Overnight Sensation (12 page)

“Three days, huh?”

He was actually considering it. She should have been thrilled. Instead, she was mildly annoyed that he even had to think about it.

“Going once…going twice…”

He smiled then, and Ivy felt her stomach do a slow roll. He took a step toward her, and he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. They stood like that for a full minute, and the heat in his eyes caused her heart rate to accelerate in anticipation.

“Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll do it…”

“Great—”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Her voice was wary.

His smile turned predatory. “We play by my rules.”

Ivy’s pulse kicked into overdrive. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I get to call the shots. I’m the one who has the firsthand experience of how this whole thing…went down…so I get to say how we re-create it.”

Ivy’s imagination surged, and she was helpless to control the tremor of excitement in her voice. “Okay, fair enough. When do we start?”

“We already have.”

GARRETT LEANED BACK AGAINST the gnarled trunk of a Mayan breadnut tree and waited. From where he stood, about twenty feet behind the old workers’quarters, he had a clear view of his casita and the path that led to the hacienda. Unable to sleep, he’d been out there for a couple of hours. His casita had suddenly seemed too small, too closed in for him. Ivy’s fragrance still lingered there, and he couldn’t so much as look at his bed without remembering her on it.

He was soaked through to his skin from the brief, tropical downpour that had moved through the region during the dark, predawn hours. The surrounding foliage was heavy with moisture, and the ground beneath his feet was soggy. Around him, the forest was unrelentingly black and silent but for the continuous drip of water from the lush canopy.

Raising his arm, he peered at the illuminated face of his watch. It was just past 5:00 a.m. If Ivy was lucky, she’d managed to grab at least a few hours of the sleep that had eluded him.

Nope, sleeping definitely hadn’t been an option for him, not when the evening’s amazing events had replayed themselves over and over again in his head. Ivy in his cottage, with her gorgeous lips wrapped around him…Ivy writhing beneath him, her face an exquisite masterpiece of erotic pleasure. Both were images he’d never forget. Christ, he grew hard just remembering what they’d done together.

He’d been so caught up in the moment he’d completely forgotten that he was supposed to be playing a part. He recalled again the dumb-ass thing he’d said during the red-hot heat of the moment.

I’ve dreamed of you for so long.

He still couldn’t believe he’d uttered the words. For one, brief second, he’d thought Ivy realized it was her he’d been talking about, and it had scared the hell out of him. How did you tell a woman you were about to nail—under a totally false pretext—that you’d secretly followed her career for two years and harbored an intense crush on her, without her thinking you were some kind of creepy stalker?

You didn’t.

He’d royally screwed up when he’d let those words slip out, but it wouldn’t happen again. If anything, his mistake reinforced his belief that he was growing soft, that he’d been away from Spec-Ops for too long. He should have better control over his thoughts and emotions. A slip like that one could have cost him his life back when he was an operator.

And that hadn’t been the only snafu of the night. He’d told her that he’d be the one to call the shots on how the love scenes would be re-created, but immediately after walking her back to the hacienda, he’d wondered just what the hell he’d gotten himself into. He had no freaking clue how to re-create the love scenes Ivy wanted, given that there had been no love scenes with Helena Vanderveer.

He’d struggled briefly with his conscience over that one, knowing he was taking unfair advantage of the situation. If Ivy discovered the deception, she might never forgive him. Even if he wanted to tell her the truth, he risked her finding out that the only reason she’d been cast as Helena in the first place was that he had some major pull with the director. That would go over real well.

Yep, it just kept getting better and better.

So he’d been awake all night, debating the pros and pitfalls of the plan he’d set into action. He had come close to convincing himself he was the biggest scumbag on the face of the planet for even thinking about going through with it.

Then he’d recall the scent of her skin, the texture of her lips beneath his; remember the hitch in her breathing as he’d pulled her close, and known there had never been any question whether he’d do it. Whatever else he might be, he was also a healthy, red-blooded male, and Ivy James roused every masculine instinct in him. There was no way he wouldn’t go through with it. Being with Ivy was a physical imperative he couldn’t ignore.

Despite his familiarity with the script, he’d read through it again swiftly, his mind furiously working out a strategy on how to bring it to life. He’d tried to imagine what it would be like to actually find himself in the situation called out in the script—not just the part where he was rescued, but where he found himself irresistibly drawn to his rescuer. It wasn’t all that difficult. All he’d had to do was substitute Helena’s face with Ivy’s. The joy of being one with her would be heightened by the knowledge that it might be their only time together.

Garrett gave a self-deprecating laugh. The scenario was more true to life than he cared to admit. In the end, he’d decided to go with the screenplay as written. But he’d drawn the line at having Ivy find him, bloodied, filthy and unconscious in the dense forest behind the mission. So he’d made some minor modifications.

He glanced at his watch again. Exactly twelve minutes had passed since he’d sent Carlos, the cook’s younger son, to bang on Ivy’s door and wake her up with a fictitious story of an accident. The kid’s English wasn’t all that bad and he hadn’t needed long to memorize the lines Garrett wanted him to recite. Garrett was willing to bet that with the added incentive of 250 pesos in his pocket, Carlos would do a great job with his first acting gig.

As if on cue, Garrett saw her. Ivy made her way swiftly along the dark path toward his casita, and Garrett’s heart just about stopped when he saw she wore only a white bathrobe belted around her waist, and the same pair of slip-on sandals she’d had on the day she’d arrived in Pancho Viejo. If she wore anything at all under the robe, it had to be minuscule. Every stride she took caused the front of the robe to billow open, exposing her long, slender, bare legs. Beneath the thin material of the robe, her breasts bounced enticingly.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and even in the predawn darkness, Garrett could see her tense expression. She was worried about him. Determinedly, he pushed down the guilt that surged through him. They’d made an agreement. He needed to keep reminding himself of that. He wasn’t acting in a vacuum here.

The thought almost made him laugh. The kicker was, he wasn’t even acting. He’d never had as visceral a response to any woman as he’d had to Ivy.

He blew his breath out forcefully as he watched her. She reached the door of his casita and knocked imperiously.

“Garrett?” Her voice sounded strained. “Are you all right? Carlos got me. He said you weren’t well…that there’d been an accident.” When there was no response, she put her hand on the latch. “Garrett, I’m coming in.”

IVY STEPPED INTO THE CABIN. A small kerosene lantern had been lit and placed on a low stool near the door, but it did little to penetrate the cabin’s dark corners. She stood for a moment in the center of the room, letting her eyes adapt to the gloom. She wouldn’t even try to adjust the brightness of the lantern. She’d never been an outdoorsy kind of girl, and as far as she was concerned, messing around with kerosene lanterns definitely fell into the category of outdoor activities.

“Garrett?” In the absolute stillness, her voice sounded abnormally loud and she immediately felt foolish, since it was apparent she was alone.

What the hell was going on? She’d been wide-awake, tossing and turning against her pillows when the boy, Carlos, had rapped on her door and let loose a stream of frantic Spanish, none of which she’d understood. Until he’d uttered Garrett’s name in the same breath as the word accident. The frantic look on his face, combined with the urgency of his tone, had galvanized her into action. She’d wanted to awaken somebody—one of the other cast members, at the very least—but the boy had made it clear she was to hurry.

Now she wondered if she wasn’t the target of a joke. She could make out the silhouette of the bed and the ghostly drape of mosquito netting that enveloped it. The bedding was no more than a dark heap beneath the netting, but no way was she going to explore the shadowy recesses.

Feeling foolish that she’d been duped, she turned abruptly to leave—and gasped as she bumped up against something hard and damp.

“I’m touched that you didn’t even stop to change before you raced here to rescue me,” drawled a deep, unmistakable voice.

“Garrett.” His presence shocked her. She was certain the cabin had been empty when she’d arrived, yet she hadn’t heard him enter behind her. She’d had no idea he was even there until she’d encountered his solid warmth. Realizing her hands were curled in the damp fabric of his shirt, she released him and quickly stepped back. “You’re soaked. What happened to you?”

She sensed rather than saw him move forward, and she took an involuntary step back. But he kept on coming. She kept retreating, until she bumped against the edge of the table, which immediately brought to mind the last time she’d been in a similar situation. And look how that had ended.

“I’m injured.” His voice was low and compelling. He walked forward until he was pressed against her from chest to knee. He radiated heat, and the moisture from his clothing seeped through the thin satin of her robe until even her skin was damp. His eyes glowed in the indistinct light. “My being here may put you in danger, but I had nowhere else to turn, do you understand?”

Ivy swept her gaze over his body. “You’re injured? Where?” Her hands sought him again, searching for evidence of injury. “How? Carlos didn’t say, or if he did, I couldn’t understand.”

Beneath her fingers, the muscles of his shoulders and arms tightened. But when she skimmed her hands over his chest and downward, he covered them with his own, halting further exploration.

“Trust me,” he said drily. “I’m injured, and the Escudero cartel is hunting me. If I don’t find a safe place to hide out for a few days and recover, they will find me and kill me.” His voice dropped meaningfully. “Will you let me hide here at the mission until I can rendezvous with my men?”

Suddenly, Ivy comprehended. She’d asked him when they would start their three-day reenactment, and he’d told her they already had. Adrenaline, hot and pulsing, surged through her as she realized why she was here. She struggled to conceal a smile. Garrett wasn’t truly injured; he was acting, and not doing an especially great job of it, either.

After he’d walked her to the hacienda, she’d lain in bed and wondered just what it was she’d gotten herself into. Yes, she was an actress, but knowing that he wasn’t an actor and that there was no film crew watching them changed everything. No matter how she tried to rationalize her actions, in the end it was just the two of them.

Having sex.

But Ivy wanted more. If she wanted to understand the depth of what he’d shared with Helena, she needed to bring an emotional element into their lovemaking. She needed to believe she was in love with Garrett, and that their time together might be limited to this brief interlude; that they might not survive long enough or have a second chance to fully explore their feelings. Every gesture, every caress, every whispered endearment had to convey how she felt. She needed to become Helena.

Recalling the intensity of his eyes when he watched her, she’d thought she’d be much too self-conscious to actually go through with her proposed plan. But now, with him standing before her, heat washed over her and she was mildly shocked at just how much she wanted to do this.

She would do this. She’d practically begged him to do this; she told herself once more that being with Garrett was necessary in order for her to portray the character of Helena as accurately as possible. All she had to do was check her inhibitions and her identity at the door.

She drew in a deep breath, aware this might possibly be the most demanding performance she’d ever give, both physically and emotionally.

“I can hide you here,” she said breathlessly, entwining her fingers through his. “The cartel sometimes raids the mission, but they don’t know about this room. How badly are you injured?”

“My leg is pretty busted up.”

“Let’s get you over to the bed.” Ivy slid an arm under his, wrapping it around his slim waist. He leaned heavily on her, and it was all Ivy could do not to stagger beneath him. She used both hands to support him as they made their way slowly around the table, toward the bed, heat still rolling off his body despite his clothing. Pushing the mosquito netting aside, he lowered himself across the mattress with a heartfelt groan.

“Okay,” Ivy said, adopting a businesslike demeanor. Per the script, this was how Helena had acted after Garrett had been brought to the secret room. But for Ivy, it was also the only way she was going to get through the next scene. “Let’s pull those jeans off and see what we’re dealing with.”