Michelle was a licensed paramedic.
And Katie, with her wilderness tracker-trained eye for detail, was going to take on the continuity issues. She’d make sure that everything from clothing to fullness of a drinking glass was correct from one scene to the next, and that an eleven-shot weapon wasn’t fired twelve times without filming its reload.
Isobel hadn’t just taken on the lead role to save money; she wanted this role. The intelligent, modern action-heroine could be a new level of breakout for her career.
But Jennie needed help and, for the first time, Isobel had donned more than the actress hat. As the producer she was responsible for making sure everything worked. And Jennie had insisted that they be co-directors, which was both exciting and terrifying.
Isobel liked to lose herself in her roles, submerging fully into the character, and often remaining there for the entire shoot of the film. That was no longer going to be an option.
There was a knock on the front door.
“Time to gear up, Isobel,” she whispered and pulled on her Ms. Practical persona.
Isobel took one last look out at the lake, wishing she could see a Dragon sailboat winging its way over the smooth water to come and whisk her away.
But she didn’t, and headed inside.
Devlin surveyed the dock as Jennie knocked on the door of the lake’s most luxurious houseboat.
How weird was it that fate had led him to this same dock twice in twelve hours? Nowhere near as weird as the one that had led Isobel Manella to step onto his sailboat last night.
Who had she been visiting here that had upset her so much? She’d sure been twisted up in knots something fierce. Struck him that someone needed his ass kicked for doing that to such a nice woman.
Of course she was probably a bitch in Hollywood: only nice when it suited her. But damn she could sail. There was one lone fifty-foot ketch out for a breakfast sail. It’s brilliant red sail ghosted along in the bright morning, much as he had late last night.
Maybe Manella was the Hollywood exception.
Yeah, he’d believe that when he saw it.
He’d worked on several of the big productions that hit Seattle and they’d all been the shits. And that wasn’t counting the weird head games the actresses played. He’d bedded any number of them, wondering why they were even interested, until he figured out that was their form of slumming. Fucking a local was some twisted weird badge of privilege that came with being a Hollywood actress. Didn’t have shit to do with wanting him, never mind any actual feeling.
If only the jobs hadn’t paid so ridiculously well, he would have walked out on every one. But trading a month of his life for doing whatever the hell he wanted for six months wasn’t a bad gig—once it was over anyway.
He’d tried turning down the actresses, but a rebuked actress was far more of a pain to deal with than a fucked one, so he’d rolled with it when they were in town. He’d certainly gotten to manhandle a whole lot of very fine bodies, even if there’d been no signs of heartbeat behind those perfect man-made breasts. They’d been the ultimate in no-strings sex.
He’d had enough. If this film was the same old thing, to hell with them and their money.
That’s where he belonged. Out on the water before starting his day. Like an idiot, he’d turned down a perfectly decent welding job on a purse seiner out at Fisherman’s Terminal for this.
He’d gotten the call for this little indie project that needed a location scout and local fixer. Jennie had approached him personally on Frank Morris’ recommendation. The guy was a jerk as likely to stiff you for the bar bill as not, but he was a decent jerk by any Hollywood standard.
Jennie was an interesting one. So thin it was clear how often she forgot to eat. Her mouse-brown hair more collapsed than fell to the shoulders of her faded Texas A&M sweatshirt. And all she seemed able to talk about on the drive here was her film. Her fine fingers quivered with nervous energy as they poked and prodded the air to punctuate her thoughts. It was hard not to be drawn in by such passion.
He’d read the script she’d sent and was impressed. It had real potential, if no Hollywood idiot got their claws into it and dumbed it down. He knew the rule: There was nothing one writer could create that a team of twenty writers couldn’t destroy. But there was solely her name on the front. Hard to believe it was going to stay that way, but it was a just an indie shoot, so maybe it would stick.
Jennie had already sketched in some settings, but he had a number of ideas there already.
“Dev?”
“Yeah, sorry, Jennie.”
He turned from gazing at the spot on the dock where he’d left his Belle last night. That was the kind of scene they should have put in their damned movies, though it was too fictional to be believed. He sure as hell wouldn’t if he hadn’t been there.
His stomach churned up into a hard knot, Devlin followed her in through the big houseboat’s door.
Chapter 4
“Jennie!” Isobel was glad that she’d suggested a breakfast meeting. She could feel her friend’s ribs in their hug. Maybe she could distract her long enough to actually eat something.
“This is the location scout I told you about. Isobel Manella, Devlin Jones.”
“Hello—” Isobel turned with her hand half-extended, then froze in place. “Mr. Jones,” slipped out from practiced politeness.
Her nameless sailor. Her nameless asshole sailor who had absolutely recognized her. Who had let her babble on about sailing and being named Belle like she was some airheaded idiot.
He studied her face for just an instant, then his blue eyes went as stormy dark and dangerous as any villain’s.
With a set jaw, he shook her hand as if it was a block of wood.
“Ms. Manella.” Then he dropped it like he’d been burned.
She couldn’t believe that he was going to play it that way. As if last night had never happened.
Fine.
Then so would she.
He didn’t like that she was pissed? What the hell had he expected? Everyone was always trying to get a piece of her, and he was no goddamn different.
He wanted to be cold; he’d get cold. Besides, that’s where her character started out in the movie, cold and calculating. She’d shift into the role now and save them all some time.
She turned her back and, unfortunately, faced the water just as a ketch twice the size of his Dragon slid closely by. How dare he take away the best memory she’d had in such a long time.
And the worst, the absolute worst, she’d fallen for it lock, stock, and “Cut! Stop action. That’s a take!”
“Breakfast is ready,” Jesse called them all to the table.
Throughout the meal, this Devlin Jones watched her closely. She, in turn, couldn’t bear to look at him.
He didn’t volunteer anything unless asked. Rarely offered more than one-word answers even then.
Closely? He watched her like some kind of bug. She was used to men’s typical reaction to her, but not to the loathing so clear on his face.
She’d have fired him on the spot, except when he did speak, his suggestions were good. He clearly understood the challenges of angle and light—an essential skill for a location scout. An alley corner of a building could be shot in a dusky light for menace, while in dawn’s first light, shot from the opposite angle, it could be an entry to a secret lab. A simple service door, set in the side of the same polished concrete wall and repainted appropriately could be a spaceship portal.
It also became clear that he knew Seattle intimately, as his suggestions sounded good, though she and Jennie would have to go see them.
Go to see them with him.
She wasn’t sure she could trust herself around him.
How could the bastard dismiss last night as if it had never happened?
When he suggested they change a scene in order to set the bloody murder in the mayhem of the Duck Dodge, she’d had enough of him. As if he wanted to smear last night’s memory with blood.
“How can you even suggest that?” She snapped it out sharply enough that several of the team around the table startled to look at her. She even heard Katie drop some of the dishes she’d been helping clear off the table.
“I can suggest it because it seemed like a good dynamic scene. You don’t want to shoot it that way, no skin off my ass.” His shrug was dismissive.
“I don’t know, Isobel,” Jennie’s voice was soft as always. “I like the sound of it. The contrast of the underlying threat and the heroine’s turbulent emotions versus setting does create a dynamic tension that we could play off Scene Forty-three.” And she began flipping through her well-thumbed script.
“That’s not why he’s suggesting it.”
Devlin shrugged again as if he didn’t give a shit about anything.
He was suggesting it not because it was right. He was doing it to smear blood all over last night’s memory as if he hadn’t already ground his heel in it.
It was hard to do when her emotions were running high, but she forced open her empathic sense and reached out to him.
And nothing came back.
She could feel Jennie’s sharp-blue focus. Oblivious to what was going on around her, she’d be thinking only of what shifts would be necessary to the script.
The rest of the team’s feelings were clear. Confusion from some, surprise from others, and a deep-seated worry from Michelle.
But from Mr. Devlin Utter-Asshole Jones, there was…nothing.
Nobody was nothing.
She could always feel someone else’s emotions when she wanted to.
It was how she knew that Jennie hadn’t changed a bit since school. She hadn’t come seeking Isobel’s help with this movie because of avarice now that Isobel was a success. Isobel could feel that Jennie had come for advice based on an old friendship built over hundreds of hours working together on student films. There were moments where she wasn’t even sure Isobel’s success had really registered on Jennie’s psyche. She was just Isobel Manella from down the hall, which had been quite comforting.
But Devlin Jones? Nobody was simply a blank to her.
Unable to understand what was happening, she shoved back from the table and walked outside.
She could just hear Michelle announce softly behind her, “I guess we’re taking a break.”
Isobel turned the wrong way to escape and ended up once more at the end of her literal and metaphorical dock.
Footsteps landed on the dock, sending a slight ripple up its floating length.
She really didn’t want to deal with Michelle right now, but she was trapped unless she jumped into the lake. A place she wouldn’t mind if Devlin went. Maybe the Kraken would rise from the deep and eat him.
The footsteps stopped close behind her.
With a sigh, she turned to face her best friend.
Instead, Devlin Jones stood there with his arms crossed over a t-shirt that declared: Sailing guy. Like a normal guy, just way cooler.
“Like hell!” Isobel snapped at him.
“Bitch!” Exactly as Devlin had guessed. Actually way worse.
Instead of answering, she just folded her arms over that film-perfect chest of hers and scowled back with a snap of fire in those dark eyes.
Total bitch!
Christ, but wasn’t that the truth. At first he’d stuck because he assumed it was all an act. Then he’d stuck because he felt some loyal need to protect Jennie Adams. The poor woman’s script was going to get shredded by this…shrew. He didn’t know why he cared.
Because he actually did? Didn’t sound like him, but—
Oh shit! And he’d renamed his boat for her? How fucked up was that? He’d finished the last coat less than an hour ago, getting the flourish just right on the final E had taken far more attempts than he was willing to admit.
As soon as he was done here, he was going to go and sand last night’s work right back off the stern. Maybe he’d rename her the Stay the Hell Away From Me.
“Look, lady. Do us all a goddamn favor and jump.” He nodded toward the lake.
“You’re such an asshole!”
“Me? What the fuck have I done?”
Instead of her scowl darkening even more, there was a flash of hurt. She covered it quickly, but he was sure of what he’d seen. Why the hell would she feel…
He scrubbed a hand over his face trying to scrape off the exhaustion and irritation.
If she…
“You think I planned all this?” Maybe that’s what was going on.
“Didn’t you?” She snapped back hard.
“No! Goddamn it, Ms. Bitch Manella. I didn’t even know who you were when I pulled up last night. You just looked so damn sad.”
“Oh, now you’re the shining knight who rescues distressed maidens?”
He actually had to smile at the image. “Yeah, something like that. Arrived on a Dragon, didn’t I?” Not a chance he’d be doing it ever again. That’s for damn sure.
“I was fine.”
“Didn’t look it then, but whatever.” He knew better than to tell a woman, especially a pissy one like this, what her emotions were. Aw, screw it.
But just as he turned to leave, he saw her crumble a bit. Saw the crack in the actress facade. He couldn’t quite complete the turn. Not knowing what to do next, he just waited her out and watched the emotions cross over her face.
Anger, fury, confusion… Then back to a blazing anger that seemed born of pure Latina heat.
“Why did you pretend not to know me?”
“When? Last night? I didn’t. Not until you were working the jib sheets. Then I remembered you in that movie.”
“I meant this morning,” her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why didn’t you say something when you recognized me?”
“This morning? You’re the one with the freeze-out ‘Hello, Mr. Jones.’ Where the fuck is that woman I sailed with last night? She was fun.”
“Is that what you want? Fun.”
“Better than this shitstorm any day of the week.” And once again he felt the need to leave.
She took a deep breath and he could see a layer of calm sheet over her. Was that actress or human? No way to tell and why would he care anyway?
Not a chance of him plunging back into that confusion again so he waited her out. Again.
Just as she was opening her mouth, someone fired off a jet ski next door. She had to close her trap and wait until the nuisance had roared off onto the lake. Now if only this nuisance would do the same.
“Okay, let’s start at the beginning,” she said with a voice as warm as an Arctic wasteland.
“Don’t do it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t jump, lady. Whatever’s wrong, it’s not worth it.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You said you wanted to start at the beginning. That’s the first thing I said to you. Like a script, right?”
“Don’t do it,” she whispered to herself, then almost laughed. “Okay, from the beginning. Last night, why didn’t you say anything when you recognized me?”
“Figured it wasn’t what you needed. You’ve probably had a thousand guys hit on you, enough to make you damn sick of it. And also I can’t begin to tell you how little use I have for ego-hyped Hollywood actresses.”
She seemed to think about that for a while. “And this morning? What was with the black look and Ms. Manella crap?”
He held up both hands. “Hey, you can’t lay that one on me, lady. You’re the one who started it all off by calling me Mr. Jones, then looking at me like I was a goddamn bottom-feeder. Shit, woman, you’re the one who kissed me last night.”
At a loud squeak of delight off his starboard quarter, he turned to see that the back deck of the houseboat was filled with her people. All six. Only Jennie was missing, probably clutching her script and wondering where everyone else had gone.
“Sorry,” the tall redhead mumbled through both hands slapped over her mout
h, but her eyes were dancing with delight.
He shrugged and turned back to Isobel.
She glared at her team before explaining, “I wasn’t…expecting to see you this morning.”
“Same. Same. But you’re the one who turned it into a problem.”
Isobel sighed and almost looked amused.
Damn but she had such an expressive face. In the bright daylight, it was even more of a pleasure to watch than in the soft evening light.
“Will you at least admit that you didn’t exactly help things along?”
He matched her edge of a smile, “Only if you do first.”
“Beast,” her whisper was somewhere between a curse and a caress. It was soft enough to not carry to their eager audience.
He almost called her “bitch” in return, but thought better of it in time. Instead he’d rather remind her of the woman he’d met last night.
“Belle.” He kept his voice just as soft.
Her expression said she hadn’t missed the last-second shift but smiled at the change. Bitch or Belle, the jury was still out, but damn the woman was a stunner.
Chapter 5
“He was the dragon,” Michelle had followed her straight into the bathroom, and closed the door behind them.
Isobel flipped down the toilet lid and dropped onto it.
“He is so dangerously handsome,” she practically crooned.
Isobel considered reminding Michelle that she was married to a former Delta Force warrior but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
“No, he wasn’t the dragon.”
“Then who was?”
“His sailboat.”
Michelle’s brow furrowed. “You know that you’re not making a lot of sense, right?”
Isobel buried her face in her hands. She didn’t need to use the bathroom; she’d just wanted a moment alone to unravel how she’d made such a mess of things this morning. And no matter what he said, Mr. Smug-and-Arrogant had played a plenty big hand in it.
At the Clearest Sensation Page 3