by Angel Payne
The man who stood on the patio now, pacing intently with his cell at his ear.
Ava backed up as quietly as she could. Wow. Enzo really did have a phone call to take. A hairy one, by the looks of it. “Duh, Chestain,” she muttered while sinking into a chair just inside the door to the patio. “The man isn’t at the top of all the industry lists because he only takes calls until six.”
She settled farther into the cushion, wondering if she could just ask Housekeeping to bring her a blanket and tuck her in for a good night’s sleep in the luxurious thing. “Focus,” she muttered, redirecting thoughts back on her message back to Chaz. Shit, she was tired. The strain of the last four days piled on her like a truckload of bricks, dragging her eyes down.
Enzo’s voice, raised and ruthless, stabbed the peace of her reverie.
“I am telling you that I have it handled, Mateo. You and Alex caused this mess; now you will let me clean it up with no more questions!”
For some reason, she kept her eyes closed. There was no way the man could see her from this angle, but the viciousness in his voice told her this was no ordinary business call. Her gut clutched. Her palms got clammy. She pressed herself back, wishing the chair would simply swallow her.
“Do not worry about that. I have them handled. Yes, all of them. Cameron’s idea on that is proceeding perfectly. Of course he knows what he is doing. You know what they say… Keep your enemies close, qué no?”
She wanted to squirm but kept herself frozen. And the whole time called herself ten kinds of an idiot. Did she think production deals got negotiated over rainbow-sprinkle cupcakes and a round of wine spritzers? Men like Enzo were called the big sharks for a reason.
Of course, the second she entertained that thought, the man broke out with a warm and friendly laugh. “Now that is what I was hoping to hear. Perfect, perfect. We must work together, my friend. One hundred percent success is the only acceptable benchmark, one we can only accomplish together. Call Cameron Stock and me when you get into town. We shall want to know you have gotten here safely and are ready to proceed.” After a long pause, he went on, “Stock has that handled as well. He is interfacing with the relevant specialists on a daily basis.”
That comment made her indulge a small smile. Despite the mess it had created for her personally, it had been satisfying to have Ethan, Rhett, and Rebel on set, recognized for their expertise and service to the country.
“Yes, of course, of course. Thank you, Mateo. Soon, my friend, it will be next Tuesday night, and our mission will be complete. We shall celebrate our grand triumph together. Very well. Buenas noches.”
As he ended the call, Ava scrambled up and strolled out to the patio like she’d just gotten there. Though it was reassuring to know he was fighting for the success of the show’s big night, her deeper instincts still told her it wasn’t a good idea to reveal she’d been eavesdropping.
“Well, here you are.” She plastered on a relaxed smile.
Enzo held up his phone. “The ball and chain.” He pocketed the device and cupped her shoulders. “The fog is coming in. It is cold out here. You should be inside swooning over Mr. Cooper along with the other ladies.”
She let her face tighten. The idea of facing Ethan and his antics again registered on the scale of having to run a marathon right now. “I’m getting a pretty awful headache.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “And we’re in for a crazy ride up until the live broadcast next week…”
Enzo gave her a gentle smile. It turned his face into something that could be on the cover of European GQ in its handsomeness. “I understand. I will render regrets to the table on your behalf.”
Ava forced herself to return the look. Damn it, why couldn’t she truly feel the emotion beneath? What was wrong with her? Enzo Lemare was gorgeous in all the right ways, had treated her like a queen tonight, and probably toweled his toned bod in hundred-dollar bills every morning. He at least deserved a smile she hadn’t ratcheted into place.
“You’ve been so amazing to me tonight.” The awe in her voice was genuine. “I feel like Cinderella at the ball. Thank you.”
She couldn’t read his reaction to that. His dark stare traveled across her face before he lifted a hand to frame one side of it. Without another word, he softly kissed her.
Technically, it was a kiss. He brushed her lips with just enough pressure, pausing at just the right second to determine if she’d encourage him to do more, to qualify it as such. Ava searched deep, frantically begging her senses to respond, but came back with nothing. Compared to the heat Ethan brought with his mouth, this was more like a pleasant caress or a parting peck between friends.
Damn it.
She grabbed Enzo’s hand and squeezed it, wishing it could be transformed into a mental chalkboard eraser. On the newly blank slate, she’d dutifully write a thousand repetitions. I will not fall for another military man again. I will not fall for another military man again. I will not fall—
“Ava.” Enzo’s voice, a satin cushion around her name, coaxed her mind back. “Cara, what is it?”
She sighed. Just do it. One step and you’re there. His embrace offered strength, his eyes promised comfort. But that nagging intuition compelled her to let him go and back away. “Nothing a full night’s sleep won’t help. I’m…I’m just going to head home.” With an impish tilt of her head, she added, “See you at the office tomorrow?”
“The office,” he echoed with a chuckle. “Of course.”
She took the quickest route home, south on Coast Highway. The fog that rolled over the road, thicker every minute, seemed an ironic fit for her mental preparation for the days ahead. She’d learned a long time ago that “expecting the unexpected” was an understatement in this business, and most of the time she even thrived on the mantra, but the strange unease in her stomach, introduced when she’d overheard Enzo on the phone, had only gotten worse as she had the chance to replay it. With Ethan’s shit storm of confusing behavior stirred into that, she was surprised she was able to steer the car home correctly.
Her head and her heart had declared war on each other. And short of hitting the Delete key on her brain, she didn’t know how to enact a truce. But doing that would mean eradicating everything, including every moment she’d shared with Ethan…every kiss, every smile, every connection that contained no sound or word because it didn’t have to…
With a heavy sigh, she fell into bed, grateful for the weight of exhaustion that pulled her under the waves of sleep, into the dark hours of nothingness before the war started again.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m still not sure whether to feel right at home or mildly freaked out.”
Tait responded to Kellan’s quip with a snort. “Mildly?”
They joined each other in stares mixed of astonishment, amusement, and plain what-the-hell-ment while watching Grant Fulsom and his crew set up for Ethan and Bella’s photo shoot in the Desert Garden of the Huntington Botanical Gardens. The Huntington was located about a half hour from the hub of LA and offered an impressive collection of plant habitats that represented all corners of the world, including this area Fulsom had transformed into a Middle East oasis. Since the photo spread’s theme was “Army Undercover,” that apparently made sense to the man, even if he felt the need to hide a good chunk of the flowering succulents and cacti behind a Bedouin-style tent filled with fabrics, rugs, drapes, and pillows.
“Welcome to Marrakech,” Kell cracked.
Tait gave that a light laugh. “Didn’t think anything could best the backlot watch, but I could be wrong.”
Kellan fiddled with the Nikon camera around his neck that they’d purposely banged up last night. They were here under the guise of being Ethan’s photography-crazed battalion buddies. “I’ll bet there’s plenty of double-sided tit tape around here.”
“Only thing I care about is if Lor’s around here.” While muttering it, he peered around the garden and scowled again. There was no sign of the pretty-man producer, despite confirmati
on from Runway and Double-O that Lor planned on being around for most of these photo shoots. It was the reason Tait and Kell had been pulled off the roof.
Their new purpose was two-pronged. First priority: watch Lor for any behavior that told them he had the memory stick or new laptop here with him. Their second goal, just as essential, was to back up Ethan. With a team of stylists constantly following him, there’d be no way he could hide a wire or earpiece for monitoring his interactions with Bella and Lor. Yeah, the guy could read people more clearly than a voodoo shaman, but that talent was as good as a limp dick if his cover was made—or worse. Tait and Kellan would serve as his eyes and ears while remaining in contact with Rhett and Rebel, who were able to hang back at the Dress Blues set and get in more searches of “Lemare’s” office.
With any luck, something would shake out soon. They were all patient men, used to waiting it out for long stretches to get the intel they needed to get their job done, but this stint in a land where even half the buildings weren’t real was just damned exhausting.
Garrett and Zeke had lucked out. At least their women were around, making the nights and mornings better. The rest of the guys had learned the area around the hotel and even ventured to other parts of the city from time to time, but Tait had started bailing on some of those excursions, claiming the hotel’s free HBO was too good a treat to ignore. He wondered if anyone actually believed him. Speculated if anyone except Kell had discerned his truth. Yeah, that truth. The hope, however ridiculous, that a certain convict-turned-agent would reconsider her self-imposed celibacy and come knocking on his door. And confirm that everything he’d felt in that bar’s storeroom had been at least a little real…and a lot right.
Kellan’s snicker yanked him off that emo-lined path. Tait followed his teammate’s glance and instantly exchanged morose for snarky. Beyond his control, a chortle spewed off his lips.
Ethan, who’d just walked into the catering area where they’d been hanging, snarled as Kell raised his wrist. The live-stream camera taped beneath Kell’s sleeve now broadcasted every inch of Ethan’s attire to Colton’s office across town.
“Lower it now if you value your fucking arm.” Ethan punctuated it with a lethal glare as he grabbed a bottle of sports drink and ripped off the cap.
Kellan tempted fate by delaying one more second. Tait didn’t blame him. The sight was just too damn fine to ignore.
Archer’s head was covered in an all-black keffiyeh, with its long length held in place by a shiny gold version of the tagiyyah band. That was where the authentic portion of the outfit ended. A black leather vest was the only thing covering the guy from shoulder to waist, unless the accessories counted. A black leather hawking gauntlet was secured to one of his forearms, and a thick leather strip around his neck was supposed to be a—what was that? A scarf? Tait snorted again. Because that was practical if a guy was undercover in a real Bedouin camp, right? Didn’t matter. The pants were even more ridiculous. Sheathing Archer’s long legs were billowy black pajama bottoms, whipping up to expose the guy’s bare feet.
“Sure.” Kellan finally moved his arm. He swiped it across his body, folded the other on top, and then dropped his head fast against them both. “Whatever you say, Master Aladdin.”
“Suck my dick, monkey lice.”
Tait choked on his water. Sometimes getting in a chuckle was worth it. “You’re taking a giant one for the team, Runway.”
Ethan kicked up a brow. “Just one?”
“It won’t be forgotten.”
“Damn right it won’t,” Kellan jibed.
“Didn’t I just tell you to suck my dick?” Ethan snapped.
“No, thanks.” Kell’s mouth threatened a small smile. Tait prepped himself to note the day and time, since the guy cracked a grin as often as the sun had an eclipse, but the moment was lost as Kell jerked his chin around. “But I think you’ll have a taker in her.”
It wasn’t a brain-buster to see Bella walk out in a high-fashion version of a harem girl costume, complete with sheer ivory pants covering a barely-there bikini bottom and a halter top covered in gold rhinestones. She was also barefoot, with anklets that had gold bells on them. Her hair was long and loose, with strands of gold bells braided into it in a few places.
When the starlet saw Ethan, she let out a yelp of delight and hurried over. The chings of her outfit echoed across the garden. “Mio Dio, Ethan.” Her gaze, heavy and sultry, didn’t hide any secrets about what the woman wanted to do with him. “Grant is right. You are a demigod.” When that acted like the permission slip for Tait and Kell to let their guffaws fly free, she chided, “If you two are jealous and want in on the fun, I’m sure Grant can find costumes for you too.”
They both went silent.
Tait braced himself for Archer’s version of a full retaliation, probably in the form of sucking face with Bella until they looked like murder victims from her smeared lipstick, but the guy’s self-restraint was impressive. Though he still raked the area with an irked glare, he dutifully let Bella rearrange his scarf, or whatever the fuck that thing was, until she seemed satisfied with the artful angles at which it grazed his bare chest. Shit. The guy was whipped. Bad.
“Everyone ready to roll?” he finally asked Bella. Tait’s ears did a figurative perk. Something in Ethan’s voice was…off. No. Something was missing, which was baffling considering the man’s norm of verbal minimalism. Was Archer okay? Damn it, was he falling harder than he should for Bella? Was his head still in the game?
Get a grip, T-Bomb. He wasn’t the one who currently resembled a mash-up of Lawrence of Arabia and Electric Boogaloo Goes to Morocco. Maybe he needed to cut Archer a little slack.
Over at the tent, Fulsom began directing his assistants in positioning his tripod, the set floods, and the reflector panels, which helped illuminate a large bed and the seventy pillows piled on top. A moment later, Lor finally made his appearance in his typical tailored suit and silk shirt. Ava Chestain, Bella’s stylist, was with him. Tait jotted a mental note. Pretty boy Lor seemed seriously into her. If the woman was woven into Lor’s plots, even unknowingly, things were going to be messy. She and Rayna were tight.
He exchanged a nod with Kellan. The moment had come to move closer to the man. Ethan offered his arm to Bella and followed their path across the lawn.
As they neared the tent, Tait noticed the light wasn’t the only thing that began to change. Ethan’s mien, which had been so full of calm focus just a minute ago, now seemed as nettled as a panther that’d been awakened by a she-cat’s mating scent. Trouble was…that cat wasn’t Bella. Ethan followed every move Ava made, completely locked as the woman helped Fulsom’s assistant to put the last-minute touches on Bella’s exotic look. Since that put Ethan’s head and eyes in her general vicinity, Bella didn’t pick up on the nuance. The actress was glad to be the center of attention in any way she got it.
Tait released a black laugh to himself. Maybe Kellan had been right yesterday. Watching camels spit and sand fly was a hell of an easier gig than this.
The shit got thicker when Lor finished up his banter with Fulsom and then walked over to the bed, where the crew now positioned Ethan and Bella for their first shots. While Kell engaged Fulsom in a battery of questions about crap like f-stops and digital tweaking, Tait was able to fully observe Lor, picking apart the man’s behaviors for anything remotely suspicious…not to mention any wayward memory sticks that might conveniently fall out of his pockets.
The guy was smooth. Tait could confirm that much. Lor bantered with Bella with every speck of charm intact, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand like an admiring prince instead of the guy who’d been banging her in Malibu less than a week ago. When he turned to Ava, he simply squeezed out a bigger glob of the royal court formula, bussing her knuckles but turning her hand over and grazing the inside of her wrist with his lips too. He gave her a gaze filled with the same seductive intent.
Though Ava pulled her hand away from Lor right away, teasing that she was
working and he had to behave, it was like tossing a cup of water at the forest fire of murderous intent now raging across Ethan’s face. It was a good thing the only “weapon” the guy could conceal in those pajamas was his cock.
Tait looked at Kell, who’d caught the same bead on Ethan. Kell twitched just the top of his head toward Lor, but thanks to their Bullet Ninjas telepathy, that was the only directive needed. Tait made his way toward Lor. Time to creatively divert the target before their teammate killed the guy for kissing a woman’s hand.
He got drop-kicked and sidelined after barely hitting the field. By a spook in a bun wig, a pencil skirt, and black platform pumps. And new for today, a pair of thick black glasses and a formfitting, pale-purple sweater set that made his palms itch to rip up a little cashmere.
“Mr. Lemare.” Luna layered a Southern farm girl accent to her voice that surely revirginized her with the force of its innocence. “Hi! Ahhh, I’m Ronnie—from Accounting? I dunno if you remember me?”
“Not really,” the man murmured, letting his gaze linger over the swells of her breasts, “but that is completely my fault, dear girl, not yours. What can I do for you?” Since he’d gotten away with ogling her top half, he openly admired her hips and legs.
Tait suddenly felt a lot more sympathetic toward Runway’s jealous pain. The only thing that stopped him from lunging and clocking the guy was the supposition that Lor’s lothario bullshit was just a half-plausible cover. If people fled from Lemare the skank, they wouldn’t see Lor the terrorist, right?
Luna let her eyes go wide. She added a “nervous” little lip bite and a thoroughly convincing blush. That made it official. Once Tait had her alone again, he was going to throttle her—before kissing her until she never thought of turning that color for anyone but him again.