by Cindy Dees
In spite of her maddening flexibility, he finally finished the script and turned back to the beginning to go through it again, this time to make some preliminary notes on the changes.
Adrian would go over the script in detail with the cast and crew in the next few days, entering into endless coordination meetings to go over any additional ideas they came up with to enhance his vision of the film. After he and his crew had settled on the movie’s settings, costumes, makeup, stunts, lighting, staging and a thousand other details, then production would kick up into high gear.
He’d heard Adrian comment before that directors didn’t film movies these days as much as they managed movies up onto the silver screen. The guy was not wrong.
Ana looked up from her script, apparently finished reading it, as well. “There’s a lot of fighting. And kissing.”
“It is a space Western.” He was eager to get started choreographing their fights. Or maybe he was just antsy to get his hands on her again. Perv. This was a damned job. No sexual overtones authorized. Hell, no sexual undertones were authorized, either.
“I need to talk to you after work today,” she announced without warning.
Quick alarm jumped in his gut. Here came the psycho-girl reaction to their sex last night. He asked cautiously, “About what?”
“Your grandmother.”
Minerva? Ana had managed to surprise him. She’d knocked him completely off balance more times in the past few days than he could recall any woman ever doing. Except maybe his mother. “What about my grandmother?”
“It can wait.”
In other words, Ana didn’t want to talk about it here. He frowned, but nodded. “Later, then.”
“Shall we get to work on the first fight?” she asked briskly.
He studied her closely. Her expression wasn’t giving a thing away. Leave it to him to sleep with the only woman in Hollywood who didn’t wear her thoughts and emotions on her sleeve. No, wait. That was good, right? Why was he bugged that he couldn’t read her, then?
“You have stunt hand-to-hand combat training, right?” he asked her.
“Yup. I’ve even caught a couple of jobs as a fight extra,” she answered. “Do you need to stretch out and warm up before we get to work?”
Work. Got it. She didn’t want to talk about anything personal. Probably a good call on set. These places had flipping ears. The speed with which gossip flew on movie sets still shocked him, even after his many years in the business.
“Okay,” he said, matching her briskness. “We’ve got the dialogue that becomes an argument. We can learn that later. When it blows up, you’ll need to step forward and threaten me.”
Ana stepped right up to him, chest to...well, stomach. He was a lot taller than her. She reached up and poked him truculently in the chest. Grinning, he commented, “You’re so cute down there. Adrian’s gonna love that.”
He shoved her shoulder in response to the poke. But the second his palm made contact with her, the silken slide of her skin beneath his hand slammed into his consciousness. Her bones were delicate. More than he’d ever registered before. Her entire frame was petite, in fact.
“You need to knock me off balance, Jackson. Shove me harder.”
He pushed a little harder on her shoulder.
“C’mon, you can do better than that. Really give me a good shove.”
He frowned. He didn’t want to break her, for crying out loud. “Why can’t you fake the loss of balance and just step back?”
“Because it’s not that big a deal to do it for real, and then it’ll look more authentic on camera. Stunts 101, Jackson. If you can do it for real and not die, do it for real.”
He scowled, ticked off at her for being right, and more ticked off at himself for being so damned messed up in the head this morning. “Fine.”
He gave her a hard shove that made her stagger back a couple of steps. And immediately, he felt remorse and concern. “You okay?” he asked quickly.
“What the hell is wrong with you? A few days ago you swung a baseball bat at me with all your strength and didn’t think twice about it.”
He glared down at her. “You know exactly what changed between us.”
Shock flashed in her eyes. And something else that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. But for a second there, he thought that might have been hurt in her stare. She ground out low, “We’re at work. Focus, for crying out loud.”
That was usually his line to his female costars. Particularly once he’d bedded them. Jaw clenched, he nodded tersely. Using every ounce of self-discipline he possessed, he forced his mind back to the fight at hand. “Okay. You’ve staggered back. You’d lower your head and charge, don’t you think? Plant your head in my stomach.”
She gritted her teeth and did as he ordered. He grabbed for her arm and missed, ending up with a handful of her left breast. She gasped. He yanked his hand back as if she’d burned him, and they both suddenly found distant objects incredibly fascinating.
Finally, he mumbled, “How about we just walk the fight through and don’t actually go hand-to-hand today?”
“’Kay,” she mumbled back.
Crapcrapcrap. They couldn’t even work companionably anymore. He’d ruined everything by jumping at her dare to have sex with her. He’d had no idea how much pent-up lust for her he’d been holding in check. It just couldn’t wait to burst forth. The second she’d thrown down that sassy dare, he’d leaped all over it like a starving man on steak. God, he was an idiot. There was obviously a lot more going on in his subconscious regarding her than he’d ever let himself acknowledge.
No more dares for him.
* * *
Ana toweled dry in Jackson’s private office bathroom. The day had been a never-ending nightmare. Jackson hadn’t been any more focused than she had, and they’d both been massively awkward and uncomfortable with each other. Office romances sucked even worse than she’d been led to believe.
Of course, a one-night stand with her boss didn’t rise to the level of an actual romance. The knowledge was bitter in her mouth.
She dressed, discouraged, and trudged out to the parking lot to head for her motel and Officer Westmore of the Serendipity P.D., who was going to meet her there and take her statement about the vandalism of her room. Not that she had a whole lot to say. She’d come home and her room was trashed, nothing apparently taken. End of statement.
Still, it ended up taking over an hour while he took a million photographs, lifted fingerprints off the doorknob and photographed the dried remains of the boot print on the front door. Westmore had a partner with him tonight. Big husky guy named Callum something. The guy seemed skeptical when she claimed to have no ex-boyfriends. He actually had the gall to ask her if she had a pimp or drug dealer. Jerk.
He did phone the North Carolina authorities and verify that Chandler LaGrange, the kid who’d tried to strangle her, was still institutionalized. Although she was on the list of people to be notified if he was ever released, it was still a relief when the California cop confirmed that Chandler was still locked up.
She dragged herself down the stairwell and out to the parking lot, a fistful of papers in hand that she would need for her insurance claim. Lord, she was exhausted. It was late and getting dark, and she was dog-tired after air-fighting all day. It was almost more tiring than actual fighting because each movement had to be both thrown and stopped before contact was made with the opponent. Not that she hadn’t been mighty tempted to haul off and slug Jackson for real after the way he was tiptoeing around her like she would break at the slightest bump.
Something moved ahead of her and she looked up... Drat. Jackson was waiting beside the Viper on his Harley.
“You heading home now?” he asked evenly enough.
“I thought I might try to find a shop to do some maintenance on my c
ar while I have access to alternate transportation,” she lied. Now, why had that come out of her mouth? Was she that desperate not to look desperate?
A shadow passed through his eyes right before his emotional shutters slammed down. “You’ve had a long day. Tomorrow’s soon enough to get your car fixed. I’ll introduce you to the best mechanic in town. And besides. We need to talk.”
No kidding. She sighed. “Here?”
He looked around the parking lot. “I want a shower and some hot food in me before we do it.”
Lord, it sounded like talking to her was worse than a prison sentence. “I’ll head back to your grandmother’s place then.”
Without another word, he cranked up his motorcycle and rode it out of the parking lot. It felt like a chunk of her heart ripped out of her chest and dragged along on the asphalt behind him. Like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Yup, that was her.
Last night had been a dreadful mistake. They couldn’t even talk to each other today, let alone work together or be friends.
When she pulled into Minerva’s garage, she was surprised to see that the Harley wasn’t there. Where had Jackson gone off to? He’d been the one who’d wanted her to come straight back here so they could talk. Frowning, she stepped into the kitchen.
“There you are, dear,” Minerva practically sang. “I have a surprise for you and Jackson tonight.”
Alarm slammed into her. “I’m not sure this is a good night for surprises. Jackson had a rough day.”
“Did you slug him again?”
“No!” Although the thought had crossed her mind.
Minerva waved a breezy hand. “No need to worry about Jackson.”
“I happen to hate surprises, too, Minerva,” she said warningly.
“Perfect!”
Huh?
“All will become clear shortly. Dinner will be ready in a half hour, and my special guest will arrive shortly thereafter.”
A guest. Okay, she could deal with that. She just didn’t need Minerva interfering in the crazy mess that was currently her nonrelationship with Jackson. She went upstairs to change clothes and put on some makeup before supper.
Whoa. Since when did she wear makeup on a daily basis? Since she’d had sex with Jackson and really, really liked feeling like a woman, apparently. She shook her head at herself and called herself all kinds of names for doing it, but she still changed into a casual dress and started putting on makeup.
The more she thought about facing him again, the more nervous she got. And the more nervous she got, the more makeup she gooped on her face. Eye shadow. Liquid liner. Mascara. Blush. Lip liner. Gloss. Desperate, she rooted around in the makeup case that had appeared in her bathroom, compliments of Minerva. Was there anything else in here she could put on?
Eventually, it dawned on her what she was doing and she threw down the eyebrow brush in disgust. Clown face and all, she marched downstairs to face the music.
“You look spectacular, Ana,” Minerva declared.
“I look like a freak,” she snapped.
“Let’s see what Jackson thinks and then decide,” Minerva said smoothly, amusement humming in her voice.
She could see how the woman’s meddling got on Jackson’s nerves sometimes.
Jackson’s Harley rumbled into the garage just as Rosie was serving up dinner on the veranda. He strode out into the fiery glow of the sunset and Ana’s breath caught at the sight of him, his broad shoulders filling out his black leather jacket, his powerful legs braced apart and his hair lifting in the breeze coming up off the ocean. How was it possible for one man to be that hot?
He caught sight of her, and she could swear his eyes actually had little flames shooting from them there for a second. “I rest my case,” Minerva murmured in triumph.
Meddler. But something feminine and wild responded with excitement deep in her gut to that momentary look of lust in his eyes.
“There you are, dear. Just in time for supper.” Minerva waved him to his seat.
“I thought you wanted a shower,” Ana murmured.
“The studio called. Had to swing by to review the new security setup. Then part of the crew invited me out for a beer. I couldn’t say no to them.”
But he could bloody well put her on the back burner, apparently. If there’d been any doubt in her mind what his opinion was of her, he’d just laid it to rest once and for all. A beer with the guys was a lot more important than a serious talk with her.
Jackson slipped into his chair and Minerva took over the conversation, bubbling with excitement and chattering on about nothing at all. Which was just as well. Ana didn’t know what the hell to say to Jackson anymore. He’d been completely weird all day at work—stiff, stilted and flamingly uncomfortable with her. And now this slap in the face.
Jackson seemed content to let Minerva dominate the talk with her meaningless patter. Ana surreptitiously watched him eat. He was unnaturally quiet tonight. Great. He was still weirded out. He appeared to be studiously avoiding making eye contact with her. When they reached simultaneously for a bowl of green beans and their fingers bumped, he jerked his hand away and actually muttered an apology.
She was tempted to kick him under the table.
Minerva rushed Rosie through serving dessert and even insisted on helping the woman carry in the dishes after the meal was over. Vividly aware of the French doors to the kitchen standing wide open, Ana refrained from demanding to know what the hell was wrong with him. Barely.
The doorbell echoed through the bowels of the house and Jackson looked up in surprise.
She commented, “You missed Minerva’s pre-dinner announcement that she’s expecting a special guest this evening. Your grandmother’s tremendously excited to have you and me meet whoever it is.”
“Oh, Lord. Not another one of her fortune-tellers,” he groaned.
Minerva was into mediums? Okay, that explained a little more about where Jackson’s mother had gotten her wild, creative streak.
He rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. Apparently, he didn’t inherit the wild part of it from his own mother. Jackson held her chair for her as she also rose, but she expected it had more to do with ingrained good manners than actually wanting to show genuine courtesy to her. God, she was getting cynical in her old age. She followed him toward the sound of voices, and it took them to the library in the front of the house.
“There you two are. Come in. Come in,” Minerva directed eagerly. “This is Yogi Surhan. He’s a tremendously talented seer. Foretells the future. I was just telling him about you lovebirds.”
Lovebirds? And a seer? Color her confused. Ana threw a questioning look at Jackson, and he shrugged back.
“Yogi Surhan, this is my grandson Jackson and his girlfriend, Ana.”
The turbaned man, who looked about a hundred years old, and shockingly like a raisin, stepped forward. He was even shorter than Ana, which was saying something. The man held his hand out to her as if to shake hands, and Ana grasped it politely. He didn’t let go, though. In fact, he took a step closer and laid his free hand on her stomach without warning.
“Hey!” She tried to jump back, but for a tiny raisin of a man, Yogi Surhan was shockingly strong. Heat from his hand permeated her dress and sank into her belly.
“What the hell? Take your hands off her, buddy. You’re making her uncomfortable,” Jackson declared. When the yogi ignored him, he demanded of his grandmother, “Who is this guy?”
The yogi not only ignored Jackson’s outburst, but he closed his eyes and started humming, a low, nasal sound. For all the world, it looked like the man had fallen into some sort of trance.
Ana batted at the hand on her belly, but the wiry little bastard ignored the slap. She looked up in distress to Jackson for help. But as he took an aggressive step forward, Minerva waylaid him, p
hysically stepping between her grandson and the yogi.
“Yogi Surhan is a world-famous psychic, Jackson,” Minerva proclaimed proudly. “He’s never wrong. Let him concentrate.”
The world-famous psychic opened his wizened eyes and looked back and forth between her and Jackson. “I see your baby.”
“Our baby?” Jackson spluttered, gesturing between himself and Ana.
If Ana weren’t so freaked out by this stranger groping her stomach, she might have laughed at the thunderstruck expression on Jackson’s face.
Minerva clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, do tell us. Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Minerva,” Ana wailed, “don’t encourage this madness!”
Jackson’s grandmother waved her to silence. “If you’ll just pipe down for a few seconds and let Yogi Surhan focus, he’s going to tell us the sex of your baby.” She added rapturously, “My first great-grandchild. Oh, I’m so glad I lived to see this day.”
Behind Minerva’s back, Jackson threw her a bewildered look, and she shrugged in response. He rolled his eyes, and Ana restrained an urge to giggle. She had to give Jackson and his grandmother credit. Their household was never boring.
“Stop laughing and concentrate,” the yogi snapped.
“On what?” Ana blurted.
“On revealing the sex of your child to me,” he replied indignantly. “Open your womb to me.”
Open her what? The urge to laugh became almost unbearable.
“You must be calm and focused for me to penetrate the mists of the future and ascertain this child’s gender.”
This should be interesting. Particularly since she wasn’t freaking pregnant.
“Everybody, close your eyes,” he ordered imperiously.
Oh, for the love of Mike. Ana closed her eyes reluctantly. Was it legal for her to suffocate Minerva in her sleep with a pillow?
A long silence stretched out as everyone in the room closed their eyes. Eventually, bored, Ana cracked one eyelid open to peek at the yogi. Eyes screwed tightly shut and adding even more wrinkles to his aged face, he looked like he was wishing very hard for something. Or constipated. Her urge to giggle returned. The more she thought about it, the harder it became not to laugh.