to accompany them. Their feet stamped, their costumes rustled, but the room had that strange sound film sets had during filming, the sound of a hundred people holding their breaths, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by the microphones.
The AD waved his arm and on cue Christian stepped forward through the wide doorway and began to stride towards camera.
It was a big, emotionally charged shot with which to start the day. It should have been hard. It should have required more preparation and more focus. It should have required him to dig deep into his emotions. But he didn’t need any of that.
Just having Teresa in the room, watching him from the sidelines, was all the preparation he needed. He didn’t need to look to know she was there, to know that she watched him. He was aware of her every movement in his peripheral vision.
Her presence sparked a sensation he’d never felt before, an uncomfortable prickle beneath his skin. Rather like that very first night in her car, when she’d questioned his worth to the world. Only now the itch seemed ten times worse.
The dancers parted for him. Waiting for him before the camera stood his co-star, Nina. A luscious little thing with dark, sensual eyes and full red lips. When they’d first met, at some party back in LA, he’d been determined to sleep with her. This movie had seemed like a good opportunity to accomplish that too.
Three birds, one stone.
Only now the thought of bedding her held no appeal. Unwanted, unsummoned, an image intruded of long pale, naked legs and white-blonde hair spread across his pillow.
“What are you doing here?” Nina asked in a scandalised stage whisper.
“I’m here to see you.”
She toyed with her gold mask, using it to screen her face. “What if someone sees us together? You’ll ruin me.”
“We are two people passing the time at a ball. How could that possibly ruin you?”
Nina lowered the mask so he could see her eyes. Though the camera was focused on him for this shot rather than her, her expression held all her character’s emotions. She was certainly a consummate professional. “Because of who you are.”
He prowled around her, a slow, threatening glide, and the camera moved with him in a long slow arc. His voice was low, only just loud enough for the microphone carefully concealed in his clothing. “And what am I, Celeste? Your plaything, your rebellion, or your lover?”
Her eyes flashed angry darts at him. “You’re an outsider. You don’t belong here.”
He laughed, low and dangerous. “You weren’t saying that when I was between your lovely, naked thighs last night.”
“Hush! What if someone hears you?”
“So what?” He stopped his prowl, stood poised at her shoulder to whisper in her ear. “I’m good enough to bed but not good enough to stand by your side in polite company?”
Nina’s voice shook, but it was nowhere near as convincing as Teresa’s had been the first night they met. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”
Even with the screenwriter’s words in his mouth, the answer was still the same as the one he’d had for Teresa. “No, I don’t. Because no one else has given me a damned thing unless they wanted something from me in return.”
He stroked his fingers down Nina’s neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. He wondered what Teresa’s skin would feel like. Probably cold as ice.
“Even you want something from me, Celeste, though you won’t admit it. But you know what?” His voice hardened. “You’re going to have to get down on your knees and beg me for it.”
Nina shook her head. “I won’t.”
Though he spoke his words for the microphone, and the brunette standing before him, he directed every line at the cold-eyed blonde who watched from across the room. He released all the pent-up rage she’d stirred in him when they first met. “Oh yes, you will.”
The actress stared at him wide-eyed. One beat. Two beats.
“Cut!” cried the director, jumping up from his seat behind the monitor. “That was incredible! I’m blown away, Christian. Do you think you can do that again?”
Christian nodded.
Nina’s eyes were still wide, her mouth parted just a little now. “God, you’re good,” she said.
“Thanks.” He bent to her ear, his voice a whisper he hoped even the sound man wouldn’t pick up. “You ever want to find out how good, I’m in the penthouse suite at our hotel.”
“In your dreams.” But there was an extra sashay in her hips as she turned and walked away, and the coy look she cast him over her shoulder spoke volumes. Christian grinned. Nina was definitely his kind of woman, and a man had to keep his options open, after all.
“Back to the top,” the AD shouted out to the room, and there was a mad bustle as everyone returned to their starting places amidst the AD calling out instructions for tweaks to the lights, a slower zoom in by the camera and “why the hell is there a wristwatch on that extra?”
If she’d thought Christian was grumpy that first morning, it was nothing on his mood the rest of the week. Until he’d had his second espresso, he could barely manage a grunted greeting.
And every day he got grumpier.
Teresa took it in her stride. She made sure his espresso was ready, that the car was out front, that his script sides were on hand, and she avoided conversation. She sipped her tea, read the morning papers and enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.
“Didn’t you sleep well last night?” she asked on the fifth morning as Frank drove them to the palace. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, the sky lightening with a smudge of pink in the east. Though the morning rush hour had yet to start, she felt wired and ready to go. It was good to have a reason to get out of bed in the morning, even if that reason was something as trivial as making a movie.
Christian scowled back in answer.
As soon as they arrived on set he was hustled into his trailer, dressed by his wardrobe stylist, then handed over to the make-up artistes who had their own special truck, ready rigged with basins, mirrors and bright lights.
It was warm inside the trailer, crowded and noisy with voices and music from the make-up artistes’ MP3 player. Since it was still too early to run Christian’s errands, Tessa sat quietly in a corner and read the script as his make-up artiste Marie readied him for the cameras.
With Christian’s hair trimmed so short, she couldn’t figure out what took so long.
“They’re getting rid of my excesses,” Christian said, catching her eye in the mirror as Marie massaged moisturiser into his skin. He held her gaze a second too long, so that the blood in her veins began to fizz and bubble until she forced herself to look away.
