“I’ve worked so hard at my career,” she continued. “True, a lot of people would say my choice of films has been a little unorthodox, but I’ve always tried to choose roles that would challenge me, you know?”
He glanced over at her. “Sure.”
“I mean, I’ve been offered plenty of roles in popcorn movies, but I want to be taken seriously.” She turned earnest eyes to him. “That’s why this role is so exciting. It means I’m finally reaching that point in my career where people are starting to sit up and notice.” She smiled. “I just never thought my past projects would capture the attention of a director like Finn MacDougall. It’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for.”
Garrett determinedly ignored the guilt that rose in him and gave her a polite smile of acknowledgment. “I’m certain you won’t let him down.”
She laughed. “Not if I can help it. I’ll do whatever is necessary to make this the best performance of my career.”
The dense foliage fell away as they entered the tiny village of Pancho Viejo, a cluster of small houses and rustic buildings that circled a central plaza with an ornate fountain. Carefully manicured trees lined the narrow road, their trunks painted white and their branches strung with colorful lights. The picturesque scene elicited a murmur of delight from Ivy.
They turned off the small road and drove through a set of old, iron gates, then along a road less rutted than the one they had just traveled. Slowly, the thick vegetation on either side of the road gave way to steep, tiered hillsides still bearing traces of the coffee bean cultivation that had supported generations of local residents. Before long, the hills leveled out. Garrett suppressed a smile as Ivy caught her first glimpse of Hacienda la Esperanza and gasped.
Situated at the end of a long drive bordered on either side by fig and cypress trees, the hacienda was a sprawling, two-story structure of white stucco. Tall, narrow windows marched along the first and second floors. Creeping ivy clung to the near side of the building, completely obscuring the white stucco, insinuating itself into the window embrasures and dangling in long ropes from the overhanging roof. The sun was sinking behind a panoramic backdrop of lush mountains, streaking the skies with warm hues of orange and pink, and Garrett admitted the house made a stunning first impression.
Skirting the building, he drove around to the back of the hacienda. The circular drive stopped in front of a covered walkway supported by stone pillars and flanked on either side by lush gardens.
As he pulled onto the gravel lot, the sound of laughter and muted conversation drifted toward them. Garrett eyed his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. Congregating by the pool after dinner to discuss the day’s filming over drinks, before going to bed, had become something of a ritual for the cast.
Ivy stood close by his side as he hauled her suitcase out of the Jeep, and he caught her looking speculatively toward the house. Her clothing still clung damply to her skin, and the thought of parading her past the other cast members held little appeal for him. No way did he want Eric Terrell to see Ivy in her current state. That Ivy would be shooting some pretty intimate love scenes with the actor didn’t matter. To Garrett’s way of thinking, her nearly transparent clothing was almost more erotic than if she was butt naked.
Okay, that was a complete lie.
Just the thought of Ivy James in the nude made his body tighten in response.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice more brusque than he’d intended. “I’ll show you to your room and then ask Denise, who works in makeup, to find you something dry to wear.”
She cast him a grateful glance and walked ahead of him down the covered walkway and into the large, central courtyard. A fountain gurgled in the center, surrounded by lush gardens. The hacienda rose up on all sides. What had once been the cloisters had been converted into private balconies overlooking the gardens.
“Up these stairs to the left,” he murmured, indicating the winding stone staircase that connected the two floors of the hacienda and led to the private rooms on the second level.
Garrett followed at a slower pace, not even trying to force his bad leg to move faster. He knew from bitter experience that would do no good, and he’d just be sore and sorry the following day. Besides, being several steps behind Ivy gave him the opportunity to admire her perfect, heart-shaped rear as she climbed the steps.
They reached the upper level of the hacienda, and he preceded her along an interior corridor with vaulted ceilings and tiled floors. He stopped in front of an ornately carved door at the end of the hallway.
“This is your room.” He pushed open the door and set her luggage just inside. “It has a nice view of the mountains. I’ll go find Denise and get you those dry clothes. When you’ve changed, just come back down the stairs and follow the voices to the pool area, okay?”
“Wait.” She faced him. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, “but I don’t even know your name. You’ve gone out of your way to be so nice to me, and I can’t believe I haven’t even asked your name.”
“It’s Garrett Stokes.”
“Garrett—”
She broke off, and Garrett knew the exact instant she realized who he was.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You’re him. The special-ops guy this movie is all about.”
Garrett allowed himself a wry smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She’d had absolutely no clue who he was. He wasn’t surprised that she had no recollection of him. She’d definitely had bigger things on her mind than some injured soldier who’d shared hospital space with her brother. Nevertheless, he still found it disconcerting that in those few hours, she’d made a profound impact on his life, while he hadn’t even registered on her radar. He wouldn’t betray her brother’s trust by telling her that he’d been that soldier, since doing so would be equivalent to opening Pandora’s box. But a part of him still wanted to create a ripple in her world, make her as aware of him as he was of her.
She frowned. “I thought you were a technical consultant.”
He shrugged. “I am. Finn brought me aboard to ensure the film captures my covert-ops experiences as realistically as possible.”
Her face paled, and Garrett could tell she was remembering the gruesome torture scenes. He’d seen the storyboards and read the script. The screenwriter hadn’t spared the audience when he’d written those portions of the screenplay.
As quickly as the color had drained from her cheeks, it flooded back. “The scenes with the missionary—are they based on real life, as well?”
Garrett hesitated.
She was referring to the explicit, highly sensual love scenes. He fought briefly with his conscience, debating whether to tell her the truth. They were the one facet of the movie that didn’t conform to events as he’d experienced them. Finn had insisted on taking artistic license in portraying Helena Vanderveer as a beautiful young woman with a healthy libido and an instant attraction to the injured soldier who’d found his way to her mission.
In reality, Helena was a sturdy Dutch woman in her midsixties, with a strong spiritual calling and zero interest in any romantic entanglements. Furthermore, Garrett had been unconscious most of the time she’d cared for him. He had only hazy memories of her and their time together.
Finn had brushed all that aside, insisting a torrid love affair between the soldier and the missionary would heighten the film’s appeal. At his request, the writer had revised the script to depict the soldier as badly injured, but not to the extent that he couldn’t engage in some creative lovemaking with the attractive missionary. Never underestimate the healing powers of lust, Garrett thought wryly.
“Pretty much everything in the script is accurate,” he fibbed, boldly meeting Ivy’s eyes, “especially the scenes