did. Bill liked the cadence of her voice. Soft, rhythmic like the waves.
And familiar.
She shifted from one spiked heel to the other. “I’m an L.A. girl—grew up in East L.A., currently living and working in West L.A.”
A sense of déjà vu prickled his skin. He knew her. But from where? With the long hours he put in on the set these days, his only social outlet was Gold’s Gym, and he’d have recalled if their paths had crossed there. Maybe it was her voice, someone he’d conversed with in the course of his too-many business calls every day.
Wait a minute.
Rockwell?
East L.A.?
Hadn’t he had neighbors there, years ago, with that name? Right, now he remembered. Mrs. Rockwell, one of those fragile blondes who looked as though she’d crumble if you looked at her the wrong way, and her kids Mark—no, Matt—and a daughter. Yeah, had to be Ellie. He blew out a puff of air. That freckled, knobby-kneed girl had grown up to be this dom-shoed doll on the stage?
“Four stars,” murmured Jimmie.
But ever since Jimmie tied the knot last year, he’d been irritatingly intent on setting Bill up for wedded bliss, too. Every potential Mrs. Romero got a starrating from one—forget it—to four—go for it.
“You and your damn numbers,” Bill muttered, tapping the pencil against his clipboard. But four was dead-on as his gaze raked up past that cleavage-spilling black top to that heart-shaped face to those eyes….
He flashed on a memory from years ago. Ellie, auburn hair barely restrained in pigtails, those big questioning eyes. It had been long past midnight. He’d been sitting on the porch, contemplating his life changes to come, when suddenly he looked down and saw his young neighbor standing on the lawn in front of him. In a soft voice, she’d asked if what she’d heard was true—was he moving to New York?
She’d sounded so anxious, so sad, which had confused him. But with younger siblings, he knew how a kid’s unresolved worries could be triggered by a seemingly unrelated event. If he remembered correctly, Ellie’s dad had split around this time five or so years before. Another adult figure leaving probably reminded her of that all over again.
Bill had answered her yes, he was moving to New York to go to film school, and that little girls shouldn’t be out so late. He’d walked her back to her house where she’d lingered in the front doorway, those big eyes staring at him, before going inside.
Those same eyes stared at him now, reeling him back to the present, and he offered a small smile of recognition. She smiled back, and he swore something in her look shifted, darkened, sparked. For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze and suddenly all he was aware of was a churning tension between them, not unlike the distant crashing waves.
He’d at first observed a woman in a black bikini, but now all he saw were glistening limbs, full breasts, bare skin. Lust had fogged his brain and whatever memories he had of the girl evaporated, replaced by this hot woman.
Jimmie coughed. “Five.”
“Five what?”
“That eye-lock, as though you two are the only people in this place, just bumped her from four to five stars.”
“You’ve never given a five.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never seen you go brain-dead so quickly, either.”
Bill broke the eye-lock and glanced at his buddy. “It’s an audition, Jimbo, nothing more.”
“Bill-o, sell that bridge somewhere else.”
Peter lit a cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke as he said into his mike, “You have one minute to share something special about yourself.”
Ellie blinked, straightened, released a shaky breath. Over the speakers, the sound reverberated over the crowd like a throaty sigh, nearly bringing Bill to his knees.
She zeroed in on him again. Later, he pondered if he’d imagined the look she gave him, one filled with a yearning that bordered on defiance. But he didn’t imagine her next words.
“I want to share this with you.”
Slowly, she turned so her back was to the audience. God. Those heels worked magic on a great ass and a pair of killer legs.
“You’re gnawing on your pencil,” whispered Jimmie.
Bill released the eraser tip from his teeth. “Oh, shut up.”
Ellie slipped her thumbs underneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms and lowered them, slowly, an inch or so. Bill ground his teeth, his entire body on edge, as he read the black-scripted tattoo at the base of her spine.
“Queen of Evil?” he rasped.
“Yeah,” murmured Jimmie, “that’s what it says all right.”
Bill groaned.
Jimmie leaned closer. “So, is she a five?”
Bill returned his gaze to her, gave his head a slow shake. “She’s more than a number, Jimmie. I share a past with her.”
“ELLIE ROCKWELL.”
Standing at the food table in the backstage tent quaffing a blueberry muffin, she froze. Even with her back to him, she’d know that voice anywhere. Swallowing her bite, she set down the muffin and turned.
A shiver passed through her.
Bill was even hotter up close.
His skin, naturally mocha, was darker from the sun. His full, natural hair looked like a deliciously dark aura. Stubble coarsened his jaw, making her think he’d probably rolled out of bed and come straight here for today’s audition without shaving. She shouldn’t have thought about him rolling out of bed, because she started wondering if he was one of those men who slept in his shorts or pajama bottoms.
Or naked.
She sucked in a shaky breath. He’s only said my name and I already have him naked in bed.
A hint of a smile raised a corner of his mouth. She hadn’t noticed before that he sported a soul patch, neatly trimmed, underneath his full bottom lip.
“Ellie Rockwell, right?”
“Bill Romero,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I saw you in the audience.”
“I thought you noticed me.” He looked her up and down. “You’ve…changed.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down to the colorful tattoo that trailed from underneath his sleeve down to his elbow. Appeared to be the tail of something.
“It’s a dragon,” he explained.
Her gaze traveled back up the green and burnished gold scales
