from you?”
“Because every woman responds differently to a man’s touch,” Garrett replied, allowing his gaze to drift over Ivy’s body. “And despite the fact that you’re shooting the scenes with Eric Terrell, you’ll have to respond as if you’re with me.”
He left her standing wide-eyed and mute in the doorway of her bedroom. But as he turned away, he saw with satisfaction the beginnings of something else in her dark eyes, and he smiled.
That something was awareness.
3
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Ivy stood by the pool with a margarita in one hand as Finn MacDougall shook her other hand and apologized for his rudeness in waiting until the last possible minute to offer her the role. He had indeed not wanted to distract her from the project she’d been involved in. He’d meant to contact her sooner, but time had gotten away from him. He was thrilled to have her on location, and excited to begin working with her.
Dazed, Ivy could only listen and nod and smile like an idiot. Finn was every bit as charismatic and artistic as she’d imagined he would be, and she was tempted to pinch herself to ensure the whole thing wasn’t a dream. How was it possible that Finn MacDougall was apologizing to her?
The entire scene was like something in a bad comedy, and completely opposite to how she’d envisioned her first meeting with the famed director. In her endless imaginings, she’d been composed, casually elegant and regally gracious. She certainly hadn’t looked like something the cat had dragged in.
Her hair was almost dry, but the humidity caused it to curl into an unruly tangle. She hadn’t had time to freshen her makeup, and she knew she looked tired and pale. Worse, the clothing that Denise had loaned her made her feel like a grungy teenager. Denise herself had been little more than a petulant adolescent, clearly put out by Ivy’s needing to borrow her clothes.
“Here,” she’d snapped. “It’s all I can spare. You’ll have to talk to the wardrobe people for any other clothes.”
She’d flounced out of Ivy’s room without another word. Ivy had reluctantly changed into the clothing, and cringed when she saw how terrible she appeared in the borrowed outfit, which consisted of a shapeless T-shirt and a pair of baggy pants that suspiciously resembled pajama bottoms.
God, what must Finn think of her?
“Well, it’s great to finally meet you,” he was saying. “I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment with the assistant director to review the dailies, so just—” he swept a hand toward the people who milled around the pool “—make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
Ivy watched as he made his way back to the main house, stopping several times to speak to people. She’d been hastily introduced to the other cast members, but aside from one or two familiar faces, they were mostly unknown to her. Viewing them now as they chatted and laughed, she was reluctant to insert herself into their intimate conversations.
She swirled her drink uncertainly for a moment, feeling awkward and self-conscious, until her gaze fell on the man at the far side of the terraced patio. Even while talking with Finn, she’d been acutely aware of Garrett Stokes several paces away, observing her.
She couldn’t get his last words out of her head: “You’ll have to respond as if you’re with me.”
Worse, every time she envisioned herself acting out the love scenes for the movie, Garrett was the man she cast in the leading role. A supremely muscled, naked Garrett, with molten eyes.
Which was crazy. An hour ago, she’d been a jumble of nerves just thinking about working with Eric Terrell. She considered him so far out of her league, both personally and professionally, that she’d had trouble visualizing herself as his on-screen love interest. Now she couldn’t even recall what he looked like. The man who came to mind was Garrett Stokes. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the real deal—the Green Beret who’d experienced everything in the script firsthand. He was the one Helena Vanderveer had risked everything for, including her life…and her heart.
Unwillingly, her gaze slid over him. He’d changed out of his wet clothes and now wore a loose-fitting shirt made of some gauzy, breathable material over a dry pair of cargo pants. But even the casual clothing couldn’t disguise his wide shoulders or flat stomach, or hide that his was a leanly muscled physique. He exuded a raw sexuality that turned a woman’s thoughts to hot, potent kisses and bone-melting orgasms. Despite knowing him less than an hour, Ivy realized she wasn’t at all immune to those insidious thoughts.
She wondered what it would be like to be pressed against all that hard warmth. He’d said every woman responded differently to a man’s touch—as if he was an expert on the subject. How would she respond to his touch, to his hands on her body and his mouth on her skin?
As though sensing her wayward thoughts, Garrett smiled at her, a slow, knowing smile that caused her breasts to tighten and heat to swamp her midsection. If that was how he’d looked at Helena Vanderveer, no wonder the missionary had torn off her clothes and jumped into the guy’s sickbed with him. Ivy felt hot color sweep up her neck to her face, but she was helpless to drag her eyes away from him.
“Hey, you must be Ivy.”
Startled, Ivy turned to see an attractive woman in a turquoise sarong smiling at her. Her red hair was an artful disarray of curls, captured in an oversize clip at the back of her head, and her green eyes were elongated by an expert sweep of black eyeliner. She had such an open, friendly face that Ivy couldn’t help but smile back at her. The other woman extended her hand.
“I’m Carla Ricci, and I’ll be doing your makeup.” She gave Ivy an appraising look. “You have great bone structure, and your eyes are amazing, but we’ll have to do something with the hair. A little conditioner, and you’ll be all set.”
Ivy grimaced and self-consciously put a hand to her head. “We got caught in a downpour, and I haven’t had time to do anything with it,” she explained.
“Oh, yes, I heard. You and Mr. Military Badass over there.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully in Garrett’s direction. “He wanted to drive into Veracruz to pick you up at the airport, but Finn needed him here, instead. I expected the guy to go completely Rambo when he found out you were taking the public bus in.” She shuddered. “You poor thing.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Ivy lied, “except that I lost my luggage.”
Carla put a conciliatory hand on Ivy’s arm. “I heard.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Ivy’s outfit. “If your suitcase doesn’t show up and you need something to wear, come see me. I have some little dresses that would look totally hot on you, and it would teach Denise a lesson, the little bitch. She’s just worried that Eric will find you more attractive than he finds her.”
Surprised, Ivy couldn’t help but give a small bark of laughter. “Me? Oh, please. I’ve seen the women Eric Terrell is attracted to, and I’m pretty sure I’m not up to those standards.”
“Are you kidding?” Carla shot her a look of astonishment. “When’s the last time you stood in front of the mirror, sweetie? You totally have a young Julia Ormond look going on, all sweet and sexy at the same time. And those curls are to die for.” She caught an errant ringlet on the end of her finger. “Most women would kill for hair like this.” She winked at Ivy conspiratorially. “Besides, from what I hear, your leading men have a hard time keeping an arm’s length, if you know what I mean. If you ask me, you could have this one eating out of your hands…or more.”
Embarrassed by the other woman’s candidness, Ivy couldn’t help darting a glance at Garrett Stokes, wondering how much of the bizarre conversation he could overhear. She hoped none of it. “Well, I’m definitely just here to do a job, so I doubt there’ll be any of that going on.”
Carla smiled at her knowingly. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t