name and reputation
dragged through the slime like this.
He just had to block out all that feelings crap for a few days until he got
over her. Hell, she’d already moved on. He could do the same.
As Jeremy launched into a vivid description of what a screamer Olivia
was, Blake hit his limit. He couldn’t take any more of this asshole’s
flapping jaw. Blake backed away from the avid audience and headed in the
general direction of the cabin slated to be blown up that evening. But as
soon as he was out of sight of the cast and crew, he took off running low
and fast, ducked into the trailer park and made his way to her big RV at the
back of the parking area.
She hadn’t seriously taken his advice and screamed for Jeremy had she?
Swearing up a blue storm in his head, he yanked open her trailer door
without knocking and stormed in.
She looked up from one of the armchairs, her eyes red and her cheeks
wet. What the hell? He checked his stride instantly. Female crying. Bad.
Must fix. His target acquisition system kicked up to full alert, but there was
no one in the room he could break in half. His instinct to protect powered
down, leaving behind only his damned headache and dull fury that she
might actually have jumped out of his bed and into Jeremy’s before his
sheets were even cold.
“Why the tears?” he asked sarcastically. “Are you embarrassed that
McDumbass is making up all that crap about you? It is crap, isn’t it? I can’t
see why you’re mad though. I thought you wanted everyone to think you
were a wild child who would sleep with your co-star and fuck his lights out.
Hell, you practically had sex with him in front of half the crew.”
She pressed the back of her trembling hand to her mouth.
A little voice in the back of his head suggested that perhaps he was being
an ass. Screw you, voice.
“I gotta say, Liv, you’re a hell of an actress. I honestly thought you might
care about me a little bit. That maybe we had more than just a casual hook-
up going.”
“Why are you here?” she finally got in between insults.
“Tell me you didn’t screw Jeremy. Please.”
She leaped to her feet and advanced toward him. “You even have to ask?
You have one hell of a nerve barging in here, Blake Ramsey. And how dare
you not trust me completely? You know I don’t like him, and you’d better
know I would never sleep with him. I don’t give a damn what Jeremy says
happened last night. I thought you knew me better than that. But I guess I
was wrong.”
“You gave me the right to ask when you asked me to turn you into a
femme fatale.”
“You have no right to be jealous. You’re the one who said there’d be no
attachments. It was supposed to be strictly business, remember?” She closed
the gap between them and stood one foot from his chest, her breasts heaving
so hard he had trouble peeling his gaze away from them rising and falling
beneath her tank top. Her nipples were as hard as diamond.
“So what if I did fuck Jeremy’s brains out?” she demanded, her anger
rising with every word. “It’s none of your damned business.” She poked
him in the chest.
As soon as he heard the words come out of her mouth, he knew them for
the lie they were. No way had she slept with Jeremy, no matter what she
said in the heat of this argument. His control snapped and he swept her
against his body and smashed her against him. His mouth swooped down
and captured hers in a bruising kiss.
“Did he kiss you like this?” he demanded.
“So what if he did?” she declared rebelliously.
His left hand dipped inside her shirt, shoving aside her bra and grabbing
her breast. He pinched her erect nipple until she arched up into it with a
gasp. “Did he do this to you?”
“Maybe,” she gasped.
“And this?” He jammed his hand down the front of her yoga pants and
cupped her core and—
And his anger completely derailed. She was so damned soft and wet and
hot he completely lost his train of thought. Her hips rocked hard against his
hand and she moaned into his mouth.
“Shameless hussy,” he muttered against her lips.
“You know I’d never touch him voluntarily.” Her entire body undulated
against his. “All of this is for you. Only you, Blake.”
 It was his turn to groan in open lust into her mouth. She’d called him on
his jealousy and misplaced anger, and he deserved it. In his heart of hearts,
he knew she would never betray him like that.
“I want you right now,” she panted. “I want you inside me, ramming into
me. Erase the memory of anyone but you.”
He groaned again and swept her off her feet, carrying her to the back of
the trailer and the bedroom. He half-stripped, half-tore her clothes off her
until she was completely naked. God, she was perfect.
He threw her down on the bed and relished the way her ample chest
bounced. Following her down aggressively, he planted a knee between her
thighs and shoved her legs apart. He grabbed her wrists in one of his hands
and yanked them over her head. She smiled up at him and writhed like a
siren.
No matter what she’d done on set with McDumbass or who said she’d
slept with him, he still wanted her. Swearing at himself, he tore down the
zipper of his pants and his cock sprang free, hard and huge and ready. With
no further ado, he slammed into her, seating himself all the way to his balls.
She gasped, stretching around him, her internal muscles clenching
convulsively at the invasion. He withdrew and slammed into her again,
punishing her with his body. Never breaking the eye contact with him, she
spread her legs wider to accommodate him. Invited him in, dammit. Dared
him to do it again. Her eyelids grew heavy. The look in her golden hazel
eyes became as sultry as hell. His domination turned her on!
He slammed into her again. Pleasure began to penetrate his fury. The way
her internal walls turned slick for him. The way her body squeezed hungrily
at his cock as it withdrew, as if trying to hang on and not let him go. The
soft moan torn from her throat each time he filled her.
“You like it rough, huh?” he rasped.
“With you, yes. Fuck me hard, Blake. Do every dirty, obscene thing to me
that Jeremy said he did.”
 A red haze obscured his vision. Lust all but blinded him as he flipped her
over, grabbed her by the hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed. He
bent her over and guided his cock toward her. He grabbed a handful of her
hair, pulled her head back until her neck was arched taut, and growled, “Are
you ready?”
She nodded microscopically, wincing as even that small movement pulled
her hair against his fist.
He slammed into her again. Oh, God, he was so deep inside her he felt
her womb. He only withdrew a little this time and rocked into her more
gently, his mind blown by the sensation of her hot, tight body cupping his
dick. He alternated rocking deep and pounding hard, and in no time, she
was moaning and screaming into the pillow she’d dragged to her face to
muffle the sounds of her orgasms.
She was his. If he could brand it onto every square inch of her body, he
would. But since that wasn’t possible, he’d settle for branding her this way.
Invisibly, but irrevocably, his. No other man would ever make her feel this
way and he wouldn’t let her forget it.
He looked down at where their bodies joined, and his crimson cock was
covered in juices from her body. He’d never seen anything so erotic in his
life. He lost it then, and fucked her fast and furious. It was all he could do
not to shout with her as an explosion of epic proportions tore through him.
His entire lower body clenched as he spilled himself into her, pulsing over
and over and over.
Jesus. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard.
Olivia went limp on the bed, her muscles pulsing around him in sweet
aftershocks.
He leaned over her, kissing the base of her neck. He ran his fingertips
down the supple curve of her spine. Something fierce and wild shot through
him. He’d give just about anything for her to acknowledge that she was his.
No one else’s.
So much for emotional detachment, God damn it.
 “Are you okay?” he murmured.
“Mmm hmm. I missed you last night.”
She sounded so sleepy and sated it made his heart sing. “Didn’t Jeremy
take your mind off me last night?”
“You know I didn’t sleep with him, but if it makes you feel better to hear
me say it, there, I said it,” she mumbled. “He got drunk and I had to take
him home from the club. I poured him into his bed and he passed out. He
never even kissed me.”
“Too bad.” He tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and must
have succeeded because she twisted her head around to stare at him.
“Not really,” she retorted. “I had no idea how I was going to turn him
down without pissing him off. Thankfully, he saved me the trouble.”
“Then why in the hell are you letting him tell everyone who’ll listen
about the hot sex you two had?” He shoved off the mattress and paced the
tiny strip of carpet beside the bed.
She rolled onto her back to watch him. “Because it helps my reputation.
I’ve reinvented myself as an action-adventure actor, one who would do all
the skanky things he’s saying I did. It’s the best of both worlds if you think
about it. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to with him, but I still get
credit for having done it.”
“I have to say, babe, this is one fucked-up business.”
“Tell me about it.” She sighed and climbed out of the big bed. “I’m gonna
take a quick shower. Want to join me?”
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.”
At first she thought he was joking. But when the grim set of his jaw
didn’t loosen up, it dawned on her foggy brain that he wasn’t kidding.
“Whoa. You’re, like, hiding out? Undercover?”
“Sort of.” One corner of his mouth curved up sardonically. “Hence my
concern over showing up on some tabloid website with you. If I blow this,
the negotiations could go south and then I’d really be in trouble.”
“Oh.” What more could she say? He’d put his career at risk to come pull
her out of that club and talk the photographer out of pressing charges
against her. Had he seriously traded his career for hers tonight? Real people
didn’t do that whole self-sacrificing thing in this day and age, did they?
When they got to the hotel, Blake stopped the SUV directly in front of the
lobby doors. Everything looked calm. It paid to stay at a gated resort.
“Same deal,” he announced. “I’ll come around to get you out of the
vehicle. Keep moving until we reach the elevators. Just in case.”
“Could they be inside the hotel?” she asked.
“I doubt it. The security here is pretty good. But these paparazzi are
persistent. Someone may have snuck inside.”
And on that note, he jumped out of the SUV. Her door opened, and she
immediately pressed herself against Blake, wrapping an arm tightly around
his waist. His arm looped over her shoulder and she snuggled into it
instinctively. They hit the lobby and quiet fell around them as they made
their way to the elevator.
The doors whooshed closed and for the first time since arriving here
tonight, she and Blake were truly alone.
“Seriously, Blake. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have you got your room key? I don’t have mine with
me.”
“In my purse.” He was blowing off her attempt to be serious. He probably
didn’t want to talk about these stalkers of his and used her drunkenness to
dodge the subject. Dammit, she kept telling everyone she wasn’t that drunk.
Why did no one believe her?
He lifted her purse out of her hands, found her key, and handed the bag
back to her. He walked her down the hall to her room, his arm around her
like he expected a photographer to jump out of one of the closed doors at
any second. She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally opened her door
for her and ushered her inside.
She expected him to leave immediately, but he didn’t. “Need any help
getting to bed?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“I think I can manage my clothes and falling over into bed, thanks.”
“How about I find a bucket or bowl for beside your bed?”
“I’m not going to puke. I really didn’t have that much to drink.”
“Then why did you throw your drink at that guy?”
She stared down at the carpet guiltily.
“Olivia?”
She huffed and looked up at Blake unwillingly. “He said Jeremy and I
made a great couple.”
Amusement began to twitch at the corners of his mouth as he commented
soberly, “A serious transgression.”
“And when he said he’d seen the pictures of Jeremy and me on our date
and that we looked really happy together, that was when I tried to slug
him.”
 “I see.”
Scowling, she kicked off her stupid high heels, which were the only
reason she’d been wobbling at all, and headed for her bedroom. When
Blake didn’t follow, she turned and demanded, “Are you coming?”
“I’ll pass, tonight. I have a policy against taking advantage of drunk
females, and you could use the sleep.”
“You and your damned honor,” she grumbled.
He let himself out the front door and his voice drifted back to her. “Sweet
dreams, princess.”
Dammit. Why did he have to call her princess like that and remind her of
their nights together? Tears sprang to her eyes as she stripped and then fell
into bed. Her dreams weren’t going to be sweet at all. She was going to
dream of him and wake up hornier than ever.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Ten

Blake knew something was up the second he got out of his car on the set the
next day. Crew members smirked at him as they murmured good mornings,
and a few grinned outright. Were he with his Marine battalion, he’d be
suspicious of a practical joke about to spring on him.
He strolled over to where Jackson Motta was setting up a foam crash pad
painted speckled beige to match the desert dirt around it. The mat was set in
a shallow depression that left it flush with the ground.
“What’s up, Jack?” Blake asked the stuntman casually.
“Hey, Mr. Photogenic. Didn’t take you long to get famous, did it?”
Stone cold terror tickled his ribs. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re all over the Internet.”
“What?” Blake’s gut started a slow twist, gradually tightening like a
python curling in on itself. No. No-no-no-no-no-no-no.
“You and Liv. There’s just one photo…but she’s draped all over you as
you’re sneaking out that back door. The two of you look pretty cozy.”
“Wait. That’s last night.” Leaving the club through the back alley. Where
the hell had the photographer been? Then he remembered the cat, and gave
a mental groan. It must have been disturbed by someone hiding in the
shadows. “How recognizable am I?” he asked grimly.
“The photo’s not that great. But not so fuzzy that people can’t see how
hot you two are for each other. You look like you can’t keep your hands off
each other.”
Damn, damn, damn—
“How’d you two end up clubbing together last night?”
 “We didn’t. She got a little tipsy and threw her drink at a photographer.
Tyrone and Sheila called me to come get her and take her back to her
room.”
“Why didn’t they take her back to the hotel?”
“Couldn’t deal with the paparazzi, I suppose.”
“Then why not call hotel security to come get her, or the security crew
from the film? They’d have picked her up.”
Blake spoke low. “She threw a drink but also tried to take a swing at the
photographer. The police got called. The photographer goaded her, and it
was a private club the guy snuck into. I had to schmooze the paparazzo and
the cops pretty hard to get them not to press charges against her. Not sure
hotel security would have done the same, which was why Tyrone said he
called me.”
Jackson whistled under his breath. “Adrian would have killed her if she
got arrested. He likes publicity up to a point, but he’s adamant that his
actors don’t cross the line. She owes you huge for rescuing her.”
Blake shrugged. She’d been in trouble; he’d helped her out. End of
discussion. Even if he had screwed himself in the process. Still, what were
the odds Russian agents kept up with the American gossip rags? “I gather
everyone on the set has looked up this website on their phone or tablet?”
“Websites. Plural. Oh, yeah. You guys were the lead story on all celeb-
spotting sites.”
So much for flying under the radar. To hell with the Russians. Surely,
Colonel Santerros wouldn’t hear about gossip rags… As long as his boss’s
secretary didn’t surf the online tabloids, he might skate by without last
night’s fiasco biting him in the butt too bad. If he was lucky.
His cell phone rang and he pulled it out. No such luck. It was a Pentagon
phone number. “Major Ramsey.”
“What the hell are you doing out there, Ramsey? This is not keeping your
head low!”
 Yup. Colonel Santerros. “It’s not what it looks like, sir. Miss Harper had a
little too much to drink and got into an altercation with a tabloid
photographer. A couple of the other crew members called and asked me to
come to the club to deal with the fallout. Honestly, I checked the route
before we exited. I could have sworn it was clear. The guy must have been
hiding in a Dumpster or something.”
“A Dumpster? You know better than to put yourself in a situation where
you might get this sort of publicity, especially now, dammit. I’m scrambling
my ass off to figure out how to hide you from the Russians until this whole
mess blows over, and you have to go and pull a stunt like this? If they find
you and start exerting pressure… Your timing sucks, Major.”
“I know, sir. I plan on leaving right away.”
“Fuck, Blake. If I can’t get the CIA to cut Carmen loose, there’s no
telling how hard the Russians will come after you. They may even try to
kidnap you and use you to trade for her.”
“Not if I can help it, sir.”
“I suppose you can explain why that actress has her hand up your shirt
and is grabbing your ass like you’re her own personal boy toy?”
“Sir. You know photographers can make even the most innocent situation
look suspicious.”
Santerros made an impatient noise. “What the hell am I supposed to do
now? Even I might not be able to cover your ass after this. And you’re
screwing a movie star while you’re at it?”
Blake tried, and failed, to get a word in edgewise. The colonel had no
interest in any explanations. The timing did suck, and he’d take the
colonel’s word that the photo looked like Olivia was crawling down his
pants. She had been. It was so natural to have her touching him that he
hadn’t even registered how it might look on the home page of an online
tabloid.
“—can’t screw every hot female you come into contact with. I could
explain away the debacle with Carmen because you were trying to get her
to reveal herself as a spy. But I’ve got nothing to explain why, within days
of arriving in Hollywood, you’re fucking this Harper girl and ending up
with your photo all over the Internet. Christ, Blake. Do you want an early
retirement?”
He didn’t even try to answer. In point of fact, everything the colonel
accused him of was true. The circumstances might have been quite different
than his boss’s assumption, but the fact was he had slept with Olivia. On
multiple occasions. With enthusiasm. And he’d gladly do it again should the
opportunity arise. The photo? Maybe not so much.
Eventually the ass-chewing from his boss wound down. Santerros ended
with a sharply snapped order to, “Fix this. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Blake replied glumly. He disconnected the call and pocketed
his phone. How in the hell was he supposed to fix this fiasco?
“The boss?” Jackson asked sympathetically.
Blake started. He’d forgotten the guy was standing there. “Yeah. Not a
happy camper.”
“If you get kicked out of the Corps, you could always come to work with
us. You’re great with explosives. And the stunt side of the house is a piece
of cake to pick up after the training you’ve had.”
Blake stared. Kicked out of the Corps? Hell, no. The boss had been
kidding about retirement. Hadn’t he…? The thought simply wouldn’t
compute. The Corps was his life. It was who he was. The prospect of being
kidnapped by Russian agents scared him less than the notion of leaving the
Corps.
Jackson continued, “I’ve been thinking about starting up my own stunt
company. I’ve got a lot of contacts. Been around the biz for a while. With a
top-notch explosives guy like you on board, we’d be golden. Think about it,
eh?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sure. I will.” He stumbled away from the stuntman, still
reeling at the idea of getting kicked out of the Marines. He did have to fix
this mess now. But how?
 He spied Olivia’s town car pulling onto the set. She got out, and
surprisingly, Adrian Turnow himself went over to greet her. Not
surprisingly, he had his tablet in his hand, swiping his finger across it like
crazy. Shockingly, he gave her a big bear hug as soon as she climbed out of
the car.
She looked startled and then…chagrined, maybe? Blake was too far away
to tell. The bastard must be thrilled to death at the publicity she’d drummed
up for the film. No matter that it had probably ruined his career and
possibly endangered his life.
Except he’d made the decision to rescue Olivia. He’d told her it was
clear, and to follow him out into that back alley. He couldn’t blame her for
doing what he’d told her to.
She disappeared into Make-up and one of Jackson’s guys called him to
ask for help in safety-checking a stunt driving sequence. What in the hell
was he going to do? He wasn’t about to risk the boss’s wrath. And no way
would he lead his Russian pursuers to Olivia. They’d use her as collateral
damage without batting an eyelash.
He had to bug out now. Today. As soon as filming was over.
He was thoroughly screwed. Now all he could hope to do was protect her
—and himself—from his mess by leaving.

…
Olivia had never been so embarrassed in her life. She’d been dead certain
Adrian would, at a minimum, ream her out for last night’s stunt. But
instead, he’d gushed over her like she’d just invented the moving picture
camera. He was over the moon at the publicity she’d gotten for the movie
and didn’t seem to think her outburst would hurt her reputation in the least.
The crew smirked their asses off, but they, too, seemed to find her
debacle funny. Personally, she thought her behavior had been reprehensible.
But no one else saw it that way. Except for Blake. He spent the morning
keeping his distance from her. And every time she caught sight of him, he
was scowling heavily.
She had to face the music sometime with him, but Lord, she didn’t want
to do it in front of the entire crew. Everyone darted glances back and forth
between them as if waiting for Blake and her to throw themselves at each
other, drop to the ground, and hump on the spot. Talk about complete failure
to keep a secret. Ugh.
As Adrian called for a lunch break and the cast and crew piled over to the
catering tables, Jackson Motta strolled up beside her to help himself to a
sandwich. He muttered under his breath, “Blake needs to talk with you.
He’ll meet you at your trailer.”
She stared at the piles of tuna sandwiches without acknowledging the
man beside her other than to murmur, “Thanks.”
Jackson added quietly, “Don’t hose him over, Liv. He’s a good man.
Stuck his neck out and took a bullet for you. I overheard his boss ripping
him a new one this morning.”
She squeezed her eyes shut in dismay. Aww, crap. It was worse than she’d
feared. He was in trouble for saving her. Cursing under her breath, she
headed for her trailer.
He was standing by the sink when she entered, his palms planted on the
counter. He looked like someone had just torn his guts out.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, even though she already knew the
answer.
He exhaled hard. “Could be better. Showing up on all those celebrity
websites telling the world where I can be found is going to draw my stalkers
right to me. And to you. I have to leave here, ASAP.”
“Blake, no, you can’t leave!” He looked at her, a flash of something
indefinable in his light blue eyes. She moved to his side and put a hand on
his flexed biceps. “What can I do? Tell me.”
“Nothing, really. Once the CIA agrees to give the captured agent back,
the Russians should calm down and quit harassing me. But in the
meantime…”
“How long is that likely to take?”
“A few months. Knowing government red tape, maybe a few years. I
dunno.”
“Years?” she exclaimed in horror. “But all you did was rescue me from
my own stupidity! And now you’ll have to live under a rock somewhere for
years?”
A corner of his lip curved. “You and I both know I did a lot more than
rescue you last night.”
“Yes, but nobody else knows about the rest of it.” As in the smoking hot
sex.
He shook his head. “Liv. I’m guilty of exactly what my boss accused me
of—endangering the success of some delicate negotiations by giving the
enemy a way to find me. Not to mention fraternizing with a client. What he
should do is throw me out of the Corps.”
“They owe you protection.”
“Not how it works, babe. Hell, it might make the Russians decide I’m not
worth kidnapping if I get kicked out. I’d hardly be an effective bargaining
chip. And they’ll know I can’t spy on them anymore.”
“You’re a spy?” she squeaked.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” he said, making a face.
Shoot. Everybody knew what that answer meant. She’d hit the nail on the
head. He was a spy. No wonder bad men were trying to find him. She reeled
back from him, appalled at herself. In her thoughtlessness and selfishness
last night, she’d put him in a terrible position.
It was his honor that had driven him to rescue her, no matter the price to
himself. One of the many reasons she was crazy for the man.
“What if I told your boss it was all my fault?”
He turned to face her. “Sweetheart, no. I’m still going to have to leave,
either way. I just wanted to tell you before I take off, so you don’t worry.”
 A swirl of panic started low in her belly. She just couldn’t imagine not
having him with her here on the set…or in her life after the movie wrapped.
“What’ll happen to you?”
He shrugged. “If I’m lucky, they’ll give me a new assignment somewhere
in the back of beyond, and I can fade out of sight again. Or they may be so
fed up they’ll make me resign my commission and leave the Corps.”
She grasped his arm. “That’s insane. You’re a great Marine. Honorable
and dutiful and all that other stuff. I’m not letting you throw your career
away like this.”
“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”
“I still say they need to provide you protection from those Russian agents
stalking you. It’s the least Uncle Sam can do after all your years of loyal
service.”
“They already did that, stashing me out here as a consultant. It’s my own
fault that I blew my—”
No. It was her fault. “Then I’m telling everyone that I’m crazy in love
with you!” she burst out.
He gaped at her, looking positively shell shocked. “What on earth would
that accomplish?”
“I’m a high profile celebrity. The Marines can’t risk me getting hurt if
I’m with you and those enemy spies try to kill you. They’ll have to protect
me, at least!”
He shook his head. “Now who’s insane? Besides, nobody’s trying to kill
me. Yet, anyway. And trust me, you won’t want a guard posted around you
day and night, never leaving your side. Think of the disruption on set.”
She stepped closer. “I’ll do it if it means I can be with you and that you’ll
be safe.” She was crazy about him and did want to be with him. “I don’t
want you to leave.”
“Baby, what are you saying?” he half-whispered.
Oh, for the love of Mike. She’d just told him she had feelings for him.
Men. Dimwits, all of them. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize she’d
actually meant her declaration. “Figure it out for yourself,” she said with a
huff. She marched out of the trailer before he could try to stop her. This
whole situation was unacceptable.
So he planned to quit his job as their consultant, did he? Disappear, never
to be seen or heard of again?
She’d just see about that.
This mess was all her fault, and Olivia aimed to fix it. And she wasn’t
about to let him sacrifice his career for her. Not a chance.
Adrian was still at the food service tables along with his assistant. Olivia
stepped up to the brunette. “Hey, Sheila. Can you arrange a press release or
something like that for me?”
“Uh, yes. Sure.” The assistant looked between her and the director.
“And what would this press release announce?” Adrian demanded.
“That Blake and I are dating. In love. And the rumors that I’m dating
Jeremy are absolutely false.”
“No way,” Adrian declared. “It would kill the great buzz you’ve stirred
up. You’ve got every tabloid in Hollywood speculating on whether or not
you’re dating two different men. It’s salacious and titillating… My God,
they’re having a field day with this story.”
“Yeah, but Russian spies are after Blake. They want to kidnap him and
use him as some sort of hostage or something to make our government sign
some agreement or other.”
Stunned, Adrian’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What?”
She waved a hand. “I didn’t quite get the details. The point is, that photo
last night may have blown his cover sky high.”
“And why is this my problem?”
“I was thinking. Maybe the best way to get these Russian spies off his
back is to convince them they’ve got the wrong guy.”
Adrian stared. “Russian spies? Hostage? Hell, I’d better call Franky S.
and find out what this is all about.”
 He didn’t understand. Blake had just said the Marine Corps wouldn’t
protect him. So she had to do something. She was an actress, right? If she
could fool the press—maybe she could fool the Russians, too.
Tonight, she’d go out and collect herself a big, fat posse of paparazzi.
Except as filming wound down for the day, an unexpected and
unwelcome visitor blew onto the set in a flurry of designer sunglasses, cell
phone calls, and chain smoking. Esther Feinstein was an old school movie
agent, but one of the best in the business.
Olivia stared. “Esther! What are you doing all the way out here in the
middle of nowhere?”
“When Adrian Turnow calls me personally to tell me to get control of a
client, Esther Feinstein hits the road.”
She swore under her breath. She didn’t need to be controlled. She needed
to do the right thing and bail out Blake from the mess she’d gotten him into.
“Okay, Esther. Let me have it. I know you spent the whole trip out here
planning the speech you’re going to give me.”
She listened patiently as her agent reminded her in no uncertain terms
what career plan they’d agreed upon, and why it was the best choice for her.
Olivia winced now and then as the agent reminded her of the ways in which
she’d agreed to act, including whom she would and would not date during
this critical building phase of her career.
Esther finally concluded with, “Look, honey. I know the heart goes where
it wills. But tell it to be patient for a little while. Give me a year. Do what
I’m telling you to for twelve months, and then you can fall in love with
whomever you want.”
Sure, she wanted to continue a relationship with Blake, see how far it
went, but who said anything about falling in love? Olivia pondered trying to
explain that Blake couldn’t wait a year for her to straighten out this mess.
But it would be like trying to explain to a wildfire why it shouldn’t burn
down a forest.
 She sighed and accepted her agent’s offer to take her out to supper.
Undoubtedly the woman wanted to derail any notions Olivia had of a repeat
appearance with Blake in front of the paparazzi.
A little before ten p.m. Olivia slipped into a sexy little red dress sure to
capture the attention of any photographers lurking around the clubs and
headed out.
The concierge closed in on her as she walked through the hotel lobby and
surprised her by offering, “Would you like one of our security staff
members to accompany you this evening, Miss Harper?”
Hmm. Who’d sicced a babysitter on her? Could be Esther, maybe
Adrian? She wouldn’t have put it past Sheila, either. Gaze narrowed, Olivia
responded wryly, “I’m not planning on drinking or attacking any
photographers, tonight. I’ll be fine, thank you.”
She hailed a cab and named the club Jeremy had taken her to that first
night. She had faith he only hung out at bars he was sure to be spotted in.
Sure enough, when she pulled up, a photographer was lounging on the lip of
a tall concrete planter by the sidewalk. He straightened and flashed her a
wolf-like grin as she stepped out of the curb.
“Hey buddy. Who do you work for?” she asked him.
He named one of the big, national tabloids.
“Want an exclusive?”
“Hell, yeah! Whatchya got?”
“I want to make a statement, if you don’t mind.”
The grin disappeared, replaced by stunned disbelief. “Lay it on me,
Olivia.”
“For the record, the man I was photographed with last night is in the
Army and is a technical consultant on the film I’m shooting.” She gave the
name of the consultant who’d been fired to make way for Blake. She hoped
the fellow would forgive her for borrowing his name. It was for a good
cause, though: safeguarding the life of a fellow military man.
 She continued, “He and I have been secretly dating since he arrived on
set. I’m crazy about him, and he feels the same about me. I was dating
Jeremy McDaniels, but I dumped him to go out with my new boyfriend.
Jeremy’s furious and has been tanking scenes all over the place because he’s
so pissed off. You can ask anyone on the crew—Adrian’s been jumping all
over him. ”
The guy’s tape recorder wavered as he gaped at her.
She leaned closer. “That dinner Jeremy and I had two nights ago? He
wanted to get back together, but I turned him down. He’s just not as good as
my new boyfriend in that department, if you get my drift.” She felt bad
telling bald-faced lies like this, but Lord knew, he’d told a pile of whoppers
about her. What was good for him was good for her.
“Oh, man. This shit is gold,” the guy gloated.
“At any rate, there’s a ton of drama on the set. The love scenes between
Jeremy and me are turning out wildly explosive because he’s so mad at me.
It’s been a nightmare.”
“Has McDaniels threatened this other guy?”
Oooh. Good idea. That would add fuel to the fire. “I haven’t witnessed it
myself,” she confessed confidentially. “But I can’t imagine that he hasn’t.
You know how bad Jeremy’s temper can be.”
“No shit. Saw him punch a buddy of mine last year. Wrecked a thousand-
dollar camera. Fucker’s nasty when crossed.”
Yikes. And she’d just thrown Jeremy under the bus. Ultimately, he would
thank her for the publicity this scandal would send his way. But in the
meantime, he was going to be royally p.o.’ed to have his sexual prowess
insulted. Not to mention that his co-star chose some other guy over him.
Even if that part was true.
She delivered the coup de grace in a worried undertone. “Tomorrow
night, my boyfriend and I are having dinner at this nice Italian place…the
one across from the walking mall.” She named the restaurant she and Esther
had eaten at earlier. “Jeremy’s threatening to come and jump his ass. I
figure if you and a few of your friends were there, it might stop Jeremy
from doing anything stupid. I hate to ask a favor of you after you’ve been so
nice already, but if you just happened to be in the vicinity tomorrow
evening, that would really help me out.”
“Hey, no problem. I’m always up for helping out a hot chick.”
She grinned to herself. Who said the press had no chivalry? He’d be glad
to help her out…and score a bunch of exclusive photos of a movie star
brawling with some guy over a girl. Like those wouldn’t be worth a fortune.
She snorted under her breath.
Now all she had to do was talk Blake into playing along.
 Chapter Eleven

Blake scowled as he helped Olivia out of the town car in front of the
restaurant. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. You don’t even know
if Jeremy’s going to show up or not. Without him, we won’t get the press
coverage we need to convince the Russians I’m not their guy.” He felt
ridiculous with his face full of make-up.
“Have faith,” she answered. “Jeremy will show. And you look good as a
brunette.”
He scowled and blinked a few times to wet the contact lenses turning his
eyes brown. He couldn’t believe he’d let Olivia talk him into a session in
Tyrone’s make-up chair before coming out with her tonight. What had he
been thinking? Someone was sure to recognize him.
The paparazzi had turned out in force this evening. The guy Olivia had
spoken to yesterday had apparently opted to tell everyone he knew about
the showdown at the O.K. Corral tonight rather than keep the exclusive for
himself. The photographers shouted for Olivia and him to pose for some
photos.
“Here we go,” she murmured.
“For the record, I hate this whole plan of yours.”
“But you’ll do it nonetheless,” she replied sweetly.
Dammit, he couldn’t turn her down. Her plan would never work, but
she’d gone way out on a limb by publically declaring herself to be “in
lurve” with him. Using Jeremy to convince the press she was telling the
truth and that Blake was some completely other guy was pretty diabolical.
And after the lies Jeremy had spouted about her, he supposed her co-star
deserved a little comeuppance.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” he muttered out of the corner of his
mouth as he smiled for the cameras, dying to scratch his prosthetic-
enhanced cheek.
 His trained gaze roamed over the crowd of reporters, then hitched.
Stopped. Came back to the one who caught his attention. He moved his
gaze on so as not to give away his particular interest while he processed
details. Tall guy. Lanky. Bad teeth. Worse haircut. And that slouch…oh,
yeah. That was the intruder from the movie set.
He murmured to Olivia without moving his lips, “Third guy from our left.
Know him?”
“Never seen him. Not one of the regulars,” she replied under her breath.
A Russian agent. The next time Blake’s gaze skated across the guy, he
took in preternaturally sharp eyes. Definitely not a tabloid photographer.
“Who’s the guy?” someone called out.
As they’d rehearsed, Olivia answered, “Stuntman. Been with Jackson
Motta for years. Ex-Army. How’ve you guys missed spotting him before
now? Isn’t he pretty?”
She delivered the line perfectly, with just the right amount of casual truth.
Even better, the tension in the Russian’s shoulders dissipated. The guy
bought her line. Son-of-a-gun. He might just get out of this mess with his
career intact, after all. He leaned in to Liv to whisper, “Have I ever told you
what a brilliant actress you are?”
She smiled up at him as someone shouted, “How about a kiss?”
Olivia laughed and stood on tiptoe, throwing her arms around his neck
and laying a big, wet kiss on him, complete with a near tonsillectomy. As
she melted into him, his arm naturally went around her. God, she tasted
good. He took control of the kiss, devouring the taste of her and swallowing
with relish the little moan she made in the back of her throat. Her breasts
pressed against his chest through the fine Egyptian cotton of his dress shirt
and blood rushed to his groin.
“Somebody throw a bucket of water on those two!” one of the
photographers shouted. A laugh went up all around them, shocking Blake
back into the present. Damn, the woman messed with his head.
 “I can’t ever get enough of you,” he growled low. He’d meant it for her
ears alone, but the bastards crowding around them reacted immediately,
demanding to know just how hot and heavy their relationship was.
Olivia responded cheerfully, “So hot I can’t believe we haven’t burned
down the hotel, yet.”
Blake rolled his eyes at her and ushered her to the door. “We’ll see you
after dinner, boys,” he called back at the paparazzi. “Can we bring you
anything?”
There was a smattering of laughter as he held the door for Olivia and she
sidled past him, her palm brushing across his stomach flirtatiously. His abs
tightened until they hurt. Damn, what she did to him…
“You handled those guys really well,” she murmured as the maitre d’ led
them to their table.
“Do you think they noticed the different hair and eyes?” he asked tersely
under his breath.
“I doubt it. They’re used to movie stars who constantly change their look
for roles or just to follow fashion trends. The key question is will we fool
the guys who are looking for you?”
Blake shrugged. “I think we fooled the one out there, tonight. Time will
tell if his bosses believe him when he says I’m not the guy they’re looking
for. My people will monitor the chatter among the Russians and hopefully
we’ll intercept something one way or the other.”
“Where did you learn to deal with the press so well?” she asked curiously.
“The military has embedded journalists with them all the time. I’ve got
experience with the type. And you know what they say. Keep your friends
close and your enemies closer. I’d rather have the press on my side than the
other guy’s.”
Her lips formed a thin line. “We’re playing with fire to use them for our
own ends, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way to save your life. And
as long as Jeremy and I create a bunch of sensational coverage for the film
with this little stunt, I think Adrian won’t wring my neck. My agent, on the
other hand, may fire me over it.”
Blake reached across the white linen tablecloth to take her hand in his.
Her skin was so soft and silky against his that he had to struggle to maintain
his train of thought. “I’m sorry, baby. I really didn’t want it to come to this.”
She shrugged. “If Esther can’t get on board with me doing the right thing,
then she wasn’t the agent for me, anyway.”
“It’ll work out.”
She grew thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me a
while ago. About how if I’m not true to myself now, I might end up with
nothing that really matters to me. You were right.”
He leaned back, grinning. “Of course I was. I’m always right.”
She laughed, and he reveled in their easy companionship. Not only did he
love her body, but he genuinely enjoyed her. Her intelligence and kindness.
Her sense of humor. Her quick wit. She was an endlessly fascinating human
being…on top of being the hottest woman he’d ever had the pleasure of
bedding.
As usual, their conversation ranged all over the place, from politics to
poetry and everything in between. Their plates had just been taken away
and they were deep into discussion about whether or not they were too full
for desert when a commotion broke out in front of the restaurant. Every
time the door opened, the uproar disturbed the quiet inside. Blake glanced
over, his senses on high alert.
“You were right,” he told Olivia grimly. “McDumbass couldn’t pass up
the chance to make a scene.”
“Are you okay with this? We can still duck out through the kitchen and
get out of here.”
“Your film needs the publicity, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“And I still need to convince the Russians I’m not the guy they’re looking
for. You were right to suggest that I hide in plain sight. It’s my best bet to
get them off my back.”
“When will you know if the CIA’s going to make the trade?” she asked
anxiously.
He shrugged. “No telling. A few days, maybe a few weeks.”
She looked like she was having a major attack of buyer’s remorse now
that it was time to face Jeremy and the press.
He squeezed her hand. “You did me a favor. I’m happy to return the
favor. And I won’t have to start the fight. McDumbass will take care of that
for me.” He didn’t add that he couldn’t wait to take the wimp on, had been
aching for it ever since the dickwad trashed Olivia’s reputation. Slow death
wasn’t an option, but a good pummeling that left no scars would go far
toward assuaging Blake’s anger.
He pushed to his feet and held out his hand to her. She wrapped hers
around the crook of his elbow and snuggled against his side. He loved the
feel of her leaning into him like he could protect her from anything on
earth.
He led her toward the exit with one last instruction. “If I tell you to let go
of my arm, do it fast and then jump out of the way. I don’t want you to get
hurt when I send the kid flying.”
“He’s had some martial arts training—”
“Honey, I’m trained to kill seasoned warriors with my bare hands. This
won’t be a fair fight.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes big and dark with worry. He dropped a
quick kiss on the end of her nose as he reached for the door. “Trust me,
sweetheart.”
They stepped outside into a circus. The paparazzi shouted at Jeremy. He
cursed back at them. Blake noted the camera lenses swing toward Olivia
and him as soon as they appeared, and Jeremy wasted no time turning on
them, either.
Blake stepped in front of her. “How are you doing, Jeremy?”
“I’m going to kick that lying bitch’s ass is how I’m doing!”
 “Been drinking a little, have we?” Blake asked evenly. McDaniels reeked
of whiskey. Nothing like a little alcohol-induced courage to make an ass out
of a man.
“Fuck you, bastard. You’re so fired when I get done talking to Adrian. I
got the last military bastard shit-canned, and I’ll get you tossed out, too.”
Blake shrugged. “No loss. You make a shitty soldier, anyway.”
Jeremy reached up respectably fast with both hands and shoved hard at
Blake’s chest. Blake absorbed the impact and merely rocked back slightly
on his heels. “Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have,
Jeremy,” he said blandly. As he expected, the calmer he got, the more it
infuriated the actor.
“I’ll kick your ass!” Jeremy shouted. He took a swing at Blake’s face.
Blake jerked back easily from the flailing fist. “You made two mistakes,
there, Sparky. First, you telegraphed the blow. Second, kid, you took way
too big a swing. You have to keep it more compact.” He jabbed lightning
fast with his left fist and connected hard with Jeremy’s chin. The actor’s
head snapped back. “Like that.”
“God damn you!”
And the fight was on. All five seconds of it. Just long enough for Jeremy
to charge and for Blake to sidestep, catch Jeremy in a head lock, and drive
him to the ground.
“Sonofabitch!” Jeremy grunted from underneath the knee on his neck.
“I was trying not to mark up your face,” Blake commented casually. “But
if you want me to let you up and beat the shit out of you, we can do that.”
“Get off me,” Jeremy growled.
Blake stood and stepped back to let Jeremy recover his feet, if not his
dignity. Halfway to his feet, the actor lunged, a flash of metal in his fist.
Olivia screamed and Blake leaped away, barely escaping a knife in the gut.
“I remembered what you taught me,” the actor taunted. “If you want to
win a fist fight, bring a knife, right?”
 Not amused now, Blake stepped in fast and chopped down hard across the
back of Jeremy’s hand. Howling, the actor dropped the knife and
commenced rolling around on the ground like he’d cut the guy’s hand off.
Blake stepped across the guy’s prone form and wrapped Olivia, who had
her hands over her mouth in horror, in a quick fierce hug.
“See? Not a mark on me, baby,” he whispered into her hair.
Her hands went around his waist and she hugged him like she was never
going to let go. If only.
He tucked her under his arm and she shook like a leaf against his side. As
he guided her away from the restaurant, he told the paparazzi, “When
McDumbass gets done screaming, tell him I said it’s neither nice nor smart
to pull a knife on a real soldier.”
The photographers laughed while shooting pictures of Jeremy sprawled
on the ground making an ass of himself. One of them even shouted, “Hey,
Liv. You picked the right one.”
Another shouted, “Go Army!”
Praise the Lord. If the press believed he was some fictitious ex-Army
sergeant, and not the Marine he actually was, maybe the Russians would,
too.
Blake hustled her away from the restaurant and toward her town car.
She’d paid the limo company to have her driver stick around in case they
needed to make a quick getaway. “I’m so sorry,” she said low. “I had no
idea he’d pull a knife on you. I’d never have put you in that situation if I’d
known—”
He pressed his fingertips against her mouth. “It’s no big. Jeremy’s sitting
up right about now and giving the boys a great photo op, and I’m here with
you, safe and sound. Don’t give it another thought.” He added as he ushered
her into the car, “Jerks like him want to take a swing at a Marine to see if
we’re as tough as we say we are. Comes with the territory.”
“I feel kind of bad for him. I did set him up and provoke him.”
 Blake snorted. “He’s a big boy. He should know how to hold his booze
and control his temper better. And if he didn’t want you spreading stories
about him, he shouldn’t have spread stories about you first.”
Olivia looked slightly less mortified. He slipped in beside her and drew
her into his arms for the short ride back to the hotel. “Is there some way I
can take your mind off him?”
It started as a sidelong look and turned into a smile so sexy his heart
skipped a beat. “There might be,” she drawled.
When they got back to the hotel, this time she took the lead, drawing him
into the bathroom by both hands. He stood still as she stripped his clothes
off of him and then performed a strip tease for him that had him about
jumping out of his skin. But every time he reached out for her she stepped
back and wagged a reproving finger at him.
He was getting tired of the game by the time she turned on the shower
and drew him into the large, glassed-in enclosure. Whether it was them or
the hot water that steamed up the glass and heated the space to sauna-like
temperatures, he couldn’t tell. But as her soap-slippery hands slid all over
his body, he groaned with delighted lust. When her right hand slid up and
down his shaft and her left hand slid lower to cup his balls, the game was
over. He surged forward, lifting her by the waist and backing her into the
tile wall.
She linked her legs around his waist and pulled his hips to her, impaling
herself on him with a cry of pleasure as he filled her with every inch of his
rock hard cock. She was tight and hot and slick, and as she rocked against
him, he gritted his teeth against exploding right that second.
“How long can you take it?” she asked wickedly, as he set up a steady,
maddening rhythm of stroking and sliding and writhing, making her ride his
cock slow then fast, soft then hard.
Vixen. Now he would have to hold out as long as he could. Long enough
to make her scream with her own pleasure. To make her throw her head
back, giving him the slender column of his neck to bite and lick, to make
her arch her back even harder, thrusting her breasts up and forward for his
tongue and teeth to tease and nip until she thrust her hands into his wet hair
and tugged his face up to hers.
She shuddered around him once, twice, three times before she begged.
For more. For it to stop. For him to take her to the moon. And finally,
simply, for him to do whatever he wanted to her.
Never pulling out of her, he stepped out of the shower, pausing only long
enough for her to turn off the water. Wet and dripping, he carried her to the
bed. He laid her down on her back long enough to swing her left leg up and
over his head, maneuvering her in a one-eighty-degree-turn. He lifted her
hips up and back to him, posing her on the bed on her elbows and knees, her
beautiful teardrop-shaped ass high in the air, presented to him for the
plundering. His cock still buried inside her, he reached between her legs to
stroke her clit with his finger in time with his cock stroking her body. She
trembled, her entire body rosy with sex and the hot shower, and cried out as
a violent shudder passed through her. God, she was beautiful when she
came apart like that.
She reached between her legs and surprised him by returning the favor,
cupping his balls, squeezing and tugging lightly in rhythm with her internal
muscles doing the same. The pulling, sucking sensation was too much. With
a shout he came, thrusting into her over and over as her body and hand
milked him dry.
Supporting his upper torso on his elbows, he collapsed on top of her,
spooning his belly against her back. He nibbled his way across the back of
her neck to her velvet soft earlobe.
He murmured lazily, “How on earth did you not know before now how
sexual a creature you are?”
She answered simply, “Because I hadn’t met you.”
Something deep within him went still at her declaration. The deep kind of
quiet when snow falls and blankets the entire world in silence. Eventually
he replied, “It’s the same for me. I’m no monk, but…wow, that was really
amazing.”
“Addictive, isn’t it?” she murmured.
Yes. It was. She was. He couldn’t imagine leaving this—leaving her—and
returning to his regularly scheduled routine. She was part of his life, now.
Maybe even the biggest part of it. The married guys in his unit talked about
their wives like that and he’d always thought they were nuts. But he got it,
now.
Olivia, his wife? The thought made him snort. She would never agree to
such a thing. She was a young, rising star and had her whole life in front of
her. Why would she hitch herself to a rough-edged soldier who couldn’t do
a damned thing to help her career?
“Blake?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have any fantasies? You know. Stuff you’ve never tried before
with a girl that you’ve always wanted to do?”
Yeah. To find one exactly like her, marry her, and make love to her every
day and every night for the rest of his life. And in between, laugh and love
and raise a family with her. “Why?” he asked cautiously. “Is there anything
you’re dying to try?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about a few things…”
He rolled on his back and drew her onto his chest. She propped herself on
her elbows to look down at him solemnly. “Tell me,” he ordered.
He thought she might be blushing, but it was hard to tell in the faint
moonlight. She said shyly, “After I got over being furious at you for it, I
was kind of turned on by being tied up. And in the limo that first night
when you rode back to town with me…”
“You mean when you tried to breathe the whiskey and ended up across
my lap with your perfect little derriere sticking up in the air begging to be
spanked?”
She gasped. “So you were turned on by that, too?”
 He laughed. “I wanted you so bad I could barely stand it. I wanted to strip
you bare and watch your ass turn pink and then cherry red as it heated up
under a nice, sharp spanking. To see you squirm as the burn spread between
your legs and you got so horny you begged me to take you right there.”
“Oh my. We do think a lot alike, Major Ramsey.”
“Any other dirty thoughts you’ve been harboring in that clever mind of
yours?”
Her gaze grew distant, maybe even a little wistful. He couldn’t wait to
hear what put that look in her eyes.
“It actually doesn’t have anything to do with sex. But I’d really like to
wake up in your arms in the morning. To have the sun shining in on us as
we laze in bed and maybe talk about what we’re going to do that day.”
His heart hitched. “Anything else?”
She laughed a little. “Give me time. I’m sure I’ll think of more. Those
were just the first few things that came to mind.”
It sounded as if she were actually considering making this an ongoing
enterprise between them. Was it possible that she wasn’t just pretending to
love him a little? That she meant it when she said she wanted to stay with
him?
The exultation that roared through him had nothing to do with ego and
everything to do with forming a plan to capture his intended target. He was
a highly trained soldier. A strategist. A master at getting what he wanted.
Was he crazy to set his sights on Olivia Harper?
Only one way to find out…
Always a man of action, he rolled out from under her to sit on the edge of
the bed.
“We need a safe word,” he announced.
“Uncle?” she suggested.
“Roger that. Trust me?”
She nodded.
“Completely?”
 Another nod.
Triumph jumped in his gut. Step one of his plan achieved. He was
intrigued that in her sexual fantasies she wanted to hand over control to
him. It was as if her subconscious already knew she wanted to belong to
him completely.
On to step two. Making that fantasy of him owning her a reality.
“Across my knee. Now”
He’d show her how thin the line between pleasure and pain was drawn.
Opening his hand, he gave her a swift swat. Not too hard, but just enough so
she jerked beneath him and rubbed his dick in the process. Damn this was
going to be fun.
“That’s it, princess, you’re doing great.” He returned to squeezing and
soothing, then whacked her on the other cheek a little harder and she
gasped. The outline of his palm, a slightly darker pink, blossomed across
her skin and he resumed his massage. This time, he increased the number of
smacks between his soothing touches until she squirmed, caught between
relaxing and tensing.
She moaned and pressed herself against him, and he hardened beneath her
pelvic thrusts in sweet anticipation of reaming her until she screamed that
she belonged to him.
He ramped up his paddles until his palm stung and her entire rear end
heated up and was burning hot, but she groaned for more.
“I want you, Blake. Please. I need you.”
“Not yet, princess. You’re not begging.”
“Oh, but I am. Take me, Blake. Please!”
His finger traced her crack, following it down between her cheeks, then
lower. She groaned with need as his fingertips grazed the rim of her. Blake
wavered on the verge of explosion.
“Oh, God!” she cried out.
One more swirl with his finger was all it took to send her into a
shuddering, moaning orgasm. The heat in her ass and the heat beneath his
fingers merged into one massive pleasure zone begging for more of his
attention and damn he was going to give it to her.
His finger slipped inside her and she shamelessly rode it, her hips
bucking on his lap as she sought release. It took mere seconds for her to
come again, screaming her pleasure into the mattress.
He lifted her off his lap and laid her on the bed. Her rear end was red,
thrusting in the air toward him in invitation, and her entire body twitched as
if she were a mass of nerves tied together in a knot of lust.
She reached for him and he was so ready. He knew he was taking a risk,
but he had to let her know she was his. He placed his palm on her belly.
“Someday, I’m going to plant a baby in you, right here. My baby. Our
baby.”
“Now, Blake. Do it, now,” she begged.
“Tell me you’re mine, first.”
She moaned, “Please.”
“Greedy, greedy,” he murmured. He massaged the inside of her folds and
she rocked against him, trying to get him to touch her clit. Instead, careful
of her well-heated ass, he squeezed her hip to hold her in place, his
fingertips circling with promise but not touching her sensitive bud. “Not
yet, princess.” He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, “Say the
words.”
She gasped, cried, and strained, then whimpered, “Let me come. Make
me yours, Blake.”
“For you? Always.” With one fluid motion, he rammed himself inside her
up to his balls, flicked her clit, and roared his pleasure as she screamed her
release.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Twelve

Olivia woke slowly. She was lying on her side, something warm and
resilient beneath her ear. Blake’s powerful biceps, she registered lazily. His
forearm angled across her body, and his hand cupped one of her breasts
possessively. Even in sleep, he was staking his claim.
Last night, in the midst of their play, he’d talked about a baby. Their baby.
The thought of her being his in that way had made her come apart in a
blazing orgasm.
She’d never dreamed she could belong to another human being like that.
Blake had demanded not only the submission of her body but also of her
mind and soul. It had been glorious to give all of herself to him. He’d left
no part of her unbranded—his to do with whatever he wanted. And what he
seemed to want was to give her mind-blowing pleasure over and over and
over.
He’d taken pretty much every part of her last night, doing everything
she’d ever secretly fantasized about, and more. So much more. She
stretched, trying not to disturb him, and inventoried the sore spots. There
were a lot of them, but none too bad. And last night had been well worth
every last little ache and pain this morning.
“Good morning, sunshine,” a deep, relaxed voice murmured in her ear.
“Morning, handsome.”
His weight shifted behind her and his mouth moved lightly across the
side of her neck, tracing the outline of her ear and nibbling at the delicate
spot just below it. She hummed with pleasure. It was hard to believe she
had any lust left in her after last night. She’d thought for sure he’d wrung it
all out of her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked against her skin. “Need a soak in a hot
bath?”
“That sounds like heaven. I’m sore just the right amount. Can we do that
again soon?”
He chuckled. “Of course. Although I do have some other interesting plans
for you.”
Her insides fluttered with anticipation. It made her hot just thinking about
turning herself over to him to be his personal sex toy. Although he hadn’t
made her feel like a toy last night. He’d made her feel cherished. Safe. Like
she’d found home—in him.
Her agent might want her to run around casually dating a bunch of hot
actors, but she didn’t want that life. A life of self absorbed, small-minded
actors hooking up during a shoot for publicity, then moving on to the next
starlet in a slow spiral downward to emptiness. If she rose to stardom, it
would be through the quality of her acting. Not from a wild child, femme
fatale image, not from drunken parties and tabloid gossip.
More than that, she simply couldn’t picture herself with anyone but
Blake. If only there was a way to be with him forever…she’d leap at the
opportunity—
Would she? Seriously?
He seemed to genuinely respect and like her. But could she live through
the fears that he might be shot and killed every time he deployed? She
turned over the idea of marrying him in her head, examining it from various
angles, testing it, trying it on for size. And shockingly, it didn’t scare the
hell out of her. He could be demanding at times, maybe even a little
autocratic now and then. He was an alpha male, after all.
“Do you like to control money?” she blurted.
He lifted his head away from the pillow. “I beg your pardon?”
 She rolled onto her back beneath his arm. “Do you like to balance
checkbooks and pay bills and make budgets and that sort of thing?”
“For household stuff, yes. But business income, large amounts of money,
those are best left to a solid investment advisor and a scrupulous
accountant.”
He was so talking about her movie income. He was thinking about a
future with her, too. If he could accept what she did onscreen, accept her
acting career, then she’d learn to smile when he packed his duffle and left
for another dangerous part of the world.
She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him sweetly. “So what’s
on your agenda for today?”
He punctuated his answer with light kisses between sentences. “Thinking
up creative ways to push your sexual boundaries. A little breakfast. A swim
to work out the kinks. Adrian wants me on set after lunch. How about you?”
She smiled broadly at him, but answered innocently, “I think I heard the
fax machine last night, so I’ll have to review whatever script or shooting
changes Adrian sent me. My call’s at one o’clock.” And she’d have to face
Jeremy again. Ugh.
“Why the shadow in your eyes?” Blake asked quickly.
Man, he knew her so well. She replied glumly, “Jeremy.”
“I’ll be on set with you, right there beside Adrian. Jeremy won’t mess
with you as long as I’m within arm’s reach of him. I’ll take care of you.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling flowed through her. She really liked being safe and
taken care of. It might be old-fashioned and not the slightest bit bad-ass, but
at the end of the day, it was who she was.
“I’ll go run you a bath and order us some brunch,” Blake announced.
“Why don’t you stay here a few minutes more and luxuriate in not having to
get up and go anywhere this morning?”
She stretched like a cat and smiled as he climbed out of bed naked and
gorgeous.
 “I’m going to have to learn photography,” he commented. “I want
pictures of you looking exactly like you do right now.” He leaned down to
kiss her gently. “My beautiful Olivia.”
His Olivia. She loved the sound of that. She listened to the water roaring
into the tub and Blake ordering omelets, fruit, juice, and coffee for two. He
strolled back into the bedroom, still naked, and handed her a sheaf of
papers.
“In case you want to read in bed and be lazy,” he murmured, laying the
documents on her bedside.
He disappeared and she reached over for the script pages. She glanced at
the first one and frowned. She shuffled through the pages to find a revised
shooting schedule and stared at it in horror. She swore at Adrian colorfully
as she climbed out of bed, equal parts furious and scared as hell.
The director had re-scheduled her and Jeremy’s second love scene for
today. The heartless bastard! Adrian must have heard about what went
down at the restaurant last night and wanted to capture on film the crackling
tension bound to be jumping between them. But a love scene? With the feel
and smell of Blake still on her skin? With his ownership of her stamped on
every inch of her being? How in the hell was she going to act anything but
repelled by Jeremy?
Oh, God. What if she had bruises from last night? She raced into the
bathroom to inspect herself in the mirror. Her rear end was a little red and
might bruise lightly, but it should be okay today.
She rubbed it, smiling to remember her first ever spanking. Who’d have
guessed being upended over a man’s knee could be so erotic? Her bum still
stung, but in a good way that made her clit tingle even now. Amazingly, in
spite of all he’d done to her last night, Blake hadn’t left a single bruise
anywhere else. He’d been looking out for her as he always did.
The thought of doing another love scene with Jeremy in front of Blake
freaked her out almost worse than anything she’d ever contemplated. Their
relationship needed more time so Blake understood she was acting, that
pretending under the sheets was just that—pretending. She tried soaking in
the tub, but it did nothing to relax her. She climbed out, dressed, and
reluctantly joined Blake at the breakfast table.
“We’ve got a problem,” she announced grimly.
His gaze snapped up to hers. He looked like a tiger ready to attack
someone on her behalf.
“Adrian has moved the second love scene to today.” She braced herself
for the explosion to come.
But Blake only leaned back and said mildly, “Did he, now? Smart move.”
“Why’s that?” she blurted.
“You and Jeremy have zilch by way of chemistry. Adrian knows it. You
carried the first love scene all by yourself, but it’ll look weird in the film if
you have to carry both love scenes. Adrian needs Jeremy not to look
blatantly gay in this film. So, he’ll catch the guy while he’s still royally
pissed off. I expect Adrian will disguise Jeremy’s anger as passion when he
films you two.”
She asked hesitantly, “You’re okay, then, with me getting naked with
Jeremy and faking sex with him?”
“No,” Blake answered a little sharply. “I’m not okay with it. But I
understand that it’s your job, and I have no right to complain about love
scenes. I also happen to be fairly confident you like me more than you like
your co-star.”
Stunned at how mature he was being about it, she bolted from her seat
and dashed around the table to him. She threw her leg across his lap and
straddled his hips. “You are the most amazing man I have ever met, Blake
Ramsey.”
He smiled warmly at her. “You’ll keep that in mind when Jeremy has his
hands all over you?”
“I promise.”
He shoved his fingers into her hair and dragged her mouth to his for a
long kiss that erased all thoughts of her co-star and love scenes.
 …
But when Adrian closed the set and sent away all the non-essential crew,
she was acutely aware that Blake didn’t leave with the others.
In spite of Adrian having called Jeremy and her to the set already, she
picked her way barefoot over the tangle of electrical cables to Blake,
clutching her robe close. She murmured in alarm, “You’re not planning to
stay for this, are you?”
“I won’t leave you alone with that prick. He’s got to be severely ticked
off at both of us.”
“I’m not alone on set. There’s a distressingly large crew here, in case you
hadn’t noticed.” Adrian had added a fourth camera to the filming today and
the set was even more crowded than the last time they filmed a love scene.
Blake threw her a withering look that made it clear he didn’t trust her
safety to anyone else. While part of her was relieved that he’d be close by,
she was horrified about him watching her with Jeremy. And truth be told,
she was scared of what was to come. Adrian had already told her he wanted
her to really turn it loose today. He obviously wanted a super hot scene, and
Blake didn’t need to be subjected to that.
“I don’t know if I can do this in front of you,” she confessed.
His eyes glinted with humor. “Think of it this way. If you convince me
you’re having too much fun with him, I’ll have to take you over my knee
and punish you for it.”
And suddenly, she knew without a doubt she loved this man. She
laughed. “So the more I want a repeat of last night, the sexier I should be?”
“You got it.” He crossed his arms and stared at her challengingly. “Go
ahead. Really provoke me. I dare you.”
Thrilled goose bumps raised up on her arms at the thought of what he
might do in bed if he did get really provoked. An impish part of her brain
declared that this, she had to see. She could have hugged him for throwing
down the gauntlet like that. It put her in exactly the right frame of mind to
sashay over to the rotating bed with hips swinging, climb into it, and smile
brazenly at Jeremy.
Her co-star had completely avoided her up till this very moment, and he
seemed taken aback at her brash demeanor, but then an evil gleam lit his
narrowed gaze. A frisson of alarm depressed her momentary rush of daring,
but a glance at Blake restored her mojo.
“Okay, Adrian,” she announced. “Let’s do this.”
The director didn’t mess around with filming any sweet foreplay today.
He merely set the lighting and cameras, and called out, “Action!”
And action it was. Jeremy fell on her like a beast, ripping back the sheets
and tearing off the T-shirt the scene had her wearing. He was rough, pulling
her hair and biting her painfully on the upper curve of her breast.
“Oww. This is supposed to be a love scene,” she hissed from behind her
clenched-teeth smile as she rubbed herself all over him like a cat in heat.
“Fuck that. And fuck you,” he muttered against her neck. He yanked her
head back and gave her a nasty hickey to punctuate his words.
Fine. Two could play that game. She surged up, forcing him onto his
back. She threw a leg across him and dry humped him, so furious she was
only vaguely appalled as his skimpy thong bulged with a real erection
between her legs.
She moaned sarcastically, “Oh, baby. Yes. Like that.”
Jeremy all but drooled as he gripped her hips and banged his dick against
her crotch. The guy had all the finesse of a goat. She writhed on top of him,
doing her best stripper imitation. Blake had better fuck her until she
couldn’t see straight after this.
Purring loud enough for the microphones to pick up, she lifted up her
long hair and let it fall through her fingers.
Jeremy’s hands left her hips and grabbed her breasts. She arched into his
palms, wishing for all she was worth that Blake was the one cupping her.
Jeremy twisted both nipples viciously and she gasped. Thankfully, her hair
fell mostly across her face and hid her jolt of pain and surprise.
 Jeremy threw her down on the mattress, following her with a knee
jammed between her thighs. She fought against him, half-acting and half for
real. A nasty look had crept into his eyes and she didn’t like the direction
his drunken thoughts were taking. He was starting to lose control. Acting
was supposed to imitate real life, not become real life.
He grabbed her hands and yanked them up over her head. She struggled
in earnest, but he was too strong for her. He gripped both of her wrists in
one of his hands and shoved the other one between her legs. She bucked
hard, shocked and furious, trying to throw him off of her.
“Back off a little, Jeremy,” Adrian called out.
“Hot fucking slut like you doesn’t like it rough? That’s bullshit,” Jeremy
gritted out under his breath.
“Get off me,” she muttered back.
He seemed to have completely forgotten the cameras. If she didn’t know
better, she’d think he intended to force himself on her for real. He pushed
his junk against her and, using his hands, legs, and superior weight, more or
less subdued her thrashing.
This was not cool. She kept expecting Adrian to call a cut and rescue her
from this assault, but he let the cameras roll.
She was desperate enough for this job to keep going, and scared enough
of ridicule for being a wimp who couldn’t take the heat, that she didn’t
shout in alarm.
Her struggles tangled the sheets around her legs, impeding her ability to
fend him off.
“Want me to fuck you like a Marine?” he taunted under his breath.
“Pound you like artillery until you bleed?”
God, his eyes lit up like hurting her turned him on.
The bulge in Jeremy’s thong got harder and more insistent between her
legs as he continued to whisper nasty things to her. If this was some sort of
sick method acting to drive himself into a frenzy, it was working. The guy’s
eyes had glazed over and he looked completely mesmerized by whatever he
was imagining inside his sick, twisted brain.
In truth, they’d probably only been filming a few minutes, but it seemed
like a lifetime. Regardless, she’d had enough. “You need to stop now,
Jeremy,” she said loud enough for the microphone booms to pick up.
He slapped her hard, snapping her head to the side. “Shut up, bitch,” he
snarled.
Although Adrian yelled cut, Jeremy reached between them and pulled
aside his thong. His member sprang free against her inner thigh.
But he’d loosened his grip on her wrists and she yanked her right hand
free. Remembering Blake’s advice, she slugged Jeremy in the nose as hard
as she could.
A big, fast-moving blur slammed into her co-star, knocking him
completely off the bed. Blake. Olivia jumped to her knees as Jeremy
crashed to the floor with Blake on top of him.
She caught one glimpse of Blake’s eyes and looked into the face of death
—cold, calculating, and utterly inhuman. “No!” she screamed. She lunged
forward, threw herself at Blake, and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m
okay. He didn’t hurt me. Come back to me, Blake. Look at me,” she
demanded urgently.
Jeremy started to whimper. Oh, now it dawned on the dipshit that he
might have gone a wee bit too far?
Another fast moving object entered her field of view. Jackson Motta
grabbed Blake’s elbows from behind at the same time she put a hand on
each side of Blake’s face and forced him to look at her.
“I’m safe,” she whispered urgently. “You got to me in time. He didn’t do
anything to me. It’s all right.” Slowly, slowly, the terrible tension drained
from his body.
“You gonna stand down?” Motta rumbled cautiously from behind them.
“Yeah,” Blake bit out. “I’m good.”
 His arms came around her and he stood up, sweeping her against him. He
crushed her so tightly she couldn’t draw a breath, but she didn’t care. He
was past that awful moment of icy, protective rage.
Jeremy scrambled to his feet and commenced screaming at the top of his
lungs, demanding that Adrian fire Blake and yelling that he was going to
call the police, have Blake arrested, and sue him back into the Stone Age.
Blake stiffened, and for a second Olivia panicked. But then she realized
his reaction was more irritation than fury. Blake had himself firmly under
control.
He lifted his face away from her hair and snarled, “McDaniels, four
cameras just filmed you assaulting your co-star. Do you seriously want to
call the police? I’m all for it. In fact, I’ll make the call, you sick
sonofabitch.” Blake turned her loose with one arm and fished in his back
pocket for his cell phone.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Adrian cut in. “No one’s calling anyone just yet.
I’m sure we can work this out. Olivia, are you okay? You’re not hurt?”
Her cheek was on fire and felt like it was starting to swell. But she replied
bravely, “I’m okay, Adrian.”
Adrian stepped in front of Jeremy and asked, “Are you injured?”
He started ranting, and Blake cut him off with a sharp, “I didn’t do any
damage to him. If I had laid a hand on him, you’d be calling paramedics
right now, and someone would be performing CPR on him.”
Olivia half-turned in Blake’s arms in time to catch Jeremy glaring
furiously. She intervened before her co-star complained again. “Adrian, did
you get enough footage to cut together some sort of half-believable love
scene?”
The director frowned, apparently startled by her question. “I believe I did.
If I edit in some of the leftover footage from the first love scene, I think it
would work.”
“All right, then. I’m done shooting love scenes for this movie. You’ll
have to work with what you’ve already got.” She looked over Blake’s
shoulder at Jeremy. “And as for you. If you ever lay a finger on me again,
I’ll tell Blake to kill you.”
“He’ll have help,” Jackson Motta growled.
One of the grips, a big, muscular guy Olivia didn’t recall ever having
spoken to, added, “The authorities will never find what’s left of you when
we’re done.”
Tyrone stepped forward and managed to look positively menacing. He
jabbed a comb in Jeremy’s face. “If you happen to escape the entire crew,
I’ll personally see to it everyone—and I mean everyone—in Hollywood
knows about this little stunt.”
That last statement seemed to worry Jeremy more than the threats they all
knew were just angry rhetoric. Tyrone would really follow through. He
turned to Adrian. “You can’t let them threaten me like this! Get control of
your crew!”
“I’m in complete agreement with my crew,” Adrian answered. “We’re
done for the day. Everyone go home, get a good night’s sleep, and get a
little distance from today’s…misstep.”
Jeremy stormed off the set without another word, jaw set, gaze burning.
Adrian turned to Olivia. “I’m sincerely sorry for that. I had no idea he
would be such an asshole. You did your job under the most trying and
inappropriate of circumstances and salvaged what would otherwise have
been a complete disaster at great personal sacrifice. I won’t forget it and I’ll
make sure my fellow directors know what a dedicated professional you
are.”
With that, he turned away and trudged toward the bank of monitors.
“Your trailer. Now,” Blake bit out, every inch a Marine officer giving her
a direct order.
Loving his strength, she followed him toward the exit, relishing how he
stood so ready to protect her. Sheila, Jackson, and Tyrone fell in beside her,
asking whether she was okay to be alone with Blake.
 “Of course,” she snorted. “I trust the man with my life.” She realized with
a start that she actually did. His honor and self-control were iron clad.
He prowled the length of her trailer and back while she waited for him to
wind himself down. Finally, he stopped in front of her, shoving a hand
through his short hair.
“God, I’m sorry, Liv.”
Okay, that was the one thing she had not expected out of him. “What on
earth do you have to apologize for?”
“I busted into the middle of a scene you were shooting. It was totally out
of line. Hell, I know what your job entails. I’ve got no right to freak out
when other men get naked with you and put their hands and mouths all over
you.”
“What Jeremy did was not normal or acceptable. He stepped way over the
line. I’ve never been so glad to see a fast moving flying object go whizzing
past as I was when you tackled his skinny ass.”
Blake stared at her doubtfully.
“Besides, the scene was already over. I slugged Jeremy in the nose a
millisecond before you slammed into him.”
A slow grin started at the corners of Blake’s mouth and spread into a
broad smile. “Did you, now? I didn’t see it. I was zeroed in on my target.”
“I remembered what you told me and hauled off with my fist as hard as I
could.”
He pulled her into his arms. “The first part of the scene, before
McAsshole went apeshit, was smoking hot.”
“Hot enough to deserve a little spanking?” she asked hopefully.
“Mmm. Definitely,” he murmured against her lips.
Her lower body reacted hard and fast, muscles tightening into knots of
hot and throbbing lust as blood rushed to the region in anticipation. A
ringing noise from his back pocket interrupted the moment, and she made a
face.
 “Hold that thought,” he laughed as he pulled the phone out. He looked at
the caller I.D. and swore quietly.
“Who is it?” she asked quickly.
“My boss.”
Even though Blake put the phone tightly to his ear and moved well away
from her, she heard the voice at the other end—and its owner was pissed.
Blake’s face went tight and grim as he listened to the tirade in silence.
And then it hit her. Jeremy, that obnoxious asswipe, had called Blake’s
boss. No doubt he’d accused Blake of attacking him. She bet he’d also
demanded that Blake be fired immediately. Given the upheaval in Blake’s
career already, this would be the end of it. Would he be thrown out on the
street to fend off the Russians by himself? If Jeremy had put Blake in
danger, so help her, she’d kill him herself. Cold, hard fury took hold of her,
and when Blake turned away, she slipped out of the trailer and went in
search of her co-star.
She had to pass Jackson Motta’s trailer en route as she stormed past and
he jumped up and fell in beside her. “How are you doing, Liv?” he asked
cautiously.
“I’m fine,” she snarled.
“Going somewhere?”
“I’m on my way to kill Jeremy. Wanna help?”
“I thought we decided to let him live. Wasn’t that the point of stopping
Blake from ripping his head off?”
“Jeremy called Blake’s boss, who’s now screaming at Blake on the phone
and undoubtedly firing him from this assignment. This will not only destroy
Blake’s career but put his life at risk.”
“Whoa, there. His life? What’s this all about?”
She explained about Russian agents harassing and threatening him.
Jackson moved in front of her, forcing her to stop marching toward
McDumbass’s trailer. “Listen to me, Olivia. Me and my boys, most of us
are ex-military. And some of us were Special Forces. We know how to deal
with the Russians. If anyone tries to come after Blake on our watch, they’ll
have to get through us first. I’ll have a little chat with our security guys—
who also happen to be damned sharp, by the way. Adrian’s team is not the
run of the mill rent-a-cop variety. He hires ex-cops and ex-soldiers. This set
is probably the safest place Blake could be, shy of a lock-up on a military
installation.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“It’s the God’s honest truth.”
She stared at him for a long time before finally nodding her acceptance
“Speaking of our boy, have you told Blake how you feel about him?”
“No. Why?”
“Because Blake can use the good news. I know Jeremy McDaniels. You
can be damned sure he lied his ass off to Blake’s boss. My guess is he
demanded that Blake be arrested and hauled off the set. Hell, knowing
Jeremy, he probably called the local paparazzi to come and cover it.”
Her blood ran cold. That was exactly the sort of stunt Jeremy would pull.
“His boss won’t believe a word Jeremy had to say. But in the face of such
serious accusations, Blake’s boss is still going to have to pull him out of
here until this mess can be sorted out. Blake will be on the first plane out of
here under military guard back to Washington, D.C. Once his boss has the
situation contained, he’ll get around to sorting out what happened and
verifying that Blake’s telling the truth. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his
boss hasn’t already got a couple of MP’s from the nearest military base on
their way here to escort Blake off the set. If you love him, you’ve got to
move fast.”
Escort Blake off the set? But he would be safe here, and he might not be
safe somewhere else! She replied blankly, “But Jeremy assaulted me. We
all saw it. Heck, it’s on film.”
“Yes, but Blake’s boss hasn’t seen the film. Based on Jeremy’s lies, He’ll
have to remove Blake until he can see the proof of Blake’s innocence for
himself.”
 “Do you know how to reach Blake’s boss?”
“No, but I know who does. Come with me.”
Jackson took off running and she followed, her heart in her throat. He
screeched to a stop in front of Adrian’s trailer and pounded on the door.
The director opened it, looking harassed. The reason for that expression
leered over the man’s shoulder. Jeremy. Olivia glared daggers at him.
“What can I do for you two?” Adrian asked in surprise.
“I need your phone, sir. Now.” Jackson used the exact same firm, brook-
no-disobedience tone that Blake used when he got really annoyed.
A momentary frown creased Adrian’s brow and then sudden
comprehension lit his eyes.. “Sure.” He coughed up the cell phone, and then
herded Jeremy back into the trailer and closed the door behind them.
“C’mon,” Jackson said, striding away rapidly. He scrolled through what
looked like Adrian’s contact list as he walked a hundred feet or so away
from the trailer. Out of Jeremy’s earshot. Smart.
“Hah. Here it is,” the stuntman announced. He poked the phone a couple
of times and then passed it to her. “Guy’s name is Colonel Frank Santerros.
Call him ‘sir.’”
She took the phone and held it to her ear just in time to hear a woman
answer. “My name is Olivia Harper, and I need to speak with Colonel
Santerros, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry, he’s on another line right now.”
“I know,” she replied wryly. “If you could please ask him to stop yelling
at Major Ramsey long enough to speak to me, I promise I won’t take long
to say what I have to.”
The secretary sounded amused as she intoned, “One moment.”
A very, very irritated male voice came on the line. “Miss Harper? If
you’ll forgive me for being blunt, I’m already aware the charges that my
officer attacked your co-star and ruined your scene. I’m taking care of it as
we speak.”
 She replied before he could hang up on her, “And are you also aware that
my co-star was in the middle of attacking me and Major Ramsey saved me
from a potentially serious injury, possibly rape? He’s a hero, sir. He’s not
the villain of the scenario. That role belongs to my co-star, who, by the way,
is not renowned for his honesty. The whole thing is on film so you don’t
have to take anyone’s word for it.”
“Come again? Attacking you?” the colonel sputtered in disbelief.
“Blake saved me.”
“Thank God. That sounds a hell of lot more like the officer I know.”
“I think you should speak to Adrian Turnow and get the whole story from
him. Please, don’t do anything rash. None of this was Major Ramsey’s fault.
He did nothing but act with the highest integrity and honor.” She added in a
rush, “And the security team and stunt crew can keep him safe out here, sir.
Please don’t take him away from their protection.”
“What do you know about that?” the colonel asked sharply.
“Not much. Blake will only admit that there are some people trying to
find him and harm him.”
“I know you’ve got him made up to look like someone else when he goes
out in public, but what about when he’s not wearing his disguise? Problem
is, if this McDaniels kid makes a stink and gets a lot of press for the
incident, the ruse could be discovered and Blake could be exposed.”
“That’s why you have to call Adrian right away. He can get Jeremy to
keep his mouth shut.”
“You make a compelling argument. I’ll call Adrian right now.” Faint
amusement had infused the man’s voice, banishing the anger.
“Umm, this is his phone I’m talking on. Why don’t I just pass it to him?”
“Okay.”
“One moment, sir.” She pressed her hand over the receiver and held out
the device to Jackson. “He wants to talk to Adrian.”
The stuntman nodded and ran back to Turnow’s trailer with the phone.
 She desperately hoped the conversation had been enough to avert disaster.
If not, she’d never forgive herself.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Thirteen

Blake braced himself for the worst while waiting for his boss to return to
the phone. He knew what he’d do in a similar situation if one of his men
were accused of rape. He’d arrest the guy, toss him in jail, and once the
situation was contained, he’d get around to figuring out whether or not the
soldier was guilty.
His career was over. And if he got exposed publicly for this fiasco, his
life might very well be in real danger. Not to mention he wouldn’t be with
Olivia. That was, by far, the worst part of this whole mess.
Could he really spend the rest of his career holed up in the basement of
the Pentagon? Never get out and about, never have any excitement? It was
as if night had fallen and he suddenly couldn’t see anything ahead of him.
His path, which had been so clear just a few weeks ago, was completely
obscured. He’d totally lost his way.
One thing he could do was come clean with his boss about everything. At
least then he’d have a clear conscience.
Colonel Santerros came back on the line. “You there, Blake?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was Olivia Harper on my other line. She seems to think you’re
some kind of conquering hero. What the hell’s going on out there?”
Thank God. At least Santerros had wound down enough about him
blowing his cover to get a word in edgewise. “It’s not my style to talk about
other people, sir, but the star of this movie, a kid named Jeremy McDaniels,
is quite a piece of work. He’s been hassling the female co-star for a while.
Today he showed up on the set drunk and attacked her in the middle of
filming a love scene. The director didn’t realize what was going on. As soon
as I figured out how bad it was getting, I jumped in.”
“How likely is McDaniels to go public with this and get you way too
much press attention? McDaniels said you’re shacking up with the female
star of the movie and prancing around in front of the paparazzi with her.”
He cleared his throat. “About that, sir. I have a confession to make. Miss
Harper and I have become romantically involved
A long, long, silence greeted that announcement.
“Did you have to tell me that?” Santerros finally asked in a pained voice.
“Yes, sir. I did. I have to live with myself every day, and dishonesty
doesn’t sit well with me. I realize I’ve pretty much torpedoed my career and
maybe my safety. But, I love her.”
“She’s a movie star. And you’re a jarhead Marine. Are you nuts?”
“Absolutely, sir. I can offer no other explanation for my behavior.”
His boss grunted. “I’m not going to be able to help you after this.”
“I understand, sir. Is there any chance my long record of honorable
service to my country might buy me a chance to resign my commission
quietly?”
“I can pull some strings and probably make that happen. If you’ll get me
the letter fast before you show up on the front page of any more tabloids,
I’ll accept your resignation and get the paperwork moving. The Russians
will leave you alone if you can’t help them get Carmen back…I hope. In the
mean time, you need to lay low. Watch your back. You sure you want to be
a civilian for that?”
“I’m sure, sir.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, son. Not many women are worth
blowing up a long and distinguished career over.” And with that, Santerros
disconnected the call.
Jesus. What in the hell had he just done? Blake flopped into an armchair
and stared at the carpet in Olivia’s trailer. He’d just thrown away his life for
a woman whose career meant everything to her and who, in no way, had
time or space for him. It was small comfort to know that he wasn’t going to
jail today. But his future was nothing but uncertainty. Liv deserved more.
He headed for Jackson Motta’s trailer to pick up the spare clothes and
toiletries he’d kept there. Blake ducked inside when the stuntman let him in.
“How’s it going?” Jackson asked sympathetically.
“I just resigned my commission.”
“That sucks.” The stuntman dug in the refrigerator and held out a beer.
Blake shook his head. “Thanks, but no. I need my head clear.” He took a
deep breath and dived into the reason he’d really come. “Jack, I need you to
do me a favor.”
“Anything, bro.”
“I need you tell Adrian I’ve left and that he needs to find himself another
technical advisor.”
“What the hell?”
“McDumbass won’t work with me. If I stick around, the tension on the
set will mess up the movie. Adrian’s got no choice but to fire me. Thought
I’d save him the trouble and me the embarrassment and just leave quietly.”
“What about Olivia?”
“What about her?”
“She’s crazy about you.”
“She’s caught up in the drama of shooting a movie.” Blake paced a lap
around the tiny living room. “I mean, come on. I’m a washed-up ex-Marine
with no job. She’s a movie star on the rise. She’s got no time for a schmuck
like me hanging onto her coattails.”
Jackson replied slowly, “Were you planning to tell me about the Russkies
on your tail, or am I going to have to pry the rest of the details out of
Olivia?”
Blake stared, stunned.
“Me and the boys, we’ve got a little experience with those fellas. If you
stick around here, we’ve got your back. No Russians will get through our
security perimeter to mess with you.”
 That declaration shocked Blake. “That’s incredibly generous of you to
offer. But I can’t put you and your men at risk like that.”
“Sure you can. You’ve been doing all the dangerous explosives work on
this movie already. I figure it makes us even.”
It was tempting. Damned tempting. And if it were just Jackson and his
crew, Blake might take the guy up on his offer. But he cared for Olivia way
too much to put her in danger—
“I was going to wait until this movie wrapped to bring it up again, but
now seems like a good time.”
“To bring up what?”
“Remember how I told you I was thinking about starting up my own stunt
and technical services company? I’ve decided to do it. I’ve got some money
saved up, and a wealthy investor willing to finance the rest. Plus, I’ve got a
ton of contacts in the industry. Problem is, I’m not the best at explosives
and it’s been a few years since I was in the Army. Man, you’re a magician
with explosives and you’re current on everything that’s going on in the
military.
“I figure you could recruit some of your Special Forces buddies to come
work for us, too. Their training is perfect for stunt work—lots of ninja
physical stuff, offensive driving, hand-to-hand combat, shooting weapons,
blowing shit up—it’s all the same. I want you to be my partner.”
“Are you serious, dude?” Blake burst out.
“As a heart attack.”
Getting to stay in Hollywood, at least close to Olivia? Lord, it was
tempting. But he wouldn’t endanger her life. Regretfully, he shook his head.
“Sorry, buddy. I’d love to take you up on it. But I’m not laying my
problems at anyone else’s doorstep.”
“Do me one favor, Blake.”
“Anything.”
“Talk to Olivia. Tell her how you feel about her.”
“How the hell do you know how I feel about her?”
 “It’s all over your face every time you get within about a hundred feet of
her.”
Blake shook his head. “I’m not her type. If I care about her at all, I’ll stay
the hell out of her way.”
“Maybe you should let her make that decision.”
He wasn’t going to argue with Motta about a woman. “Look. I’ve got
some stuff to take care of. I’ve got a letter of resignation to write and a pile
of exit paperwork to do for Uncle Sam. Then, I’ve got to pack up my stuff
and find a place to lay low for a while—”
“Crash with me until you get settled in.”
“That’s great of you to offer. But I’ve got to disappear for a while. Look
after Olivia for me, will you? Make sure the bastards don’t come after her
and keep an eye on McDaniels. Make sure he doesn’t mess with my girl.”
“Talk to her, Blake, or I’m going to start calling you McDumbass.”

…
Olivia searched everywhere for Blake but couldn’t find him anywhere on
set. Finally, she broke down and asked people if they’d seen him. No one
had. Not until she tracked down Jackson Motta.
“Hey, Liv.” He held down a measuring tape while one of his guys marked
off the spot with gaffer’s tape.
“Have you seen Blake recently?”
“Yeah. Talked with him a while ago.”
“How’s he doing?”
“His boss isn’t going to have him arrested if that’s what you’re worried
about.”
“I need to talk with him.”
“That’s gonna be tough,” Jackson replied.
“Why’s that?”
“He left. Quit working on the movie. He’s gone into hiding.”
 Olivia felt the blood drain from her face. He was gone? “B-but he didn’t
say good-bye.” Had all of it been a game to him? He’d said he wanted her
to have his baby.
Was he angry that the antics on the set had cost him a career in the
military? She wouldn’t blame him.
Her heart rejected the notion. He had to have some feelings for her.
Right? He’d at least say good-bye.
Wouldn’t he?
“It’s none of my business, Olivia, but you two really need to talk.”
“Why?”
“Just talk to him.”
And how was she supposed to do that? He was gone. She knew full well
he’d go to ground to avoid the Russians. He probably had some misguided
notion that he had to disappear to keep her safe..
She’d never find him if he didn’t want to be found. She wandered with no
destination in mind until Jeremy strolled up looking smug in spite of his
swollen and purpling nose.
“I got the fucker fired,” he announced.
“You’re an asshole,” she replied dully, “and he quit. You didn’t have
anything to do with it.”
That honor belonged to her. She’d been the one to wreck his career and
endanger his life.
At least Jeremy had the good sense to move away from her quickly
before she slugged him again.
Then it hit her. The hotel.
She needed to get back to the hotel before Blake left. Her car wasn’t due
to pick her up for hours, though. And no cab would drive this far out into
the desert to pick her up. She searched for someone, anyone, who could
help her and spotted Tyrone. She dashed over to the make-up artist.
“I need to borrow your car. Blake’s leaving and I have to talk to him.”
 “For true love, you may borrow my baby. But if you harm a speck of her
paint, I’ll have to hurt you.” Tyrone dangled his key fob.
“I’ll buy you a new car if I hurt this one,” she promised as she gave him a
quick hug. It wasn’t hard to spot the yellow Mini Cooper with six-inch-long
eyelashes secured over each of its front headlights. The car was as
flamboyant as its owner.
She drove back to Palm Springs as fast as the little car would go, flooring
it on the straight, open highway through the desert and made three phone
calls along the way. The first to her accountant. The next to her parents. The
last to her agent.
The car screeched into the resort, laying down rubber as it turned the
corner. She so owed Tyrone a new set of tires. She jumped out of the car
and raced into the hotel. She flew up the stairwell when the elevator was
stuck on the eleventh floor, and barreled down the hall to Blake’s room. She
banged on the door.
Please be there. Please be there.
Nothing. Swearing, she pounded her fists on the door. A maid stepped out
of a room a few doors down to stare at her.
“Have you seen Major Ramsey today?” she asked the maid desperately.
“The man in that room, he left about an hour ago. Took his bags. He
checked out, ma’am.”
Too late. She’d missed him. Tears sprang to her eyes and she nodded
blindly.
“Thanks,” she managed to mumble. She turned and trudged to the
elevator. On the way up, she sobbed.
How was she going to find him? He’d resigned from the Marines. He
could be headed anywhere. Maybe he had family somewhere. Or friends he
could hide out with. But they’d been too busy jumping each other’s bones
to trade family histories.
What if he took a job in some far-flung country working private security?
If he decided to disappear, she had no doubt he’d erase every trace of
himself so she couldn’t find him, even with the help of a private
investigator.
Panic ripped through her. There had to be something she could do! Her
tears spilled over, and as the elevator door opened, they rolled down her
face in rivers of agony and loss. She had no idea how she was supposed to
go on without him. Her brain couldn’t wrap around the idea of a world
without Blake in it.
She staggered to her door and inside her suite. But that was as far as she
got. She slid down the wall beside the door, hugged her knees, buried her
face in her arms, and sobbed her heart out.
“What’s all this?” a deep voice said, scaring the living hell out of her. Her
head jerked up and she stared through the wash of tears. A big, male
silhouette stepped inside from the patio. He was just putting away a cell
phone in his back pocket.
“Blake?” she asked in disbelief.
In seconds, she was vertical and being held at arm’s length from him.
“What’s wrong? Did that asshole hurt you?”
“No. It’s you,” she gulped between sobbing breaths. Was it really him?
Was he really here?
His face went a ghastly shade of gray. “I’m so sorry, Liv. I screwed up
everything. I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I’ll go. You’ll never have to
worry about me again—”
“No! Don’t leave me!”
He stopped. Stared at her. “What?”
She babbled in a rush, “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through.
You’ve tried to do the right thing and help me out, and I wrecked your
career, and I’m so, so, sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, baby.” His fingers traced the wetness on her
cheeks. “Everything I did was of my own free will. You didn’t coerce me
into doing anything I didn’t want to.”
 Noble to the end, he was. Her heart broke a little more to see him still
trying to protect her and look out for her, even now.
“Blake, I love how you take care of me and make me feel safe and
cherished and important. It’s just like you to tell me none of this was my
fault, but we both know you’d be a Marine in good standing if not for me.
The Russians would have no idea where to find you and you’d be safe. I
don’t expect you to return my feelings after what I’ve cost you. But you
really are an amazing, wonderful man. I love you.”
He went utterly still. Stared at her with laser intensity. “Come again?”
“I love you. I know we haven’t known each other that long, and God
knows I wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, but I’m head-over-
heels, crazy in love with you.”
He stared like she’d just announced she was an alien from outer space.
Finally he said, “You don’t have to say that because you feel bad about me
leaving the Corps. The writing was on the wall before I came to California
that my field career was done. And no way do I want to spend the next ten
years sitting at a desk pushing paper. You just helped me see the inevitable.”
“I’m not saying I love you because I feel guilty.” She shoved at his
shoulder. “What do I have to do to prove I mean it? My accountant says
there’s plenty of money from the TV show’s syndication. My agent says
once the movie wraps and I’ve done the promotion, she’ll sever our
contract. Don’t I have the right to choose a life with you?”
Olivia had wanted that Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, would have
died for it at one time, but now, the awards meant nothing compared to
losing Blake.
Frantic to make him believe her, she dropped to one knee.
“Marry me, Blake. If you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life
with you. Let’s go to Vegas right now and make it legal. I don’t care if the
entire Russian Army is trying to kidnap you. I want to be with you, no
matter what the risks.”
 His jaw dropped. He stared at her so long she worried that she’d thrown
him into some sort of catatonic state.
“I just got a phone call from Colonel Santerros. The CIA has accepted
their Russian counterpart’s offer of a trade. They’re getting Carmen back
and have agreed to quit harassing me. They even sent my boss a copy of the
order to their people to stand down and stop trying to find me.”
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
“The Russians have agreed to leave me alone for good. I’ll be careful for
a while out of general principle, until all the field operatives have received
the order to back off. But in a matter of days, I’ll be in the clear. Safe. Free
to get on with my life.”
He took her by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. “If anyone’s
getting down on one knee and proposing, princess, it’ll be me doing it and
not you. Is that clear?”
A flicker of hope ignited in her breast. That was more like him. Mr. Take
Charge.
He said grimly, “Look me in the eye, Liv, and tell me this isn’t some
passing fancy of yours. That you don’t fall in and out of love with guys in
every new movie or TV show you shoot.”
She looked him square in the eye. “I have never told another human being
except for my parents…and rarely, my brother…that I love them. Call my
mom and ask. She’ll tell you.”
“Tyrone’s the person I really ought to ask,” Blake replied dryly. “That
guy knows everything about everyone in the movie industry.”
“He’ll tell you the exact same thing. This is the real deal, Blake. I’m
telling you the God’s honest truth.”
It started as a slow nod. Became a faint hint of a smile at the corners of
his mouth. A finger under her chin to lift her face to his. “Mean it?”
“With all my heart. I love you, Blake Ramsey.” It was like jumping off a
cliff to declare her feelings. It didn’t escape her notice that he hadn’t
reciprocated, but she didn’t need a safety net under this fall. She would wait
for him for as long as it took.
“I have no idea what you see in me,” he murmured. “You’re perfect. You
can have any man you want—some handsome, rich, talented movie star
who’ll sweep you off your feet and romance you.”
“You’re handsome. If we don’t have to leave Hollywood, I’m about to be
rich enough to take care of myself. And Lord knows, you’re talented.” She
sent him a sidelong, sultry glance to indicate in what department she was
talking about.
Heat blossomed between them. That was exactly what she was talking
about. One burning look from him and she melted into putty. Even now, she
had to fight to concentrate on the conversation.
“Blake, you’ve already swept me off my feet. Why would I look at
anybody else when I have you? You’re all I’ve ever wanted in a man and
more.”
He let out a long, slow whisper of a sigh. She waited in an agony of
suspense for him to say something. Anything.
Finally, he said heavily, “I’m all out of arguments.”
“What does that mean?”
“I guess all that’s left to do is tell you I love you, too. I think you’re a
damned fool for loving me, but who am I to argue? I give up, Liv. I
surrender.”
Something warm and wonderful unfolded inside her, like a butterfly
taking flight, weightless and perfect. “You’re okay with me making movies?
And doing love scenes now and then?”
“As long as I’m there to keep you safe.”
“And spank me if I have too much fun?” she asked hopefully.
He chuckled. “Good God, I’ve created a monster. You’re a wicked,
wicked woman, Olivia Harper.”
“You created a femme fatale.”
“My femme fatale.”
 “Yours. Forever.”
They sealed the deal with a kiss. And a trip to the bedroom. And love and
laughter. Talk of children, and where they wanted to live, and a thousand
other tiny threads that wove a tapestry of love strong enough to last a
lifetime.
She didn’t need to be a badass actress as long as she had him. And that
was the best gift he could’ve given her. He’d taught her how to be herself.
Funny how, despite his protests to the contrary, he’d turned out to be her
knight in shining armor, after all. And she’d turned out to be his very own,
private femme fatale.
OceanofPDF.com
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