As if he’d heard his name, Christian looked up and his gaze connected with hers, clear across the crowded ballroom, knocking the wind out of her.
He raised an eyebrow and grinned, a look so cocky and sure of his own appeal, that she had to turn away. Even if she were capable of seducing anyone, she wouldn’t give Christian the satisfaction. And she would not let him get any more under her skin than he already was.
A man like Christian Taylor could not be trusted. People like him, who courted fame and adoration, always after the quick thrill of the moment, destroyed everything they touched. She was not about to be destroyed a second time.
Now what had put that look in her eye? Christian only listened to the director with half an ear as he stared across the ballroom at Teresa. The dislike in her usually unruffled demeanour startled him. What had he done to upset her? God, he hated mornings.
It definitely wasn’t the pretty boy next to her causing her to frown, because she laughed as he made some comment.
Christian’s gut clenched.
“You got that?” the director asked. “You’re spurned and angry and about to take revenge on everyone in the room who ever slighted you.”
Which was about right. Christian’s hands fisted.
There were two reasons he’d signed on for this movie. The first lay beyond his control and he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he had to leave Westerwald without achieving it.
But the second lay firmly within his grasp. The chance to visit both the land of the father who hadn’t wanted to own him, and the island that had been his childhood home. The chance to return not as the outcast child but as the victor.
He was here to show them all the man he’d become, starting with that prissy little PA who turned her back on him as if he was beneath her notice.
He took the starting position he was indicated and breathed deeply, focusing on the role at hand.
They walked through the rehearsal a couple of times, following the movements the director had already blocked out with his stand-in. He only gave half his energy to these run-throughs, saving his best for when the cameras actually rolled.
“Final checks,” the AD called. The make-up and wardrobe stylists fluttered around him like agitated butterflies before hurrying away out of shot. Then “Quiet! Roll sound,” the AD called.
Another voice called back, an indistinct affirmation.
“Roll camera.”
“Camera speed,” piped up the first camera assistant.
“Mark it.”
The second camera assistant banged the clapperboard and leapt out of the way.
“And… action!”
The dancers moved around him, their movements eerie without music to accompany them. Their feet stamped, their costumes rustled, but the room had that strange sound film sets had during filming, the sound of a hundred people holding their breaths, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by the microphones.
The AD waved his arm and on cue Christian stepped forward through the wide doorway and began to stride towards camera.
It was a big, emotionally charged shot with which to start the day. It should have been hard. It should have required more preparation and more focus. It should have required him to dig deep into his emotions. But he didn’t need any of that.
Just having Teresa in the room, watching him from the sidelines, was all the preparation he needed. He didn’t need to look to know she was there, to know that she watched him. He was aware of her every movement in his peripheral vision.
Her presence sparked a sensation he’d never felt before, an uncomfortable prickle beneath his skin. Rather like that very first night in her car, when she’d questioned his worth to the world. Only now the itch seemed ten times worse.
The dancers parted for him. Waiting for him before the camera stood his co-star, Nina. A luscious little thing with dark, sensual eyes and full red lips. When they’d first met, at some party back in LA, he’d been determined to sleep with her. This movie had seemed like a good opportunity to accomplish that too.
Three birds, one stone.
Only now the thought of bedding her held no appeal. Unwanted, unsummoned, an image intruded of long pale, naked legs and white-blonde hair spread across his pillow.
“What are you doing here?” Nina asked in a scandalised stage whisper.
“I’m here to see you.”
She toyed with her gold mask, using it to screen her face. “What if someone sees us together? You’ll ruin me.”
“We are two people passing the time at a ball. How could that possibly ruin you?”
Nina lowered the mask so he could see her eyes. Though the camera was focused on him for this shot rather than her, her expression held all her character’s emotions. She was certainly a consummate professional. “Because of who you are.”
He prowled around her, a slow, threatening glide, and the camera moved with him in a long slow arc. His voice was low, only just loud enough for the microphone carefully concealed in his clothing. “And what am I, Celeste? Your plaything, your rebellion, or your lover?”
Her eyes flashed angry darts at him. “You’re an outsider. You don’t belong here.”
He laughed, low and dangerous. “You weren’t saying that when I was between your lovely, naked thighs last night.”
“Hush! What if someone hears you?”
“So what?” He stopped his prowl, stood poised at her shoulder to whisper in her ear. “I’m good enough to bed but not good enough to stand by your side in polite company?”
Nina’s voice shook, but it was nowhere near as convincing as Teresa’s had been the first night they met. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”
Even with the screenwriter’s words in his mouth, the answer was still the same as the one he’d had for Teresa. “No, I don’t. Because no one else has given me a damned thing unless they wanted something from me in return.”
He stroked his fingers down Nina’s neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. He wondered what Teresa’s skin would feel like. Probably cold as ice.
“Even you want something from me, Celeste, though you won’t admit it. But you know what?” His voice hardened. “You’re going to have to get down on your knees and beg me for it.”
Nina shook her head. “I won’t.”
Though he spoke his words for the microphone, and the brunette standing before him, he directed every line at the cold-eyed blonde who watched from across the room. He released all the pent-up rage she’d stirred in him when they first met. “Oh yes, you will.”
The actress stared at him wide-eyed. One beat. Two beats.
“Cut!” cried the director, jumping up from his seat behind the monitor. “That was incredible! I’m blown away, Christian. Do you think you can do that again?”
Christian nodded.
Nina’s eyes were still wide, her mouth parted just a little now. “God, you’re good,” she said.
“Thanks.” He bent to her ear, his voice a whisper he hoped even the sound man wouldn’t pick up. “You ever want to find out how good, I’m in the penthouse suite at our hotel.”
“In your dreams.” But there was an extra sashay in her hips as she turned and walked away, and the coy look she cast him over her shoulder spoke volumes. Christian grinned. Nina was definitely his kind of woman, and a man had to keep his options open, after all.
“Back