"Audrey's going to need a complete redo before the next scene," he told her as she approached, his voice sounding strained.
Desi looked up to tell him that she knew that, and then stopped. His eyes were showing the strain, too, and he looked tired. She wanted to reach up and massage his temples until the tenseness went away.
He ran his free hand through his hair and looked away from the concern in her eyes.
Almost, she thought, as if he was afraid to look directly at her for too long.
There had been no repeat of the explosive anger he had shown her at the cast party. In fact, she could almost have believed that she had imagined that angry scene between them. Because, for the past two months, he had been treating her as if he had no memory of it—or of the weekend they had spent together.
Except, she said to herself... except for the way he looked at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. The first time it had happened she had thought, for a second, that he was looking behind her at someone else. Surely he couldn't be looking at her like that, with a sort of puzzled, almost wistful look in his dark eyes. She had actually turned around, that first time, glancing behind her to see who he was looking at so...so longingly. But there was no one. When she turned back to him again, the look was gone and Jake was deep in discussion with his assistant director.
She thought, then, that she had imagined it, that she was seeing it because it was what she wanted to see. But it happened again several times.
But this time she knew it was directed at her. What she didn't know was why. Why was Jake looking at her like that? Why did his dark expressive eyes rake over her so covetously and what did it mean?
"Pay attention, Weston." Jake's voice brought her abruptly back to the here and now.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice distracted. "What did you say?"
"Audrey needs her makeup redone. Give her fifteen minutes to get warmed up and then go on in. And try not to upset her this time, will you?" He turned away abruptly, dismissing her, to discuss camera angles for the next scene with his key grip.
He hadn't even given her a chance to defend herself against Audrey's latest complaint, whatever it was.
"And just what did you do to upset our star this time?" Dorothea said, grinning impishly, as Desi flopped down into a canvas chair beside her.
"Beats me." Desi shrugged. "Probably not enough eye makeup again."
She glanced at her watch. She'd give Audrey exactly fifteen minutes to warm up, she decided, sipping at her cooling tea as she leaned back in the chair, and then she'd go on inside the trailer and try to redo the star's makeup without upsetting her too much in the process. Not that it would do any good. Everything she did seemed to upset Audrey. There was too much setting lotion in her marcelled waves. There wasn't enough kohl outlining her Betty Boop eyes. And on and on until Desi wanted to crack her over her lovely brunet head with the curling iron.
But she didn't. Having worked with so many actors and actresses, Desi knew that most of Audrey's complaints stemmed from insecurity—about her talent, about the fleeting nature of her beauty, about any of a hundred other things that the fragile actor's ego was heir to. So she restrained herself, smiling sweetly, refusing to be baited or lose her temper.
A cat fight with his leading lady would be all Jake would need to accuse her of unprofessionalism, to point out that she was too young... too inexperienced... too something to do her job right. Not that he had actually mentioned her qualifications again, not after that first time. Because, she told herself, any fool—even Jake—could plainly see that she was good at her job.
"Damn it, Weston," she heard him roar, "Why isn't Audrey ready for the next scene?"
Desi looked up from her mug of tea to find Jake bearing down on her, an impatient frown on his handsome face. Funny, she thought in that brief instant, that she should notice how handsome he was when he was obviously getting ready to berate her. But then, she always noticed how handsome he was. She sighed wearily and rose, setting the mug down on the pavement beside her folding canvas chair.
"Well?" He scowled impatiently, towering over her. His dark eyes pinned her to the spot where she stood.
"Really, Jake," Dorothea began, but Desi shook her head warningly, silencing her protest.
"You said to give her fifteen minutes to warm up, Mr. Lancing," she said evenly, emphasizing the Mr. in the faint hope of pointing out his lack of courtesy when addressing her. She glanced at her watch. "It's only been ten."
"Don't be smart, Weston," he snapped. "I'm ready for her now. Move."
She stood there for a brief second, staring up at him with defiance blazing out of her narrowed eyes. It was almost too much. She was cold and wet, just like everyone else, and he had pushed her just about as far as she was willing to go.
"I said move," he repeated softly. "Now." The gleam in his eyes was almost anticipatory. He was just waiting for her to explode, she realized suddenly. Almost as if he relished the prospect.
Deliberately she unclenched her fists. Her eyes dropped. "Yes, sir," she said, falsely meek, and turned toward Audrey's trailer.
His big hand reached out and grasped her upper arm. "Where do you think you're going, Weston?"
Desi looked up blankly, not immediately responding to his question. What was he talking about? He knew where she was going... he'd told her to go. She opened her mouth to tell him so, in no uncertain terms, and then closed it again. He looked so haggard, with lines of strain clearly etched around his tired eyes, that she couldn't bring herself to add any more to the burden he already carried.
He doesn't mean to harass me, she told herself. He didn't mean it personally. He'd been under a lot of strain. A great deal of concentration and tension was required to make this movie. And, besides, he'd been a bear to everyone on the set. It's not just you. So don't take it personally.
Inside, though, she was seething with conflicting emotions. Indignation, hurt, compassion... and that terrible traitorous excitement that flickered along her veins at his nearness. She didn't want to tremble like this when he came near her, but she couldn't seem to help it. No more than she could help how she still felt about him. She didn't want that feeling, but there was nothing she could do about it.
"Where are you going?" he repeated. His voice was harsh and soft, angry and seductive, as if he didn't know what kind of response he wanted to provoke from her.
Her eyes lifted slowly to his face. Far from docile, they blazed up at him, confusion and hurt and anger in their blue depths, and something else. Passion, maybe. Or need. But her voice was still cool.
"To Audrey's trailer," she said evenly. She glanced down at his hand on her arm and back up to his face again. "Like you told me to. Remember?" Her voice was sweet and dutifully submissive, but her eyes still stared challengingly up into his as she added, "Sir."
His expression changed, the hostility fading suddenly from his eyes, and he smiled at her. That bone-melting, soul-shattering smile. "I've changed my mind. You can do my makeup first. It'll be faster that way," he said softly. "I'll meet you in my trailer in a minute." He nudged her gently in the direction of his trailer without, however, releasing his grip on her arm.
Desi couldn't move. Because he hadn't let go of her arm, she told herself later, even though he wasn't holding it so tightly now and she could have easily twisted away. But he was still staring down into her upraised face, holding her captive with the mere power of his gaze. That look was in his eyes again; questions, confusion, desire. She couldn't find the will to pull herself away from that so easily.
She felt herself melting helplessly at the touch of his hard fingers on her arm and the caress of his seductive voice and the suddenly hungry look in his smoldering eyes as they raked her face. It was as if he couldn't look away. Almost as if he was searching for something, she thought. But what? And why?
The defiant light faded from her own eyes, leaving only a soft sensual glow and her lips, firmed in anger, softened, too, and parted as i
f in breathless anticipation of his kiss.
They stood that way for several endless seconds, staring into each other's eyes, Jake seemingly as mesmerized as she was. Neither aware, for the moment, of anyone or anything else. And then Dorothea sneezed, breaking the fragile spell that held them immobile.
Jake tore his gaze away from hers, but his hand still held her upper arm, lightly now so that his touch was almost a caress, keeping her by him.
"What are you doing out in this rain?" he questioned Dorothea. "You should be in one of the trailers where it's warm."
"She's got a cold and I—" Desi started to say.
"I haven't got a cold," Dorothea protested weakly, sneezing again.
"I'd like to know what you call it then." Jake's voice was fond and indulgent. He let go of Desi, reaching out his hand to touch Dorothea's cheek and then her forehead. "You have a fever, too." He turned to Desi, motioning her to feel Dorothea's head for herself.
Desi's long fingers rested for an instant against the older woman's flushed face. It felt hot and dry, despite the misty air.
"I knew you were coming down with something," she said accusingly. "I told you to—"
"Get her inside one of the trailers right now," Jake interrupted. He glanced at his watch and then at the sky. "We'll shoot this next scene and then call it a day." An annoyed frown crossed his face. "It's almost raining too hard right now to get anything done." He strode away from the two women as he spoke, his tall, commanding figure somehow managing to hurry without looking the least bit rushed.
"I want you in my trailer in five minutes, Weston," he called over his shoulder.
Back to normal, Desi thought, a wry smile twisting her lips as she herded a protesting Dorothea into the nearest trailer.
"I thought for a minute there that you two were going to kiss and make up," Dorothea commented as Desi turned to leave the trailer.
Desi looked up sharply and Dorothea looked back at her, a false expression of innocent inquiry on her sweet lined face.
"What gave you an idea like that?" Desi asked carefully, her voice as expressionless and casual as she could make it. She thought she had succeeded in dispelling any notion that Dorothea might have had about her and Jake knowing each other but, apparently, she was wrong.
"He was eating you with those big brown eyes of his," Dorothea said almost enviously. "And you, dear girl, weren't protesting at all. Not at all. In fact, you were returning the favor. Not that I blame you, mind." Dorothea chuckled. "You'd be a fool not to—"
"You're letting your imagination run away with you again," Desi said firmly, but she avoided Dorothea's gaze.
"Humph!" Dorothea snorted derisively. "I don't know why you two think it's necessary to hide your feelings—especially when any fool on this set can see how it is between you." She shrugged. "But if you think you have to, well..." Her voice trailed off.
"Hide what feelings?" Desi said. What feelings had Dorothea seen with her sharp black eyes? Which of hers hadn't she been able to hide? What feelings had Jake shown besides the coldness and the polite indifference that was all Desi could see? Were there others? Could there possibly be others?
Jake's voice floated in to them over the noise of the rain coming down, hard now, on the metal roof. "Damn it! Where is Weston?" they heard him bellow. "I need her. Now." There was the loud, resounding bang of a door.
Desi hurried from the warm, dry haven of Dorothea's trailer and ran across the wet, slippery pavement to Jake's. She turned the door handle and stepped inside without bothering to knock. Jake, after all, was expecting her.
"Glad you decided you could make it," he said, standing as he pulled up the zipper of a pair of blue dress slacks.
Desi stood stock-still in the open doorway, staring at him. Obviously he was changing into costume for the next scene. Obviously he had only gotten as far as the slacks. His feet, beneath the hem of the blue pants, were bare and his chest was bare, too. Desi gulped, a sudden vision of the last time she had seen him so scantily clothed flashing through her mind.
He had been standing in the soft light of the morning sun as it filtered through a curtained window, quietly pulling on his clothes, trying not to wake her up. But she had been startled awake in spite of his efforts. More from the sense of being alone in the bed than by any noise he might have made.
She had reached for him in her sleep, coming abruptly awake when her arms clasped only emptiness. He's gone, had been her first panic-stricken thought as she lay there dreading to open her eyes. It's Sunday morning and he's gone. Without a word. Without even saying goodbye.
"Jake." Her voice was soft, the word almost a moan, and tears pressed against her closed eyelids.
"Go back to sleep," she heard him say quietly. "It's too early for you to get up."
Her eyes flew open, focusing blindly on him as he came around the side of the bed. The sun, she remembered, had made a flickering pattern on his bare arms and shoulders as it streamed through the loose-weave curtains of their hotel room.
"Jake." The word was a soft exclamation of joy. She sat up in the middle of the big bed, heedless of the blankets that fell away from her. "I thought you'd gone."
"Not yet." He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands moving to rub lightly up and down her bare arms. "But soon. My plane leaves at 8:30."
"What time is it now?"
He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, his hands never leaving her arms. "Six."
"Then you have two and a—" she'd begun, and then stopped. No, she would not keep him. She knew he had to leave this morning. It was no surprise. He was due on location. He had to leave.
"Plenty of time," she heard him say softly. His voice had the lush, sensuous quality of a purring cat. No, a purring tiger. And his eyes—those dark, dangerous, mesmerizing eyes—were devouring her. "Plenty of time," he repeated.
Fascinated, she watched his eyes as his hands caressed the curves of her shoulders and neck. She felt his fingers whisper along the nape of her neck, his thumbs making slow, small circles just in front of her ears at the point where the delicate line of her jaw began. His eyes were hot, hot and burning with desire. His hands were hot, too, against her pale, willing flesh.
"Mmm, that feels good," she murmured. Her eyes closed and her head dropped back, like a flower too heavy for the fragile stem of her neck, inviting further pleasures.
Jake took the offered pleasures, ravishing her neck and shoulders and breasts with tender hands and a hot, avid mouth. And then he gave the pleasures back tenfold with the thrust of his body. She had gone to sleep again, after their lovemaking, with her cheek against his chest and his hand slowly stroking her hair. When she woke for the second time that morning, he was gone.
"Close the door, Weston, before it's as wet in here as it is outside," Jake ordered.
Desi snapped back to the present with a start, her delicate complexion flushed with betraying color. She let the trailer door swing shut. "Sorry," she said, her voice low, her eyes looking anywhere but at him.
"Come on, Weston, get to it."
She looked up to see him sitting in front of the lighted makeup mirror. There was a white towel slung around his neck, startling against the bronze glow of his bare arms and the black mat of his hair-covered chest.
"We haven't got all day." His voice held the snap of impatient authority.
Desi nodded silently and hefted her makeup case up onto the counter, snapping it open with nervous fingers.
Stop it, she told herself sternly, rummaging around, head down, among the various pots and tubes for the appropriate Pan-Cake color. She'd made up his face innumerable times in the past two months. There was nothing different about this time. Nothing.
But, much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, there was something different about it. She was more aware of him... No, call it by what it was. She wanted him more than she ever had. She burned for him. She ached. She was, she realized, literally shaking with the force of her desire.
&nb
sp; "Are you all right?" She heard Jake's concerned voice through a fog. "Desiree?"
She looked up at that, a makeup brush slipping from her nerveless fingers. He had called her Desiree.
Their eyes touched. Held.
"You're not coming down with Dorothea's cold, are you?" he asked, but his eyes held a different question. "You look flushed." His fingertips touched her cheek gently.
She closed her eyes against the question in his, shaking her head. "No." The words were barely audible. "I'm fine."
His fingers moved from her cheek, brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Desiree," she heard him say again and then, as if he couldn't help himself, he slipped his hand to her nape and drew her face down to his.
The touch of his lips was so tender, so incredibly sweet, so eager Desi was overwhelmed by the tentative stirrings of hope. He had kissed her like this before. He had touched her face, just so, before. Maybe he wasn't as indifferent to her as she had thought. Maybe.
Then she ceased to think at all as the tenderness of his kiss turned to passion. Desi took fire immediately, her body feeling as if it was going up in flames, and she made no protest when he drew her closer. And closer still, until she was standing between his legs.
"Jake," she breathed when he released her lips. "Jake..." Her voice deserted her as his mouth traveled down the column of her neck and she couldn't form the words she had meant to say. She couldn't even remember what she wanted to say.
"I've thought about you," he whispered, his voice muffled against the softness of her breast. "About how you taste." He nibbled at her collarbone. "How you feel." His hands smoothed down her back, pressing her hips forward into his aroused body. Desi moaned softly. "About the little sounds you make." One hand touched the braid that fell down her back. "I've imagined your hair spread out on my pillow."
"Oh, Jake." She couldn't believe this was happening, that he was holding her, kissing her, loving her again. It was exactly as she had imagined it would be, dreamed it would be. Jake holding her tenderly as he declared his love.
Only, she realized suddenly, he hadn't said he loved her. He wanted her. And she hadn't said anything because—face it—she was afraid he wouldn't want to hear what she had to say to him.
One Night With You (The Heart of the City Series, Book 1) Page 9