Femme Fatale (11 page)

But hey. The guy knew how to work the paparazzi like nobody’s business. He was one of the most frequent cover subjects of the big tabloids in Hollywood. She gazed up at him with a look adoring enough to send the gossips into conniption fits and the flashes of cameras duly captured the moment.

“Okay, that’s enough, guys,” Jeremy announced. “We’re on a date, here.”

Like that wouldn’t enflame these paparazzi even more—oh. She saw what Jeremy was doing. She added coyly, “We really would like some privacy tonight.”

On cue, Jeremy threw her what she supposed was meant to be a steamy look. Frankly, she thought he looked like some kind of creepy stalker. More pictures ensued, and then Jeremy herded her into the restaurant.

Of course, he wasn’t done making a spectacle. He made sure to speak loudly and ask for a table smack dab in the middle of the dining room. Stares and heads coming together here and there indicated that the two of them, or at least Jeremy, had been recognized.

It was weird eating a meal knowing everyone in the room potentially watched her take every bite. The service was slow, the portions tiny, and the food over-garnished. It took her less than halfway through the main course to start counting the minutes until this interminable meal would end.

Their conversation ran out of topics as soon as they got done trading “how did you get into the biz” stories. They circled the limping conversation back to the movie and descended into shoptalk. She’d had no idea Jeremy was such a gossip. He knew all the dirt on everyone in the crew, including who was sleeping with whom. Thank God he didn’t seem to have caught wind of anything between Blake and her. She’d been right to take this date and short-circuit any rumors Jeremy might otherwise have started about her.

He waited until after supper to order a dessert soufflé, and she rolled her eyes. They had to sit and wait for nearly a half-hour for the thing to be cooked before it was served, and Jeremy ultimately ate only a few bites. But at long last, he seemed satisfied that everyone who was anyone in Palm Springs had seen them.

He stood. She waited for him to come around and hold her chair. Finally, he asked impatiently, “Well, are you coming?”

Appalled and amused, she followed him out.
So
not Blake.

A barrage of cameras assaulted them the minute they set foot outside. Two photographers had ballooned into ten. And this batch aggressively jockeyed among themselves for the best shot.

Jeremy seemed disgruntled at the poor press turn out.

“How about a little stroll to walk off dinner?” he suggested.

“With the Light Brigade charging along behind us?” she asked skeptically.

“Huh?” He gave her a blank stare.

She quoted, “Half a league, half a league, half a league onward. All in the valley of Death rode the six hundred.” More blank staring. “The Crimean War? Alfred Lord Tennyson? He wrote a poem about the war called
The Charge of the Light Brigade
?”

No change of expression.

Blake would have known the reference
. It wasn’t fair to keep comparing Jeremy to Blake, but how could she not? Jeremy just didn’t measure up to him.

Sure enough, the press trailed along on their heels calling out questions—some of them outright rude—most centering on their relationship and whether or not she and Jeremy were sleeping together.

And that was when she learned something else about Jeremy. He was a lying bastard. He made no bones about telling the media that he’d bedded her and planned to do so again.
Never mind that they’d been wearing those stupid thongs and never had sex with each other and it had all been pretend
. Funny, but he never got around to mentioning that part. She winced and was relieved to duck into a nightclub with him. At least the bouncers made sure none of the paparazzi followed them in.

She hated bars. They smelled bad, and she’d never been any good at knowing how to fend off obnoxious drunks when they came on to her. And they inevitably did.

The club was loud, smoky, and crowded. Even if it was a far sight more upscale than the places she’d been able to afford in the past, the same stale smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey vomit made her faintly nauseous.

Reluctantly, she followed Jeremy as he made a beeline for the bar, bellied up to it, and immediately hit on the bartender, who was a Penthouse-hot blonde. Olivia mentally snorted. He’d already moved on from her, huh? In a million years, Blake wouldn’t flirt with another woman if he was out on a date with a girl.

Jeremy had about a ten-second attention span when it came to women. He must have been turned off completely by her attempts to have an intelligent conversation with him.

Something else she learned about her co-star, and fast. He could really pack away the booze. After tossing back a bunch of drinks in quick succession, he dragged her out on the dance floor and progressively lost both his coordination and inhibitions as the alcohol slammed him. He grew a couple of extra hands that were all over her as they danced.

The smile on her face became forced, and she fought desperately to fend him off without looking like she was batting him off of her. It was a losing battle. God, she hated dealing with drunks.

Finally, she decided that the best defense was a good offense. She hauled him back to the bar and gestured for the bartender. Olivia leaned across the counter and shouted in the blonde’s ear, “Mix his drinks strong, could you?”

“Trying to get him hammered, huh?” the bartender laughed.

“Hoping he’ll pass out before too much longer so I can ditch him,” she replied sourly.

Laughing, the bartender nodded. “You got it. Doubles coming up.”

Olivia sipped at a club soda with a twist of lemon while Jeremy slammed back another few rounds. He started to stumble on the dance floor and then to stagger. A bouncer came over to help her guide him to a booth.

“Any chance you could order us a cab?” she asked the huge guy.

“Yeah, sure. Want a pick-up out back so the press don’t see you?”

As much as she’d love for Jeremy to get caught drunk off his ass, it wouldn’t be good for the movie. “That would be great.”

Two whiskey sours later, and Jeremy threatening to puke in words so slurred she barely understood them, the bouncer helped her pour Jeremy into a cab. Fortunately, he was staying at the same hotel that she was.

When the taxi pulled up in front, her stomach fell—the paparazzi had found them. A half-dozen photographers camped out in front of the lobby. Great. She went around to Jeremy’s door to help him out.

“Come on, Mr. Superhero. Let’s get you up to your room.” He draped a heavy arm across her shoulders and leered at her. “Just keep your mouth shut, okay?” she muttered under her breath.

“Roger tha’, Liv—” a foul-smelling belch “—Livvy.”

With an arm around his waist and trying not to stagger under his weight, she led him inside and prayed the photos looked like the two of them were just being companionable. She ignored the shouted questions and hoped her date would do the same.

Thankfully, they made it into the relative quiet of the lobby. Two hotel security men stood at the doors ensuring that no press got inside. She smiled gratefully at them as she stumbled past with Jeremy in tow.

She got him into the elevator and propped him against the wall. “Where’s your room key, big guy?”

“In here…somewhere…” He started to pat at his clothes.

She ended up raiding his pockets and ignoring the lewd comments he made in response. He remembered his room number, which was a boon, because she bloody well wasn’t taking him up to her place in this state.

She was surprised to see his suite wasn’t anywhere near as nice as hers. She would have to remember to thank her agent for being a goddess next time they talked. She led him to his bed where he toppled over without any ado. She pulled his shoes off, rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t suffocate on his own vomit, and made sure his alarm was set for an hour before their call time tomorrow.

Olivia practically ran up to her own room and got ready for bed, relieved she’d dodged a bullet. She’d dreaded the moment Jeremy tried to get her into bed. She’d prepared to tell him she was on her period and hoped it wouldn’t royally piss him off.

Her aversion to sleeping with Jeremy went far beyond disliking her ass of a co-star; she had to admit she couldn’t imagine being with anyone besides Blake. She punched her pillow. Damn him and his
friends with benefits.

Lights off, she stretched out in bed. No surprise, her thoughts turned immediately to Blake. It felt so lonely in here after the past three nights. He’d filled this massive room with his charismatic presence. And she hadn’t felt alone. Weird, but she hadn’t realized until now how lonely she’d been. How could she spend all day surrounded by hundreds of people and still feel so isolated? Strange place, Hollywood.

One minute, she wished that Blake and his stupid deal had never blown into her life and the next she wished his lessons had never ended. Did he have to mess with her head so hard? Except maybe it wasn’t her head that was the problem. Maybe it was her heart.

Which was insane. He was a soldier. As soon as this movie was over, he would head back to the latest war zone and run around playing Rambo until he died or the Marine Corps found someplace new to send him to get shot at. Even if he hadn’t forbidden a real relationship and they had given one a go, she would never see him. Between her crazy shooting schedule that took her all over the world, and his combat, there was no hope for them.

But that didn’t make her want him any less. There had to be a way. Maybe he could think of something…assuming he wanted to give their relationship a try. She’d had just enough liquor to think it would be a great idea to ask him.

She called his room, but as usual there was no answer. He’d probably spent the night out on set. She tried his cell phone, but he didn’t pick that up, either. Frustrated, she texted a lengthy message to explain how she felt about him, along with the obstacles to a relationship with him, and asked for suggestions as to how to proceed. Then erased it.

Tomorrow. She’d talk to him tomorrow.

Chapter Nine

But the next day, Blake was frustratingly tied up handling explosives. Olivia tried to go talk with him, but the special effects crew wouldn’t let anyone else near as he wired an abandoned building to blow sky high. The film’s insurance policy was extremely strict regarding who could be within how many feet of C-4. Not surprisingly, she was emphatically
not
on that list.

Jeremy looked like hell when he finally staggered onto the set just minutes before he was scheduled to shoot his first scene of the day. Tyrone and another make-up artist had to scramble like big dogs for him not to look like a zombie on camera. They had to repeat take after take as Jeremy botched lines and missed cues. Finally, Adrian called a lunch break and stomped off to his trailer. The crew milled around the catering tables, grazing.

Olivia was munching strawberries from a fruit and cheese platter when she overheard someone ask Jeremy, “Was it a good party last night? You sure look like crap today, dude.”

“Hell to the yeah. Liv and I went out clubbing.”

“How was she?”

Olivia froze, straining to hear Jeremy’s answer.

“She’s a tiger in the sack. Why do you think I look like shit?”

“Wow.” Olivia didn’t hear the rest of the reply because the blood roared too loudly in her ears. Jeremy had the gall to claim he’d slept with her?

“—got some moves on her…down and nasty…no boundaries, man—”

A wry corner of her mind noted that at least he was spreading false rumors about her being good in the sack and not a complete dud. The rest of her allowed embarrassment to climb her cheeks in a hot rush as Jeremy elaborated in lurid detail about their supposed wild night in the sack.

Hmm. Did he wake up in a pool of his own dried puke or not? Curious minds wanted to know. She turned to ask him that very thing and saw a cluster of crew and cast members surrounding Jeremy as he regaled them with his lies. She gritted her teeth to march over and confront him…and spotted Blake’s tall profile in the crowd.

He stood slightly behind Jeremy, arms crossed, jaw rippling with muscle. His eyes were hard and he looked every inch a killer. But he did nothing to shut Jeremy up. Her steps faltered. Why wouldn’t Blake rise to her defense? Surely he knew she wouldn’t do that stuff with her co-star, whom she didn’t even particularly like. So why didn’t he call Jeremy out and kick his ass for spreading lies about her?

Instead, he let that jerk shred her reputation right in front of him. Wow. He hadn’t been kidding when he said there would be no emotional attachment or feelings between them.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to roll, she could do the same.

Still, his reaction crushed her as she veered away and headed toward her trailer with the plate of food.

…

Blake pasted a smile on his face and pleasurably contemplated how he’d kill Jeremy McDaniels. Slowly and painfully was a given. Maybe a traditional Native American death…staked out on the desert with a bunch of shallow cuts all over his body to attract coyotes and vultures that would eat his organs while he screamed…

Problem was he couldn’t afford to draw any attention to himself right now by slitting the dickwad’s throat. Not when there might be Russian agents sniffing around the damned set. Of all times, this was when he had no choice but to maintain the lowest possible profile. Which prevented him from calling out the star of a big movie in front of the crew and knocking out his teeth.

He hated his inability to protect Olivia. He hated feeling powerless.

His gaze narrowed as Olivia spotted him, then swerved away from the cast. Avoiding him, was she? He could damned well see why after last night. Jeremy wasn’t leaving a single detail to anyone’s imagination regarding what he and Olivia had done. The depth of Jeremy’s details was good enough that even he began to question just how untrue the kid’s story was.

Surely, she wouldn’t sleep with this prick. She hated the guy’s guts. Even she wouldn’t stoop so low in the name of grabbing at publicity and fame, would she? His gaze narrowed even more as Jeremy ranted on and on about his co-star’s athletic performance in the sack. The skeezy sonofabitch.

Blake’s headache throbbed like a motherfucker. An urge to
hurt
McDumbass pounded through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He’d mess that boy up bad—

—Oh, wait. Head low. Not dead. Not to mention the whole Marine officer thing. Enlisted grunts might be allowed to indulge in the occasional bar brawl as a matter of defending Corps honor, but officers weren’t afforded that luxury. And God knew, with paparazzi swarming all over the set, he’d be caught on camera for sure if he picked a fight with McDumbass. Hell, he might end up on the front page of the L.A. Times, after all. But still. His gut twisted in a knot at having to listen to Olivia’s good name and reputation dragged through the slime like this.

He just had to block out all that feelings crap for a few days until he got over her. Hell, she’d already moved on. He could do the same.

As Jeremy launched into a vivid description of what a screamer Olivia was, Blake hit his limit. He couldn’t take any more of this asshole’s flapping jaw. Blake backed away from the avid audience and headed in the general direction of the cabin slated to be blown up that evening. But as soon as he was out of sight of the cast and crew, he took off running low and fast, ducked into the trailer park and made his way to her big RV at the back of the parking area.

She hadn’t seriously taken his advice and screamed for Jeremy had she? Swearing up a blue storm in his head, he yanked open her trailer door without knocking and stormed in.

She looked up from one of the armchairs, her eyes red and her cheeks wet.
What the hell?
He checked his stride instantly.
Female crying. Bad. Must fix
. His target acquisition system kicked up to full alert, but there was no one in the room he could break in half. His instinct to protect powered down, leaving behind only his damned headache and dull fury that she might actually have jumped out of his bed and into Jeremy’s before his sheets were even cold.

“Why the tears?” he asked sarcastically. “Are you embarrassed that McDumbass is making up all that crap about you? It is crap, isn’t it? I can’t see why you’re mad though. I thought you wanted everyone to think you were a wild child who would sleep with your co-star and fuck his lights out. Hell, you practically had sex with him in front of half the crew.”

She pressed the back of her trembling hand to her mouth.

A little voice in the back of his head suggested that perhaps he was being an ass.
Screw you, voice
.

“I gotta say, Liv, you’re a hell of an actress. I honestly thought you might care about me a little bit. That maybe we had more than just a casual hook-up going.”

“Why are you here?” she finally got in between insults.

“Tell me you didn’t screw Jeremy. Please.”

She leaped to her feet and advanced toward him. “You even have to ask? You have one hell of a nerve barging in here, Blake Ramsey. And how dare you not trust me completely? You know I don’t like him, and you’d better know I would never sleep with him. I don’t give a damn what Jeremy says happened last night. I thought you knew me better than that. But I guess I was wrong.”

“You gave me the right to ask when you asked me to turn you into a femme fatale.”

“You have no right to be jealous. You’re the one who said there’d be no attachments. It was supposed to be strictly business, remember?” She closed the gap between them and stood one foot from his chest, her breasts heaving so hard he had trouble peeling his gaze away from them rising and falling beneath her tank top. Her nipples were as hard as diamond.

“So what if I did fuck Jeremy’s brains out?” she demanded, her anger rising with every word. “It’s none of your damned business.” She poked him in the chest.

As soon as he heard the words come out of her mouth, he knew them for the lie they were. No way had she slept with Jeremy, no matter what she said in the heat of this argument. His control snapped and he swept her against his body and smashed her against him. His mouth swooped down and captured hers in a bruising kiss.

“Did he kiss you like this?” he demanded.

“So what if he did?” she declared rebelliously.

His left hand dipped inside her shirt, shoving aside her bra and grabbing her breast. He pinched her erect nipple until she arched up into it with a gasp. “Did he do this to you?”

“Maybe,” she gasped.

“And this?” He jammed his hand down the front of her yoga pants and cupped her core and—

And his anger completely derailed. She was so damned soft and wet and hot he completely lost his train of thought. Her hips rocked hard against his hand and she moaned into his mouth.

“Shameless hussy,” he muttered against her lips.

“You know I’d never touch him voluntarily.” Her entire body undulated against his. “All of this is for you. Only you, Blake.”

It was his turn to groan in open lust into her mouth. She’d called him on his jealousy and misplaced anger, and he deserved it. In his heart of hearts, he
knew
she would never betray him like that.

“I want you right now,” she panted. “I want you inside me, ramming into me. Erase the memory of anyone but you.”

He groaned again and swept her off her feet, carrying her to the back of the trailer and the bedroom. He half-stripped, half-tore her clothes off her until she was completely naked. God, she was perfect.

He threw her down on the bed and relished the way her ample chest bounced. Following her down aggressively, he planted a knee between her thighs and shoved her legs apart. He grabbed her wrists in one of his hands and yanked them over her head. She smiled up at him and writhed like a siren.

No matter what she’d done on set with McDumbass or who said she’d slept with him, he still wanted her. Swearing at himself, he tore down the zipper of his pants and his cock sprang free, hard and huge and ready. With no further ado, he slammed into her, seating himself all the way to his balls.

She gasped, stretching around him, her internal muscles clenching convulsively at the invasion. He withdrew and slammed into her again, punishing her with his body. Never breaking the eye contact with him, she spread her legs wider to accommodate him. Invited him in, dammit. Dared him to do it again. Her eyelids grew heavy. The look in her golden hazel eyes became as sultry as hell. His domination turned her on!

He slammed into her again. Pleasure began to penetrate his fury. The way her internal walls turned slick for him. The way her body squeezed hungrily at his cock as it withdrew, as if trying to hang on and not let him go. The soft moan torn from her throat each time he filled her.

“You like it rough, huh?” he rasped.

“With you, yes. Fuck me hard, Blake. Do every dirty, obscene thing to me that Jeremy said he did.”

A red haze obscured his vision. Lust all but blinded him as he flipped her over, grabbed her by the hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed. He bent her over and guided his cock toward her. He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her head back until her neck was arched taut, and growled, “Are you ready?”

She nodded microscopically, wincing as even that small movement pulled her hair against his fist.

He slammed into her again. Oh, God, he was so deep inside her he felt her womb. He only withdrew a little this time and rocked into her more gently, his mind blown by the sensation of her hot, tight body cupping his dick. He alternated rocking deep and pounding hard, and in no time, she was moaning and screaming into the pillow she’d dragged to her face to muffle the sounds of her orgasms.

She was his. If he could brand it onto every square inch of her body, he would. But since that wasn’t possible, he’d settle for branding her this way. Invisibly, but irrevocably, his. No other man would ever make her feel this way and he wouldn’t let her forget it.

He looked down at where their bodies joined, and his crimson cock was covered in juices from her body. He’d never seen anything so erotic in his life. He lost it then, and fucked her fast and furious. It was all he could do not to shout with her as an explosion of epic proportions tore through him. His entire lower body clenched as he spilled himself into her, pulsing over and over and over.

Jesus. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard.

Olivia went limp on the bed, her muscles pulsing around him in sweet aftershocks.

He leaned over her, kissing the base of her neck. He ran his fingertips down the supple curve of her spine. Something fierce and wild shot through him. He’d give just about anything for her to acknowledge that she was his. No one else’s.

So much for emotional detachment, God damn it.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

“Mmm hmm. I missed you last night.”

She sounded so sleepy and sated it made his heart sing. “Didn’t Jeremy take your mind off me last night?”

“You know I didn’t sleep with him, but if it makes you feel better to hear me say it, there, I said it,” she mumbled. “He got drunk and I had to take him home from the club. I poured him into his bed and he passed out. He never even kissed me.”

“Too bad.” He tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and must have succeeded because she twisted her head around to stare at him.

“Not really,” she retorted. “I had no idea how I was going to turn him down without pissing him off. Thankfully, he saved me the trouble.”

“Then why
in the hell
are you letting him tell everyone who’ll listen about the hot sex you two had?” He shoved off the mattress and paced the tiny strip of carpet beside the bed.

She rolled onto her back to watch him. “Because it helps my reputation. I’ve reinvented myself as an action-adventure actor, one who would do all the skanky things he’s saying I did. It’s the best of both worlds if you think about it. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to with him, but I still get credit for having done it.”

“I have to say, babe, this is one fucked-up business.”

“Tell me about it.” She sighed and climbed out of the big bed. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. Want to join me?”