A burst of laughter erupted from those nearest the house, and the cast members sitting by the pool glanced up, suddenly alert.
“Oh, here he is now,” Carla said sotto voce. “Good luck, sweetie. See you on the set!”
Ivy turned around expectantly, to find that Eric Terrell had arrived. For him to make his way toward the terrace where she stood took several long moments, giving Ivy the opportunity to study him.
He was without doubt the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His golden skin glowed with good health, and his teeth flashed white as he laughed at something a woman said to him. His famous hair, long acclaimed by the style press as a masterpiece of tousled honey and wheaten streaks, had been cropped to military standards, but even the quarter inch that remained managed to look like gilded velvet, begging to be stroked. He was every inch the golden boy, and he knew it.
Ivy watched as he ingratiated himself with the other cast members, but she couldn’t help feeling his joviality had a falseness. As he drew closer, she heard the deep warmth of his voice, and caught the tail end of an outrageous remark that made those nearest him guffaw anew.
Eric smiled as he moved away from the group, but when he finally stopped in front of Ivy, she could tell the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He let his gaze drift over her for a moment, taking in every detail of her disheveled appearance. His beautiful mouth twisted briefly.
“You must be Ivy James.”
“Yes.” Was it really her voice that sounded so breathless? She watched in utter fascination as the pink tip of his tongue probed the corner of his mouth. He assessed her silently for a moment, nodding to himself.
“Okay, okay. I think we can make this work,” he finally murmured. “But you might want to wear something…I don’t know…more feminine?” He shifted his weight, and Ivy could have sworn his chest had expanded by at least two inches. “You’ve never worked with me, but those who have know that when I’m filming a project, I get completely into character, both on and off camera. I mean completely. And if I’m not feeling the love off camera, then it’ll show when I’m trying to execute those intimate scenes on camera.” He tilted his head. “Are you understanding what I’m saying?”
Ivy shook her head, completely bemused. “No.” Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed that Garrett Stokes had moved closer.
Eric scratched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling with his patience. “Look,” he said, as if addressing a three-year-old, “the audience has to believe that the chemistry between us on-screen is the real deal. But in order for me to convey that passion, I need to feel it. I mean really feel it.” His eyes were a light blue, almost silver. Now they boldly skimmed her body. “I need to be able to relate to you sexually in order to play the love scenes properly. And, babe, that outfit just doesn’t do it for me. Now do you understand?”
Ivy felt her mouth start to fall open. She snapped it shut. Shock swept through her, rendering her momentarily speechless. When she did find her voice, it came out sounding strangled.
“Unless I’m working, I’ll wear whatever I want to wear, babe, and I’ll wear it for my pleasure, not yours.” She was only slightly gratified to note a flush seep over his perfect cheekbones. She pressed on, her voice growing stronger with her increasing irritation. “But I do have one question for you. What if the script called for you to murder me? Would you then need to relate to me on some violent level in order to play the part properly?”
Eric Terrell stared at her for a full minute, during which Ivy was uncomfortably aware of the complete silence that surrounded them. Then he laughed softly. “Okay,” he relented, “so that’s how it’s going to be.” His eyes continued to hold hers, and something in them made her shiver. “I guess I was wrong about you.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled, and his gaze dropped leisurely over her body. “I just figured you’d want to portray your character as realistically as possible.” He leaned toward her and said conspiratorially, “Even maintain certain relationships off camera in order for them to strike a realistic chord on camera. Now I know you know what I’m talking about.”
There was no mistaking the sensual intent in his eyes. Ivy’s heart began to pound and she was certain he would hear it thumping in her chest. Instead of feeling flattered by his obvious interest, she felt vaguely panicky and a little cheapened, as if he thought she was an easy lay because of her prior relationships. She’d always known some people would judge her based on her past, but she hadn’t thought anyone would be so blatant about it, so insulting. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter; Eric Terrell was a guy who made a practice of sleeping with his costars, so he probably judged everyone else by his own low standards. As she struggled to formulate a response, a smooth voice cut in from behind her.
“Hey, pal, lighten up. The rest of us have worked with you long enough to know you’re just kidding, but I think you’re making our leading lady a little uncomfortable.” Garrett’s voice was easy, but his eyes were hard.
Ivy stopped breathing as the two men stared at each other for a long minute. Garrett’s stance was relaxed, and to anyone who watched, the three of them might appear to be having a friendly conversation, but Ivy sensed the tension that coiled inside him.
Finally, Eric snickered. “Yeah, right.” He swung his gaze back to Ivy. “No offense. I was just kidding.” He leaned toward her, and for a moment Ivy thought he was going to say something in her ear. Instead, he sniffed delicately several times.
Ivy recoiled. He was smelling her!
“Just do me a favor and don’t wear any scented cosmetics or perfumes, okay?” He stepped back and smiled humorlessly at her, making no effort to keep his voice down. “The smell of that shit makes my stomach turn. Don’t make it too difficult for me to act like I actually want to do you.”
Without another word, he walked away. Almost immediately, the stifled conversation resumed around them. Ivy fought for composure, determined not let the others see her mortification. That he’d actually implied she wasn’t attractive enough to turn him on, either on-screen or off, was humiliating enough, but to have done it in front of the other cast members was just unbelievable. She didn’t dare look at Garrett. Suppressing a groan, she drained her margarita glass in one lengthy swallow, shuddering at the strong alcohol.
“He’s right about one thing.” Garrett’s voice was pitched low, for her ears alone.
Ivy lowered her glass and reluctantly faced him. His light-brown eyes were the same shade as the aged tequila warming her belly and causing a pleasant glow to spread outward from her center. For just a second she had a crazy belief that if she could just sink into the endless depths of those eyes, she would find the peace and inner strength she so desperately needed right then.
She forced herself to smile at him. No way would she let him know just how seriously Golden Boy had pissed her off. For all she knew, Garrett had handpicked Eric Terrell for the part. She understood enough about the inner workings of Hollywood to realize that if Garrett complained about her to Finn MacDougall, just one call to the producer and she would be on the next plane back to New York.
“Oh, yeah?” she asked. “What’s he right about?”
Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t for him to lean in toward her until his face was scant millimeters from her jaw. He breathed deeply, inhaling her scent. When he pulled back, a smile curved his mouth. “You don’t need any perfumes. You smell…great…just the way you are.”
Ivy stared at him, unable to form a coherent response. He was close enough that she could see the amazing striation of golds and browns in his irises, see the stubble of whiskers that shadowed his lean jaw and the small scar that bisected his upper lip and made her ache to trace her fingertip across it.
His mouth fascinated her. It was a hedonistic mouth, capable of doing wicked things. She could imagine