by J. Kenner
Apparently she’d cruised a little too fast, since she’d ended up getting pulled over by one of Los Angeles’s finest. Another speeding ticket wasn’t going to make her insurance company very happy, and so she’d sat in the car clutching her registration and insurance, silently willing the officer to let her off with a warning.
Amazingly enough, he had.
Shaking her head, Tracy had crept away, carefully watching her speed, using her blinker, and generally driving like her grandmother had. Now, as she crawled through the studio gate at a snail’s pace, Tracy was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t leading a charmed life.
But why?
Then she remembered the belt. It had to be psychological. Mind over matter. The belt had made her grandmother confident, and now it was bolstering Tracy’s confidence in the same way.
Didn’t all those pop psychology gurus say you had to believe in yourself before anyone would do anything for you? Well, apparently that little theory was true.
Amazing.
She maneuvered the backlot on autopilot, finally parking in front of the Paws In Production trailer. Chris, the intern, had arrived first, and the portable kennels were already lined up in front, each with an animal itching to get out.
Since Mel wasn’t anywhere in sight—she’d likely already left for her meetings—Tracy opened Peanut’s kennel and urged the dachshund forward. “Come on girl. We’re running late.” Tracy jiggled her fanny pack filled with doggie treats, and Peanut waddled out of the cage. Chris passed Tracy the day’s call sheet as he moved to clean the now-vacant cage.
By the time they reached the soundstage, shooting was already in progress. Fortunately, today’s script didn’t call for Peanut to do anything more involved than stealing Leon’s chair when he got up to talk to Mrs. Dolittle, so the fact that they were late shouldn’t really matter.
Even so, all eyes turned to her as soon as they walked in. Tracy gulped, stopped, and started to feel a bit like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes—a single human on display for the apes to examine. Everyone was staring, and Leon was positively gaping.
“Uh . . . hi.” Deciding that being strictly professional was the better part of valor, she bent down, unclipped Peanut’s leash, and gave the dog the signal to go to her first mark at the base of Leon’s chair.
As Peanut rushed toward the chair, Leon rushed toward Tracy. “Are you all right? You’re late.”
“I’m fine.” Newfound confidence or not, being the center of attention wasn’t sitting well, and Tracy felt her cheeks burn. Her gaze darted around the room, and she gratefully noted that everyone else had gone back to their business. “I got pulled over this morning, so I was running a little behind.”
“No!” He couldn’t have sounded more angst-ridden if he’d been performing Hamlet. “I’ve got friends in the department. We’ll challenge the ticket. I mean, this is outrageous. This is absurd. This is—”
“No big deal.” She grabbed his flailing wrist. “It’s okay. I just got a warning.” She frowned, though, wondering why Leon was suddenly being nice to her again.
“That’s a relief,” he said, and took her hand. “Seriously, though, if you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”
“First positions!” The voice of the assistant director, Gary, echoed through the soundstage.
Leon ignored him, still holding Tracy’s hand, a puppy-dog expression on his face.
She waited for him to say something. And waited. And waited.
Nothing. He just kept staring. Tracy’d never really understood the expression “goo-goo-eyed,” but in this case, it seemed to fit perfectly.
“Uh, listen, Leon. About yesterday.” Somehow an apology seemed appropriate, despite the fact that he’d been the jerk. “I’m really sorry I tripped and . . . uh . . . spilled the . . . uh . . . the uh . . . the—”
“Crap all over me?” Leon chuckled. “Wasn’t that a riot? Took me an hour in the shower to get rid of the smell. Talk about an unexpected adventure.” Again, that award-winning smile. “But I guess I deserved it. I was so preoccupied when you came over, I think I came off rather rude.”
She gaped. Was he actually apologizing?
He took her hand. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Yup. That was definitely an apology. She blinked, too flabbergasted to form a coherent sentence.
“Leon!” Gary howled. “You want to grace us with your presence?”
“Be right there,” he hollered back, but didn’t make any attempt to move away from Tracy.
She squinted at him, trying to find the catch. “So, you really aren’t mad?”
“At you?” His eyes, warm and soft, seemed to surround her, and she squirmed under his gaze, not entirely sure she was comfortable. “Sugarplum, how could I be mad at you?”
“Well, I just thought . . .” She trailed off, trying to figure out what he was up to.
“Now, Leon.” This time, the voice came from the director himself.
Leon squeezed Tracy’s hand. “Au revoir, ma cheri.”
She blinked as he headed onto the set. What a bizarre morning. There wasn’t any time to take stock, though. She needed to focus on Peanut and making sure the dog made it to each of her marks, didn’t miss a cue, and looked sufficiently cute and cuddly, with just a touch of doggie astuteness.
As the scene opened, Mrs. Dolittle and her nephew Brent, played by Leon, were bantering about the latest murder in their sleepy little hometown. Plopped near Leon’s feet, Peanut looked half-dead. Tracy signaled to her, and the dog perked up. Another signal, and she scratched at the base of Leon’s chair.
As scripted, Leon reached down and rubbed her ears, his conversation with his pretend aunt never faltering. Peanut sat back on her haunches and stared at him, her eyes big and pitiful. Then, the big finale. Tracy knew what would happen from rehearsals. Leon would get up to make a point, Peanut—at Tracy’s signal—would sneak onto the chair, and then Leon would come back and just barely miss sitting on the dog. In editing, the laugh track would be bumped up a few decibels.
It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it paid the bills.
Except something wasn’t right. Glancing up from where she crouched, Tracy saw Leon staring at her, his eyes wide and adoring.
“Cut!”
She’d tuned everything out except for her cues for Peanut, and now she looked around to figure out what was going on, “What happened?” she whispered to a nearby grip she’d always thought had the cutest smile.
“Leon flubbed his lines.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Then why’s Burke glaring at me?” The director, well known for his temper, was directing equal doses of his world famous glare at Tracy and at Leon.
The grip sidled closer. “Because instead of saying he and Lori were going to see what they could find out at the morgue, Leon said that he and Tracy were going.”
She swallowed. Lori was Leon’s girlfriend in the show. So it made sense Burke would be ticked if he thought Tracy was distracting his star. She hoped he wasn’t mad at her. She needed this gig, and even if Mel wouldn’t fire her, Burke could kick her off the backlot.
She glared at Leon, angry that he’d put her in this position. Was this revenge for yesterday?
“You two an item?” the cute grip asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“What?” she asked, trying to pick up the thread of conversation. “Who?”
He nodded in the direction she was looking—toward Leon, who was wiggling his fingers in a tiny little wave even as the A.D. tried to get everyone back to places.
An item? Her and Leon? She almost laughed out loud, then remembered the way he’d just apologized, not to mention the strange passion she’d seen in those eyes. They weren’t an item, but something was definitely up.
“Um, no. Not at all.”
“Good.” The grip’s smile broadened. “I was hoping maybe we could go out to dinner sometime after the shoot. I think we’ve probably got a lot in common.”
She g
lanced at his Dance ’Til You Puke T-shirt. “You think?”
“Well, uh, sure. I mean, you like animals. I’ve got a cat. Or my roommate does.”
Tracy’s brow furrowed. “Right.”
She had no idea what else to say, but fortunately, the assistant director called for quiet and she was saved from responding. The grip headed back to his station, and Tracy shook her head. Weird.
The actors started the scene again, and once again Leon managed to flub his lines. And again. And again. Finally Burke decided to wrap for the day, even though it wasn’t even lunchtime. He stormed off the set, sending Leon a look that could melt glass. The look he shot Tracy was cooler—but decidedly confused.
Not quite ready to deal with any of it, Tracy called to Peanut, leashed the dog, then headed for the door, hoping to avoid another encounter with the cute grip with the bad taste in T-shirts. Leon caught up with her before she’d gone ten feet.
“You’re leaving? So soon?” He stepped closer, into that little realm of air she considered her personal space.
Without thinking, she took a step backward. He moved too, closing the distance. She cleared her throat. “Well, yes. I need to get Peanut back.”
“Can’t you stay and chat?”
Her brow furrowed as she gestured toward the door. “I really should go,” she said, not at all sure what Leon was up to.
“How about tonight? Coffee? Dessert? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
He took her hand, and Tracy gasped with surprise. Part of her wanted to say no. After the way he’d treated her, Leon Palmer wasn’t exactly high on her list. But at the same time, he was being so conciliatory . . .
“Please.” He squeezed her fingers.
“I don’t know.”
“I really feel I need to make it up to you. Please.”
Her shoulders sagged and she capitulated. “I guess that would be okay.”
In an elegant gesture, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. Tracy tried not to melt. “I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said, and Tracy could only nod, wondering if she’d done the right thing.
When he walked away, she twisted around, wondering if anyone had witnessed their encounter. It was then that she saw the tall, dark Adonis standing on the far side of the sound-stage, his face hidden by the shadows. But he wasn’t hidden enough that she couldn’t feel the way his eyes were watching her, or see the firm set of his jaw as he frowned.
His shape was somehow familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
Still, something about this man called to her. Something mysterious and provocative. Her stomach fluttered. Part of her wanted to cross the darkened soundstage and speak to him. To ask why he was watching her. Why he was frowning.
She took a step closer before the realization of her own boldness stopped her cold. And that’s when he shifted, the light catching the angular planes of his chiseled features, and she realized where she’d seen him before.
Yesterday’s mysterious stranger.
What on earth was he doing watching her from the shadows? She bit her lip, trying to decide if she should approach him and ask that very thing. But the reality was, she didn’t know this man at all.
It had been an odd, confusing day, and her mind was all a muddle. Best to leave now and sort it all out later. Or not sort it out.
Frankly, she wasn’t entirely sure the day was sort-out-able.
9
She’s wearing the belt! Elmer squeaked. And that guy was being a complete dunderhead. It works! It really works!
Hale clenched his fists at his sides. Elmer was right—that Leon Palmer fellow had practically fallen all over Tracy. Not that Hale minded seeing the little worm manipulated; under normal circumstances, Hale would be perfectly content to see Leon put under a spell for the rest of his life. But these weren’t normal circumstances at all. If Leon was fawning all over Tracy, that meant that she must actually be attracted to the guy. Which was crazy. Couldn’t Tracy see that the man wasn’t sincere, belt or not? This Leon fellow didn’t really care about her. Even more, from what Hale could tell, he was a bumbling idiot. How could Tracy just have agreed to go out with him?
Because she wanted him. She desired him. And the belt had given her what she wanted. Hale wondered what else she’d want before the day was through. As Zephron had explained, the belt worked on both a sensual and a non-sensual level. She might want Leon, but she might also simply want better service at the dry cleaners. Or a better job. Or who knows what.
Still, at the moment, Hale couldn’t be concerned with that. No, Leon was the problem. Tracy had actually smiled at Leon, and Hale’s stomach had done flip-flops. Anger, frustration, jealousy? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that the realization that Tracy actually liked this mortal cretin irritated him. He shoved the emotion away. He didn’t care about Tracy’s love interests. Of course he didn’t.
Who Tracy liked, who Tracy dated, who Tracy made love with had absolutely no bearing on his life. None. Zip. Nada.
She could do whatever she wanted. With whomever she wanted. Even annoying cretins like Leon Palmer.
Except it was his business. The truth was a blow he didn’t expect. If his ancestor’s magic girdle had anything to do with who Tracy dated and who Tracy slept with, then it very much was his concern.
Oddly, that fact cheered him; he now had a reason to care if Tracy liked Leon Palmer. And if he had anything to say about it, he intended to make sure that Tracy never fell for the bastard.
Yo. Hale my man! You wanna say something to your little buddy? Like why we’re still standing here when the girl’s gone?
At that, Hale blinked. Sure enough, while he’d been thinking about her love life, Tracy had slipped out the soundstage door. He rushed forward, desperate not to lose sight of her, then forced himself to stop. He’d never stumbled over himself to get to a woman . . . and he didn’t intend to start now. No matter how much the woman in question was beginning to get under his skin. And no matter the importance of the belt she was wearing.
Slowly and calmly, he headed toward the door.
So where are we going?
“Her trailer.” As it was, they should have been there long before. Hale had called his agent the previous night and explained that Elmer had a lead on a gig, and so Hale would be ferret-sitting instead of modeling for a while. Not one to miss an opportunity, Marty had immediately signed Elmer, then called Paws In Production and made all the necessary arrangements. All Hale had to do was show up with Elmer and sit on the sidelines and watch.
He grimaced. Frankly, he wasn’t really a sidelines kind of guy. But in this case, it was a great cover. While Elmer was taking Hollywood—or at least Studio City—by storm, Hale could be working his mission. Working Tracy, that is.
Besides, the closer he got to the girl, the sooner he could seduce her out of the belt . . . .
Every time you seduce a woman, I get the short end of the stick, Elmer said, as if he could read Hale’s mind. The ferret sighed. You disappear with some female and I end up stuck in some hotel room, or holed up with Zoe and Taylor. And they don’t even get HBO. Another sigh. I hope you realize how much I sacrifice for you. A television show is the least I deserve. The least, I tell you!
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elmer’s glare. He rolled his shoulder, causing the ferret to wobble.
Watch it, there!
“Me? You’re the one complaining about my mission. Zephron would be ashamed.”
Superheroing by seduction? the ferret teased. I don’t know. Doesn’t sound very chivalrous. Let’s see. Your sister has super senses. So does that mean you have a super shl—
“Watch it.” Hale tried to keep a stern face, but had trouble not laughing. “I’m just doing my job.”
Tracy wanted a seduction. He’d give her a seduction. For the good of the mission, he’d give her the decadent fling of a lifetime. They’d connect, all right. But on a sensual level. Just sex. Nothing
more. As Hale knew, sex could be damn persuasive. But there’d be no long talks where they really got to know each other. No lazy picnics on the beach. No way. Not with Tracy. Not with anyone.
At the end of the day, she’d have her fling and Hale would have the belt. Then he’d go far, far away, and forget he ever saw this mortal woman who somehow managed to tie his stomach in knots with just her smile.
“At any rate,” Hale said, trying to shift his thoughts from the way Tracy’s face glowed when she smiled. “Last night, you were perfectly keen on the seduction plan.”
Elmer sighed, apparently sensing defeat. In theory, sure.
But like I said, every time you decide to seduce some mortal cupcake, I end up stuck in a hotel room for hours watching bad television.
“You like bad television.” So much that it was scary. “And if I move in with her, too, you’ll have a whole suite of rooms.”
You’ll forget to feed me. In case you don’t remember, I have trouble operating can openers. And it’s not like this girl’s house will have room service . . .
Well, Elmer had a point. Hale had to admit he did tend to get tunnel vision whenever he went after a female. He just liked to focus all his attention on the particular woman of the hour. Nothing wrong with that, was there?
Besides, this is my chance to be a star! Let’s concentrate on me for a moment, shall we? And could you put a little spring in your step? I’d like to get there before they hire another ferret.
Hale fought a grin, but walked a bit faster. “You’re not here to be a star,” he pointed out. “You’re here on a mission. Not to get your name on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”
Harrumph.
Other than the tiny snort, Elmer kept quiet. Hale wasn’t sure if the ferret had come to his senses or if he was just mentally mapping out his coming career. At the moment, it didn’t matter; whatever his motivation, the little guy was keeping quiet.
They turned a corner and the Paws In Production trailer came into view. Tracy was right there, right in front of him. And even though she wasn’t smiling that killer smile, his stomach was reacting.