She stood on legs that were still a little shaky, grateful when Jen came forward with a soft, silky white robe that she wrapped around herself as quickly as she could.
“Did you get it?” Stone asked Rafe.
Emma strained to hear his answer, hoping against hope that he’d indeed gotten whatever it was he felt he’d been looking for, that the shoot was done and over with so that she could fly home to her little world of work, work and more work, with only the occasional dream about this venture into a world she’d had no idea existed.
It had been shocking, being so exposed to perfect strangers. Shocking and erotic.
Amber would laugh at that. Her sister definitely didn’t consider what she did erotic, but rather manipulative. And she loved that—loved manipulating men into little panting puppies.
That didn’t appeal to Emma and, now that it was over and the cameras were being set into their cases, she was trying to tell herself that she hadn’t felt anything but humiliation.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
“I can’t be sure,” Rafe said with a frustrated shake of his wet head. “I want to come back when the storm passes.”
They were coming back.
She was coming back.
3
BY THAT AFTERNOON, they all realized the storm wasn’t going anywhere.
If Rafe wanted the virginal shot in the tropical forest of Kauai for the calendar—and he did—then he couldn’t take the chance by leaving now. He’d have to deal with the weather and work around it.
Fine. He’d do whatever it took to finish this job, to get what he wanted. Retirement. He could indulge himself instead of dealing with other people’s schedules and needs. He could ride his bike down the coast of California if he felt like it, maybe from Santa Barbara to his new home in Los Angeles, the one he’d bought three months ago and had hardly unpacked or bought furniture for. He’d catch up with old friends. He’d visit with his sisters Carolyn and Tessa, both of whom he was extremely close to.
He’d get himself a big, sloppy, happy puppy for his new place. Not exactly the wife and kids his family had been campaigning for, but he’d work on that as well.
But first up, dealing with Emma, the Amber substitute. And even though his gut said that the film he’d shot earlier would be breathtaking, he wanted more, just to be sure. With the rain now coming down in cupfuls, he stalked out to the set as the dark afternoon gave way to evening. The gazebo was empty, but he could see how she would look there on the bench, wet and dewy, surrounded by candles, glowing and just a touch nervous.
She had that last down and if anything had convinced him she wasn’t Amber, it had been the look in her eyes when he’d asked her to spread her arms and toss back her head.
Amber loved exposing her body and would have done so with abandon.
Queen Emma…she clearly wasn’t used to any such thing. She’d trembled and shivered, and he might have felt guilty, except that she’d come here of her own free will, for whatever reason.
It still made no sense. Why the hell didn’t she tell him who she was? Did she really think she could play him?
Nobody played him.
Why would she want to?
He didn’t know, didn’t care as long as she did the job. He pulled out his radio and called Stone. “The lightning is gone. Let’s do this.”
DESPITE THE DELUGE OF RAIN, the air was hot and humid, so, that when Emma got out of the shower, she couldn’t get dry. She’d been working on her laptop in her hotel room, taking her script on a wild and sexy turn she hadn’t seen coming. In a way, she supposed she could thank Amber and Rafe for that. This afternoon’s session had let something loose in Emma.
Then Stone had called her and told her to report back to the set, costume on. She hadn’t even hung up the phone before her heart had started a heavy beat.
She was going back. Costume on. For once, her own work flew right out of her head and she had a flash of what it would feel like if the people in her world could see what she was about to do.
Amber would get a big kick out of her uptight and slightly prudish twin blushing nonstop. Her mother, a prestigious author, would probably take one look at Emma’s costume and have a fatal heart attack, because in her eyes, Emma was already compromising her talents by writing for a soap opera. What was it she’d called Emma’s work? Oh yes, a waste of trees.
Seeing Emma now would just confirm what she’d always known—that her daughters were some odd and inexplicable mutation of the family genes. Her mother would blame Amber, of course, citing that she’d been a bad influence from infanthood, which indeed she had. Emma had gotten really good at being in the middle of those two. If her mother ever found out about this, Emma would manage to smooth it out somehow, as she always did. But she couldn’t concentrate on that now, not while looking at her costume lying innocently on the bed.
Stone had told her not to worry about her hair, that they wanted it long and loose and damp. Well, good, because that’s what she had to work with at the moment—long and loose and damp. Dropping her sundress, she slid back into the thong, grimaced at herself in the mirror as she wrapped the white material across her breasts like a bandeau, and then put on the silk robe Jen had given her.
Emma still felt naked.
She glanced back at her laptop on the hotel bed, where she’d worked all afternoon. Live And Love had been in a ratings slump for months, and she’d tried to help fix it by putting their fan-favorite leads in romantic pairings.
But oddly enough, fans didn’t necessarily want sweet, traditional romance. According to their letters—buckets and buckets of letters—they wanted steamy, hot sex. That had worried their head writer, which in turn had worried Emma a little—okay, it had worried her a lot, because she wasn’t very good at steamy, hot sex. But she’d given it a shot this afternoon.
Guess that meant she could use this trip as a research tax write-off.
Holding the robe open, she took another peek at herself in the mirror. Her sexy twin looked back—a tall, willowy brunette with wild, light amber eyes and a see-through outfit that brought to mind all sorts of wicked things.
Oh boy.
With renewed anticipation, she tied her robe, slipped into her sandals and braved the storm to head toward the set.
And her evening of research.
Walking through the hotel lobby in her white silk robe, she noticed that no one even glanced her way. So much for knocking people over with her newfound sexuality. Trying to get into playing Amber, she swung her hips a little more and tossed back her hair, but only succeeded in tripping down the front stairs as she headed outside into the falling night.
The path was lit but it was still an eerie and strange feeling, walking through the heavy, drumming rain with no one accompanying her but her own thoughts. The growth beneath her feet squished like a sponge as she moved. The night seemed noisy, with the sound of rain hitting leaves and the squawk of the occasional bird combining to bring chills to her skin.
Wet now, she reached the set. Protected by the gazebo, candles flickered on the floor, the benches, even hung from the arches, sending up a warm glow, and in the middle, bent over his camera, was Rafe.
The scene took her breath. He took her breath. His shirt was plastered to his big, tough body, his jeans looked as if they’d been made to fit him like a soft glove, though she doubted there was an inch of softness anywhere on him.
She