Wild at Heart (Walk on the Wild Side #1) (5 page)

Honestly, he felt nothing but relief that Ruby was leaving.

Before she could get up from the bed, though, he heard a footfall he knew only too well crossing the porch of his cabin, and then the latch to his door clicked. Shit—Amber was here for real!

Dread hit his belly like a lump of cold metal. There was no time to react, no time to shield the woman on the bed. It all happened in the horrible slow motion of a dream, of a car accident.

His head whipped around just quick enough for him to watch Amber walk straight into the cabin. Damn it—Ruby had taken him so completely by surprise, he hadn’t even re-locked it. And Amber was used to walking in without knocking when they worked. There’d been no reason not to.

Her head was buried in her notebook as it so often was, puzzling over some detail of the coming shoot. She hadn’t seen the odalisque on his bed yet. “Hey, cowboy, “ she said, sounding a little stiffer than usual after their tryst in the meadow, but clearly making the effort to proceed as normal, “I just checked the weather report, and I think we’d better—”

Ruby made a loud squeak and grabbed the nearest throw pillow to cover herself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere near big enough to cover all her naked deliciousness.

And Amber looked up and saw her.

If Nick thought he’d felt dread before, it was nothing to the awful icy flood that went through him now. Amber actually turned colors: bloodless white for a moment, and then blazing cherry red. She dropped the notebook, bent to pick it up, hit her head on the corner of the dresser, dropped it again.

“Oh, jeez,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize….” She was rubbing her scalp, glancing up at his hair, noticing how mussed it was. And Ruby was naked, and he had his shirt off, and….Oh, crap….

Nick wasn’t sure what to say. “Hey, Amber, seriously,” he began, “this isn’t what it looks like—” But then he cut himself off. Maybe it was better if Amber thought it was exactly what it looked like.

If she thought he was screwing Ruby—and screwing Ruby less than 24 hours after he’d had sex with Amber in the sunlit meadow—she’d forget any stupid ideas she might be having about trying to have a relationship with him. She’d see what a lost cause he really was, and find herself another man who could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

Amber looked like she was fighting down the need to vomit. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said tensely, and she turned back for the door.

Which was exactly the direction he needed her to go, but somehow the sight of her leaving like that was like an axe through his chest. “Don’t go, kiddo,” he said. “Please. You can stay.”

Amber’s face twisted into even more of a grimace. She glanced quickly between him and Ruby. “No thanks, Nick…I’m not interested in...that kind of thing.”

“What?” Nick felt his face heat as he realized she thought he’d meant she should join him and Ruby in bed. Good Lord, he was actually
blushing
. He hadn’t blushed since he was maybe fifteen years old. He wouldn’t have thought he was still physiologically capable. “No—no, I didn’t mean….” But what else could she possibly have thought he meant, with the Sexiest Woman Alive stark naked on the mattress?

Amber slipped out the door. She didn’t even slam it—like she didn’t have any business being angry, like nobody could expect better than this of Nick Turner, Infamous Man-Whore.

It felt like hell.

His body felt like it was deflating.

But it was probably for the best that Amber thought the worst of this side of him. He just had to ride this awful feeling out, let her go back to thinking of him as an unscrupulous, unredeemable player, and then maybe, maybe she could put that morning in the meadow behind her, and everything between them would go back to something like the way it used to be.

Or maybe Amber would hate him forever, no matter what.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was a knot. Because if Amber cut him out of her life, the only worthwhile part of his own would be lost.

Ruby sprang up off the bed now and wriggled back into her panties and jeans and shirt, with a speed only possible from somebody used to doing lightning-fast costume changes between songs at her concerts. “Sorry,” she said, scooping up her fur jacket from the floor. “Really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble for you.” She waved her hand between him and the general direction of Amber. “I didn’t realize you guys were.…”

“What? No—we’re not. It’s not—”

“It’s okay, I get it.” Ruby leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Complicated, right?” That jasmine scent of hers hit his nose like a slap. The scent seemed wrong. The only scent he wanted was one he’d smelled on the floor of that meadow yesterday.

The wildflower coconut musky scent of Amber’s skin.

Oh, shit, he was in deep trouble.

And he probably wasn’t ever going to get close enough to Amber to smell that scent again.

Chapter Three

Amber’s head was pounding. The humiliation actually hurt.

So this was what other women were always complaining about, while she listened in smug bafflement, never having done the “dating thing” because she’d had just the one serious boyfriend all her adult life.

Men were scum.

They were actually scum.

Like green, slimy, stinky, primordial, one-celled, brainless scum.

Even Nick, who was otherwise such a wonderful, smart, funny, sensitive guy.

No. Especially Nick.

She curled up into the tightest ball she could on her bed and pulled the army blanket up to her chin. She was supposed to be outside, meeting with the new key grip and gaffers she’d hired, and handling all the last minute details before main production started tomorrow. She was supposed to be spending time with Ruby Torres, getting to know her, building the bond of trust they were going to need for such an emotional shoot.

Though, obviously, Nick was handling the “getting to know her” angle pretty damn thoroughly on his own.

My God, I’m stupid
.
An absolute, first-class idiot.

She should have read the signs when Nick ignored her all yesterday evening after they came back down from the mountain. Normally, he’d have been out checking his equipment, charging batteries, planning camera set-ups, getting a feel for the local light, asking a million questions about how Amber wanted to handle different scenes.

Clearly, he’d been avoiding her. He wasn’t into
talking
after sex, apparently. No messy break-up conversations for Nick Turner. He just moved on to the next available warm body.

Or…no, it was worse than that. He would have been perfectly happy to have her get in on something kinky with him
and
the next available warm body.
“Don’t go, kiddo
,” he’d said. “
You should stay
.” Oh, dear freakin’ God. The more the merrier, apparently. He’d probably have invited the sound-check girl too, if she’d shown up.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d known this about him. Well, not the penchant for threesomes. But the love ‘em and leave ‘em thing, the different girl in his bed every week thing. Somehow—and this was the really, really, stunningly stupid part—she’d thought, with her, maybe he’d be different. Because Nick actually
knew
her, and cared about her as a human being.

Her stomach twisted sickeningly.

Now they probably weren’t even friends anymore.

And they were stuck for three weeks in a national park, miles and miles and miles from civilization, and they had to make a film together.

She wanted to stayed curled up in a ball on her bunk the whole time and cry. She’d already skipped checking out the swimming hole the forest rangers told her about, the one that needed to be just
perfect, perfect, perfect
for the big crisis break-up scene. Amber always did her own scouting, but not today—she’d sent Onyx, her Assistant Director, up to scout the site instead. And Onyx was an urban girl who got freaked out by
city
parks, who’d practically hyperventilated when she learned there was no cell phone reception at Wild Mountain. By now, Onyx had probably gotten herself eaten by a coyote, and they’d wind up filming the scene back behind the Ranger Station latrines.

Judging by all the clattering and banging and shouting coming from outside, the tech crew truck had arrived with the cranes and dollies and lighting equipment, more elaborate stuff than any Amber Waves production had ever used, and she really needed to go out and be sure it was all in working order. A professional make-up artist was on her way too, and an on-location colorist so Amber could see the look of the final product more clearly while they were still actually filming.

Damn it. Curling up in a ball just wasn’t an option.

She had a movie to make. The most ambitious movie of her career. A movie she owed to the 41,457 people who’d funded her Kickstarter campaign, whose money she couldn’t even return since she’d already spent every cent on the crew and equipment and two stunning new ARRI Alexa cameras that Nick had spent the last four months slavering over. She’d maxed out all her credit cards, to boot. And taken out two big bank loans, both riding on the fact that she had money-generating stars as headliners. This film was make or break for her.

Nick might be slime, but he was
not
going to break her.

She sat up in bed, swung her legs over the side, got her feet on the floor. There,
progress
. She was tough, she was strong. She was going to win a flipping Oscar—for
herself
.
Best Fucking Director, Best Fucking Picture.
And Nick Turner could just...go fuck himself. Or whoever else he could find to fuck.

She stood up. Went to the little cabin sink and splashed cold water on her face.

Took a deep breath and stepped out the door into the sunlight.

The clearing by the Ranger Station was a swarm of activity—black-t-shirted guys moving large metal crates around. A catering truck from Sunshine Raw Organics, which was one of Ruby Torres’ diva demands, so she could stay on her crazy Paleo diet, though thank God Ruby was paying for it herself. Oh, and two guys in dark sunglasses and suit jackets, with ear-pieces and wires disappearing down under their collars—Ruby’s private security detail, who went everywhere she did. Except while she was having sex with Nick Turner, apparently.

Amber couldn’t resist just one little glance over to Nick’s cabin. The door was still closed tight. No doubt Nick was still in bed with their leading lady, treating her like a human blow-up doll.

And Ruby Torres was probably smart enough not to expect anything more from Nick than that.

Thankfully, Amber’s thoughts were cut short by the grinding sound of tires on the gravel road. An ancient, beat-up blue Volkswagen came rumbling down to park between Ruby Torres’ limo and the Head Ranger’s jeep.

Jake Hultensaalt was here.

Okay. Amber’s head was pounding and her heart felt like it was stuffed with lead shot, but she had to plaster a smile on her face like she had everything 100% under control. Jake was sacrificing mega-bucks to make this tiny little film with her, and she didn’t want him to regret it the moment he arrived.

At least he wasn’t the diva type. Far from it. One of the biggest names in Hollywood, a man paid millions per film, able to afford a fleet of Maseratis if he wanted—and he famously drove a Bug that had belonged to his dad in San Francisco in the 1960s. And carried a toolbox with him so he could do his own repairs.

The engine no sooner wheezed to a halt than Jake threw open the door and leapt out, six-feet-plus of world-famous muscle packed into a faded pair of Levi’s and a tight white t-shirt. Thick mane of chestnut hair, chiseled cheekbones, perfect razor stubble, a mega-watt smile. And those
shoulders
—Jesus. No wonder he brought in such big money at the box office.

The man was sex on wheels.

He whisked off his sunglasses, his trademark laser-beam blue eyes hit her full force, and before she knew what was happening, he ran straight up to her and lifted her in a bear hug. A bear hug that made her realize you really could feel the individual ridges of a six-pack even through two layers of shirt fabric, if a guy was as superhumanly toned as Jake Hultensaalt.

Holy sweet abdominals, Batman.

Teenage girls around the world—hell, middle-aged women and white-haired grandmas around the world—would give their eyeteeth to get this close to this man. Maybe she ought to take a cue from Nick and have herself her own little affair with one of their Hollywood stars.

“Amber Wakeling!” said Jake in his famously deep voice with its sexy hint of
Southern drawl, as he set her back on her feet. “You have no idea how
pumped
I am to actually be working with you!” His smile was nearly blinding.

Ah, yes—his famous balls-to-the-wall, all-in enthusiasm.

“Me, too,” she said stupidly, then added, just as stupidly, “To be working with you.”

And really, truly, she was. All that enthusiasm and charm and chiseled muscle came packaged with serious acting talent—the kind of whole-hearted, naturalistic, emotionally naked style that her films demanded. She thanked heaven once more for getting him to agree to work with her.