8. Eight

8

EIGHT

W e don’t even have to know each other.

That one comment stuck with me the entire night. Sam threw it out as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

We don’t even have to know each other.

Why did it rankle me so much? I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t want to know her, for crying out loud. I didn’t want to know any of them.

I was bothered all the same.

Unlike the previous evening, however, I did not tackle my frustration with an endless string of drinks. I had two cocktails and then left Chad and Dexter to hit on some local women. I went for a walk by the water, wandered around what looked to be a community garden of some sort, and then returned to the hotel.

To sulk.

We don’t even have to know each other.

Just who did she think she was? We were on the same set. We were playing love interests. Worse, they were going to parade us around on various outings when we weren’t shooting to build up interest in the show. We were literally going to have to know one another.

I woke up grumpy—but at least not hungover—the next morning. I showered, got dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast. To my annoyance, I found Sam was already down there with Sylvia and Bethany. They had coffee and juice but no plates, which told me they hadn’t eaten yet.

“Leo.” Bethany waved at me and offered up the sort of smile that suggested she wanted to dip her toast in me. “Over here. We just ordered.”

Great. This was the last thing I wanted. Breakfast with the harpies. The fact that Sam refused to meet my gaze had my jaw clenching.

We don’t even have to know each other.

Well, I would just have to poke a few holes in her little theory, wouldn’t I? My smile was firmly in place when I took the empty chair at their table, which just so happened to be next to Sam.

“Good morning, ladies.” I went with my most devastating smile, the one that I knew would keep me in Lifetime and Hallmark holiday movies if I ever got really desperate. “Nice day, huh?”

“It’s beautiful,” Bethany agreed as she sipped her coffee. Her eyes licked over me from above the rim of her cup. “It’s promotional photos day. They want us to get them in before any of the costumes are ruined.”

I’d forgotten all about that. “Right.”

“I’m just glad they’re going with modern clothing,” Sam said. “I don’t think I could deal with a corset given the breakfast I just ordered.”

Bethany snickered. “I like a good corset. Makes my rack look bigger and my waist look smaller. What’s not to like about that?”

“I’m fine with my real body,” Sam replied.

“That’s easy to say when you’re thirty and nothing has begun to sag,” Sylvia replied. “Talk to me again when your boobs are in your breakfast plate.”

Sam made a face that— dammit!— had me smirking. She looked appalled. “I’m all for body positivity,” she insisted. “I like it when people age naturally. There’s a lot of character to be found in a face that’s not frozen in time.”

“When you’re only getting roles pegging you as the creepy neighbor, you’ll change your mind,” Sylvia said. Her eyes moved to me. “What about you?”

The question threw me. “Are you asking if I’ve had work done?” I asked finally.

“Men don’t need the amount of work women do in this business,” Sylvia replied, matter-of-factly. “Heck, men still get cast as high school students when they’re well into in their thirties. You can pretend you’re just joining the military until you’re forty. The double standard is significant.”

Discomfort rolled over me. It was basically the same thing that Sam had said to me the previous day. I hated that I had never really thought about it from their perspective before. I didn’t have the same expiration date on my career that they did. And, they were right. It wasn’t fair.

I decided to change the subject anyway. There was nothing I could do to make things better for them. Not that I wanted to or anything. “Do we know where they’re doing the promotional photos?”

“Salem Common,” Sam replied, speaking to me for the first time. There was a remoteness to her gaze when it locked with mine. And, man, that bothered me too. She’d been friendly and open when first meeting me, and now she was a locked box.

And why did that bother me again? I could not come up with a reason. I was just rankled beyond belief.

“At least that’s convenient,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “Where are they doing hair and makeup?”

“We all got emails,” Sam pointed out. “Did you bother to read them?”

“I didn’t read them,” Sylvia replied. “I just wait until other people tell me what to do.”

“Isn’t that how they like their women on sets?” Bethany joked. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. You’re so smart, sir.”

“Oh, I don’t think Miles is like that,” Sam argued. “He seems sweet. He actually listened to me for a full hour at the mixer the first night. He’s not one of those alpha jerks who thinks women should be seen and not heard unless they’re delivering a line.”

“He’s sweet, huh?” Bethany teased.

“What?” Sam’s face turned cloudy. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing.” Bethany was full of faux innocence. “I just noticed that you guys had your heads bent together for a long time. He wasn’t much interested in anything anybody else had to say.”

“He’s quite good looking, too,” Sylvia noted. “You would be smart to hitch your wagon to him. He’s going places, and even when you age out, he’s going to be able to get you significant supporting roles.”

“It’s not like that.” Sam looked scandalized. “We were just talking about filming locations.”

I believed her. Sylvia and Bethany wouldn’t, of course. They were too invested in the gossip. I believed her, though. That didn’t mean Miles was some innocent lamb. No, I was worried that he would eventually take advantage of Sam’s na?veté and lead her to the slaughter.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said, my eyes going toward the kitchen door as the server approached. “Promotional photos aren’t a big deal. We can get through them in a few hours. As for Sam and Miles, give me a break. Miles is too focused on the show to take it to a weird place. Leave her alone.”

The table fell into silence for several seconds. When I looked up, I found both Bethany and Sylvia watching me with unreadable eyes. They looked as if they were sorting things out.

“Can I order breakfast?” I asked the approaching server, grateful to have a reason to leave this conversation in the dust.

“Absolutely,” she said. “What will it be?”

I didn’t even look at the menu. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to get through this meal. Then the rest of the day would be a piece of cake.

“YOU NEED TO BE CLOSER THAN THAT.”

Miles looked exasperated as he watched Sam and I pose with one another in the gazebo. We were the last two to finish up. All the group photos had been completed almost an hour before. They were looking for something torrid for us, though, and it was not going well.

It seemed Sam didn’t want to touch me.

Well, that was fine. I wasn’t keen on touching her either.

“We’re practically on top of each other,” Sam complained. They’d dressed her in skintight black pants and a purple bustier top that put her assets—which hadn’t looked all that ample until I’d seen her in the top—on full display.

“You guys are missing the point,” Miles argued. He wasn’t angry as much as frustrated. “Yes, this is a show with a lot of mythology. We’re going to delve into that in each and every episode. At the core of it, though, this show is a love story. You guys need to sell that, and you can’t if you act like he’s about to give you lice.”

Sam immediately reached up and scratched her scalp. It was the “lice” effect. Whenever someone said the word, you found yourself growing itchy … whether you were afflicted or not. I broke out in a grin.

“I can see them creeping through your hair right now,” I teased.

She shot me a dirty look. “You cannot.” She scratched again. “Right?”

I chuckled. “No lice,” I promised her. “If I saw lice, I wouldn’t hesitate to say something.”

“I shouldn’t have said the L-word,” Miles admitted. “That won’t happen again. Here.” He bumped me out of the way with his hip and slid his hand around Sam’s waist. “We don’t want any space between your bodies.” He snapped her to him, and I swear I momentarily saw red when her body collided with his.

“ Oomph .” Sam’s cheeks turned a bright pink color, and she was a little breathless when she looked up into Miles’s intense features. Was that attraction she was trying to mask there? Because that’s what it looked like. Sure, it could’ve been embarrassment—it was obvious the snide words over breakfast had stuck with her—but her reaction seemed like something other than embarrassment.

“You’re selling the love story,” Miles insisted. “You’re two beautiful people—I mean, you’re really beautiful, Sam—and you’re about to embark on a love story that will touch millions of people. I need you to sell it, though.” He stared hard into Sam’s eyes, which only served to irritate me further.

“I’ve got this.” I reached around him and snagged her wrist, determinedly pulling her away from him. “Just … give me a second.”

Miles didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Okay. We’ll take five minutes. Talk yourselves through this.” He motioned for the photographer to follow him to the coffee stand. Neither of them asked if we wanted anything.

“We have to get through this,” I said to her. “We can’t drag this out. It will cost extra money. Is that what you want?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course that’s not what I want.”

“Well, then play along.” I pulled her against me, something inside of me groaning when her body plastered itself against mine. I was a good eight inches taller than her and yet her body seemed to fit mine in all the right places. How was that even possible?

“I really am trying,” she insisted. “It’s just … not working.”

“You’re not letting it work.” My tone was gruff, even though I wasn’t really irritated with her. I was more irritated with myself than anything. Why was she affecting me this way? “You’re too focused on not getting close. You want to give the appearance of being close without actually touching me. That is not going to work.”

“I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

I frowned and looked down, immediately wishing I hadn’t because the first glimpse I saw was of her cleavage. Seriously, did they stuff that top to give her a helping hand? Or had I just not been paying attention? “Why would I feel uncomfortable?” I barked.

Good job, idiot, I chastised myself. Yelling at her is totally going to make things better.

“You don’t like me,” Sam replied stiffly. “You’ve made that apparent. I just don’t want to force you to touch me when we’re trying to be professional.”

She was on my last nerve. Or maybe I was the one somehow irritating myself. Was that possible? “Sam, we have to touch one another. We’re playing love interests.” Was she trying to kill me? It certainly felt that way. At the very least, she was trying to make me go insane. “We have to find a happy medium here.” Something occurred to me. “Are you sure you’re not the one uncomfortable touching me?”

The look she shot me was withering. “I know how to do my job. Far be it from me to try to be respectful of your boundaries.”

What boundaries? I hadn’t set any boundaries. Had I? When I looked back at the limited time I’d spent with her, I realized I’d done nothing but set endless boundaries. I was mean. I mocked the show. I didn’t understand her point of view. All of that suggested I didn’t like her. Of course she was uncomfortable with me.

“Listen, you’re seeing things that aren’t there.” I kept my tone even. “I know I’m not easy to get along with?—”

She let loose a snorting sound.

“We have a job to do, though.” I was plaintive now. “You’re right. I need this to go well. I really don’t want to screw it up for the rest of you either. I’m just a jerk sometimes. I can’t seem to help myself.”

Her eyes were searching when they locked with mine. “Have you ever tried not being a jerk?”

I barked out a laugh. She was funny. She might not have realized it—and maybe it wasn’t always on purpose—but she was funny. And when she smiled, it was brighter than the sun and made everything in her general vicinity warmer. Unfortunately, she didn’t smile all that often around me.

“Maybe we should try something different,” I suggested. “Instead of ignoring each other when we’re not working, maybe we should try to be friends.”

Who just suggested that? Did I suggest that? Crap. Why did I even say that?

“You want to be friends?” Sam was understandably dubious.

“Of course,” I replied, even though I was mentally head-slapping myself. I was just digging myself in deeper.

“I guess we can try to be friends.”

“Great.” I slid my arm around her waist without prompting and cocked my head when my fingers brushed the skin between her corset and the top of her pants. Did she have to be so soft? Wait … why was I blaming her? It wasn’t as if I hadn’t touched a woman recently. I went out to bars when I needed to let off steam. I was hardly celibate.

Still— still —touching her was making something short inside my head. She smelled divine, like cloves and cinnamon colliding. Her eyes were clear, and there was nothing devious happening in them. Not ever. With Sam, what you saw was what you got. She didn’t play games. She just wanted to exist.

You should be more like that.

I ruthlessly shoved the voice out of my head and focused on the task. “Here we go.” I pulled her body flush with mine and tried to ignore the weird things happening inside of me. There were small explosions going off here and there. They were going to cause me to pass out if I wasn’t careful. That’s how intense they were.

It was only then that I realized what was happening. It was chemistry. I felt it when I looked at Sam. It had been so long since I’d felt legitimate chemistry that I hadn’t recognized it. That’s what this was, though.

There were sparks.

Between her and me.

Endless freaking sparks.

Double crap. I didn’t need sparks. I wasn’t going to do anything about them, of course—I didn’t date co-stars for obvious reasons—but the sparks were definitely there. Did she feel them too? Her face was squinched up in concentration, and I honestly couldn’t tell. She didn’t seem all that worked up, though. If she was feeling what I was feeling, she would be reacting. That was all there was to it.

I decided I needed to put some space between us so I could avoid getting burned by the sparks, but Miles had decided to return, and he was clapping when he took us in.

“That’s great!” he enthused. “That right there is what I’m looking for. You guys look as if you want to jump one another.”

The only thing that jumped when he said that was my penis. It seemed to be excited at the thought of jumping Sam.

Down boy. Good grief. We are working.

“Let’s just get this done,” I gritted out. I needed to get away from Sam. My mind was too busy to put up with this for long. “Let’s just … get the photos in.”

“Okay.” Miles bobbed his head. If he realized I was struggling, he didn’t show it. “Sam, tilt up your chin. Stare into Leo’s eyes.”

She did as she was instructed and when our gazes met, the sparks doubled in size and scope. They were accompanied by something wiggly that decided to crawl through my stomach and up to my chest, where it firmly wrapped around my heart, which was pounding.

She was beautiful. More than that, she was sweet. There was no guile behind her smile. She was struggling as much as me—We don’t have to know each other—but she was pushing through because she was a professional. That’s what I needed to do.

I ignored the sparks. I pretended I wasn’t feeling sick to my stomach. That was certainly the breakfast and not her proximity. I kept telling myself that anyway.

We stared into each other’s eyes, the rest of the world ceasing to exist, and vaguely in the back of my mind I could hear the camera working. It fell into tandem with my heart.

Looking at this woman, this ridiculously nice and caring woman, all I could think as we posed for photos that would haunt me until the day I died was this.

You don’t like her.

You don’t want her.

You have to get her out of your head.

I wasn’t certain I believed any of it except for the last part. I had to do something to get Sam out of my head. We were both going to be in a world of hurt—so much trouble—if I didn’t rein in my emotions.

What exactly was happening to me here?