Sam stands up, faces me. “Well we can’t have that. I for one don’t want your blood on my hands.” He smiles and my heart flutters. “It’s been really nice talking to you, Grace Mortimer.”
My breath catches in my throat. “You, too, Sam.”
His smile hits me low in the belly.
He steps closer to me, close enough that we’re almost touching. I breathe in his scent as my body tingles from head to toe. He parts his lips, looking intently into my eyes.
My breathing becomes shallow as a sweet thrum of desire travels my body.
Is he going to kiss me?
His eyes move down my face to my lips. “Grace, I—” he begins, reaching a hand across to me and touching my arm.
I hear the click of a key card in the lock. The door swings open.
“Oh, you’re here!”
Vanessa and Trent burst into the room, both grinning broadly. Trent’s holding a box of wine bottles, Vanessa’s wearing a large floppy hat and oversized sunglasses.
In an instant, I take a guilt-laden step back from Sam, like I’ve been caught with my hands in the cookie jar.
Why am I feeling guilty? Nothing’s happened between us.
Has it?
“You should have come, Sam. Martinborough is so quaint. Oh, hello there. Grace, isn’t it?”
Somehow, I manage to find my voice. “Yes, that’s right. Hi, Vanessa. Hi, Trent.”
“Hey,” he rumbles, then disappears into an adjoining room, taking the box with him.
“I was just dropping off the tailored suits to Sa . . . Mr Montgomery,” I say, feeling the need to explain myself.
She smiles at me. “Of course. How do they look?”
“Great,” Sam replies easily. He doesn’t seem the least bit awkward.
Confused, I glance from Sam to Vanessa. They both look happy and relaxed.
Did I imagine what had just been going on?
“I, ah . . . I have to go.” I walk towards the door.
“Allow me.” Sam is by my side in one swift movement.
Who is this guy, The Flash?
He opens the door for me. I dart out, turn and say, “Thanks. All the best for, you know, your future. Bye.”
Smooth, Grace. Really smooth.
He shoots me a curious grin. “Thank you,” he replies.
I bolt to the elevator, my heart pounding.
I need to get as far away from Sam—and the effect he has on me—as fast as humanly possible.
Chapter 8
I ARRIVE BACKSTAGE IN the nick of time for hair, makeup and costumes. Tonight is the final night of the WOW and there’s a big after party, a huge event for all the performers and crew. After that confusing encounter with Sam and Vanessa I’m in the mood to let my hair down, to forget about it all, and have some fun.
Only, I’m finding it hard to get him out of my mind.
What is with that guy? Sure, he’s hotter than a sauna on high and he’s easy to talk to. But really? He’s got one of the most gorgeous women in the western world, possibly the universe, and still he flirts with me?
Now, I’m as self-confident as the next girl, but I know I’m not out of this world special. Certainly not special enough to compete with the hordes of women who must proposition a famous guy like him every single day.
I’m just some random woman who happened to stumble into his life for five minutes.
But … there was that moment when I was sure he was going to kiss me. Hell, I wanted him to kiss me. Faced with such a fine specimen of manhood, what’s a girl to do? I’m only human, right?
Then again, maybe he wasn’t? Maybe that’s simply my much-neglected libido talking? I know I felt it, I’m almost certain he did too. Didn’t he?
I sigh. Maybe he’s rehearsing a part? I shake my head. I don’t know.
The rational part of my brain tells me in no uncertain terms to stay away. There’s a bunch of reasons why: he’s in a relationship, he lives in another country, he’s famous. Add that to the fact we can’t have anything in common and it’s a roomful of reasons.
What would he want with a girl like me?
He’s definitely a no-fly zone.
“A penny for them?” It’s Sammy Jo, my first outfit of the night in her hands.
“Oh, hi, Sammy Jo. I’m a bit away with the fairies.”
She gives me a questioning look. “Why? What’s going on?”
I shrug, smile. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Why are you tired?”
“For starters, I’m working two jobs.”
“That’s true. Anything else bothering you? Something to do with a man, perhaps?” She grins at me and I blush.
How does she do that? Can she read my mind?
I decide the only option is to come clean with her. To a point.
“Okay, I’ll admit it. I met this guy. He’s in a relationship with someone else. So, I guess it’s got to be unrequited love.”
“That sucks. Who’s the guy?”
“No one you know.”
Which, technically, is true.
Tiffany breezes in. “Hey, gorgeous. What are you wearing tonight? I’ve got this little black number. I’m totally going to rock it. Oh, hey Sammy Jo.”
“Hi,” we both say in lacklustre unison—me because I’m preoccupied with thoughts of Sam, and Sammy Jo because Tiffany isn’t exactly her favourite person.
“What’s with you?” It’s aimed at me.
“Nothing. Hey, your outfit sounds great. What does it look like?”
Tiffany’s similarity to a pre-schooler comes in handy: you can divert her attention any time you want, especially if it’s back to herself.
“It’s short, low cut, tight. You know.” She smooths her hair back, pinning a stray curl in place.
Sammy Jo rolls her eyes. “Sounds like you, Tiffany.”
Kari approaches us. “How are we getting on here? All set for the last big night?”
“We’ll nail it,” Tiffany replies.
“I know you will.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Stay on the stage and we’ll all be happy. Got it?”
The show goes without a hitch, the performers and models pulling a fine show out of the bag for one last time this year.
The final show is always full of emotion. We work so hard and so long together we become a lot like a family. Saying goodbye is hard.
That’s where the party and copious amounts of alcohol comes in.
Once changed out of my weird and wonderful costumes for the final time I loosen my hair and change into my party clothes—a sparkly red shift dress I made especially for tonight and a gorgeous pair of red strappy heels.
Kari calls me over. “Someone to see you, Grace.” “There is?” Perhaps it’s Mum and Dad? Or Brooke and Logan?
“He’s over there, by the curtain.”
He?
“Okay, thanks, Kari.”
I reach the curtain in a few short strides, looking around for this mystery man.
“Hello, Grace.” It’s that honey-dripping-all-over-me voice again.
I turn and see Sam, dressed in a pair of jeans, white T-shirt, and black leather jacket.
My heart leaps into my mouth. “Sam. Ah, what are you doing here?”
He takes a step closer. “I wanted to see you.”
I stare at him, open mouthed. He came here to see me?
Ignoring the acrobats doing cartwheels in my tummy I narrow my gaze. “Why?”
“Someone needed to be here to catch any stray models, catapulting themselves into the audience.” His face creases into a smile.
I swallow my lust. “I still don’t understand. Why did you want to see me again?”
He shrugs. “I really enjoyed our talk and I wondered if you would like to go out for a drink with me. You look spectacular in that dress, incidentally.”
He looks me over.
My girl parts give a little purr. Go get him, they whisper.
I ignore them.
No, I refuse to be attr
acted to this man. He’s here to booty-call me, to screw around on his girlfriend. I’m worth so much more than that.
My anger rises. “Look here, Sam. You’re a famous actor. You might be used to women throwing themselves at you—”
He lets out a chuckle.
Irritated, I ask, “Why are you laughing?”
“Well, there may be the odd woman throwing herself at me but it’s usually only done metaphorically. You, my dear, did it quite literally.” His grin widens.
“It was an accident!” I protest.
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn you changed direction mid-air and headed my way.”
I shoot him an outraged look. “You are infuriating.”
He shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.” He steps closer to me, his gaze fixed on my face.
My heart pounds. I cross my arms and tap my foot, ignore the persistent thrum of desire.
“Does Vanessa know you’re here?”
The mention of his girlfriend’s name doesn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. “Actually, no. She doesn’t.”
He must have done this before. Probably countless times. Scumbag.
“Listen here, mister.”
He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Mister?”
“Yes, mister,” I reply, defiant. Not Mr Sexy Knight, now. Just mister. “You can’t just come waltzing in with all your sexiness and accent and those eyes and expect me to lie down and… and… and throw my panties in the air for you.”
Okay, not the best turn of phrase.
“You think I came here to ask you to throw your panties in the air?”
I begin to doubt myself. “Err, yes?”
He chuckles. He seems far too relaxed for someone trying to cheat on his girlfriend right now. These actor types must get it anywhere, anytime. Gross.
“Look.” He brushes my hair away from my face, sending shivers down my spine.
I lose myself in the scent of him: his cologne, a hint of the chill night air.
I bolt backwards. “Oh, no you don’t! There will be none of that.”
He returns his hand back to his side. “I like you, Grace. I thought maybe you liked me too.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” I state with vehemence. Oops. He’s still an Estil client. “I mean you’re a nice man and all. Just I won’t be, err, doing any . . . extracurricular activities with you.”
“By which you mean throwing your panties in the air?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Exactly.” I’m strong in my resolve.
Although the way he said ‘panties’ with that Scottish accent of his is really quite delectable.
He looks amused. “Just so we’re clear, then, there won’t be any panty throwing tonight?”
“None.” I purse my lips, ignore that thrum.
“Not even a teensy little thong?”
“Definitely not a thong.”
“Good to know.” He smirks at me. Doesn’t move.
“All righty then.”
He continues to watch me, smiling his heart-stopping-ly gorgeous smile.
I extend my hand. “It was a pleasure working with you, Mr Montgomery.”
He takes my hand in his. “And you, Ms Mortimer. A real pleasure.”
He doesn’t let go.
Desperate to find a way out of this situation I call out, “What was that?” I nod my head towards backstage. “Look, my friends are calling. I have to go.” I pull my hand away. “Cheerio.”
Cheerio?
I walk off backstage, head held high, my dignity still intact. Mostly.
“Grace,” he calls out behind me.
Against my better judgment, I turn and face him.
His smile is gone. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
I pause momentarily. What does that mean? No, scrub that. I don’t need to know.
* * *
My phone’s incessant ring pulls me out of a deep sleep in which I was dreaming I was a mermaid being chased around the ocean by a hammerhead shark. What does that say about my state of mind?
I fumble around my nightstand until I locate it, answering with a croaky voice. One too many tequila shots on the dance floor at the WOW after-party last night.
All that alcohol and I still couldn’t get Sam out of my head.
“Grace, it’s me, Jess.”
I sit up and open my eyes fully. She might be calling at some ungodly hour but she is my boss.
“Hi, Jess,” I croak.
“Did I wake you?”
“It’s fine. What’s up?” I rub my eyes.
“I’m going to need you to go to Auckland for me.”
Well that woke me up with a jolt.
“What? Why?”
“I’m still not feeling too good. This goddam bug just won’t go. It’s weird because it’s much worse in the mornings, though I still feel pretty darn horrible most of the day.”
“Wow, Jess. Either you’re pregnant or that’s the longest bout of tummy flu in recorded history.”
The phone goes silent. Uh-oh, I think I said the wrong thing.
“Jess? Are you still there?” I ask tentatively.
“Yes, yes. I just… You know, it might be an exotic worm I picked up in some place like Bolivia or Mongolia,” she jests.
“Sure. Have you been to Bolivia or Mongolia lately?”
“Ah, no. Does Dunedin count? I went down there last week,” she replies, referring to a small city in the South Island.
I laugh. “I really don’t think so. You’re probably right, it’s a tummy bug that won’t budge. Maybe you should go to the doctor?”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
The line goes silent again.
“Jess? You still there?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry. So: Auckland. We’ve got that television slot to do on Wake Up New Zealand.”
I sit bolt upright in bed. Television slot? My mouth is suddenly dry.
“You want me to go on television?”
“Yes. Hold on.” I hear a muffled noise on the end of the line. It sounds suspiciously like vomiting. “Sorry about that.”
A flushing sound. Is she in the toilet? I begin to feel ill myself.
“You can take my ticket. The flight is due to leave at two. I’ll send you my notes on the men’s fashion. Remember it’s live so you’ll only get one shot at it. Oh, and take something to wear that will look good on TV.”
“What looks good on TV?” My voice is almost a whisper. I’m going to be on live television?
“Nothing pink or green, those are the colours of the set. Maybe something blue?”
“Blue. All right. I can’t quite believe what we’re discussing.
“You’re on for under three minutes and most of the time they’ll be filming the models, not you. You’ll talk about each outfit they model. There are seven in total. Cheryl Greenacre will be interviewing you. She’s a total professional. She’s lovely but a little self-absorbed: nothing you can’t cope with, I’m sure.”
“Okay,” I mutter, trying to take it all in. Lovely but self-absorbed: got it.
“Oh, that reminds me. She’s having a birthday party tonight. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to go in my place. And it would be very useful networking for Estil.”
I try to sound upbeat, my tummy tying up in knots. “A party? Sure, sounds fun.”
“Great. I’ll let her know. I’m so pleased you’re happy to do this for me. It’s such a . . . excuse me.” More muffled vomiting sounds. “Sorry about that. I think I need to go and lie down. I’ll send you the info. Get yourself ready and make sure you’re at the airport on time.”
“Okay,” I reply, my mind racing.
“Oh, and Grace? Good luck.”
“Thanks. I promise to do my best.”
Crap!
“You’ll be fabulous.”
My tummy does a flip-flop. I wish I had Jessica’s confidence.
Chapter 9
I DROP MY BAG on the huge bed in Jessica’s—my—Auckland hotel room. I pull the c
urtains and survey the view from the seventeenth floor. I can see right across the city to the harbour, the bridge, and over to the North Shore. The sun is beaming and the water sparkling, broken up by the white sails of groups of yachts. It’s a stunning day and New Zealand’s biggest city looks picture perfect.
I sigh. What a whirlwind. After Jessica’s call, I leapt out of bed, showered and dressed, packed, virtually mainlined coffee in an attempt to address my hangover, and scrambled to the airport.
Although it’s quiet in my hotel room, my mind is abuzz with my impending television appearance—and with Sam.
What makes him think I’m going to jump into bed with him, like I’m some sort of star-struck fan? The audacity of the man to turn up at the end of the show and proposition me!
Although, now that I think about it, he didn’t actually proposition me. Did he?
I run through the conversation in my head. There was some talk about panties, I mentioned his girlfriend, he said he liked me. And that he thought I liked him back.
Okay, so he gets points for his observation skills.
But did he actually ask me to go to bed with him?
My phone buzzes, interrupting my train of thought.
“Ms Banks, this is Edgar on reception. The car you ordered will be here in forty-five minutes.”
Forty-five minutes. I’d better get a wriggle on. “Thanks, Edgar.”
I decide to put in a call to my parents.
“You’ll never guess where I am.”
“Hello, Gracie. Let me think. The library?” Dad guesses.
I roll my eyes. Once you have a reputation as a bookworm it’s pretty hard to shake.
“Actually, no. I’m in Harbour View Hotel in Auckland city.”
“You are? What on earth are you doing there?”
“Well, I’m about to go to a celebrity bash and then tomorrow I’m going to be on TV!” I can’t contain my excitement.
“You are? That’s amazing. I can hardly believe it.” I can hardly believe it myself. “What are you doing on television?”
I tell my dad all about working for Estil and having to fill in for Jessica on Wake Up New Zealand.
“Well, I’m very proud of you, Gracie. Hang on, here’s your mother.”
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