by Early, Mora
But as soon as Josh kissed her, touched her even a little, her body went up in flames and burned like a charcoal briquette. Long and hot until there was nothing left but ashes.
It wasn’t fair.
“Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
Emma jerked out of her reverie, eyes wide as she met Josh’s questioning gaze. Was he asking about the sex? She swallowed, her throat dry as Aunt Margaret’s porkchops (the woman never could master cooking pork – thank god she hadn’t passed that trait on to Emma). “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your first day on set. Is it how you pictured it?” Josh’s thick brows furrowed as he studied her face. “Are you sure you don’t want a water? Or maybe some air? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine.” She waved him off with a twitch of her fingers. “And no, it’s nothing like I pictured. There’s a lot more involved. All the setup and breakdown, the pauses between takes. I never realized how many they do of each scene.”
He nodded, eyes scanning the set as they prepared for yet another take. There was some sort of commotion going on near the sound equipment that made him frown. “Everyone’s a little surprised, their first time on set. There’s a lot more waiting around and fiddling with equipment than people anticipate. All this work to get just a few seconds of film.”
She knew he was using ‘film’ in the abstract sense. Their cameras were the newest digital equipment the studio could buy.
One of the crew hurried over to William Ransler and began reaffixing his thick beard, which was apparently coming unstuck in the heat. When Josh had introduced her to Cleo in the makeup trailer earlier, Emma had stared at the other woman for an embarrassingly long minute before shaking her outstretched hand.
Cleo could be a model. A supermodel. She was almost six feet tall, her skin was a creamy tan color, and her cheekbones were so sharp they could cut crystal. Pair that with her exotically tilted grey eyes, bee stung lips and a spiked mop of silky black hair cut asymmetrically over her smooth forehead and she could walk down any runway in the world wearing haute couture.
Instead, she was wearing a worn pair of paint-stained overalls, a tool belt stuffed with various brushes, and a beat-up pair of army boots. Her nose, lip, and eyebrow were pierced, and she wore two sets of dog tags around her neck.
“I think you’re my hero,” Emma blurted as she shook Cleo’s hand. Her eyes had been so wide she worried they fall out onto the scuffed toes of Cleo’s boots.
The other woman burst out laughing, clapping Emma on the shoulder with one long-fingered hand. “Oh wow, Josh, mind if I borrow her? She’s adorable.”
Emma flushed in remembrance, still unsure if the exotic beauty had been making fun of her or not. “Was Cleo ever a model?”
Josh glanced up at her words, his gaze sliding to where the makeup woman finished touching William up. “Yeah, in her late teens. She hated it, to hear her tell it. But she got talking with some of the people who did her hair and makeup for shoots and that’s how she ended up in Tinseltown.”
“Tinseltown? You did not just seriously call it that.” Emma tried to swallow the giggle that bubbled up, but couldn’t. Josh smiled.
She had to remind herself that she was still angry at him. Apology or not, he’d agreed to her no sex rule and then tried to seduce her.
That’s not really why you’re so upset.
Emma wondered if it was possible to use a mental ball-gag on your inner voice. Hers had grown increasingly mouthy the longer she spent in Josh’s company. Yet another thing she could lay at his door.
So, fine, she wasn’t really angry because he’d tried to seduce her. She’d enjoyed that part, actually. What bothered her was the idea that she was just some convenient hole for him. She’d been naive when she’d told Todd their marriage would be in name only. Naive, or in denial. She’d known there was an attraction between her and Josh that was difficult to ignore.
And intellectually, she understood why Josh didn’t trust her. She had lied to him, tricked him, and stolen from him. But he acted as if not only everything she’d ever done or said in the past was a lie, but everything she did and said now, too.
Okay, granted, she was still lying. But not to him! And only because he was making her do it. So how could he blame her for that?
“Places, people!” Morse Goodweather’s voice rang out over the set and Emma jerked, startled to see everyone back in their places already.
She slid her gaze to Josh and then stilled, heat staining her cheeks as she realized he was already looking at her. The expression in his blue-green eyes burned intensely, but other than that she couldn’t quite read it. His brow remained smooth, and the corner of his mouth turned the tiniest bit upward.
Emma bit her lip, tilting her head a little in question. She’d lost interest in the scene being filmed before her, much more intrigued by what might be going on in Josh’s head.
Slowly, Josh raised his hand. Emma’s heart did a soft shoe worthy of Fred Astaire as he touched her cheek. Just an act!
But everyone’s attention was on the actors right now. So why bother?
Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his hand on her skin. She wished it wasn’t Josh who had this affect on her. Their relationship was much too complicated as it was. Giving in to the desire that plagued her would be a terrible idea. She wished...
You wish this was for real.
Emma snapped her eyes closed, unable to look at Josh’s face, afraid he’d read that traitorous – and completely untrue! – thought in her eyes. There was nothing real about her and Josh. They were colleagues and temporary roommates. Nothing more.
She was handling this. And despite what Todd had thought, pretending to be married to Josh actually wasn’t torture. Not most of the time. Most of the time it was surprisingly easy between them. As long as they didn’t talk about the their arrangement. Or have sex.
Which was going to make tonight especially difficult. She’d been sleeping in a bedroom upstairs and across the house from Josh. Keeping distance, physical distance, between them, helped somewhat. She’d always managed to be up and about early enough so that none of the staff was the wiser, but this morning the housekeeper had caught her coming out of the spare bedroom with her bags.
It had been clear from the look on her face that she was startled to find the supposed lady of the house sleeping in a guest room. Emma knew the woman might not say anything. Josh said all of his staff signed NDAs when he hired them. But still, this was a precarious situation. One slip of the tongue to the wrong person and it would be all over the tabloids.
Josh’s hand withdrew from her cheek and she risked a peek at his face. One blond brow curved upward. He held up his hand. Emma blinked at it for a full ten seconds before comprehending the smudge of dirt on his thumb.
Oh. Now she felt like a complete idiot. He wasn’t being affectionate, either out of sham necessity or genuine feeling. He was just cleaning her face off. It wasn’t as if he could call out ‘Hey Emma, you’ve got some dirt on you’ and ruin the take.
She forced her lips into a smile and mouthed ‘Thanks’. He nodded, glancing down at his phone with a frown. Morse clapped his hands briskly.
“Cut! Great, I think we’ve got it. Let’s move on.” The level of activity around her ramped up to eleven. Emma blinked in astonishment as the whole set began to unfold quickly, the crew clearing everything away and packing up so they could move on to the next location.
One of the PAs, a coolly professional blonde with a bright smile, glided up to Josh’s chair. “Excuse me, Mr. Owens? I’m sorry to interrupt but Ian asked if you could come to the studio office. It seemed rather urgent.” She spoke with a soft British accent.
Josh hopped from his chair, scowling at her. The woman’s green eyes were a brighter shade than Emma’s, their expression unruffled as Josh towered over her. “Damn it, why didn’t he call my cell?”
Ian. Emma wracked her brain for the name. Someone tied to the studio. It clicked. Ian ha
d something to do with the budget. Or maybe it was payroll? Either way, if he wanted to see Josh, it probably wasn’t a good thing.
The blonde smiled benignly at Josh. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. I can ride you over, if you like.”
“Not necessary.” He ran his hand through his hair and glanced at Emma. “Can you go on with the crew? I like to be on set as much as possible the first day. I’ll meet back up with you.”
Emma blinked in surprise at the small tingle of disappointment she felt at the thought of Josh leaving, but she forced herself to smile. “No problem. Go do what you have to do. I’ll be here. Or, you know,” she swept her hand in the direction of the packing crew. “There.”
He nodded, striding away, his long legs eating up the ground, cell already plastered to his ear. Emma watched him go, trying not to make it obvious that she was checking out the firm curve of his muscular ass. Really, knowing what he had under his clothes made it nearly impossible not to think about his fantastic body every time she looked at him.
She jerked her gaze away and turned to the blonde, who was still standing at her side. She gave the other woman a smile. “I’m sorry... What did you say your name was?”
“Sue.” She extended her hand to Emma, grinning. “But everyone calls me Soos.” In the English accent, the nickname sounded elegant and soft.
“Well, Soos, I apologize... for my husband.” She stumbled over the words. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be short with you.”
The blonde shrugged. “Oh, I know how he is. I’ve worked with him before. I told Mr. Braidlaw he’d best call Mr. Owens on his cell, but Mr. Braidlaw can be a bit timid at times, especially with Mr. Owens. He’s a one, your man. Bit of a temper. But I don’t mind it.” She winked.
Emma coughed, not entirely sure she understood the implications of Sue’s words. She opened her mouth, unsure what was going to come out, when a high-pitched voice cut through the noise of the crew.
“Mrs. Owens! Mrs. Owens!”
It took Emma a minute, and an odd look from Sue, for Emma to realize someone was calling her. She turned toward the far side of the set, where a petite brunette in thick glasses was waving an arm frantically, beckoning her over.
“Excuse me.” She inclined her head to Sue, who waved her off, and hurried over to the unknown woman.
It was clear from the headset, badge and clipboard that the young girl – she didn’t look a day over 19 – was either an intern or a PA. Her smile was wide and eager as Emma reached her.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here! They tried reaching Mr. Owens first, but he was in with Mr. Braidlaw and wasn’t to be disturbed and the poor man is just sitting here! I figured I’d better come find you, right away!”
Emma opened her mouth, closed it, cleared her throat. “Um. Who is sitting where?”
“Duh!” The girl smacked her forehead and rolled her eyes. “Stupid me! Ben Cummings! He’s at the gate and I guess the security guard is new and won’t let him in without confirmation or something and he tried to call Mr. Owens, but he’s in with Mr. Braidlaw, like I said, and so I thought, since he couldn’t reach you on the phone, I’d get you myself!”
It took another several seconds to untangle the rapid string of words. “Ben’s at the gate? By all means, tell the guard to let him in.” Emma wasn’t sure if it was Ben or the gate guard who had tried to get her on the phone, but she’d turned it off so the ringer wouldn’t interrupt the filming and had yet to turn it back on.
The intern actually bobbed a little curtsey. “Great! But, see, the thing is that I can’t tell the guard that, he has to hear it directly from you!”
“Oh, for... Can you just give me a ride over to the gate? I’ll bring Ben in myself.” Emma wiped her hand over her sweaty throat in exasperation. Having to deal with all the hassle that went into making a movie was starting to make her enjoy the glamor of them less.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Owens! I’ll take you right on over! I’m Heidi, by the way!” Heidi beamed, waving in the direction of her motorized cart.
Emma climbed inside. “Lead on, MacDuff.”
“Oh, my last name’s not MacDuff, it’s...”
But Emma’s thoughts had already shifted traitorously back to Josh, and why she cared whether or not he believed anything she said.
***
Josh found an empty seat in the craft services tent and sipped a cup of coffee. He’d only just managed to get free of Ian Braidlaw and the other finance minions. It had taken hours to iron out the snafu that had led to several of their filming permits getting paid for out of the wrong accounts.
He’d texted Emma to let her know he’d gotten hung up. She’d offered to help, and he’d almost taken her up on it. She was fiercely good at organization. But he’d needed a little space. Being around her for any length of time while they were playing their public parts was torture. Well, not really. In fact, it the opposite of torture. That was the disturbing part.
He enjoyed spending time with Emma, which annoyed him. Sure, he’d enjoyed spending time with her before. Before he’d known she was Madame Butterfly. Back when he’d thought she was a simple, uncomplicated, intelligent woman who could plan an elaborate and fantastical masquerade without losing any sleep, but who hid inside a protective shell. Now, he kept waiting for her to... he wasn’t sure. Show her true colors?
Any time he found himself relaxing around her, part of his brain would sound the alarm, remind him this was all an act, and then he’d find himself unable to do anything but wonder what parts were true and what were lies. He’d find himself staring at her, studying her from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out who the real Emma Ness was.
He was becoming paranoid. Case in point: his mother had called and left him a voice message, and though she’d not sounded any different than she usually did, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering her. Now he couldn’t stop checking his phone to see if she had called back.
When Maisie Ransler slid into the seat beside him with a wide grin, Josh welcomed the distraction.
“I guarantee if you’d taken an actual honeymoon, you’d be looking a heck of a lot more relaxed right about now.” She winked. Josh couldn’t help but chuckle. Just being around the warm-hearted redhead made him feel less tense. She had that way about her.
“Are you kidding? I’d be twice as exhausted.” The words left his mouth before he’d thought them through. Josh could have kicked himself. Not because he thought Maisie would mind. She laughed, slapping her knee.
No, it was the cavalcade of images that his own words had called to mind. Emma naked on a white sand beach somewhere tropical, the smooth honey of her skin glistening with oil and smelling of coconut. Emma rising out of the turquoise water, dark hair dripping water down her naked body. Emma curled against his side, grey eyes full of wonder as she watched the sun set in vivid color over the Mediterranean. Emma rising above him in bed, sunlight streaming through enormous windows and painting her body in gold.
Josh shut down that train of thought as quickly as he could. It wasn’t quickly enough. Blood pooled in his groin. He shifted, gritting his teeth.
“Exhausted, maybe, but not nearly as stressed.” Maisie bumped his shoulder playfully. “Seriously, Josh, you two should go away somewhere for awhile. Just the two of you. That’s just what you need.”
“Because we’re newlyweds?” He forced his mouth to keep smiling. He’d never really thought about all the razzing newly married couples got. But even people who didn’t know him that well were making joking comments about he and Emma ‘coming up for air’.
Real couples could probably laugh it off. They were, after all, actually having sex. Josh, on the other hand, desperately wished he could lock himself and his pseudo-bride in a room for a few weeks and not let her out.
Except, she’d made it clear she didn’t want him. Or, correction, she’d made it clear she didn’t want to want him, which amounted to the same thing in the end.
“Right, because y
ou’re newlyweds.” Maisie winked. “You should take my advice. Take her away somewhere and don’t come back until you’re well and truly... um... married.” She popped up from her seat and patted his shoulder. “Better go find William before he forgets to eat.”
She strode away, her long braid swinging. Josh stared after her, trying to figure out what her remarks had meant. Did she suspect their ruse? But no, if she did, she would surely tell Ransler. That niggle of doubt was just further evidence of his paranoia.
“Pardon me, Mr. Owens?” A light touch on his arm drew his attention away from Maisie. He recognized the round-cheeked, dark-haired young woman immediately. Her blue eyes were much more striking in person than they had been in her headshot.
“Emilie, isn’t it?” He extended his hand. She took it, her fair skin turning slightly pink.
“Oui.” She smiled broadly, pumping his hand. Her accent was thick but charming. And a little surprising. He’d watched several of the clips Emma had sent him, and Emilie managed both a very good American and English accent. “I wanted to say thank you. Riki said you are the one who recommended me to her and I am very pleased with this role.”