by Claire Marti
“It just made things awkward because we all knew it. Harry never held a grudge or anything because they weren’t an item when we met. And…” Chris scratched his chin.
“Sorry, Dad, we’re not trying to knock you back into the past. We’re just trying to understand this whole thing. You have to admit it’s all been a whirlwind and we’re adjusting as best we can.” Amanda’s stern expression softened.
“And? Is there more, Dad?” How many secrets were there?
“Well, Harry was the one the media insinuated was having an affair with your mom. He had to deal with that crap too. And when I couldn’t finish the movie, he stepped in and did it, even with all the ugliness. He was there for me. For us.” Chris closed his eyes again and the grooves around her father’s mouth deepened.
“Is that why his name sounded familiar? Why wasn’t he at the funeral then?” Sam struggled to keep her voice calm.
“Look, we both thought it would make the media circus even worse, especially at the service. Not like that was possible.” He grimaced.
“So what’s the question?” Samantha’s mind was racing. Her dad had been through enough. Who knew how tough it had been to walk away from an award-winning career, mourn his wife, and raise three teenaged girls?
“Okay. Like I said, Harry saw you riding and he was impressed. Of course.” Her father grinned.
Samantha’s shoulders relaxed. Compliments on her equestrian skills were welcome. She gestured with one hand for him to continue.
“So there are a few scenes requiring a female rider––”
Her jaw slackened. “Are you joking?”
“Actually no. There’s a rebellious heroine who borrows her brother’s breeches and she’s kind of reckless.” Chris cleared his throat.
“You want me to be in the movie?” Her stomach clenched.
“Dad, you can’t be serious.” Amanda stepped closer to their father.
“You used to love being on set. The rider he hired isn’t as talented as you are. I told him you most likely wouldn’t even consider it, but I told him I’d ask you.” His eyes shimmered with emotion.
“So like the stunt woman during the horseback riding scenes? But I’m not in the union or an actor or any of it.” What the heck was Harry’s deal?
“There are loopholes of course. If you wanted to do it, he’d make it work.”
Amanda’s nostrils flared, her rare, slow burn temper simmering. “But what if something happened? Will Harry not rest until all the McNeills are entangled in his film? What is going on? This ranch is our home and sanctuary. Now, it’s been invaded by Hollywood, and you’re directing and encouraging Sam to do stunts?”
“Yeah, Dad, none of this makes sense. What gives?” Although she was an incredible rider, no ego there, none of this made sense.
“I told him you’d say no. It’s just…” He gazed out the window.
“It’s just what?” Sam gaped. Her dad simply wasn’t acting like himself.
“You gave up your dreams of being a ballerina. I hate that you paid that price. I know you love what you do now, but maybe having a positive experience on a movie set could help you get past all the awful memories.” Chris pinned her with his gaze, and pressed his lips together in a straight line.
“Is that why you’re doing it, Dad? To move past it all?” Amanda’s voice gentled.
“Maybe. Hell, I don’t know.” He scratched his jaw again. “It was my life and then it was gone. There’s just something in the process that stimulates me like nothing else. And if there’s a side benefit of not feeling paralyzed anytime anyone talks about the movie industry, it’s not a bad thing, right?” His broad shoulders slumped.
Sam ran to her dad and wrapped her arms around his waist. Would it be so terrible if this movie helped heal a part of him he’d buried? Probably not, but would it make her feel better or worse to be on the set?
She’d locked away the childhood memories because they were simply too agonizing. But the truth was she’d loved every single minute of watching her mom transform into different characters and seeing her dad’s masterful orchestration of scenes. Her mom’s ethereal beauty, so like Amanda’s, filled the movie screen and nobody could tear their eyes away from her for a second.
Before the accident, Sam never questioned her principal ballerina destiny and never shunned the spotlight. After the accident, she ruthlessly packed away her toe shoes and leotards. The horses on Pacific Vista Ranch filled the void and she’d found a new calling as breeding manager and ranch manager.
Was her dad right? Would participating in the movie soften the tightness and dread that arose deep in her chest each time she remembered the day she lost her mother? Although she doubted the scars could completely disappear, if even one layer of buried pain faded, perhaps it would be worth it.
“What do you think, Amanda?” Her sister was like a second mom to her and she valued her opinion.
“At first, I thought it was a terrible idea, but the way Dad explains it, maybe it would help. But only if you’re sure.” Amanda shifted her gaze toward their father. “It has to be her choice.”
“Of course.” He looked offended. “You know I’ve never forced Sammy to do anything, nor would I try.”
“I’m assuming I would be riding one of the Hollywood horses?”
“Of course. Remember the lead actress needs to be able to ride the horse too and they selected a mount she can handle.” He smiled.
“Would this be a scene you were directing?” It better be.
“I could direct it, yeah. This is assuming it all goes well and I remember how to direct anymore.” His grin was wry.
“Okay, tell Shaw I’ll do it, but only if you’re there and if anything feels weird, I’m out. But what about Amanda?”
“Of course. Remember the ball is in your court. What about Amanda?” Her dad’s broad forehead creased.
“Yeah, what about me?” Amanda’s eyes widened.
She pointed to her sister. “Well, if I’m participating in this as a kind of therapy, what about her? Shouldn’t she do something for the movie too?”
Amanda held up both hands and shook her head. “Oh no, you two aren’t dragging me into this scheme. I’m fine.”
Sam tilted her head and gazed at her always in control sister. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Dad?” Amanda appealed to their father.
“Amanda knows her own mind. She’s my rock, always so steady.” Her dad smiled, his hazel eyes bright. “Right?”
Amanda smiled tightly. “Of course, that’s me: the reasonable one.”
Sam stared at her older sister. Was she really fine? Amanda was tough to read with her level-headed approach to life. But right now something simmered beneath the tranquil surface and Sam was concerned.
“Let’s get you some lunch. I don’t want you to faint.” Chris reached out a hand to her.
“Oh sure. Bye Amanda. Bye Cocoa.” She’d forgotten her impromptu excuse. Of course she was hungry as usual, but the blood sugar hadn’t been lack of food. Nope, Mr. Too Hot Hollywood had reduced her to a babbling fool.
She stopped suddenly in her tracks.
Her dad looked down at her with raised brows. “Sam, are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded and hurried along toward the house with him, her pulse thrumming in her veins.
Had she just agreed to ride with Holt in a movie scene?
19
Sam swallowed the final bite of her perfectly crafted tuna melt and popped in the last crisp slice of dill pickle. Her demanding belly was satiated, but her overactive mind continued to wrestle with her suspicions about Holt. Nobody else had been out on that side of the ranch this morning.
“I’m going to head down to the set and let Harry know you’ve agreed. Are there any days where you won’t be available?” Her dad asked.
“Well, I’ve got piles of boring paperwork and all the usual off-season stuff. Nothing urgent, so I’m flexible.” She’d take any excuse to
postpone sitting at the computer.
Her dad grasped her hand with his large sun-weathered one. “Thanks for agreeing, Sam. I think this could be fun and who knows, maybe it will be cathartic for both of us.”
She turned her palm upward and squeezed. “I hope so, Dad. I still think it’s weird he asked me, because I know he wasn’t down there on set yet. Are you sure it wasn’t Holt?”
“What if it was? Are you two still rubbing each other the wrong way?” His hazel eyes narrowed and his brows drew together.
“No, no, I don’t even notice he’s there.” Sam’s cheeks heated again and she stared down at her now empty plate. No, she wouldn’t exactly describe last night’s make out session as rubbing her the wrong way. More like caressing her in all the right ways.
“That’s good. He seems like a good kid. Even if Harry saw you from a distance, he’d know you are a gifted horsewoman, just like you’re a gifted dancer.” Her father’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he squeezed her hand again.
“Was a gifted dancer, Dad, was.” Twelve years ago she’d been a ballerina. Not anymore.
“You’ll always be a dancer, Sammy, maybe just in a different way than we all expected. Anyway, I’m heading down now and I’ll see you at dinner.” He patted her hand, rose from the table, and sauntered out of the kitchen.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath. Mr. Too Hot Hollywood had to have been the one to recommend she ride in the movie. What type of game was he playing? Seduce her under the stars and then freeze her out in the unforgiving morning light? He’d made it crystal clear he wasn’t attracted to her this morning, so what was his agenda?
Disgusted with her one track mind, she smoothed back her braid and shoved away from the table. Until she uncovered his true motives, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Color her obsessed.
She slipped out of the house, not wanting to answer any questions regarding her destination. She marched down the path toward the guesthouse, her annoyance burgeoning into righteous anger. She would demand answers. He would comply. He would admit he’d put Harry up to having her be a part of the movie. He would explain why. Her fingers curled into fists.
She stopped mid-stride. Who was she kidding? She was hurt. She’d bared her soul to him last night, shared intimate details about her mom’s death, and today he’d been an aloof ass. Could he just flip his emotions on and off like a faucet? Even if he weren’t responsible for the movie, he’d answer some questions about his behavior. She wasn’t just some random chick, like all his other on-set romances.
By the time she was finished with him, she’d set down the rules for the movie shoot. Rule number one was he would stay away from her. Hands off.
She gritted her teeth. Nobody toyed with her. When she reached the guesthouse, she glanced down and grimaced at her dusty jeans and ancient gray T-shirt. Should she have cleaned up before rushing down to yell at him? She shook her head. Screw it. She didn’t need to impress Holt Ericsson.
She raised her fist to bang on the door, but before her knuckles could connect to the wood, a lilting melody caressed her ears. The guitar––he was playing his guitar. Her fingers relaxed and her hand drifted to her heart as the melancholy notes surrounded her. She recognized the tune, a haunting ballad by one of her favorite alternative rock bands, the Foo Fighters. She leaned against the doorjamb and her eyelids drifted shut. The music filled her heart with its sweet melody.
With a start, she straightened. The song had ended.
Why was she here again? Her anger had dissipated.
Music really did soothe the savage beast, or the stereotypical redhead’s temper, as the case may be.
Did she really need to confront him? Did she have the energy to? Did she even want to anymore? What was the point? He either wanted to be with her or he didn’t. She couldn’t force him into desiring her. If he were anything like her, the moment she yelled at him, he’d retreat and again: what was the point?
Her shoulders slumped and she pivoted away from the guesthouse to return home. Holt whipped the door open. She angled her head back toward him.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was raspy.
“Nothing. Never mind.” She turned away and took two steps, but then he grabbed her wrist and tugged her to a stop. She whirled toward him, yanking her arm from his grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
“Samantha, you obviously came down here for a reason. What’s going on?” His tone softened, leaving just the sexy huskiness.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. Oh my. Once again, his chiseled muscular torso was bare and his smooth tanned skin beckoned to be stroked. He scrubbed one hand over his messy blond hair. His eyelids were hooded.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. I did. Then I changed my mind.” So, never mind. Go back to strumming your guitar.”
“You heard me playing?” His piercing silver blue eyes widened.
“I did.” She dug her fingers into her triceps. And you playing one beautiful song calmed me down. No way she would admit it. Her pulse was racing. He was just so damn pretty. No, not pretty. Gorgeous.
He leaned against the doorjamb and raised his brows.
“You were playing one of my favorite songs. Why aren’t you a professional musician instead of a stuntman?” The words tumbled out. And the schoolgirl babbling commences again.
His square jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh don’t fish for compliments. I heard one song and you could be on any stage in the world and you know it. Just say thank you.” Please, like he didn’t know it.
His mouth snapped shut. “Okay, thank you. But you’re exaggerating. I just play for myself.”
If she stretched her arm toward him, she could touch the expanse of golden skin. Flashbacks from his kisses last night heated the blood in her veins. Dangerous. Being this close to him was dangerous. If she were as smart as her sister Amanda, she would keep their relationship all about business and forget about last night.
Definitely not as smart as her older sister.
“Cat got your tongue? If I’d known my guitar playing would stop you from yelling at me, I would have serenaded you weeks ago.” One corner of his sculpted lips quirked up.
“Ha ha. Serenaded me. I’m not the kind of girl who gets serenaded, that’s my twin.” Damn it, why did she have to reveal her insecurity? But it was true—Dylan was floaty and feminine.
Before she could react, he wrapped his fingers around her shoulders and pulled her into his warm bare chest. He gazed down at her, and his pupils dilated, “You’re beautiful, Samantha.”
She froze. Her feet were glued to the spot, and her knees wobbled. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.
“You don’t believe me?” His eyes narrowed and he frowned. “What would it take?”
“Take?” Her pulse drummed in her temples and the unsteadiness in her legs spread through her entire body.
“Yes, Samantha McNeill, what would it take for me to convince you?” His strong hands slid up her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. His large calloused palms gripped her shoulders.
She stepped back, but his hands tightened and she couldn’t retreat. No man had ever looked at her the way he did. Sure, she knew she cleaned up okay and she had to be halfway good-looking since she had the same face as her twin sister, but beautiful?
Where was her usual supply of one-line zingers? Clever snappy retorts? Her lips parted, but nothing emerged.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. His muscular arms banded around her, enveloping her in the heat from all his smooth skin.
“I guess I’ll just have to show you.” He lowered his head and captured her lips in a demanding kiss, the pressure coaxing her lips apart.
She moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist, digging her short fingernails into his bare back, for once wishing she indulged in manicures and had long, sexy fingernails to scrape along his muscles.
Her m
ind blanked and her eyelids floated shut. Each swirl of his tongue drew him deeper inside her. His breath tasted minty and cool. Heaven. When his hands slid up to frame the sides of her face, and he changed the angle of the kiss, she was lost. Lost in the sensations shooting down every inch of her body. This. This magic was what she’d been missing.
He tilted his head back for a moment and she almost cried at the separation. “You’re beautiful and I want you.”
Her pulse kicked and she stared into his heated gaze. When his lips brushed against hers again, she couldn’t stop the moan.
Wasn’t this why she’d come down here? To demand why he’d kissed her this way and then ignored her? To discover if last night was a fluke or if this attraction was beyond anything she’d ever experienced?
Definitely not a fluke.
She needed Holt.
Now.
“Yes,” she replied against his lips, unwilling to break their connection.
He growled deep in his throat, swept her up in his arms, and carried her over the threshold of the guesthouse. Their lips remained fused together. He kicked the door shut behind him and when he released her legs, she slid down the length of his body. Every single rock-hard inch.
He dragged his hands down from her shoulders to her hips; trailing liquid fire everywhere he touched. He cupped her bottom in his hands and lifted her up and placed her on the kitchen island counter. He stepped in between her legs and yanked her in close, never breaking their kiss. She wound her legs around his waist and raked her hands through his messy, sexy hair. Her center liquefied and she wiggled to create some friction where they were joined together.
As he continued his assault, he freed her hair from her braid with one hand. He leaned back for a moment and thrust his fingers into her hair, fanning it out around her so it cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.
“I love your hair. Your face.” He nipped at her jaw and nibbled along her neck, holding her in place. “You’ve driven me crazy from the moment we met.”
She giggled. “Well, I don’t know if that’s really true. I think you wanted to throttle me more than kiss me, right?”