Femme Fatale (3 page)

No man had ever dared to treat her like a woman full-grown, one who would consider or even enjoy something besides fumbling, chaste, missionary position sex in the dark. But this man was boldly fingering her ass. And then,
oh, God
. His fingertip traced the line of the thong from the sensitive spot at the base of her spine down, down, between her cheeks, over her anus, and lower to places that were suddenly hot, moist, and throbbing. Her thighs softened, opened for him, gave him full access to her most private places. She wanted that finger inside her Wanted to impale herself on it. Wanted him to stroke her to…

To what?

Maybe that was what terrified her into scrambling off his lap, her face burning hotly.

“Note to self,” he commented dryly, “the lady cannot drink whiskey without attempting to breathe it.”

If she were actually the confidant, kick-ass movie star she tried to be, she would tear her clothes off—heck, tear
his
clothes off—and throw herself at him this very second.

Instead, her intense reaction to being sprawled across his lap with that finger boldly stroking her nether regions stole her voice. She stared at her fingers twining in her lap. Her face must be ten shades of scarlet given the soaring temperature inside the limo.

Blake sipped his own whiskey more temperately, studying her with piercing eyes that missed nothing and gave away less. “What’s the deal, Olivia?”

She looked up. “I-I don’t understand.”

“First you flirt with me on set. Then you invite me to your trailer for supper. And now you offer me a ride back to town and end up across my lap.
Are
you trying to seduce me?”

Was she? She tried to make sense of her motivation. He so wasn’t what she needed for her Hollywood image.

But her body responded with ferocity to Blake’s interest, and she needed to practice her sex kitten abilities if she were ever to rid her good girl image.
Think sex kitten, Liv.
Be
sex kitten.

She deflected her urge to giggle nervously with a bold reply. “I didn’t mean to confuse you.”

He frowned. “It takes a lot more than that to confuse me, darlin’.” He set his whiskey in the cup holder and leaned forward, drawing close enough to kiss. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” His warm breath feathering her lips blew away her feeble attempt to act the femme fatale and left her gasping for breath.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

Chapter Three

This wasn’t about the raging lust pounding through him, dammit. It was about figuring out Olivia Harper’s agenda. Because God knew, every woman had one. Some were more psycho than others. Blake had learned from the best how women used sex as a weapon, yet Olivia might just be able to give Carmen a run for her money. Hot. Cold. Nervous waif. Scheming temptress.

Sure. Figuring her out was the only reason he loomed over her and blatantly invaded her personal space. Yeah, and not a single dirty thought had crossed his mind when she’d lain across his lap, her rear end wiggling as it all but begged to be swatted. He wasn’t usually into that sort of thing, but damned if she didn’t make his mind go there. And the way she’d reacted when he stroked that sexy little black thong made him sweat to recall how she’d gotten so wet and hot so damned fast. One little touch, and she’d been on the verge of exploding. He’d been torn between spanking her ass cherry red and fingering her to multiple screaming orgasms.

The file of newspaper clippings Colonel Santerros’s executive officer had shoved at him painted Olivia Harper as a wild child. She’d broken out of the sweet-kid-next-door persona in a big way in the past year and been seen in numerous tabloids with Hollywood’s bad-boy crowd. Her acting credits were excellent, and she’d been nominated for some big television awards for her long-time role on a popular teen drama. And now she was breaking into the movies in a big-budget film with a big-name director. Her star was definitely on the rise, which meant there was no room in her life for a Marine hiding in a Hollywood loony bin from Russian security forces.

So why give him the jittery schoolgirl act, especially after that sexy little display in his lap? His years in the field had given him a finely honed sense of when he wasn’t getting the truth. He knew without a doubt Olivia Harper was bullshitting him.

For some reason, that infuriated him beyond all logic—he didn’t expect civilians to adhere to his strict ethical military standards, but he’d really hoped she’d measure up.

He pressed again. “I want honesty. What are you really up to?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Why the hell not?” He leaned forward and trapped her between his arm and the back of the seat. Her breasts rose and fell entirely too fast beneath that skimpy little tank top of hers, and her erect nipples were clearly outlined. He drew so close their noses almost touched. Her breath was light and warm against his face and smelled of spearmint chewing gum and whiskey. Another few inches and their lips would touch—

She huffed. “Fine. I want to seduce you. But I wouldn’t have the first idea how to do it,” she added in a defensive rush. “And if you repeat that to a living soul, my agent will slap a gag order on you so fast your head will spin.”

He pulled back enough to stare at her. “Why?” How on earth could something like that be grounds for a gag order?

“You’d wreck my image.”

This bombshell didn’t know how to seduce him? Hah! Just as he figured, here came the head games. Carmen had played the young-and-innocent card, too. How disappointing. For some reason, he’d really hoped there was more to Olivia than a scheming witch willing to climb over everyone to get what she wanted.

The town car pulled into a resort that looked like something out of a movie. Tall palm trees flanked the circular drive that wound around a tiered fountain fifteen feet tall. Lush bougainvilleas and tropical foliage crowded the drive. In this desert climate, the landscaping was a blatant display of luxurious excess.

“Home sweet home,” Olivia announced in abject relief. “The driver will take you wherever you want to go.”

Uncle Sam had made no housing arrangements for him. Not to mention his lodging expenses would be reimbursed from Adrian Turnow’s film budget. He shrugged. “This place’ll do.”

Alarm crossed Olivia’s mobile features, which surprised him. She wanted him for whatever little sordid game she was playing—why not keep him in proximity? He opened the car door and handed her to the curb. Her fingers trembled slightly. Huh. Either she was genuinely agitated, or she was an even better actress than he gave her credit for.

“Yet again, I find myself waiting for an answer to my question.” He was determined to get to the bottom of Little Miss Hot-and-Cold. “What’s the deal with your ‘image’ and not knowing how to sedu—”

She slammed a hand over his mouth and looked around frantically, causing him to tense for an immediate attack. He grabbed her and shoved her behind him out of pure, instinctive reflex. His hands came up, and his gaze penetrated every shadow around them.

“What was that for?” she complained.
Whoops
. He’d shoved a little too hard. She was sprawled in a bush behind him, scowling. Dammit, she had him wound too tight.

Feeling monumentally dumb, he explained, “You looked scared out of your mind. I thought you were in danger.”

“Paparazzi stalk me day and night. They jump out from behind pretty much anything and impersonate repairmen and delivery guys. You never know when one’s lurking around a corner, waiting to pounce.”

“And you’re worried about paparazzi, why?”

“Don’t talk about…what we were talking about…where anyone might overhear us. If you’ll come up to my suite without making a stink, I promise I’ll answer your question there. In
private
. Hotel security is under orders to sweep my room for cameras and bugs every day.”

Dammit, he was supposed to keep his head down, too. She attracted photographers wherever she went. He should have walked away, but his dick disagreed.

So they both had reason to hide. His, he hoped, would go away soon, but she had to live this crappy way for as long as she stayed in show biz. Always having to look over her shoulder. Never knowing when she was on
Candid Camera
. He helped her climb out of the shrubs.

“Thanks,” she grumbled.

A surprising urge to keep her safe hammered him. “Do you need me to take evasive action? Plan an alternate route to your suite, so we’re not seen together?”

“If there’s no press in the lobby, we’re probably in the clear. It usually takes the paparazzi a few days to figure out what hotel I’m in.”

“You really like being famous?” he asked as they rushed across the lobby to the bank of elevators.

“Like I said. It has its perks. And this would be its down side.”

The elevator door opened, and he swept her inside with an arm around her waist. He turned her neatly to the side and used his body to block her from sight as the heavy doors slid shut behind them.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

He tried to ignore how every sweet curve of hers pressed against his body, tempting him to throw her down on the floor right here, right now, and have his wicked way with her. Belatedly, he cleared his throat. “I pulled a personal protection tour overseas. Old habits die hard.”

“In plain English, please?”

“I was a bodyguard to high ranking foreign officials. I guess my protective reflexes just took over.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Blake.”

“Had me fooled.” She might need a bodyguard from him if he couldn’t control his lust.

The elevator stopped, and she dug in her purse for her room card as she strode down the hallway. In a hurry to get behind closed doors with him, was she? Or just in a hurry to get away?

The suite she let them into was, in a word, ridiculous. It was sleek and modern and stupidly opulent, entirely fitting for a movie star. He thought back to the succession of olive drab tents and cots he’d called home over the years and could only shake his head at this lavish hooch.

“Hungry?” Olivia asked.

Oh, he was hungry, all right, but from the way she fidgeted, she wasn’t offering what he had in mind. He played along. “Sure. What have you got in the fridge?”

She looked startled. “Uhh, nothing. I thought we’d order room service.”

“Don’t cook, huh?”

Surprisingly, she bristled. “Actually, I’m a pretty good cook. My mom taught me how, and she rocks in a kitchen.”

Yet again, Olivia had managed to intrigue him. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she showed him another piece of the puzzle that was her. None of the pieces he’d seen added up to any kind of coherent picture. Bemused, he ordered a prime rib, and she ordered grilled tilapia.

The moment she hung up with room service, he backed her against the wall and planted a hand on either side of her head. He wedged his leg between hers, forcing her to ride his thigh in a blatant test of her reaction. Instead of showing fear or intimidation, she all but melted onto him. Was she aware that her hips were pulsing slightly, rubbing her sweet, hot crotch against his upper thigh? She gasped and tensed, her body all but exploding then and there. Her arousal was blazingly contagious. He murmured low and seductive, “Tell me something. Why can’t I figure you out?”

“I-I’m sure I have no idea.”

“One minute you’re throwing out this bad girl, sex nymph vibe, and the next it’s like I’m talking to the girl next door. Which one is the real Olivia Harper?”

Damned if she didn’t look him in the eye and murmur back, “Why can’t I be both?” Despite her bravado, he noted a faint tremor in her voice.

“Fair enough.” He tilted his head, considering. “But tell me, then, why I smell lies on you.”

“That’s sweat, big guy. In case you didn’t notice, it was a hundred and fifteen degrees on set today, and I spent all afternoon sprinting around in that furnace. Speaking of which, I’m going to jump in the shower. Would you be a doll and listen for room service?”

She slipped out from under his arm as quick as a mink and hurried toward her bed/bath suite within a suite. There was definitely a story to be worked out of her. And he knew just how to do it. Carmen had taught him a thing or two before she tried to destroy him.

…

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief as cool water cascaded down her body, washing away dried sweat, sunscreen, and the last vestiges of the day’s make-up. But her sigh was more about escaping the spell of one Blake Ramsey than getting clean.

That man was danger on two legs. One glance and she practically threw herself at him. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t the best-equipped person to call her entire, ginormous bluff. And she dared not let him do that. Everything depended on the new reputation she and her agent had so carefully built.

How she wanted that Star with her name on it. Unfortunately, there weren’t many parts for sweet young girls from Middle America and the competition for those roles was beyond fierce. Her radical makeover and willingness to take physical, dangerous, sexy roles was the only way to distinguish herself from the crowd.

She might hate the lies, but they were necessary.

Reluctantly, she stepped out of the shower, dried, and jumped into a tank top and yoga pants. Steeling herself to do battle with the soldier in her living room, she opened the double doors with a flourish and found the gigantic space empty. Had he ditched her? Sharp disappointment stabbed her belly. But then she spied a shadow in front of the turquoise glow of the lap pool and relief poured through her.

She joined him on the deck and was delighted to see a table set for two poolside.

Even better, their supper had arrived. He stood as she stepped through the glass door wall and moved around behind her chair to hold it for her. The old school courtesy made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Since when was she a sucker for good manners? She answered her own question. Since they came packaged in a hot Marine.

“
Bon appétit
,” he murmured.

She took a bite of her fish and closed her eyes in delight. The mellow tilapia was perfectly seasoned. Not to mention, she was ravenous after a hard day at work. A glass of white wine stood ready beside her plate, and the Sancerre, a dry sauvignon, perfectly complimented the fish’s delicate hollandaise sauce.

She opened her eyes and was startled to see Blake staring at her, his eyes all but ablaze. “What?”

“Watching you eat is a…sexual…experience.”

Well, okay then. “Wanna bite?” she asked coyly.

His eyes burned white hot. He answered slowly as his molten gaze slid down to her shirt and back up, “Oh, yeah. Gotta have me some of that.”

Her skin rippled with lust and a fair dose of trepidation at playing with fire while she passed him a bite of her fish on her dessert fork.

He nodded. “Not bad. But I still prefer red meat.” Again, his gaze traveled down and back up. Slower this time. A more thorough inspection that clearly included a mental stripping gathered moisture in her core. She squirmed.

“That stuff’ll kill you.” Her voice sounded breathless. She pointed her fork at his steak, dripping with red juices.

“Ahh, but what a way to go,” he murmured. His baby blues tethered her, and her fork dropped to the table. He leaned back with a smirk, breaking the almost tangible tie between them, the fire in his eyes banked, and she nearly groaned in relief. “Something’s gonna kill me. Might as well be this.”

“You say that like you don’t plan to make it to old age.”

“Not likely in my line of work.”

“Yup, standing around a movie set, showing people how to wear their uniforms is pretty dangerous work.” The hold he had over her, seeming without effort, and her fear of the pounding lust he aroused in her, drew the snippy response.

A shadow crossed his face that looked like pain. Loss. Maybe even grief.

His reaction snuffed out her annoyance. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just military stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Are you always this nosy?” he shot at her.

“Yup. I’m a woman, but I’m also an actress. We’re naturally nosy.”

He rolled his eyes at that. But he’d neatly avoided answering her question.

She tried peeling the onion from a different direction. “How’d you land this gig, anyway?”

“Does being nosy always entail asking so many questions?”

“Do you always avoid answering?” she shot back.

His eyes narrowed. Oops. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the subject of avoiding questions. “You first,” she added hastily. “How did you get picked for this job?”