“Well?” The woman brushed past the little guy with the goatee, slapped her hands on her hips and glared at Zach from under the brim of her hat. “What’s going on here?”
Zach looked past her. He could see cameras now, and mike booms, and lots of other equipment he couldn’t identify. If nothing else, he thought with relief, he’d found the Triad set. His gaze returned to the shapeless female standing before him. Yes. He’d found the set, and Frances Cranshaw.
“There’s been a minor accident,” Zach said pleasantly, “nothing to get excited about, I assure you.”
“Are you all right, Pete?” the woman said, swinging toward the horseless rider.
“Yup, I’m fine.”
“Was the horse injured?”
“Nah. He jest took off, is all.”
“You see?” Zach said. “No harm’s been done.”
No harm’s been done, Eve thought, glaring at the intruder from under the brim of her borrowed hat. What a stupid thing to say! Francis had reshot this same scene four times now, wasting heaven only knew how much film, and each time it had ended the same way, with him stroking that ridiculous little goatee and shaking his head and saying that it still wasn’t quite what he wanted.
The only thing Eve wanted was to put the scene in the can, strip off the jeans and shirt and hat the props man had pieced together for her so the sun and the dust wouldn’t finish her off permanently, jump in her car and speed to town to deal with Zachary Landon, who must have arrived by now. She’d been trying and trying to contact the office by cellular phone, but this damned place was so far off the beaten track that the fool thing wouldn’t work.
And now, just when it had looked as if Pete and Horace the Wonder Horse were about to ride into posterity, this—this jerk had come along and ruined it all.
“Well,” Zach said, smiling politely, “if you don’t mind
“Do you have any idea what a mess you’ve caused?”
Zach’s smile tilted. “Madam, in case you hadn’t noticed, I almost broke my neck a few minutes ago. If I were you——”
“You came barreling smack into the middle of my set, scared off my horse, injured my rider——”
“He just told you himself, he’s not injured.”
“And you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that no harm’s been done?”
Zach’s smile faded completely. “Listen, lady——”
“Don’t ’listen, lady’ me!” Eve snatched the hat from her head and slapped it against her leg. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in a golden cloud. “Why didn’t you slow down as you approached?”
“Approached what?” Zach said, trying not to stare at the wild mane of sunflower-bright curls, as incongruous on this ranting, shapeless creature as a garland of roses would be on a bull. Although, now that he considered, she really wasn’t shapeless. He could see the high thrust of her breasts even under that boxy shirt, and there was the suggestion of a narrow waist, gently rounded hips, and long legs hidden under those jeans…
“Approached my set, that’s what!”
“Look, I didn’t see a thing except dirt and cactus until your horse damned near killed me.”
“Horace couldn’t kill anybody! He can’t even find his way out of a stall without help!”
“Horace? The horse is named Horace?”
“Yes,” Eve snapped, “Horace the Wonder Horse.” Her face colored as Zach’s brows rose. “It’s not funny! That horse is worth a fortune. Why, without him——”
“Let me get this straight,” Zach said slowly. “You’re making a movie about a horse named Horace?”
Eve felt her face, already hot from an hour on this hillside, turn hotter. She knew how it sounded. Dammit, she felt the same way herself. It was incredible to think that Triad was wasting time on a film like this, but it hadn’t been her idea. Howard Tolland had signed the contracts, made the commitments and stuck her with it.
“A movie,” the man said, and laughed, “a movie about a horse named Horace.”
Eve’s gaze shot to his. “Okay,” she said coldly, “you’ve had your laugh. Now turn that car around and get out of here.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Zach said, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s you that’s simple, mister. This is a closed set on private property, and you have no right to be here. I’m telling you again. Turn around and get out of here.”
“Trust me, lady.” Zach looked past Frances Cranshaw, trying to identify Eve Palmer in the sea of interested faces watching them. “You don’t want to toss me off this set.”
Terrific, Eve thought, just what she needed. Another out-of-work actor invading the set. They did it all the time. The UPS guy was an actor, and the kid from Western Union, and even the pizza delivery girl, all of them determined to make an impression.
Well, this man had certainly done that, but who could blame him for trying? She sighed and slapped her hat against her leg.
“Look,” she said, not unkindly, “why don’t you leave your press book with——”
“My what?”
“Your photos. Your resume, whatever. If a part comes up, we’ll get in touch.”
“A part? You think I’m after a part in your two-bit horse opera? You actually think that I…” Zach clamped his lips together. Why was he letting this woman, this Frances Cranshaw, irritate him so? His eyes narrowed. And where was Eve Palmer? Was she such a bitch that she was going to let her director take the rap for what was a CEO’s responsibility? He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to waste my time with you, lady. Where’s your boss?”
Eve’s brows rose. “My what?”
“Come on, don’t play dumb. Where is she?”
“Okay,” she said, “that’s it. You have two minutes to get out of here.”
“Really,” he said, his voice a smooth purr of amusement.
“Look, don’t push your luck. You interrupted my shoot, ran off my horse——”
“Your star, you mean.” He smirked. “Horace, the Wonder Horse.”
“Laugh if you like. But if we can’t find Horace…”
Eve’s words came to an abrupt halt. What if they couldn’t? What if the damned horse was gone for good? A chill settled in the pit of her stomach. Could Francis finish the film anyway? She already knew the answer, knew what would happen to Triad.
“Frankly,” the man said, his smirk deepening, “I think old Horace is probably in Mexico by now.”
Eve felt her mouth begin to tremble. “I bet you think this is pretty damned funny.”
“What I think, madam, is that I’ve stumbled into the middle of a fiasco.”
She stepped forward, her face turned up to his. “You’re the fiasco,” she said, her voice trembling along with her lips. “If we don’t find that damned horse—if we don’t find him…”
All her bravado seemed to vanish. Zach frowned. Tears were rising in those blue eyes, turning them the color of sapphires.
“Oh, hell,” he said. “Dammit, don’t cry!”
“I’m not crying,” Eve said fiercely. “I never——”
But she was. Zach muttered a short, sharp word under his breath and did the only thing he could.
He reached out, drew her into his arms and kissed her
CHAPTER THREE
LATER, when he tried to make sense out of his own behavior, Zach would tell himself his brain must have gone on a holiday. Otherwise, why would he have taken this ill-tempered, sharp-tongued, dust-begrimed vixen in his arms?
Not that his brain had shut down altogether. If anything, it was working overtime, delivering enough sensory messages to put him on overload.
He heard the crowd’s shocked gasp, heard the smothered exclamation of the woman just as his mouth found hers, then felt her stunned resistance, followed quickly by her indignant struggles. He was even aware of the amused tut-tut of a little voice inside his head as it asked him just what, exactly, he thought he was doing.
The problem was that
the voice asked the question a fraction of a second too late. By then, Zach’s mouth had closed over Frances Cranshaw’s mouth. And the little voice faded to a whisper.
She tasted sweet, like the nectar of a flower. And cool, like a swift-running mountain stream. But mostly—mostly, she tasted like a meal for a starving man, and he had the sudden crazy thought he’d been hungry all his life.
Until now
Heat coiled in his belly, then shot through his blood. His arms tightened around her.
Stop it, the voice insisted. Let her go. She doesn’t want this—see how she’s fighting you? And you don’t want it either. You don’t know this dame, you don’t like her, and you’re sure as hell not the kind of man who goes around forcing women.
But he didn’t let her go. He drew her closer, bent her over his arm, one hand slipping up to cup the back of her head, his fingers twining in the silken spill of her golden hair while his mouth moved against hers, offering, asking…
A soft, keening sound rose in her throat. It was a sound Zach had heard before. He knew what it meant, understood it, and it made the blood roar in his ears.
“Yes,” he whispered against her lips, and all at once her hands were curled into his shirt and she went from fighting him to hot, sweet acquiescence.
He felt her body soften, her head droop against his arm. He heard her breath catch as she made that whisper of surrender again.
And then someone in the crowd laughed.
“Way to go, Evie,” a male voice called.
And that was when Zach knew that the woman in his arms wasn’t Frances Cranshaw at all.
She was Eve Palmer.
The realization stunned him, and his hold on her loosened. Eve reacted instantly, stumbling backward as she shoved free of his arms and then slapping him, hard, across the face.
“You bastard!”
Slowly, Zach lifted his hand to his cheek. Eve Palmer’s eyes blazed, her lips trembled. She was a study in feminine outrage, and he might have been impressed—if he hadn’t felt her incredible response in his arms, just seconds ago.
No, Zach thought, hell, no. He wasn’t going to let her get away with this.
“Nice,” he said in a low voice, “very nice. But names and games don’t work with me, baby. You’re wasting your time.”
She pointed a shaking finger toward the Porsche. “You have one minute to get into your car and drive out of here. Otherwise——”
“I wouldn’t give ultimatums, if I were you.”
“So help me, mister, I’ll call the police. You can’t walk onto my set and—and tyrannize me!”
“Tyrannize you?” Zach laughed sharply and folded his arms over his chest. “Is that what you’ll charge me with? Tyranny?”
“How about sexual assault? Does that sound better?”
“Come on, baby, give me a break. Who’re you kidding? You were all over me, breathing hot and heavy.” He caught her by the wrist as her hand arced toward him again. “Don’t do it,” he said grimly, “or I’ll call the cops myself.”
Eve glared at him. What a despicable SOB he was! This town was a paradise for good-looking, walking, talking egos but this one was in a class by himself. Kissing her was bad enough, but to have the audacity to claim she’d enjoyed it…
She’d despised everything about that kiss, from the feel of his arms to the taste of his mouth to the scent of him as he’d held her and if, just for an instant, she’d seemed to—to relax in his embrace, it had only been because he’d caught her so off guard, because she had never expected him to do anything so boorish and coarse…
…because she’d never expected his lips to brush hers with fire, his body to saturate hers with heat…
The ridiculous thought horrified her as much as his sudden laughter. It was as if he’d read her mind.
Color raced into her cheeks. Eve wrenched her hand from his, spun on her heel and pushed her way through the crowd, determinedly ignoring the whispers and the smiles. The rusty trailer that served as Triad’s on-location office loomed ahead, looking more like a sanctuary than the hotbox it was, and she headed straight for it.
He caught up to her when she was halfway there, his hand falling like a steel bar across her shoulder.
“I don’t like to be ignored, Miss Palmer.”
“No,” Eve said as he swung her toward him. “No, I can see that. Obviously, you’d rather be arrested.”
“We need to talk,” he said through his teeth.
“We have talked. I offered you a choice and you decided you’d rather spend the night in jail than get off this set.”
“Spare me the melodrama, please.” Zach looked past her at the trailer that stood baking in the sun. “Is that your office?”
“Francis?” Eve rose on her toes and glared over Zach’s shoulder. “Francis, call the police!”
The little man with the mustache and the goatee came rushing up, wringing his hands.
“I will, if you insist,” he said in a stage whisper. “But the negative publicity will——”
“Of course,” Zach muttered. “Francis, with an i, not an e.”
The little man drew himself up. “That is correct, sir. I am Francis Cranshaw, the famous director. And you are…?”
“Francis, dammit,” Eve said furiously, “will you stop being so polite? This isn’t a time for introductions!” She glared at Zach. “I don’t care who he is. I want him out of here, now!”
Zach smiled coldly. “Ah, but you should, Miss Palmer. Care for introductions, I mean.”
“Listen here, mister, as far as I’m concerned——”
“As far as you’re concerned, the ride is over.” Zach paused, wanting to draw out the pleasure of the moment, and that was when he saw the first horrified glint of comprehension edge into her eyes. “That’s right,” he said softly, and he smiled. “Evie, love, let me introduce myself. My name is Zachary Landon.”
* * *
A couple of hours later, Zach was pacing the faded carpet in the Triad office reception area. His trousers were torn, his tweed jacket was covered with dust, and his mood more than matched his appearance.
This morning’s sweet moment of victory had faded and had been replaced by his irritation at the childish power game Eve Palmer was playing. He’d been out here fifteen minutes now, cooling his heels, while she undoubtedly sat behind her desk and deliberately let the minutes tick away.
He reached the edge of the carpet, turned and paced in the other direction. It was just too bad she’d made it to town before he had, but then, she hadn’t had to waste precious minutes shoving the Porsche back on the road or coaxing it into starting up again. He’d still been under the Porsche’s hood when an all-too-familiar silver Jaguar had shot past him.
“No,” Zach had muttered as he stared after it, “no…”
When he’d finally arrived at the Triad office, the Jaguar had been parked in the lot, secure in its silver insolence. Zach had stared at it, ground his teeth together and wondered why he’d been stupid enough to laugh early this morning when Grant had offered to trade.
He could be in New York right now, buying a chocolate malted for some twelve-year-old kid instead of wondering how high a man’s blood pressure could get, all thanks to one woman.
“Dammit,” he said under his breath.
“Sir?”
He turned and glowered at Eve’s secretary. The woman smiled nervously, the way she would if she was facing a certified lunatic.
“Did you—did you say something, Mr. Landon?”
Zach’s eyes narrowed. “I said that I’m tired of pacing the floor.”
She shot to her feet as he strode past her.
“Mr. Landon! Sir, Miss Palmer isn’t ready to see you just yet. You can’t——”
“Watch me.”
* * *
Eve was standing in the tiny private bathroom that connected to her office. She’d showered away the grime, changed from the overalls to an ivory silk dress she kept in her office closet for eme
rgencies, and now she was trying to figure out how to best recoup her losses.
An apology seemed the only solution.
Her mouth curved down. What she wanted to do was stalk outside, walk up to Zachary Landon and slug him again. But common sense told her not to do it. His behavior had been rude and awful, but then, hers hadn’t been so terrific, either. That was what she’d decided to tell him, and if he had half a brain, he’d agree.
She shouldn’t have gotten so angry at him for barreling into the unmarked set. As for Zachary Landon—for all she knew, he made a habit of kissing women he’d never met before. The bottom line was that she should have controlled her temper, and he should have acted with more decorum. It was, as far as she could see, a draw. Surely, he would see that, too…
The door slammed against the wall as it was flung open. Eve spun around, her hand to her throat. Zachary Landon stood in the doorway, covered with dust and grime and looking as if he was on the verge of exploding. Emma peered past his shoulder, her face white.
“Miss Palmer,” she said, “Eve, I’m sorry. I told Mr. Landon he had to wait, but——”
“But he got tired of it,” Zach said, with a chilly smile. “So he decided to take matters into his own hands.”
Eve took a deep breath, shut off the bathroom light and walked toward him.
“So I see.” She looked at her secretary. “It’s all right You can go.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll be just outside,” she said, shooting Zach a warning glance.
The door swung shut. Eve waited, counted to ten, then forced a smile to her lips.
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Landon?”
The woman was cool as a cucumber, Zach thought as he looked at her. The grubby overalls were gone, as was the dust, and she’d pulled that wild mane of golden hair back from her face. It was a style that would have looked matronly on most women, but the severe lines only emphasized the size and color of her eyes and the clean, sculpted bones that lay just beneath her creamy skin.
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
Eve nodded. “As you wish.”
She walked to her desk but didn’t sit down behind it. That would put him at too much of an advantage. Instead, she took a deep breath and said what had to be said.
Hollywood Wedding Page 4
