by Early, Mora
It was, the smug voice reminded her. That led to the toe-curling sex, remember?
As if she could forget. But the stupid voice was right. Ease between them when they were alone did seem to degenerate into heavy petting rather quickly. Maybe they were better off feeling strained.
They reached Christine, and when the older woman caught sight of Josh she ducked around the last few of her admirers to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Joshua, darling! I’m so glad to see you. And this must be your wife, Emma. I was so sorry to miss the wedding, but we were just wrapping on Project 13 and I just couldn’t get away.”
Christine DeGroot was nearly as tall as Josh, slender as a reed, and had shoulder-length brown hair threaded through with silver. Her eyes were so dark brown they appeared black, and were seamed by laugh lines. Her bony fingers were piled with jeweled rings. She wasn’t the kind of woman you’d call pretty exactly. In another time period, she probably would have been referred to as a handsome woman. The papers nowadays generally used ‘distinguished’, Emma had noticed. She was also one of the most well-respected, well-known directors in the world.
Emma extended her hand. “It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, Ms. DeGroot. I’m a big fan of your work. Especially Dollhouse Massacre.”
Christine took Emma’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze. She chuckled, the sound surprisingly deep for a woman. “Ahh, a woman of taste, I see. I wasn’t aware anyone had actually seen that particular gem.”
“Dollhouse Massacre?” Josh eyed Christine, brows raised in surprise. “You?”
“For shame, Joshua,” Christine replied with a wink. “You didn’t think I only did artsy, socially important pictures, did you?” The older woman snickered again, and Emma couldn’t help but join her. The sound was infectious.
Josh shook his head. “That must have been before my time. I didn’t realize you’d ever directed a horror film.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Dollhouse Massacre! It’s only the best late eighties haunted killer doll movie. I rented it so often that I probably could have bought twenty brand new copies for the same price.” Emma shook her head, remembering Aunt Margaret’s sour-lemon sneer of disapproval any time she caught Emma watching the gory flick. She turned to Christine.
“We lived a few blocks from this tiny little video store. I can’t even count the number of times I’d walk down there, rent the movie, watch it, and then have to walk back in the dark, terrified Alice was going jump out of the bushes with her wicked little knife!” She laughed, though the memory wasn’t all pleasant.
She always had to return the movie the same day, because if Aunt Margaret found it, there would’ve been hell to pay. While their Aunt had believed in the old ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ axiom when it came to Todd, her idea of punishment for girls involved back-breaking manual labor around the house, for the most part. But Emma had so enjoyed the whimsical, gory, creepy film that she’d risked it time and again.
Christine’s smile grew Cheshire wide. Josh’s lips twitched too. “I still can’t see you making a horror movie, Chris. It’s going to take me a while to wrap my head around this new side of you.”
“New, pah.” Christine flipped her hand. “I love a good horror flick. Pity there aren’t more decent ones these days. Too much reliance on jump scares and gore without crafting the appropriate tension.”
“Oh, I completely agree.” Emma almost bounced on her toes. She was talking horror films with Christine DeGroot! Never, in all the years she’d trudged to and from the video store with Dollhouse Massacre tucked under her arm in its bulky maroon plastic box, did she think she’d ever be here. “I was just reading a book recently, so good, really spooky and I thought how it would make such a great movie if someone did it right. But that’s the thing nowadays, isn’t it? The getting it right part, I mean. You should totally do another horror movie.”
“Dollhouse Massacre 2?” Josh quirked a brow, blue-green eyes sparkling with good humor.
Christine snorted. “No, I’m not one for unnecessary sequels. But what about this book you were reading, Emma? Something I should option?”
Emma’s eyelids popped open. “What? Oh. Um. I don’t know. I’d be happy to lend it to you, if you wanted to read it. Or... well, it’s called Homeplace, by Cat Dennis. It’s one of those stories about going home and confronting your past, but woven in with a tale of two young women falling in love and a creepy town with dark secrets. Parts of it were really unnerving. Like, can’t read before bed or without all the lights on unnerving.”
“Sounds intriguing. I’ll have to check it out. Email me the title, in case I forget? Josh, be a dear and give your darling wife my email address, would you?” Christine patted his cheek.
“Of course.” Josh grinned, his dimple flashing. Emma bit her lip to keep from spluttering. Christine DeGroot had just asked her to send her an email! She’d been mildly star struck when she first met William Ransler, and being on set had been a bit of a revelation too... but actually carrying on conversation with the woman who’d directed one of her all-time favorite movies – and hitting it off! – was something else entirely.
Heat flushed her cheeks. Josh squeezed her waist a little. She looked up at him, knowing her grin was probably goofy, but unable to do anything about it at the moment. He winked. Emma swallowed.
Thankfully, the conversation moved on to other topics and she had a moment to collect her somewhat scattered wits. She rested easily against Josh’s side as he and Christine discussed a change in tax law that affected film companies.
“We managed to lock down locations in-state, this time, for the stuff we’re not doing on the lot, without it being cost prohibitive.”
Christine’s brows rose. “Really? Even though it’s a historical piece? That’s impressive. Who’s your location scout this time around?”
“Max Chartrand.” Josh’s grin was sharp. Christine nodded, as if she wasn’t surprised.
“Figures. That woman is a genius.”
A very round man with a drastically receding hairline scurried up to Christine’s side just then and, begging them all effusive pardons, told her she was needed elsewhere. Christine rolled her eyes. “More press, no doubt. It was a pleasure to see you, as always, Joshua. And very nice to meet you, Emma. I’ve heard only good things, and now I see why. Don’t forget to email, alright?” She squeezed Emma’s hand. Emma pinkened.
“I won’t. And thank you, but really, the pleasure was all mine.”
Once Christine was gone, Josh began leading them back to their table. “Well, you made quite an impression on Christine. Especially with all that stuff about her movie. Big horror fan?”
“Oh yeah. Horror, sci-fi, fantasy. I was always big on the make believe stuff. Especially when I was younger.” Because her real life was so lonely, apart from Todd, and reality rather harsh. Now that she was older, she enjoyed action flicks and dramas and documentaries as much as the next person, but back then, she’d only wanted the unbelievable. That was more than she was willing to share, however. “I still can’t believe you haven’t seen Dollhouse Massacre. I’ll see if I can track down a copy. You just have to watch it.”
“If it’s as good as you say, I’ll have to check it out. I’m kind of surprised I hadn’t heard of it, honestly. Horror wasn’t my first genre of choice growing up; I was much more into fantasy. But it was definitely a runner-up.” Josh pulled out her chair. Emma slid into it, grateful to see that someone sat on the other side of Kimber-Not-Short-For-Kimberly and was holding the buxom blonde’s attention.
“I’m rather surprised myself, Mr. Hollywood Producer.” Emma chuckled. “Isn’t knowing movies in your job description?”
Josh’s hands were warm against the skin of her bare shoulders as he pushed in her chair. As he slid into his own chair, his fingers trailed across her nape, drifting up her throat to clasp her chin and turn her face toward his.
“Watch the sass, Mrs. Hollywood Producer.”
Emma’s
heart did a ridiculous flip at the words, just like they had earlier when Josh introduced her as his wife. It was stupid. She knew it was a lie.
He pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was light at first, as if he’d intended it to be only another phantom caress for their charade, but the minute their lips touched, Emma began to tremble. Josh immediately deepened the connection, angling her head and covering her mouth with his.
His tongue teased the seam of her lips, gently flicking against her tongue, as his hand slid up into her hair and pulled her closer. Emma curled her fingers into the lapels of his suit as gravity seemed to shift. She felt suddenly as if she might slide off her chair, off the very surface of the earth.
Emma couldn’t resist the allure of Josh’s heat, his spicy flavor, his satiny lips. She moved her mouth against his, tasting, taking, until she shuddered with the echoes of pleasure reverberating beneath her skin, all beginning at that central point where Josh’s lips touched hers.
After only a moment, Josh drew back, leaving her gasping. Heat burned in her cheeks and desire burned in her veins. She knew her eyes were impossibly wide as she stared into Josh’s gorgeous face. Like the other night, that kiss had felt like something else. Something more.
Based on the flush high on his sculpted cheekbones and the fierce glitter in his blue-green gaze, Emma thought Josh felt the same way. His hand dropped from her face, landing on his thigh with a soft thump. She wanted to reach for him and clasp his fingers, but when she lifted her hand, he flinched.
It was a microscopic movement, but Emma saw it. She froze, and returned her hand to her own side.
“Wow,” Kimber-Not-Short-For-Kimberly commented from beside her, combing pearl-pink talons through her long blonde hair. “That was a hell of a smacker. Your man’s got some serious tonsil-hockey skills. Lucky bitch.”
Emma blinked, the temperature of her cheeks increasing at the younger woman’s crass words. She opened her mouth to speak, not sure what would come out, when the soft but magnified ‘thump, thump, thump’ of someone tapping a live microphone cut her off. The round, balding man was at the podium, sweating and grinning.
“Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention please?”
Emma stared at Josh, ignoring the Master of Ceremonies, wanting to say something. Anything. Josh stared back for a minute, jewel-like eyes flat and unreadable. Then he turned his attention to the dais. Emma slumped in her seat as if she was a puppet and he’d cut her strings.
Just an act, she tried to remind herself. But that kiss hadn’t been an act. Last night hadn’t been an act. So what was it?
Emma bit her lip and forced her attention to the man behind the podium. The truth was, she was very afraid of the answer to that question.
Chapter 7 ~ The Ransler Problem
Josh ducked under the open half-tent that shielded the monitor from the bright sunlight, watching Morse Goodweather survey the shot through the high-def monitor, and tried to pretend he wasn’t desperate to increase the distance between him and his faux wife. The truth was, he’d been avoiding Emma since the DGA dinner last night.
Because of that kiss.
He’d only meant it to be a brief touch of their lips. The night had been going so well. They were bantering, schmoozing. Countless photographers had snapped their picture on the way into the banquet hall. He’d spotted several more among the crowd too. He and Emma had been photographed with Christine, Arnold, and a slew of other Hollywood notables. All very good for the image of their marriage. No one could doubt they were genuinely hitched after that display.
Including his own damn self, apparently.
They’d been in public, for Christ’s sake. A quick kiss was permissible, even expected, given the recentness of their supposed nuptials. But the very second their lips touched, Emma had given this sweet, small sigh. He’d felt her body grow pliable as she leaned into him, and those lush lips had parted just the slightest bit.
He hadn’t been able to resist taking what she offered, flicking his tongue into the warm, moist cavern of her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Though there was no denying the carnality of the lip-lock. It hadn’t just been ‘tonsil-hockey’, as Arnold Purefoy’s trophy girlfriend had crudely remarked. It had been so much more.
Hence his current plan to avoid Emma at all costs.
Fair? Probably not. But Josh thought it the wisest course of action for the time being. Until he could get some distance, clear his head, and figure out why the hell he kept ending up at ‘more’ with Emma when he was trying to keep it at... well, not more.
“What’s the good word, Morse?” He forced a jovial smile and clapped his director on the back. Morse flipped his limp flop of blond hair back off his forehead.
“Dennis wants to wait another ten minutes. For the light.”
Josh nodded, glancing out over the set, eying the angle of the sun. “Alright, then. We wait ten minutes.”
Dennis, the Director of Photography, was an older man, tall and broad, with a fringe of white hair around the gleaming dome of his head and a neatly-trimmed, snowy goatee. “In ten minutes, that light’ll be so lush and gorgeous, I’m telling you.”
“You’ll want to make love to it?” Josh snorted. It was a favorite phrasing of the cheerful DP. Josh had heard it often in the years they’d worked together.
“Smart ass. Wait and see if you don’t.” Dennis socked his shoulder.
Josh believed him. McClure was one of the most sought after DPs in the business and had shelves of awards to his name. The man was an artist. His odd penchant for referring to his framing and lighting as he would a sensual woman was just one of his odd quirks. Not that Josh minded. The man could have as many quirks he wanted, as long as he did good work.
Good. Focus on the film and not on Emma.
He stayed in his office ‘working’ late last night, waiting until he was sure Emma was asleep before going to bed, and then setting his alarm for ridiculously early. As they drove to the set, he occupied himself on the phone to avoid conversation. But even as he chatted with Dennis and Morse, he could sense her behind him. As if, in the few brief weeks of their sham marriage, he’d developed some sort of sixth sense for her location.
Josh knew if he turned and looked she’d be standing with several PAs and assistants, including her younger brother, off to the side of the set. Knowing Emma, she was probably coaxing stories from the more long time staff members. She was constantly curious about all aspects of the business. He found it fascinating to watch her absorb the information about the different roles people played in the making a movie. Her green eyes danced with intelligence and genuine interest as she listened.
It endeared her to the crew rather quickly. ‘Mrs. Owens’ was a big hit. Josh gritted his teeth, forcing out a chuckle at one of Dennis’s joking remarks. Everyone loved Emma. He had lost count of the number of times he’d been congratulated on his good luck in landing the petite brunette. If they only knew the real circumstances of the relationship.
Not that anyone ever would. That was the whole point. He should be happy his crew had so emphatically joined Team Emma. It meant their act was working. So why did it irk him every time someone called him a lucky man?
Maybe because she isn’t really yours.
Josh breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Dennis gave Morse the all clear to move ahead with filming. The actors took their places, William, in full costume. climbed into the creaking carriage. Sound techs adjusted levels while boom operators shifted mic poles out of the shot. Dennis and Morse watched the monitor, conferring quietly.
To Josh’s left, he saw Todd hurry off toward the equipment trucks, speaking into the Bluetooth device clipped to his ear. Emma watched her brother go, a small smile on her lush, pink mouth. The pride in her expression was easy to read.
Several assistants scrambled out of the way as Morse called for the background actors to find their places. From the corner of his eye, Josh noticed Emma touch a finger to her lips and wink at a young woman wearing thick
glasses and an intern badge. He vaguely recalled the girl, but couldn’t recall her name. Her cheeks flushed as she lifted her hand to her mouth and made a buttoning motion. She and Emma shared a grin. Even the interns adored his wife.
Pseudo-wife. Damn it, why couldn’t he remember that? He really shouldn’t have to work so hard to remember that their relationship was fake. The only reason Emma was living at his home and sleeping in his bed, was because she had to for appearances. He needed to stop looking forward to coming downstairs in the morning and smelling the rich scent of the mocha she’d made for them, or hearing the soft sound of her footsteps as she passed the door of his office.
Why couldn’t things just be simple? He’d never expected this charade to grow so complicated.
It knocked him off-balance that the part he’d thought would be the most difficult for him – faking the easy intimacy of being in love – wasn’t hard at all. Instead, it was navigating the confusing morass of emotions their unconventional relationship stirred up in him that was proving troublesome. And that ticked Josh off.