Overnight Sensation (18 page)

Long after she’d left Garrett at the entrance to the hacienda, she’d lain awake in bed, replaying every delicious moment of the past two days. They’d taken on a surreal quality, as if she’d only dreamed them. But Garrett’s words had been too real, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t forget what he’d said.

He hadn’t seen Helena since he’d left Colombia.

She shouldn’t be surprised. The script didn’t imply that they’d ridden off into the sunset together. In fact, the movie ended with them saying their goodbyes as he was being loaded into a military rescue helicopter. But according to the screenplay, he’d made a promise to Helena that he would return to Colombia. For her.

That hadn’t happened.

Ivy should be relieved. While she could tell herself that she and Garrett had been reenacting the time he’d spent with Helena in order for Ivy to film the love scenes more realistically, Ivy knew his attraction to her was genuine. Whatever he’d shared with Helena had been over for a long time, and the passion he’d shown Ivy during the past two days hadn’t been an act. No man could have that kind of physical response to a woman unless she completely turned him on.

Yet instead of being relieved, Ivy felt inexplicably sad. The reality was that Garrett Stokes had walked away—figuratively speaking—from Helena Vanderveer. And now, it seemed that even after spending two intensely intimate days together, Garrett Stokes would likely walk away from her, too. When all was said and done, she was just another interlude in his life, enjoyed and then quickly forgotten.

The entire experience had a depressingly familiar feel to it. She closed her eyes briefly in self-disgust. At least this time, Garrett wasn’t the leading man. Well, at least not technically.

Ivy wasn’t ignorant of how cruel the tabloids could be, and she knew it was only her own relative obscurity as an actor that kept her failed relationships from being publicly raked through the muck.

Hollywood didn’t get any more voyeuristic than those movies that aroused passionate, off screen love affairs. She’d seen what Julia Roberts, Meg Ryan and countless other female actors had endured when sparks had flown more furiously off screen than on. She should be grateful that Garrett had been discreet, and that aside from Finn and the housekeeper, virtually no one knew that their relationship extended beyond a professional acquaintanceship.

But her self-talk and rationalizations hadn’t been enough to keep him from invading her thoughts. In her wide, empty bed, she’d tossed and turned the entire night. As tired as she was, she should have welcomed an uninterrupted night of sleep, but instead she’d found herself unable to close her eyes without vivid images of him intruding into her thoughts.

Alone in her bed, she’d missed him. Ached for him. She’d even gone to the window and leaned on the sill to stare out into the darkness of the night toward his cabin. Was he awake? Did he think of her? Or had he gone to sleep without any trouble?

She’d finally given up any pretense of trying to sleep and had turned on her bedside lamp. Curled up against the pillows, she’d read and reread the entire script in an effort to connect more closely to her character and to understand the main characters’relationships to each other. But each time, her imagination had been swamped with vivid memories of being with Garrett. Of making love to him, of laughing with him, of lying in his arms and listening to him. The pleasure had been tempered by the bittersweet knowledge that their time together would soon be ending.

By the time dawn came, she knew instinctively what she needed to do. When she acted out the love scenes, she would pretend it really was Garrett she was with…Garrett she was in love with…and Garrett who would soon be leaving her life.

The warehouse where the set had been constructed and where the mission scenes were filmed was nearly a mile from the hacienda itself. A driver had collected her and several other cast members from the lobby and driven them to the location in a small, beat-up bus. There had been little conversation during the short ride.

Her eyes ached and she felt slightly sick from lack of sleep. The love scene required that she look tired and fragile, as if she’d gone two days without rest. For Carla to achieve that effect hadn’t been difficult. She’d commented on the faint shadows beneath Ivy’s eyes, but Ivy had just shrugged and blamed them on the change in weather.

Now, standing on the side of the set and watching the technicians prepare for the scene, she wondered if Garrett would make an appearance. She almost thought it might be easier if he didn’t show up. He’d distracted her so much the last time here that she’d been completely unable to focus on her acting.

“So did you miss me?”

The words were spoken softly in her ear, startling her so much that she sloshed orange juice over her hand.

“Oh!” Stepping back, she found herself looking into Eric Terrell’s blue eyes. She hadn’t heard him approach. In a disconcerting reminder of their encounter by the pool, he wore nothing more than a towel wrapped around his lean hips, and she couldn’t help but gape for an instant at all his bare flesh.

She jerked her gaze quickly upward, but not before she’d made a swift, mental comparison of his body to Garrett’s and decided there was simply no comparison. As beautiful and perfect as Eric’s physique was, it couldn’t hold a candle to the unabashed masculinity of Garrett’s, scars and all.

Eric was so close she could smell the greasepaint that had been used on his body to create the realistic bruises that darkened his jaw and cheekbones, and her first instinct was to step back and put some space between her and him. For an instant she wondered if he would still be piqued with her about their last disastrous shoot, but he seemed totally at ease. He’d never mentioned their nocturnal encounter by the swimming pool, which made her think maybe Garrett was right and Eric didn’t remember it. She felt herself relax slightly. No way did she want to start this next shoot with any animosity between them. If he could start fresh, then so could she.

“How did the shoot in Xalapa go?”

“Without a hitch.” He gave her a quick wink. “But I have to say I’m just as happy to be back in civilization. Relatively speaking, of course.”

She blinked at his friendly tone. Since the first time they’d met, he’d treated her with a kind of sneering superiority, as if he only tolerated her presence in his movie and didn’t really consider her an equal. But looking at him now, Ivy thought she saw something like appreciation in his eyes.

She pushed a loose strand of hair back from her forehead and smiled. “That’s great. I think we’re going to have a good shoot today, too.”

Eric’s eyes swept over her, and despite the fact that a pair of khaki pants and a button-down shirt completely covered her, she felt as if he was mentally undressing her. It was all she could do not to cross her arms over her breasts.

“Yeah, I think today’s shoot will go well, too.” He leaned forward and braced a hand against the wall behind her head, effectively trapping her. “But if things start to get too intense, just remember it’s only my acting method. I told you before that I tend to really get into character, but it’s nothing personal, okay?”

Ivy continued to smile at him, although inwardly she wondered if this was his way of apologizing for having groped her during their last shoot. “Sure, Eric. Don’t even worry about it. I know what I need to do with this scene.”

“Great.” He gave her one of the devastating smiles that had made him a Hollywood icon, and Ivy admitted privately that she wasn’t completely immune to the man’s charm. He didn’t appeal to her personally—her tastes ran more to the dark, dangerous type—but she could appreciate that he was a gorgeous man who had an ability to make a woman feel special just by the expression in his eyes.

“Okay, folks, let’s do a walk-through. Where are Helena and Garrett?”

Finn turned from his consultation with the associate directors and scanned the set until he found Ivy and Eric. Ducking beneath Eric’s arm, she stepped forward. “We’re here.”

Under the lights, she was aware of Eric at her elbow. Finn gave each of them a critical appraisal. “Okay, let’s have some of the bruising around Stokes’s left eye modified. I don’t recall it being so vivid when he’s first brought into the church.”

Almost immediately, Denise and another makeup artist appeared with their tackle boxes of cosmetics and went to work on Eric’s face. When they were through, Finn studied their handiwork and then grunted his approval. He gestured for Ivy to approach.

“Let’s do a quick run-through. Ivy, you stand here and, Eric, you’re already on the bed.”

For the next forty minutes, Ivy was told exactly where to stand and where to move. She was grateful for the rehearsal; it gave her the time she needed to slowly bury her disquieting thoughts about Garrett and begin to absorb the make-believe world Finn had created. She tried not to think about the fact that Garrett hadn’t shown up on the set for the shoot. It didn’t mean anything. In all likelihood his expertise had been needed elsewhere, such as setting up the pyrotechnics for the explosive confrontation between the Special Forces soldiers and the Escudero cartel. Or he could be coordinating with the army for the Blackhawk helicopters scheduled to fly in next week for the final rescue scene. Whatever the reason, he obviously had more important things to do than watch her perform this scene. It was no big deal.

She concentrated on Finn’s directions. Every time she stopped, someone would place a small piece of tape on the floor to mark the spot. She was aware of the camera following her slowly.

They rehearsed the scene once. Twice.

“Okay, let’s go for a take,” Finn called.

Ivy nodded and assumed her position for the opening of the scene. Finn checked the camera angle himself, then stepped onto the set to assess the lighting, before he stopped directly in front of Ivy, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“I was little rough on you the last time we tried to do this scene. You’ve already made love with Garrett—” He stopped abruptly as he realized what he’d said. “I mean, you’ve already made love to Garrett in the film. You’ve been together for the past three days, and the audience knows you’re falling in love with him.”

Ivy nodded, but scarcely heard Finn as he continued to speak to her. His words reverberated through her. “You’ve already made love with Garrett.” She was falling in love with him. It was no less than the truth. She was falling in love with Garrett Stokes.

She clearly recalled how she’d felt on the set of those other films when she’d become involved with her leading men and had believed herself to be in love with them. At the time, she’d been convinced of it, but she hadn’t felt then as she did now—disjointed. Fragmented. As though she was waiting; anticipating something and dreading it at the same time.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she forced herself to listen to what Finn was saying, as he continued to give her tips.

“Remember,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed her brief mental absence, “you don’t know if your attempts to have him rescued will be successful. If he’s rescued, he returns to the States. If that fails, he’s a dead man. Either way, chances are good that you won’t see each other again, so this is it—the only opportunity you’ll have to show him what he’s come to mean to you. Got it?”

Ivy nodded. He had no idea of the impact his words had on her. After the past two days with Garrett, there was a distinct possibility that this could very well be the end of their short-lived relationship. He’d said he wanted the full three days that she’d initially asked for, but the reality was that they might not have another opportunity to be together, even if she was inclined to believe he might still be interested.

Standing on the set, she mentally prepared herself for the fact that the cameras would be rolling in less than a minute and she had to act sexy while ten or more electricians and other crew members stood around munching on sandwiches as they watched her. But she realized that she didn’t need to hide her distress at the thought that she and Garrett might be through, that what they’d shared might have been nothing more than a fling. Instead, she would channel all that emotion and uncertainty into her character. She took a deep breath.

Finn strode over to an empty chair beside the cameras and nodded to the man standing next to him, an assistant director named Franz Keller. Ivy was more than a little intimidated by the man, as he’d been hired by the producer to monitor the production company’s investment. He kept order on the set and ensured the filming stayed on schedule. If he thought Ivy was a risk to the production, he’d be the one to contact the producer and have her replaced. If Ivy had to prove anything to anyone, it was to him.

“Quiet on the set!” Franz shouted.

“Take a medium shot,” the cinematographer directed the cameraman.

“Roll it,” said Franz.

“Rolling.”

“Speed,” called another assistant director. “Thirty-six, take nineteen.”

A female assistant darted onto the set, held a slate in front of Ivy’s face and flapped it shut.

“Action!” commanded Finn.

The next hour passed in a blur for Ivy as the film crew, lights and microphones disappeared and she became Helena. The scene involved her changing the dressing on Eric’s leg, while she struggled to maintain her composure, knowing their time together was limited. The scene ended with Eric grasping her arms and pulling her across his prone body to stare deeply into her eyes, telling her without words what the audience would already have guessed—he loved her.