by Scott, Inara
She shot him an annoyed look as she slid into a chair that wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it appeared. “Gunther!”
“I’m just asking,” he said innocently. He looked back to the door as if expecting someone to follow behind her. “Where’s the puppy?”
“One of the local kids is dog-sitting. This is no place for a dog. At least, a full-size dog.”
Gunther shook his head. “Can you believe those things they dress up in sweaters and call dogs these days? Now Rex, he’s a real dog.”
“You just like him because he’s German.”
“Of course. Tell me, what did Ryker think of him?”
“I don’t think Ryker’s a big fan.”
Gunther smirked. “I didn’t think he would be.”
Alix sighed. “I will never understand men and their practical jokes.”
“It’s a sign of respect, really. But enough chatter. How’s my movie? Is there any hope?”
Alix dropped her head against the back of the chair. “You didn’t tell me our leads hated each other.”
“Hate is such a strong word,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t know it had gotten that bad. At least, I didn’t know until I saw that scene.” He shuddered. “I still can’t believe Ryker wasted actual film on that. I should have fired him on the spot. How is he, by the way? It’s been a week or so since I’ve been on the set. Is he holding up? Do you think you’ll work well together?”
He handed her a glass of club soda with a slice of lime. She took a sip and let the bubbles tickle her nose as she considered her words. “Well,” she said carefully, “it’s early to say. But I am a little concerned about him.”
“How so?”
“You know how he feels about sex?”
“I have some idea,” Gunther said, a trace of irony in his voice. “He’s a bit disillusioned, you could say?”
“Hmm. Disillusioned would suggest he had some illusions at some point. I’m not so sure about that. He’s adamant about sex not being a romantic endeavor. I can’t help but think that’s influencing the film.”
Gunther poured a healthy measure of gin into a shaker. “It’s inevitable. I told you he thinks love is a fantasy. He makes no secret of that.”
“And you still went with him for this film? It’s fairly important to the story, Gunther.”
“He’s so good otherwise, it seemed worth the risk. I thought he could contain it. He had such good ideas for the film. No one today does drama like Ryker. And I thought casting Lena and Jake Redburn together was sheer genius. When they’re working well together—well, they just pop. It’s remarkable.”
She stared down at her glass, picturing the scene she’d viewed earlier that night, and then the dark light in his eyes, afterwards, when he’d touched her. “There’s certainly some powerful chemistry there, if we can only channel it in the right direction. But it’s more than the acting. That scene…” She shuddered. “He shot in low-angle and high-angle and used Jake’s point of view throughout. It felt dark. Claustrophobic. I didn’t say anything because Ryker was already upset about it. It wasn’t just the absence of romance—it was more.” She looked up at Gunther. “Tell me, you know all the gossip. What am I really dealing with here? Is he a woman-hater? Did he get dumped at the altar? Have a wife who fooled around on him?”
Gunther sat across from her and set his martini glass down on a glass-topped coffee table. He pulled the olive from his glass and popped it in his mouth before taking a healthy slurp. “Is your interest personal or professional?”
“Professional!” she said, wishing she could somehow douse the hot blush that immediately covered her cheeks.
“Are you sure?”
Alix did not meet his eyes. “Yes.”
“If you say so.” He eyed her suspiciously. “He eats little girls like you for dinner, Alix. Just keep that in mind.”
“Gunther, I am not a little girl. I know how to deal with men like Ryker.”
“Alix, you’re not nearly as tough as you think you are. You’ve had experience with cheap bastards like Reece Fawcett and teenage boys. You haven’t been with anyone like Ryker.”
Reece was the last guy she’d dated in film school. She’d thought things between them were going great, and then he’d suddenly stopped returning her calls. He told her later it was because was tired of dating a frigid virgin.
The ironic thing was that she was the furthest thing from either frigid or virginal. Forget that the men had been jerks, every last one of them, and that she’d been desperate for love. The fact was, she’d had sex and plenty of it. Driven by a constant hunger for affection, beginning at the tender age of fifteen she’d tumbled through a series of horrible relationships, none of which had given her what she’d really needed.
Years of reckless behavior had caught up with her when she was seventeen. She hadn’t even known she was pregnant until she’d spent days having cramps, and then started bleeding. With a foster parent who was more likely to give her the back of a hand as a loving hug, she’d kept it all to herself. When the bleeding wouldn’t stop, she’d been forced to check into a hospital. Gunther had been the one person she’d trusted enough to call for help.
And right then and there, she’d made a commitment: no more sex without love.
When Gunther arrived to take her home with him, she told him about her vow, perhaps seeking absolution, or perhaps simply needing to talk to someone about how stupid she’d been, and how determined she was not to make the same mistake again. He’d taken in her flurry of words with a gentle, loving nod, making no attempt to question her youthful resolve.
Now, the whole thing seemed like such a joke. No sex without love? She might as well say no sex, period.
“I’m here to work on a movie, Gunther, not get involved. You know that better than anyone. So tell me the scoop. What’s his story?”
Gunther shrugged. “I wish I knew. There is no wife that I’ve ever heard about. No engagement either. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him with the same woman more than a few nights in a row. As far as I know, he’s a confirmed bachelor, but that’s hardly unusual around here.”
Alix leaned back and sighed. “Perhaps he was born without a heart.”
“He’s estranged from his family. That may have something to do with it. His mother was unmarried when he was born, and there are always plenty of rumors swirling around about who his father might be. He grew up in South Central and moved out of the house when he was a teenager.” Gunther sipped his drink. “Who knows. Whatever the reason, you’ll have to find some way around it.”
“Great.” She stared at her hands. “I’ve got actors who hate each other and a director without a heart.”
Gunther smiled. “If anyone can turn this movie around, it’s you.”
“I’m not sure why you think that. I haven’t worked on a movie for years, and it’s not as if I was ever a genius when it came to film. Frankly, I think you may have overestimated my abilities.” She meant to say it wryly, but the words that emerged held a hint of panic.
Gunther, always attuned to her real feelings, turned sharply toward her. “What’s this nonsense? Did Ryker say something like that?”
She shook her head, regretting the attempt at a joke. “It’s just…forget it. I’m just tired.”
She had known from the start that Ryker didn’t want her on the set and didn’t believe she had anything to offer to the film. But tonight she’d heard first-hand just how cynical he was. The more she thought about it, the more depressed she became. In the clip she’d seen, Lena and Jake looked worse together than anything Ryker had directed in the past. And now that she knew how intractable Ryker was, her task seemed almost insurmountable.
But she could hardly say that to Gunther—the very person who had insisted she be there.
His voice softened. “Alix, this is Gunther. Tell me what’s going on.”
She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s going to be an uphill climb. You know th
at, right? I don’t want any expectations that I can pull off some kind of miracle. I’m just supposed to film the romance, Gunther. I don’t know how to make it.”
“Nonsense. You did exactly that a hundred times over when we worked together.”
“No, I didn’t. I took actors and put them in bed together. I added some pretty lighting and a woman’s perspective, and you’d think I reinvented the wheel. This is different. There’s real emotion at play here.”
“You understand emotion,” Gunther said softly. “You understand what it means to be hurt. I’m not sure Ryker does.”
She grimaced. “Great. So I’m supposed to be the emotional conduit for the entire movie? Thanks. That makes me feel much better.”
He chuckled. “All right, liebling, perhaps we should change the subject. How’s the book coming?”
She wadded her napkin and threw it at him.
“Not a better subject?”
She paused and studied the bubbles rising in her glass. “Lately I just feel…” She sought for the right word. “I feel stuck. I don’t know how I’m going to turn around your movie when I can’t even get my own work right.”
“I thought you were almost done. One or two more couples, you said.”
She stood and paced to a wide bank of windows that looked out over flat pools of water sparkling with moonlight. “No. You were right. It’s more than that. The truth is, I don’t know how to finish it. Something’s missing, and I can’t figure out what. I keep taking more pictures, and they’re all wrong.”
“Sometimes you just have to pull the plug,” Gunther said. “Know when to quit.”
“No,” she snapped. “I’m not quitting. I’m going to figure it out. I just need time.”
He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. At least give yourself a break. Forget about the book and think about Salva’s Revenge. I’m betting one hundred thousand dollars and one month that you can fix it. I have faith in you, my dear, even if you don’t.”
“Thanks.” Alix drained her glass and gazed back out the window. “Thanks a million.”
Chapter Nine
By the time Alix arrived at the studio the next morning, Ryker was already there, peering through a viewfinder from various positions around the set and mumbling to himself. She tried to ignore the leap of her pulse when she saw him, taut backside outlined by a snug pair of tan chinos, dark hair reflecting the bright studio lights.
He spun around when the door clicked shut. “You’re here.” One side of his mouth quirked upward. “I wasn’t sure if you would come back, after last night.”
For a moment, she froze, imagining the heat between their bodies and the stark invitation she’d seen in his eyes just before she fled. Then she forced herself to relax and take a deep breath. He was talking about the film. Surely he was talking about the film. They’d agreed to put aside anything else, hadn’t they?
“I love a challenge,” she said brightly.
“Me too.” He seemed to imply something with those words, something that made her squirm, though she could not have articulated a reason why. He eyed her bulky sweatshirt, dark glasses, and jeans. “I see you’ve got your grubbies on today.”
She tried to look nonchalant, adjusting her worn canvas backpack on one shoulder before burying her hands in her pockets. Everything on the set looked the same as it had the night before, the heavy glass ashtray back in place on the end table, the cushions arranged symmetrically on the couch. “I told you, this is how I’m most comfortable.”
He turned his back to her and put the viewfinder to his eye again. “Whatever you say.”
So he was going to pretend nothing had happened. That was good, right? Nothing had happened, really. He’d kissed her. Made an offer she refused. It was likely an unusual event for him, but ultimately meaningless. If Ryker was frustrated, he didn’t need her help to unwind. There were thousands of women who would be thrilled to crawl into his bed. He’d probably waited about thirty seconds after she’d left before he’d called one.
“What are we shooting this morning?” She had studied the script into the wee hours of the morning but suddenly couldn’t remember a word of what she’d read.
“The scene we rehearsed yesterday.” He picked up a dog-eared copy of a script from the coffee table and scribbled some notes on the page. “It’s just a kiss. I figured Jake and Lena should be able to handle that, at least.”
“Any new ideas?”
“I thought that was your job.”
He slipped the viewfinder into his pocket and made another note, the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper echoing in the large, open space. Alix dropped her backpack on the floor a few feet away and pulled out her own copy of the script. She flipped to the scene and spent a moment reviewing her notes before she looked up.
She took a deep breath. “I do have some thoughts on how we might do this differently.”
If she hadn’t been staring at them, she’d never have noticed the way his shoulders tightened at her words. The tiny movement reminded her of the frustration that had spilled out of him the night before. Ryker was a proud man. It didn’t take Dr. Phil to understand that he didn’t entirely appreciate her presence on the set or the suggestion that she could fix what he couldn’t.
“By all means,” he said, gesturing for her to continue. “Share your thoughts.”
Alix steeled herself for his reaction. “Well, as you said last night, we can’t do much about their relationship. So I thought we’d start by focusing on what we can control—the way you’ve structured the scene. As it is now, Jake kisses Lena, right? I mean, she’s been working on getting him to kiss her for a while, but he’s the one who takes the initiative. And it’s pretty abrupt. He comes into the room and checks the windows first. Like this.” She mimicked his movements as she moved around the stage, shutting out Ryker and losing herself in the memory of the scene. She stopped at the end of the couch. “He ends up beside Lena, and they exchange a few lines. And the next thing you know, he hauls her into his arms, and they’re kissing.”
“Yes, and…?”
“It sets up the wrong dynamic,” she said flatly. “Lena should be the one in charge. It’s her seduction, not his. Later, he should remember that she was the one to kiss him, not the other way around, and it will make him suspicious. Besides, I think the more control we build into the scene for her, the more comfortable she’ll feel as an actor.”
“Show me,” Ryker demanded. He positioned himself on the far right side of the stage. “I’m Hank. I’ve just come from an encounter with a menacing thug that I think may be working for Lena’s brother. I’ve come here because I’m worried about her, but I’m also suspicious that she may be caught up in the business.”
Alix nibbled her lower lip and sat down on the arm of the couch, as Lena had the day before. “So you stalk around the room, as much for her benefit as yours. She’s by the couch, watching. The camera follows her point of view, varied between broad shots of your upper body and tight shots on your hands hovering near your gun, maybe your upper back and the side of your face.”
Ryker walked around the set slowly. He looked thoughtful but not hostile. Alix decided that was a good sign.
“Then when you come over to the couch, Lena stands up. She’s nervous; maybe her hands are trembling. But she knows what she has to do.”
Ryker stopped a few inches from her. Alix held out one hand toward him. “She’s pleading, supplicating.”
He took her hand slowly. Alix rose to her feet, the touch of his hand instantly bringing a warm tingle through her body. “We’ll need to rewrite a bit of the script here. She says you can’t stay, but she’s holding on to you like she’s terrified to let go. She’s saying one thing, but her body is telling you something else. She touches your chest, and you cover her hand with yours.”
Alix placed her hand over Ryker’s heart and felt the strong, steady beat through the smooth cotton of his shirt. He brought his other hand to touch hers, and the jolt of energy
that followed was so strong she jumped.
“And then?” he said, his voice low.
“Why don’t we wait for Jake and Lena to get here,” she gasped. Her body seemed paralyzed, held in place by the force of his hand closing over hers.
“If we’re going to bring something new to them, I want to understand what it is first,” he said. “This partnership isn’t going to work if we don’t have a unified front.”
She had to admit he had a point. “It isn’t complicated.” She tried to extract her hand from his, but his fingers tightened around hers. “You exchange a look with her. You tell her she’s driving you crazy, but you can’t get romantically involved while you’re on a case. You start to pull away. She begs you to stay. She brings your arms around her.” Alix twined Ryker’s arm around her body, trying to convince herself that they were actors in a movie.
That she was not inches away from the body she longed to rub herself against like a cat at a scratching post.
“You stop, body rigid. Your breathing quickens. She caresses the side of your face, your hair. You hold back from her, but you’re obviously fighting a losing battle.” His hair felt soft on her fingers, his jaw rough with dark stubble. Had he not shaved that morning? Alix swallowed hard but forced herself to continue. “She twines her fingers in your hair and pulls your face down to hers. You follow her lead, slowly but surely, eyes never leaving hers.”
Ryker’s dark gaze devoured her. Her thoughts seemed determined to scatter, but she forced them back to the reason she was holding him. “And then they kiss.”
Ryker moved his mouth next to hers, so close she could feel the touch of his breath sliding across her cheek.
“And it’s your kiss, not mine?” he asked. “You’re in control?”
Alix nodded, taking short, shallow breaths, fearing her breasts might brush against him if she sucked in air the way she wanted.
“But how do I feel?” Ryker’s eyes never left hers. He had moved his hand to her back, pressing her body gently but firmly toward his. She resisted until the force of his hand pushed her slightly off balance, and she had to take a step forward to steady herself. The tiny movement brought their legs brushing against each other. “I’m a man who is used to being in charge. And now I’m suddenly going to let you run the show?”
